#expect some art tonight even if its just a wip

[hattiestgal]

Alright I think I'm back from your regularly scheduled (for my own health) tumblr hiatus, mostly cause I gotta stuff in as much interaction and art as I can tonight before the absolute project of a model kit I've got incoming shows up tomorrow. After that, it'll prolly be smooth sailing for the rest of the month lol.

[c0rvidbones]

hello I love your art a whole lot!! tell me more about Wit (he's hot and evil and I require more juicy details) and Ruby (his design goes so hard) please?

oh my god hi i did not expect to come back to 20 notifs. (/pos) youve given me a much needed ego boost tonight thank you. is it bad i cant remember having ever posted ruby art?? ive only ever gotten One comm of him which is a crime, my violent martyr son should rly get more love than i give him ���� but thank you for asking! buckle up this is gonna be a long fuckin post ♡ everything under the cut including relevant character art

WIT

behold, all art of wit i have including one i havent posted here bc i never actually finished it and the wip of him being a silly giggly boy. pls know i came up with him like MAYBE a month ago. two, tops.

SO wit is actually a what-if au of another oc of mine, his name is doodle. doodle (seen below) is a very robin-hood-esque oc, honorable thief and kindhearted, swashbuckler rogue that dual wields rapiers bc hes insane. but hes insane in like a normal way. he was a horrible child but he did grow out of it and its rare to see him w his hair down so pardon me making him look absurdly pretty in that one.

as you can see there are some (but not MANY) differences between the two. kid wit does have the starry hands/peets im just forgetful dont @ me about it djdjdj

ANYWAYS so the what-if of the au that wit is, essentially, little singular things didn't happen to people in that au world. it goes like so;

wit: never met his childhood best friend when he was a freshly injured orphan. was alone from the (elf) ages of 0-16. ended up studying magic (illusion wizard) since he didn't have someone to lean on for that sort of thing.

laika (wit's mom): never truly broke out of an archfey's madness curse. stuck with a very twisted version of the spell Tasha's Hideous Laughter burned into her mind. everything is funny and if it's scary? even funnier. she died briefly. shes back now, but still madnessed.

perseverance (wit's dad): never saved his mother from a death blow in the be-all end-all fight to save his home. was held back by someone who he thought was a friend, killed that person and then ultimately spiralled so hard that he became a lich. may or may not have accidentally killed laika.

something something one decision can change your whole life, me and my friend loved playing with that concept.

okay now that you know a lil lore/history i can dive into what wit is like.

as a kid (drawn with the short megafloofy hair) he's very mischievous and bastardly, almost always smiling or grinning but it's more to lean into the uncanny valley effect his eyes cause than out of any actual joy or anything. he doesn't Blink and he knows it unnerves people because he also has a freakishly high insight (i think its like a +9 or smth??? at level 9??). he loves to come up with fucked up spells, like. for example i saw a silly post on here the other day that was very jokingly having a wizard cast a spell of "10000 bricks until you die" but then i was immediately aware wit would (1) come up with that spell, make it functional, and have it unfortunately obliterate everyone that gets hit with it, and (2) he would call it Wit's Bricks which i think is fuckin funny. he would also come up with spells of like. cause heatstroke. boil all fluid in your body. FREEZE all fluid in your body. he's a little freak with extremely low empathy for those he isn't connected to with blood ties. that said, he's kind to his family (albeit very blunt and will call them out if theyre being stupid) and inquisitive. he DID look his dad in the eye when he met him for the first time and went "are you dead?" which. again, hilarious, but BRUTALLY blunt. he then called his dad cool because yes his dad is now a lich and therefore undead. he's a little freak but he's still a kid and that is ultimately his saving grace, what small child isn't a little freak.

as an adult (long ponytail) i get a feel of him being aro and using romance as a way to manipulate people. he's definitely still not a good person and far more stoic than he was as a child. also he most definitely maintains a constant illusion to make it seem like his eyes are always closed, which lends an air of mystery to the strange elf that seems to always be standing right behind every throne in every kingdom of faerun. i say this because i like to think he would become what's called a King's Wit, which is like a combo of royal advisor, court mage, and "guy the regent has insult other nobility since insults are beneath the reigning royal". he uses all of that to his advantage, gaining the ear and trust of every single person of noble blood that is part of any royal or ruling court, and he will bend and twist their choices so subtly that they won't realise he led them to ruin until it's already too late. which is his ultimate plan. he's STILL somewhat a robin hood style of character, but he takes it a bit further and with far less kindness to the nobility. he guts their coffers completely and every hoarded coin down to the last copper inevitably will land its way conveniently into the lap of the common folk. he does take a healthy chunk for himself - did you know being a wizard was EXPENSIVE in dnd btw? i didnt until i made wit - but most of it is for the local citizens. he does this everywhere he goes if he sees that it needs to happen. fucker topples kingdoms For Fun, because he never gets caught or credited with the ruin he leaves behind himself. he's awful. he probably still comes up with fucked up spells and he manipulates his way into wherever he wants to be. i love him.

---

RUBY

behold! @polterpumpkin drew my (not very) little guy for me! this is part of a greater set but this is the fully coloured one and arguably my fave bc it captures the absolute batshit energy ruby brings to the table.

ruby is a tiefling that was born in a lab. voluntarily, his parents participated in a sort of study that wanted to eval why it is tieflings could be born to non-tiefling parents. (both his parents are half-orcs, interestingly!) he participated in it up to a certain point, before he got sick of being poked and prodded and Watched. that's when he demanded to be released and, when he wasn't, both his parents helped him escape, unfortunately leaving his other two tiefling-born siblings behind in the process. both parents Died helping him escape, and he was embittered as is by the whole study bs, and then to have his parents die Saving him? it left him with this sort of hole he didn't know how to feel.

so he fills that hole with every vice he finds agreeable. he drinks, he fights, and he drinks again. he's a drunken monk, and one full of unbridled rage and a death wish. he isn't my happiest oc but he isn't my worst off (that would be talisman bloodhunter). he's constantly seeking a grand and worthy cause to die for, literally. he's a wannabe martyr, because he doesn't think he has anything to live for. no lovers, no friends, no allies, MAYBE a coworker or two on the occasion he's needed (he is so not needed most of the time, because it isn't often any job needs an angry monk tief to glare around the place). he has just those two sides to himself - party animal and underground drunk brawler - because he doesn't want to think about the pain underneath them both. he's tragic in a very human way, hilariously enough, but he's not a bad person. even if he's being dragged by the tail to do a job, he's ultimately going to be helpful and he ALWAYS keeps his team alive. he'll grumble about it but he'll do it, and if you thank him he brushes it off, muttering something or other about how it's just his job, don't Thank him for that. i think having a friend would Fix him but fuck if i know what would get past his thick skin 😔

i dont get to play or write ruby really, not for any specific reason other than the dnd games im in have been going for So long, and that i havent really been super inspired to write him. but i love him! literally my car is named after him! i have so many feelings for him and i hope one day i get to play/write him so he can be more fleshed out.

[omniblades-and-stars]

WIP Whenever I Don't Care You're Not My Real Dad

I got tagged by @korblez for this. So I'm gonna post something that is 100% absolutely his fault. I haven't written a ton this week, so this is what I have to offer today.

I'm brain dead for real after the week I've had work. So you, if you're reading this, I have tagged you. Yes, you! Go forth, share with us.

Without further ado snippet of the thing I'm working on (sorry, not sorry):

BLOOD & GRENADINE

The pair walked casually to a small table set in a corner. It gave them a good view of the entire ballroom. And the view of the ballroom?

It was like someone watched far too many ancient vids about old Hollywood parties, with the old art deco style with the dark walls and solid line accents to break it up, but instead of stylish gold, they embedded weak cyan lights into the wall. The effect was like looking at old computer chips except it gave you a migraine if you stared at it too long. The lights cast strange shadows.

Across the room on the far side were rows of floor to ceiling windows and glass doors that led to high balconies with large ferns planted in cement planters cast with thick, angled lines to further ape a time long since passed. Those Zaeed couldn't find any faults with. Maybe a drink or two in, he might have been willing to even say that he liked them. Three or four and maybe he'd put on a trilby and start talking like an old school mobster for shits and giggles, schee?

“Too many goddamn windows,” Zaeed muttered.

“We'd be sitting ducks if there was a sniper out there,” said Garrus at the same time.

Negative one.

They sat across from each other and Massani wasted no time in perusing the drink menu. Fancy wines, over-priced liquor, cocktails that cost enough to feed a family for one night. Ah well, when in Rome and all that. He was going to get a drink. Just add it to the tab for Red to reimburse him for.

“Are you really going to drink tonight?”

Zaeed raised his eyes only scooch off of the menu to respond with a wink, “You want people to believe this is a dinner date, or what?” Usually, he just drank his liquor straight, whiskey, bourbon, vodka - shit, it didn't really matter. That burn as it went down was what reminded him that he was still breathing. Taste didn't really matter when you were often scraping the bottom of the galaxy's barrel running hither and yon chasing down assholes for credits. Didn't mean he was a man without taste, he just knew how to turn it off, measure his expectations. “'Sides, one drink isn't gonna do anything to me except cost me enough credits to buy a new scope for the old Mattock.”

Garrus' mandibles fluttered briefly as he considered the wisdom of Zaeed's defense. Or more accurately, considering just how often he'd seen him with a tumbler of some brown liquor or another during the years that they'd been working together now. Given the truly unbelievable number of bottles left over as evidence of Shepard and Zaeed's contest (the number of which could have killed a krogan), it was within the scope of belief that drinking one cocktail wouldn't make a dent in the man's sobriety.

Having decided that Zaeed was correct, Garrus picked up the menu to peruse it himself. The offerings of dextro safe wines and liquors were unsurprisingly small, and included dual-chirality options that were just right out. Those were never good. He'd be better off chugging a bottle of rubbing alcohol based on taste alone.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I'll be your server tonight,” a chipper young woman with curly hair interrupted their ponderance of booze and its variations with a broad smile on rosy cheeks. “Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes. May I get you something to drink while you wait?” She was a pretty girl, with masses of curly brown hair that were barely wrangled into a braid, and doeish, brown eyes that looked far too happy to be living on Earth post-near-apocalypse.

Zaeed heard a rumble in Garrus' chest, that same one that always came before he made a bad joke. And coupled with the daring glint in those baby blues of his, Zaeed knew that it was on. “Hm, I don't know. Darling, what looks good to you?”

Even.

“For you, love, the Brandy Alexandrus. You have quite a sweet tooth,” Zaeed practically purred without looking up from his menu. Blue was going to have to try a lot harder than that if he wanted the merc to crack. He sat through Shepard's god awful speech before hitting the Collector base without so much as cracking a grin. Besides, he'd definitely been to dinner with a helluva lot worse than the likes of the smug turian across from him. At least he was reasonably certain that Vakarian wouldn't try to kill him by the end of the night.

[leapfield-games]

One Big Post

Here's everything I've got so far on this game:  a little tile puzzle game (think Chip's Challenge with new mechanics, corporate parody story beats and a comix visual aesthetic.) The screen cap below is the game itself in its current state, back when I was thinking of this game as a "sokoban with zombies," I have a lot of game art to do, but I've made at least one good piece of "key" art for the new direction (at bottom of post)

Story (WIP)

You work in the offices of Apple-Motorola-Toyota-Sony-Ericsson of America, Inc. You're a diligent worker. Well, as diligent as anyone can expect, because let's face it: It's a bullshit job.

Lately, they've been having these seminars and encouraging all employees to attend. Bad vibes! You've managed to steer clear so far, but the people who have been going have been acting weirder than usual, and today, they're actively trying to corner you, for dog knows what. But the looks in those eyes says it ain't to chit chat. They're really making it hard for you to do even the bare minimum. So, are you going to get to the bottom of this? Hell no. Let's just get out of here, get to the gig tonight (you're the front-woman of an unsigned psychedelic cow-punk band), and find a new job tomorrow. But if you're going to escape, you're going to need to bust some moves!

Gameplay

The screencap below shows the game in its current state. As I was saying above, the artwork is from a previous iteration, but it at least demonstrates some of the mechanics I want:

Sokoban block pushing

enemies that chase you

throwable inventory items

infinite undo

game world time that waits for you to move

I've got a long list of other ideas for mechanics that I'm still mulling over that I'll share once they're more refined / implemented.

Any constructive feedback / suggestions would be appreciated!

The new aesthetic

[saturdaysky]

Hello hello, would you tell me more about the Simple Stress Relief WIP? It sounds exactly like my cup of tea :D

(from the ask me about my WIPs meme)

But of course! It may very much be your cup of tea. :)

This WIP began as part of a tiny Valentine’s Day fic & art exchange on discord, and sort of took off from there. Here’s the summary:

The first day of the Aeor expedition goes horribly, and Essek cannot sleep. It’s a good thing, then, that Caleb knocks on his door late at night with an offer: no words. No complicated conversations. Just some simple stress relief.

If only things were simple between them.

Basically, Essek and Caleb have a one night stand in an attempt to Not Think About Things. Naturally, this is an excellent idea that doesn’t have any messy emotional repercussions in the morning.

In addition to writing what I hope are some hot hot scenes, I took the chance to explore a few things I’m interested in:

Essek’s anxiety, made worse by the shitshow of adventuring

Essek’s dedication to making sure the Nein live, at cost to himself

The weight of being trusted with someone’s safety

I reread this WIP and there are parts of it I really like! I hope to finish it sometime. As such, I shall post part of two scenes. They’re long because I’m proud of this and want to share. The shadowgast one is under the cut.

CW for: descriptions of anxiety, injury, blood, canon-typical violence (all this content is also under the cut)

Essek vs an adventuring-induced nervous breakdown:

The fire is low. It’s such a silly thing to worry about, Essek knows, but a chill has crept into the room. It curls in the corners like one of the Tower cats, and twines about Essek in a persistent and annoying fashion. 

He rises and turns the logs with the pretty bronze stoker Caleb had provided as part of the suite. It does little to alter the fire; some effect of magery, he muses idly. Then he settles back in at the gorgeous, thoughtful Vermaloc-wood desk he can’t appreciate right now, and resumes his preparations. Caduceus had given him tea earlier, and the homely cup pins down the corner of Essek’s notes.

(“You look like you could use a bit of soothing,” the firbolg had said, pressing a cup into Essek’s hands. “The Savalas were always good for that, very kind folks.” Essek had not even tried to comprehend the link between the two statements, merely thanked him and left.)

The brew had been good for his nerves when he’d remembered to drink it. Unfortunately, the chill has stolen this too, and the tea has long since gone unpleasantly cold.

He moves to replace the chipped cup on its saucer and stares blankly at his notes on hazards encountered on the first day of the Nein’s expedition into Aeor.

The day was… long. But they have all made it in one piece, so Essek has done his job, if he can only make his body believe it. Energy still thrums in his veins, and every sound, every quiet soothing whisper the Tower makes sets his teeth on edge. His shoulder aches, too, a distant pain he does his best to ignore.

There’s no threat here, in Caleb’s wonderful spell. It’s safe. Very few things can penetrate a well-hidden Mansion, and the Nein are comfortable, so Essek should be as well.

But.

But.

It has been only one day in the shattered city and his friends have skirted death a dozen times. It is difficult, he finds, to chase away the images of blood pooling in broken Aeorian cobblestones. Impossible to unhear the Nein's anguished yells or the soft oh Veth let out when a hidden ward impaled her before Essek’s eyes.

He does not know how to forget the heat of arterial blood as it seeps through his clamped fingers, nor the terrible speed at which it escapes the body of a friend. The phantom warmth of it still courses over his skin when his thoughts wander from his notes, like it has carved a channel in his mind and is flowing still.

It’s not. They’d all made it out, like they always do. But it is worse than he’d ever imagined, to adventure with the Nein. It’s terrifying.

The teacup rattles in its setting. Essek unclenches frozen fingers and lets it go, then presses his face into his hands, as if a barrier of bone and flesh could stop the images from painting themselves across his eyelids when he blinks.

Tomorrow will be better, he hopes. He has twelve and a half double-sided pages of notes on the dangers encountered, with proposed methods of avoidance and disposal. He has fixed them in his mind. Now he needs to rest so he can cast, but if the shocky pulses of adrenaline that hit him with each wayward memory of the day are anything to go by, rest will be elusive.

Well, when the mind is unwilling, the body must make do; he will have to wait for exhaustion to take him, and hope it is enough. He settles himself on the bed — thoughtfully equipped with both a padded incline for trancing and covers for sleeping — and breathes, and waits, and grows cooler by the minute.

It is paradoxically easier to ignore the images if he leans into them, he learns. Veth’s blood, hot and bright. The snick of the ward, which he will remember forever, just as he will the acrid smell of the ward-spell. Pain — an impact, nauseating but unimportant. Heartbreak and terror, on the faces of the Nein.

If he wears these sensations into his mind, the edges of them will fray and become familiar. A steady horror is better than an unsteady drumbeat of shock, at least for resting.

Time passes. Memory frays. And then, there’s a knock at the door.

Caleb proposes a one-night stand:

"I cannot sleep either," Caleb eventually murmurs into the silence. Essek considers what to do with the statement, and then Caleb adds, “But maybe we can help each other.”

He raises his head just enough to look at Essek from beneath his lashes, then leans forward and reaches out a hand slowly, pausing just before touching Essek's cheek. Essek can feel the slight heat of Caleb's skin in the air, and his throat goes dry.

Whatever Caleb wants is going to hurt, he thinks, and it's going to work because Essek is weak.

Caleb’s hand trembles. "You are right, you know. I did not knock on your bedchamber to talk. There is... much between us that requires words, but- This. This could be simple, for now. Tonight, it could just be us. There are many ways to forget."

Caleb is looking at him desperately, hungrily, from beneath those lashes and his regard sears through Essek, knocking the air out of him.

But the feeling sours in his stomach. He is done with that whole game. He lost it, utterly, and couldn’t see it until he’d traded away any chance at winning. Now, his remaining life can be counted in months, if not days. Now, thousands have died for Essek’s fruitless curiosity. Now, nothing is simple between himself and Caleb.

Oh. Perhaps Essek will get what he wants after all. It could be simple. He has done simple before: the garnering of a favor in exchange for his nights. It had been easy enough, sometimes pleasant, and had mostly provided useful leverage in gaining power to pursue his goals.

Tonight, something in him craves the simplicity on offer, of losing one's self entirely in the physical. It thrills him in a way it has not before.

"Caleb,” he says in a voice that is less steady than he’d like, “We both know you do not trust me, so why are you offering this?"

Caleb’s eyes take him in, inch-by-slow-inch. His palm settles on Essek's cheek. 

Caleb swallows audibly, and he looks over Essek with naked heat in his eyes. All at once, Essek becomes intensely aware that he’s wearing nothing but an open shell of his robes over a close-fitting black underlayer. There's a lot to see, if one was looking.

Desire hits Essek so strongly he's dizzy with it.

He wants this. He wants to push out the horrible memories of the day and replace them with Caleb’s callused hand sliding under his shirt and holding him close. He wants to hear Caleb’s beautiful voice roughen as they take each other apart, and then he wants to kiss that clever mouth so deeply that Caleb forgets his troubles and thinks only of Essek and pleasure and safety and hope, like those are things Essek could give him.

Caleb drags his gaze back up to meet Essek’s. His hand is distractingly warm. "We don't need trust for this," he says. 

It’s what Essek was expecting, but it stings anyway.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @captainsaku! At the moment, I’m still limping through the opening chapters of Stonebreaker, trying to get a feel for the story and work on strengthening my atrophied writing muscles. Anyway, I figured I’d share what I have so far of Adiran’s introductory chapter. It’s basically just an awkward, descriptive mess, but at least it’s something. At this point, I’ll count that as a win!

I also put a short glossary at the end in case some terms were confusing. <3

Chapter 3 - A Scene

Be present. Do not cause a scene.

They were simple enough requests, Adiran supposed, as he braced himself and drained his third flute of wine. He knew it was poor form to cringe after swallowing, but the dry white was about as pleasant as a mouthful of sand and only went down half as well. If he was the paranoid type, he’d think the servers were offering him the worst vintages on purpose.

Then again, the celebration had stretched into its ninth day, now. Even the royal cellars had a limit.

Despite overstaying its welcome, the event remained at a predictably lofty height of splendour. In the ballroom - Vetrose’s famed Silver Font -  delicate rivulets of water, no wider than the span of a hand, curled their way across the marble floor, draining into a shallow pool at the base of the royal thrones. Above their heads, weavelight strings were draped elegantly between pillars and across wide arches, their glowing pinpricks joining the blazing chandelier to bathe the room a honey-gold.

Beneath that radiant light, the Talveran nobility moved like swans, jewellery glittering, ankle-length gowns and embroidered jackets flashing enough to catch the attention of nesting crows. Hundreds packed the Font that night - an entirely different crowd to the evening prior, and likely the one prior to that. Attending Talveran court, with its litany of demands and expectations, was an exhausting and expensive affair. Every evening demanded a new outfit. A new glittering showpiece. A new plan for navigating the treacherous waters of social interaction, careful not to show too much interest in any one person. One night was difficult enough to survive. Very few could afford to be present for an entire turn’s worth of celebration.

Unfortunately, Adiran had no choice in the matter. It just had to be his brother returning from the northern border. As if no one else had ever come back from that waste of a campaign.

Another mouthful. Another weary swallow of something half as strong as it needed to be. Honestly, he’d almost rather be swallowing sand. At least that meant he’d be in the arena, getting his ass kicked practicing for something that mattered, instead of wasting his time decorating the wall. Divider’s Own, Lorvain was meant to have arrived by the third day! Adiran might have been able to slip away if he had been around to soak up the attentions of the lords and ladies. But no. The beloved Crown Prince had probably stopped to fawn over milkmaids and shepherds at every town between here and Morgate. Really, they should have accounted for that before throwing such a ridiculous event...

 A prince should want to know his people, Adiran. I thought you understood that?

Threading paths expertly between the nobility were almost three dozen servers dressed in vibrant Volise green. Silver trays were held aloft on the pads of their gloved fingers as they moved in rehearsed patterns around the room, making sure every hand that sought a glass found a delicate stem. It was a different sort of dance; the kind that typically went unnoticed, the same way a clock’s hands are appreciated more than the mechanism behind the face. They knew the position of every crack in the stone; every rivulet.

None of them ever looked down.

Speaking of timing, the only reason Adiran paid the servers any heed was to make sure he got his right. On cue, he finished his wine with a grimace and thrust it towards a well-groomed young woman, her dark hair braided and pinned neatly around her head. Without so much as an errant blink, she bobbed carefully at the knees, accepted the glass, and replaced it with a new one from her tray. 

“Careful not to drop that,” Adiran said, taking the drink and giving it an experimental sniff. Sweeter. Thank the Divider for that.

The server hesitated. They always did. Every night. “Your Highness?” she asked, and her lilt was perfection. Just the right amount of simpering, blended with polite curiosity. Someone had taken her training seriously.

“Am I slurring already? What I’m saying is that if the Crown Prince finally shows up and you’re in the middle of mopping a puddle, the King will have your hide for saddle leather. So...” He extended one bored finger towards the tray, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Tread lightly.”

The server’s mouth opened, and for a moment no sound followed. For just one blissful, fleeting second, Adiran thought he’d finally done it. He’d finally won. 

Then, like underappreciated clockwork, her lips shaped themselves into a beatific smile, and she dipped into a curtsy. The tray never even wobbled. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. On my word, I will remain diligent. I would not dare bring shame on our King’s house.”

Damn it. The smile Adiran flashed back - half a sneer - could cut glass. But the server had already completed her parting bob and returned to her dance, weaving and gliding among the gaggle of silver-bloods with her tray of weak wine. Expression turning brittle, Adiran huffed and leaned back against one of the massive marble pillars - just one of fifteen lining the room. He’d claimed it on the first evening, like a hound staking its territory. Most people knew better than to bother him once he’d found his haunt, but the serving staff simply didn’t have that luxury. He supposed it was probably unkind, to force them to speak to him. But Divider, he was just so bored...

Scowling, he took a long swallow of his new drink, the chilled, sweet liquid a welcome enough sensation as it ran down the back of his throat.

So he was unkind. So what?

“Are you finished losing to the servers for tonight, or should I come back later?”

A familiar voice, and right on time. Adiran gave no indication of surprise, barely even turning to acknowledge the man. After all, this was just another ritual for them; a way to take a knife to long hours of affluent, barely drunk loitering. “Yeah, I’m done. An earthquake couldn’t shake them.” His gaze finally cut across, delivering what he hoped was a scathing look as Riin settled against the pillar beside him. “Took you long enough. Get distracted by all the pretty gowns and pouting lips?”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Riin chuckled softly, utterly immune to Adiran’s glare. “Could you blame me if I was? Everyone looks appealing under this light.”

“That’s generous of you.” Sniffing, Adiran glanced up. Even with the smoke-glass covers encasing each glowing orb, he still had to squint against the brightness of the weavelights. “Guess it could be worse. We looked more like corpses before the covers were put on.”

“Really? I’m glad I missed it.”

“Yeah. Being dead inside is more than enough.”

Riin laughed, and a faint smile curved Adiran’s lips. He quickly hid it behind his glass. Truthfully, the entire ‘weavelight saga’ had been ridiculous. The King and Queen had commissioned hundreds of them from Tel Shival, purely because no one else had ever done it. Even the wealthiest families only ever had a few per household, usually kept in a lantern or a sconce in the most frequented rooms. After two seasons of painstaking arrangement that nearly killed two of their staff, the Silver Font soon found itself bathed in a thematically violent silver light. It had been an exciting novelty, at first; nobility flooded in from all over Talvera just to bask in the glow of thousands of wasted sicets. But then they quickly realised that colours didn’t behave the same way. Their favourite jewellery didn’t catch the eye. Their skin didn’t appear as youthful and rosy. Instead, every flaw - every stray hair or unpolished button - was placed on stark display for the vultures to pick at.

The weavelights were as bleak and clinical as a physicker’s ward. They sucked the warmth out of everything they touched.

In Adiran’s mind, the wash of corpse-light over each soiree was a perfectly fitting thing. But, as was typical, no one else agreed. So, they decided to encase each of the weavelights in honey-tinted glass and returned the room to almost exactly how it looked before. Back when it was lit by oil and flame.

That was how things were in Talvera. Decisions were made, sicets were spent, and then everyone just wanted to go back to how things used to be. Like nothing had ever happened.

GLOSSARY

Weavelight - spheres of crystal or glass, with a light-bearing glyphstring engraved by a thaumist specialising in Weaving. Maintains a bright, steady silver light. Cannot be dimmed or turned off at will. Thaumist - a well-trained practitioner of the thaumic arts, capable of manipulating thaumic essence. Turn - ten days. Tel Shival - An independent, famously insular city dedicated to the training and cultivation of thaumists and thaumaturgical study. Sicet - Currency used in the Allied Kingdoms.

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Tagging: @frenchy-and-the-sea, @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug, @rufinagertrude, @arduyn, @anarchyduck, and anyone else who has a WIP they’d like to share!

[beastsars]

idiomatic | louis (beastars) x carnivore!reader

i wont promise that i’m over this trope, but i think i have fed myself enough to focus on other avenues. a few people sent in some legoshi stuff so that’s my next wip. keep them coming.

as usual, more mature content below. some fun times at the masquerade party. 

“and what, pray tell, am i to do about these antlers?”

pursing your lips, you gave the stout head ornaments an accusatory look. those with distinctive marking and other decorative characteristics often had the hardest time concealing their species. it was easy enough to distinguish between herbivore and carnivore but the fun was found in simply not caring.

if your target audience put in enough effort to disguise themselves.

parties like these broke both social and sexual boundaries, allowing people to lose inhibition and act on their baser selves. before you met louis, such environments frequently occupied your time off campus. it helped to stimulate your attraction to the opposite dynamic and eventually bribe your courage to seek out a suitable partner.

bringing him here was symbolic of returning to your roots. it would also show him that he wasn’t alone in his affections. not that the sentiment didn’t already hit close to home.

“too bad you’re not about to shed them,” you comment offhandedly, rightfully earning a sharp look of ire. chuffing at the display of pride, you vowed to yourself that you would show the male exactly what such strict dignity led him to lose out on.

patting his muzzle with unveiled condescension, you managed to slip away from his agitated grasp. the deer continued to gripe and moan while you fitted yourself into a choice dress for the evening and prowled the selection of shoes. honestly, the way pursuing beastar felt at ease displaying the less ideal parts of his personality would be endearing if it didn’t possess so much whining.

it hardly mattered. you would give him something else to occupy his attention.

catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you offered the image a self-appreciating wink before stepping out of the closet, one leg protruding ahead of you to show off your finely fitted heels.

“tell me, if i was a herbivore, would you still beg me to bite you?”

the curve of your buttock marked the cut off point of your dress, leaving little to the imagination as the rest of the material hugged your form. this clothing style opted without the aperture to fit a tail, allowing the appendage to swing idly from beneath the depths. it often incited others to perk your mood if only for a brief show.

louis has obviously seen you in less, but the presentation was too pungent with erotic intentions for him to remember anything else. grinning, you permitted his hands to edge the hem of your dress, warm palms marking promises against your thighs.

“and what exactly do you plan to be tonight?” he drawled slowly.

you knew that look. the one that was going to quickly get you out of this dress if you didn’t corral him into his own suit for the night.

pressing a chaste kiss to his nose, you nudged him towards the closet.

“i guess you’ll have to find out.”

you opted to rent out a mask for the evening. this way you could keep your choice hidden for a few moments longer and ideally find something fresh to attend the party in. you had a nice selection at home, but you’d cycled through them enough that somebody would approach you out of familiarity.

upon arriving, you had put louis in the good hands of friends who helpfully escorted him out of your sight and into his own fitting room. but not without complaint as his sputtering curses trailed down the hall.

“he’s a cutie. he yours?”

offering a noncommittal shrug, you settled on a thinner, less intricate mask for the evening. your dress was inviting and memorable enough. in a place like this, it was hard to tell who would challenge a pair.

at the clink of glass against the table, you efficiently down the alcohol and reached for the bottle to chase the burn. sexual prowess aside, you possessed enough restraint to cater accordingly to the opposite disposition. it was more for the eased minds than anything else.

“you’ll have your hands full keeping females and males alike off of him. he’s a built boy. anyone would love to see what he’s packing,” there was a tease to the voice but desire had a place too. you doubted it would take long for subtlety to be washed out. proprietary didn’t exactly have a place here.

polishing off the rest your your drink, you made an effort to pat down any remaining wrinkles before donning your mask. “well, i better get to him quickly then.”

“it’s rather delicate. made of papier mache ,i think. do be careful, it’s borrowed.”

his words of warning were no match for your inquisitive touch, however, as you stretched up against his body to prod against the medium surrounding his antlers.

they’d fashioned him as a moose of all things.

you didn’t know how you hadn’t thought of it. but truly, it was the of the few options available to at least conceal his dominant species. without the stench of alcohol anyone would know he was a herbivore, but at least this way he would abide by the base rules.

the covering of his antlers was more of an addition than part of the mask. the inner workings using his antlers as a statue to hang the camouflage over. it was rather convincing.

when the costume creaked threateningly at your touch, louis’ hand shot up to snag your wrist.

“i said it’s fragile,” he insisted.

the hiss of his voice encouraged your gaze to drop to his mask to give it it’s own appreciation. it was certainly wider than his own face, marginally longer too, to account for the massive beast he was portraying. coupled with his slim but muscled body, even beneath the suit, he was likely to garner some provocative attention. it was a shame you had to break some many hearts openly tonight.

humming an octave lower than your usual voice, you pressed yourself against the male with your arms around his waist. chin propped against his chest, you offered a cheeky grin.

“so what do you think?”

forced to enter from the back due to his identifiable features, he’d wasn’t awarded to opportunity to take in the scenery. the night was young and tame as most of the individuals simply mingled and broke ice. you wondered how long it would take for habits to surface.

“it seems like any other social event,” he muttered distractedly. he was likely trying the mundane task of attempting to unveil species from beneath their masks. everyone fell privy to the game sooner or later.

louis palmed at your side,” more importantly, why do you smell so strongly of intoxication.”

“trade off of being a carnivore, unfortunately. herbivores feel safest when we’re too drunk off our asses to pull rank.” rising to toes you spoke with conspiracy in his ear while your free hand trailed down his midline. “personally, i think they just want to take advantage.”

the male didn’t take too kindly to being groped in public, quickly seizing your other hand as he hissed. “it seems they're not the only ones.”

unable to resist laughing, you let him have the control while it lasted. “baby, you have no idea.”

despite your best efforts, more than a few figures approached you in greeting. without the pleasantries of names, most of the conversation was geared towards speculative tastes and pillars of society. already trained in the practice small talk, louis led more of the conversation than he followed. his strong nature captured a majority of the attention anyway with his passionate disposition towards the arts. 

sipping idly at something fruity, you leaned comfortably into his arm as your gaze wandered the party. as the night wore on, it was beginning to grow as more individuals showed up fashionably late. the amount of alcohol had doubled to accommodate as more trays made rounds. they naturally gravitated towards the carnivores more, no one ever having to reach more than an arms length for a glass. 

louis laughed earnestly next to you, the pads of his fingers tracing odd shapes on your back as he transitioned smoothly into another topic. he seemed to be handling it all much better than you expected but the real festivities had hardly begun. 

the moment the conversation began to veer towards the more illicit ventures of business, you politely excused yourselves to a less occupied corner of the room. dragging louis down by your grip at his elbow, you fell back eagerly into the plush couches. 

“you seem to be enjoying yourself at least,” you mentioned as you leaned down to massage the muscle above the cut of your heel. your departure had a dual purpose as you really just need a moment off your feet. as exquisite as your shoes were, they rarely offered much comfort. 

you hadn’t even realized that louis hadn’t even acknowledged your response as you switched to the other foot and ultimately debated taking them off while you rested. it certainly wouldn’t be the most unsightly proposition. eyes sliding shut, you leaned back again. maybe a few more drinks would change your mind about your less than ideal clothing choices. 

at the sudden tension of muscle beneath you, your gaze snapped open to assess the problem. 

“are they?”

from his broken articulation alone, you had an inclination of what was transpiring. you were wondering how long it would take. 

humming delightfully from your position curled up against him, you followed his gaze across the room to a pair who decided to take initiative to properly get the get together started. clothing strewn this way and that, the left nothing to the imagination as they rutted against one another.

louis shuddered as your claw teased the fastens of his suit jacket but you didn’t go as far to pry the button from its place. in a situation like this, he was no better than a virgin and likely as easily frightened if approached wrong. not that it would stop you from proding. 

“lou, you feel so warm. are you embarrassed?”

unable to help himself, the stag stuttered in his speech.” they’re practically mating in public.”

“ are mating in public,” you chided unhelpfully.

this was nothing new for you to partake in. with each new realization from louis as he experienced your world with naive eyes, it made you head buzz from the thrill of it all. you leaned away from him long enough to snag a floating flute from the hovering attendant. it wasn’t as strong as what you’d knocked down prior but hopefully it would be enough to ease some of the tension from his shoulders.

nibbling at the exposed tuffs of his ears, you prompted him to drink. seemingly grateful for the distraction the male downed the champagne without a second thought.

he really was such a bundle of nerves.

ignoring his startled grapple at your sides, you lifted a leg over his lap and settled on top of him. your body didn’t offer much of a shield, but your weight was enough of a diversion.

by partaking in the drink, he’d solved the mystery of where the mouthpiece of his mask for you. with confidence, you were able to tilt up his head and slot your mouths together. he resists at first, the protest only give you the opening to slide your tongue between his lips.

you moan eagerly and vocally, utilizing your own sounds to drown out the commotion behind you. you capture his bottom lips between your teeth, swallowing the sweet taste of his gasp as you test him by grinding softly. the pinch of his fingers don’t go unnoticed but he doesn’t try to stop it either.

breaking away with a harsh pant of your own, you make a slow effort of loosening the buttons of his jacket, giving him every opportunity to escape the proposition.

“this is why i brought you here, lou.”

his grip at your hips pulsed like a heartbeat, fluctuating in intensity as he traded glances between you and the moving bodies around you. it generally only took one couple to take the plunge for the others to follow suit.

the wide room was starting to truly burst with life, coating the walls with a lustful aura. masks of all shapes and sizes engaging in causal conversation while observing the unhurried fucking of others as if in a pristine museum.

you let him keep the jacket on to give him some sort of protection, still mindful of his frazzled psych as you left chaste kisses along his neck.

“what? so i’d fuck you in public?” learning from his dramatic prose on stage, louis seemed to be snatching at all of his talents to compose himself. you snatched yet another flute of something more colorful this time, tipping against his lips without warning to bring his attention back to your small corner.

“not that . if you pay attention, you’d see they aren’t unlike us.”

latching your lips back to his throat, you mouthed your words as the glass trembled against his.

“see that ox and flamingo over there? the first is a mountain goat, i can’t pinpoint the species but i recognize the stance. and the pretty little thing he has bent over the banister, a lynx- see, there’s her cute little tail wagging.” your nose traces his jaw. “herbivores and carnivores sharing heated passion without ostracization. it’s not just a kink, louis, it’s a lifestyle.”

you can see the moment the clarity parts the clouds of his cognition. gone is the speculation as he comes to terms with the hidden intentions of your invitation. it was rare that you did anything subtly with him, he often having ot maintain propriety. 

there were obviously other factors staked against either of you going public with your relationship, the most prominent lighting a slow spark toward the eventual dissolution of your arrangement. but he had never really thought past his own adoration of you. by now it was beyond the scope of just the sexual nature/ yet without positive societal examples,, he was often left scrambling with labeling his feelings. 

while this-gathering to say the least- wasn’t the best example to base his own experiences on as he took it all in, it wasn’t hard to see where the stark black and white began to blur. 

leave it to you to utilize the most extreme to make a point.

louis surprised you then by breaking his inner monologue and fitting his hand against the smooth column of your throat. his hold much more self-assured than before. the gradual change shot straight to your core as you wriggled.

“but you didn’t answer me.” the hold pulls your mouth away as he forcefully captures your attention this time. there is no doubt that most of his valor is a product of the mask, no different than the one he wears on stage. but your relative appreciate drew together more likeness between the two than you were willing to admit. louis always put so much effort in commanding an audience that he rarely was able to admire how effortlessly he was able to do so with you. 

“a lot a pretty words when the truth of it all was just that you wanted to bring me here to make a show out of yourself.” louis felt his own arousal spike as the truth of the statement struck him as well. “you want them all to see how much you love to take it from a herbivore.”

you answer with a hasty nod, breathing hitching under the restraint you’d functioned with until now. “please, lou. dominate me.”

it doesn’t take you long to adopt your shameless nature, hips undulating and grinding your core against his swelling erection. you still try to appeal to louis more kept disposition though, sliding close and sliding your hand between the gap to rub friction circles against the junction of his pants.

unable to resist teasing, you press the pad of your thumb against the tented head. “what a bad boy you’re being lou lou too. and you always accuse me of being the dirty slut.”

despite the natural restriction of his vocals, louis manages to growl, a flash of ire behind the mask. you arch as his hand wiggles under your dress, easily finishing your soiled undergarments and tucking them to the side. he slides two fingers home to the third knuckle without preamble.

“look at you, you’re even wetter than when we’re at home. you say this was for me, but look how shameless you are.” he starts to pump them in and out slowly, and you answer with a voluntary roll of your hips. he was right. you were desperate for him but the hardly changed given the setting or audience.

squeezing his shoulder for balance, you melt into a purring moan as his fingers curl within your depths. it takes more effort than it should to break your own trace to escape the pleasure enough to fumble with his zipper. louis exhales a long shuddering breath as your fingers close around him. you’re both ready without the threat of prematurity, riding on the exhilaration of the environment.

a shuddering sigh shatters the tension building within your throat as he replaces his fingers with his cock, dragging you down to take every inch of him until you’re sitting at the base. he doesn’t even reprimand you when you instinctively reach for his antlers, the thin paper crinkling under your touch as rotate you himself to ride the stuff arousal.

you were vaguely aware of your small circle being encroached on by observing parties. more grateful than anything that louis appeared to be more focused on you than their presence- a choked gasp scrambled from your lips as he brought you down in forceful thrust, a keen whine following.

when you tried to find his gaze, you found that it wasn’t even on you. the glassy haze flickering behind you around the room, holding a lazy challenge to any and every figure. it fed into the thrill to know he was getting off on the audience as much as you were.

louis pace was sloppy, but expected given the mixed influence of alcohol, your body and room around him. it all came together in the thickest mixture of lust either of you had had the privilege of sharing.

“you’re so beautiful. the world deserves to see you like this.”

a hasty nod of agreement is all you can manage, because the weight of his grounding hips and pounding thrusts are tearing away your grip on reality. you feel a piece of the mache tear away with your claws as you shudder around the drag of his cock as it sends you spiraling into release.

louis rides your aftershocks, succumbing to your quaking thighs and fluttering walls as you both collapse beneath the weight of your combined climax.

you fall forward against his chest, hiding all evidence of your joining as you soak in the thick musk. around you bodies shift again, their muttered compliment sticking to your body as they transition to the next showing. the two of you stay like that for a long moment, rising off the expansion of the others chest as you slowly collect yourselves.

curling your face into the side of his neck, you lapped gently, snickering when he twitched you’re life within your depths. pressing a kiss there you eventually manage to prop yourself up again.

“well the night’s still young and i see you’re up for another round. let’s give them their moneys worth.”

[thevoidscreams]

Movie night

Kung Lao x reader Rating: M Summary:  Your bi monthly movie night with your favorite monk turns spicy, a lot of feelings get shaken loose. Word count:  2497 This has been in my wips FOREVER! I wanted to finally get it done and post it somewhere.

_________________________________ The soft light from the tv dimly lit the room, not the best for your eyes in this otherwise completely dark space, but like hell was that gonna stop you from enjoying yourself. You hadn't seen this movie yet and that excites you. From what you could tell the fighting was well choreographed and the characters weren't too cookie cutter. 

Another clump of bland white rice found its way into your mouth as yet again a fight scene graced your screen. The sounds of the combat are greatly exaggerated but not enough to not be enjoyable.

"His stance is all off, his legs need to be bent more and his body needs to be lower."

That made you chuckle. Kung lao had a habit of making you laugh and smile, which is precisely why you invited him over twice a month for terrible non-authentic Chinese food and kungfu movies. Really though any movie containing asian martial arts was fair game. He had a surprisingly extensive catalog of knowledge about other forms of martial arts.

 It was partially for this fact that his knowledgeable criticisms had become very endearing to you and surprisingly interesting.

"Ever the critic, ey Kung lao? I'd Like to see you do a triple backflip off a roof and land in a perfect stance on the ground below." The monk tipped his head back with a smirk, his titular hat missing from his person. "Oh I know I could, just you wait, I'll show you that I could do it better." That too was becoming a common phrase when you watched these movies. ‘ “I could do it better.” Yeah I bet you could.’ You’d think to yourself as you smiled at him.

With a carefree shrug you relent, continuing on your bland white grains.

The movie pressed on and the fight ended, the hero was wounded but alive and the rather pretty love interest was tending his injuries.

"I wish I had a beautiful woman to tend to me after my fights." Lao sighed wistfully, one hand draped over his eyes in pretend sadness.

"Hey now wait just a minute." The sound of your voice cut through the quiet like a hot knife. "If I recall correctly, I gave you a band aid not even a week ago." The shocked and offended act you put on would have made Johnny Cage proud.

"Oh yes of course. My mistake. How could I possibly forget your heroic act in saving my life from that paper cut. My apologies." Kung lao acted in return, bowing to you in mock submission.

"You should be sorry, you could have lost a finger to that dreadful and most grievous of injuries." You closed the distance to playfully push his shoulder before cuddling into his side.

He huffed in amusement as he lazily draped an arm over you. It felt so natural to be touched by him after all the years you'd known him. Lao didn't hesitate to give you hugs and let you cuddle up to him, he seemed almost starved for these small acts of affection. Well you wouldn’t deny him at all, his happy little sighs always made you smile.

As time passed on screen the two characters grew closer and the tension between them finally snapped. The way the protagonist's mouth moved over her neck making her sigh in satisfaction, the sounds in turn made you feel uncomfortably warm. Lao shifted next to you. The fingers that had been rubbing idle circles on your hip had gone completely still, his whole form now stiff.

Progressing forward the two draped themselves over a small bed. You hadn't expected this,but here it was. A cursory glance determined that your friend's face was nearly beet red. Breaking the tension might help him relax, so saying the first thing that came to mind you inquired "So how about that lao?"

 He looked down at you confused and flustered. "About what?" 

"Think you could do that better?" Your question was capped off by a rather loud moan from the female lead. 

The slack jawed expression that he gave you lasted for only a few moments, but it was enough to make you nervous that you'd made him upset or ruined something. 

"I, uh… I might." This was new, there was rarely a time when Kung lao was so quiet or seemingly unsure of his own abilities.

Then again all his blood appeared to be taking refuge in other places aside his brain. The comfortable pair of sweatpants he was wearing made it abundantly clear how his body was feeling, probably a lot like yours was. This could be the perfect opportunity to really get your feelings out in the open and scratch an itch that had been bothering you since the day you met the cocky Shaolin.

"Oh? Well why don't you show me then?"

A small gamble this was not, given Kung lao's vows, he might just turn you away. Although he wouldn't be the first shaolin in history to have a lover, lord knows Liu Kang wasn't just friends with Kitana. Still the terrifying thought of never seeing him again was almost enough to make you put on the break and pass this off as a joke.

"Well if you insist, but I must forewarn you that I don't intend to go easy on you." His response made your insides feel as if you'd suddenly come down with a case of butterflies. "Perfect, I was hoping for exactly that." 

Sitting up fully you brought your leg over his waist and sat your ass squarely over his apparent arousal.

Lao seemed just as at a loss for words as you did, merely enjoying the feeling of your plush rump pressed against him through the thin cotton fabric of your pajama shorts.

Suffice it to say the movie was all but forgotten about as Kung lao sat up, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips excitedly to yours. They were warm and so very nice against your own. It felt good and it felt right to kiss one of the people you'd called your best friend for years.

The way your bodies moved was a bit clumsy but your hips had a pretty decent rhythm now. Lao swallowed your moans with his kisses and vice versa. Slowly his hands left your hips, working up and down your sides growing more confident with every motion.

For an indeterminate amount of time this make out session kept you both busy only allowing you to break for air when you felt like your lungs were going to explode.

At last the kiss was broken and you could only think of one thing as you wiggle your hips against Lao's, your panties were completely  soaked with your own slick and sweat.

"Lao. Lao I need you, I can't wait anymore. I've needed you for so long, please." It sounded so desperate, the way you whine for him to take you. But the fucks you gave at that moment were only for Kung lao.

 "By the elder gods I've wanted to hear you say that since I met you."

 His fingers were needy and rough as he slipped them into the hem of your shorts pulling the fabric down. You stopped him and stood up to fully divest yourself of clothing. Lao watched mesmerized by the display. 

"You know the activity I had in mind works best if we're both naked." It was such a gentle sort of teasing but the way the monk sprung into action you might as well have told him he was on fire. He abandoned his garments quickly, having been in far fewer clothes than he usually wore. 

Now you were both bare and exposed to each other and your view was simply spectacular, Lao looked like he'd been sculpted by Pygmalion himself and brought to life by some ancient deity just for you.  He was simply divine to look at and the idea of getting your hands on him made the prospect of what you were about to do even more exhilarating. 

With all the grace you could manage you closed the distance between you and coiled your arms around him, pressing your chest to his and indulging in his warmth.

"I can't believe it." Lao breathed, sounding happy and in complete disbelief. "You're even more beautiful than I thought." The compliment drew a happy little breath from you. "Thank you, you're even better. I mean I've seen you shirtless before but now I actually get to touch you too. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

Lao chortled at your confession.

"Then by all means, don't."

With that you both stepped back and fell onto the couch, your lips locked and your bodies pressed snugly against each other's.

Carefully you reached between his body and yours to find his cock and stroke it. Lao hissed in satisfaction as did you upon finding him fully erect and ready. Normally quite a bit of foreplay was a must but tonight was not a night for hella pre gaming your sex. After all you were already dripping like a broken faucet. You slid two fingers into your slit and worked your fingers in time with the hand stroking his cock. Lao busied himself with palming your breasts and kissing you. It wasn’t enough though, You wanted to feel him inside of you and pulled your hand away from your own aching cunt to brace yourself against the back of the couch. 

It  took almost no effort to slip him inside of you and when you did your body shook at the sensation.

 It was like slipping the last piece of the puzzle into place and stepping back to look at the whole picture. All the tiny details made absolute sense now, all the squashed feelings and signs you glossed over because you were certain it was all in your head and those feelings were surely unrequited. It was so clear now that this was what was supposed to be and the overwhelming sense of rightness brought physical tears to your eyes. 

Of course Lao nearly pulled out thinking he'd hurt you somehow but your vice like legs kept him firmly in place. 

"Are you alright? Does it hurt?"

In truth it burned slightly to be so stretched out again but it was far from painful enough to stop.

"No no no. Please it's just so good." When you finally realized you had closed your eyes at some point you opened them slowly to look into your lover's eyes. Kung lao was nearly startled by the joy he found there, it was the very same joy he felt deep within himself. This was right. He'd live the rest of his days knowing this and he'd die knowing this. 

After a few minutes of sweet whispers and soft touches you gave the all clear and the real fun began. 

What Lao lacked in experience he made up for in work ethic, finding a pace that made you both cry out in pure bliss calling for one another, you found yourself pleading for more. Not that you knew what more was, you just knew you wanted it.

Years of training gave him a leg up on controlling his body's movements. His thrusts, though shakey at first, became firm and rhythmic. Still it took adjustment to find a position that worked just right for you both. It was almost like a game or challenge that you were both determined to do well at for the sake of the other.

Lao seemed to have a knack for finding every little spot inside of you that drove you wild. 

He was quite vocal in his satisfaction, growling and moaning praises to you in a mix of English and Chinese. His hands wandered over your body seemingly of their own accord. Starting at your hips then over your waist, they played with your breasts tenderly until finally they curled back around your waist to hold you close to him.

Sex had never been like this before, you struggled to get off with other partners, often having to either pleasure yourself mid act or finishing yourself off after. You couldn't recall a time when just penetration was enough to make your back arch, your eyes fill with stars and your voice cry out in pure exhilaration and pleasure.

Hell, maybe Lao had more than just hat magic, maybe he had sex magic as well.

Whatever it was it was bringing you quickly to your end. The first wave of your orgasm was otherworldly, drawing sounds from your lungs that you didn't recognize. Mixing with breathless pleas that began but never went anywhere.

The monk held you close to him as his pace faltered and the tightness of your sex drew him over the edge just after you. It was truly a new sensation to him, nothing else before this could compare and he could finally see the appeal in it as he spilled his seed into you.

The afterglow could have lit up a stadium. 

Lao pet the mused strands of your hair back into place as he peppered your face and neck with sweet kisses. 

Slowly you could hear your voice as the credits to the movie scrolled slowly to the sound of mandolins and flutes. You'd have to watch the rest of the movie next time.

"I don't know if it still matters at all… but you definitely did it better." You laughed, kissing Kung Lao deeply and running your fingers through his hair.

He smiled into the kiss and pulled away for breath still smiling. "Told you." He sure did, you’d give him credit for that.

The night was basically over, Raiden had promised to be by in the morning to collect him so you still had time. You dragged him back to your room and slipped into bed next to him. He held you close and rested his chin on the top of your head. Once it was quiet real worry began to settle in. You’d just had sex with Kung Lao, a shaolin monk, one who’d made a vow of chastity. Would he get in trouble for this. Be kicked out of his home. The thoughts and sudden guilt began to plague your mind. The sudden pressure of his arms increased around you while his voice broke the silence. “I know you're worrying, you don’t have to. I knew what I was doing and I know so long as it doesn’t interfere with my ability to protect earth realm then Raiden won’t say anything.” He kissed your cheek. It did calm you to hear this and with him here with you telling everything would be okay, the troubles faded from your mind. Soon sleep overcame you. In the morning things would be different. You could iron out the details later, just so long as he was part of them.

[shnuggletea]

This is my attempt at EdWin pairing from Full Metal Alchemist. It’s for @kalsies​ bday and since you like EdWin and FMA I thought I’d switch it up for you. I also realize that you don’t really know me but I’m a fan of your work! And I hate it when I miss a bday; we all deserve some love especially on our bday!

I’m going to post this on Tumblr only for now to see how it goes. Idk if this is any good and I kinda rushed it but here goes. 

I do not own Full Metal or the art used in the cover above (came from here) I just own the story!

Happy Birthday Kalsies the Derp!

I also made a playlist but it is also a WIP! You can listen to it here!

The Coffee House

It wasn’t like I was looking for the place or planned to ever go inside. I blame the damn wind. It blew my hair free of its tie and damn if it didn’t want to quit! So I had to duck in somewhere and I’m not a coffee drinker. As soon as I stepped in out of the wind I was nearly pushed back out by the smell of the place. 

I never had a problem with the smell of coffee really. It has a decent scent to it. But I knew that the scent was misleading and that the taste was far from the enticing smell. So much so I had distrust in coffee and everything to do with it.

Especially the baristas that slung it at you with a false smile.

And this place had all the bells and whistles of your usual coffee house. Tables and ‘comfortable’ chairs. Dark lighting and soft music. Everything you needed to get people to stay and drink more. The only difference was, this place had huge pieces of twisted metal sticking out of the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Probably considered ‘art’ but I wasn’t buying it. I did find the piece that was half an engine from an old tank stuck to the wall interesting. 

There weren’t a lot of people inside so maybe this place made even shitter coffee? It made getting my hair back in its place a hell of a lot easier, slipping off to the bathroom for a mirror. That turned out to be an added blessing because I hadn’t noticed the smudge of oil on my face. Undoubtedly from work cause not even Al would tell me it was there. They would laugh while I walked the streets unknowing.

A few more bodies were in the place once I returned. It made the place loud and I hated loud. “You have to buy something!”

Turning to the shrill voice, I expected a doughty old maid. Instead, it was just a girl. She was pretty... I guess. If you’re into tall blondes. With her hair pulled back to the top of her head and the dirty apron covering her front, it was hard to say anything else about her other than tall and blonde. And irritated since she was still glaring at me for some reason.

“Huh?”

“Are you dumb? You used our bathroom; I saw you. Only customers are allowed to use it so either buy something or I’m going to punch you in the dick.”

I laughed because it was ridiculous. But that only pissed the blonde off more as she started to jump over the counter to get to me. “Okay, okay I’ll buy something. Jeez!”

She stepped back and stopped all attempts to get at me… with violence. Now she had arms crossed over her chest (couldn’t tell how big her chest was still) and went back to glaring at me. “Well? Order something!”

“Look, I just needed to fix my hair…”

She snorted. “Your hair? Seriously?!”

I growled back at the woman. “Yeah, my hair! Like you have room to talk!”

“I do since my hair is actually cute.”

“Who the hell do you…”

“Are you gonna order today or next week?”

I took a glance around. It wasn’t like I was holding up the line or anything. “I don’t even like coffee…”

“You’ll like my coffee,” the strange and annoying girl said, stepping back to a large and intimidating machine, “my coffee is the best in town.”

“Hasn’t this place only been open a week?”

“Two!” She shouted with pride and pulled down a lever. It was like an old fashioned slot machine that was ready to explode. Cause as soon as she pulled down the lever the whole thing shook and twanged like it would get up and breakdance. “It’ll just be a minute.”

The wall behind me became mine as I leaned against it. The girl didn’t talk her eyes off me so I didn’t take mine off her. She was… strange. Pushy and arrogant and rude. Her eyes eventually got to be too much and I didn’t like how she was studying my body. Not that it would help but I crossed my arms over my chest. Which most people took the hint when someone did that but not this girl.

“Who did your Automail?” The packs of coffee beans that held my attention for a second could have been set on fire and it wouldn’t have changed the glare I was giving this nosy woman. “Doesn’t look like they did a very good job. I can see it hitching at your shoulder.”

The hell she could. I had on an undershirt, long sleeve henley, and my red leather jacket. Add in my gloves and there was no way. “I haven’t been in for a tune-up in a while, that’s all.”

 She couldn’t see shit, she was guessing or something. Messing with me. “How did you lose your arm?”

“That’s none of your business,” I shouted as fiercely as possible. She nodded as if I told her I didn’t want sugar though. “You know, I didn’t even use your damn bathroom. I shouldn’t have to…”

“So what are you? Street cleaner?” The woman was unphased by my angry stupor. “You have some dirt here.” She pointed to her left temple and I wiped at mine. “You do look familiar, have we met before?”

She was leaning on the counter between us, scrutinizing and sizing me up even more. The only part of her skin that was visible (other than her face) was her hands and they were covered in little bandaids. I was marveling at how tiny her fingers were and a snarky response slipped past my filter. “Maybe I cleaned your street before.”

Then she giggled. I swear there was a twinkle in her eyes, I didn’t imagine that. And adorable, mischievous, god damn annoying twinkle that made me want to burn the place down. Even more so when she stood back up and twisted a small golden tendril around one of her tiny fingers. “How do you like your coffee?”

“What is it with you and personal questions?!” She held up a small cup, innocently and I felt flames lick the skin on my cheeks. But she said nothing about it, staring at me with doe eyes that would have reminded me of a lake on a calm day but they were far from calm. More like the ocean before a hurricane. “I don’t like coffee at all so…”

“Right, cream and sugar then.” She moved away from me and I moved towards the counter. “How tall are you?”

She was crouched inside a small fridge pulling out bottles but looking up at me. Her golden hair almost touched the floor and yet she still had all her attention on me. “What’s it to you, Blondie?”

I struck a nerve with that one, finally. She slammed the fridge shut and handed the coffee to me so hard I nearly got burned. “It’s Winry.”

If she hated the name then why did she have blonde hair? It was nothing to change the color of your hair these days. She flicked a few loose locks behind her ear and showed that it was full of metal. Studs and hoops went from her lobe up to the corner of her cartilage. A lot of girls had their ears pierced but not quite like that and it made me curious if the other looked the same.

“Are you always this nosy, Winry?” 

If she was offended, she didn’t show it; shrugging and looking at her bandaged hands. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Oh, you asked. About everything that has nothing to do with you.”

Saying nothing else, she held out her hand and after a minute, I pressed a few credits into her outstretched palm. She took them and then plastered on a smile. “Come back soon and tell all your friends!”

“Tell them what? Come here and get pushed into buying?”

Her smile faded, but it was fake to begin with. “Well, just tell them the bathroom is for customers only then!”

The woman (Winry) was done with me so I left. The wind blew my hair out of my tie again but I was already at the shop by then. 

“That was the longest lunch break you’ve ever taken, Edward!” Louis yelled from somewhere in the back and although out of sight, I still glared in his direction. 

“Shuddaup you Bald bastard and mind your business!”

The bald man with the fabulous mustache just chuckled and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in irritation. Slamming the door behind me I walked over to where Al sat, looking up at me as I approached. “You got coffee?”

I had actually forgotten, still holding the cup in my hand. “Sorta.”

He took it from me and I let him. “Shouldn’t drink coffee. It’ll stunt your growth.”

I ignored his smirk. “I freaking hate coffee and you know it. I only got that cause I was forced.”

Al chuckled while I still simmered from the barista Winry. “When has anyone ever forced you into anything, brother?”

I smirked back at him but not because of his teasing. He tried to duck but it was too late, rubbing my knuckles into the top of his skull hard and making his dark blond hair fly all around. “Get anything done while I was gone?”

He shoved me away as hard as he could with his free hand. “We got a lot done for once!! Must be you holding us back!!”

Chuckling, I let him off easy and took off my jacket to hang up. Looking back at Al I caught him sipping on the coffee. “Hey! What about stunting your growth?!”

Al wore a sad smile but at least it no longer reached his eyes. “That’s not really a problem for me, is it?”

I had nothing to say to that, watching as he rolled himself away in his ancient wheelchair. I couldn’t even afford to get him a nice one; like the kind that roll where you want them to with a single thought. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was getting the funds for Al’s body. 

It was why I worked at this shop, rolling up my sleeves to get back to work. There were a few projects still waiting for my touches so I had to hurry up. I needed to get to work and get it done for tonight. I’d already wasted too much time dealing with crazy coffee house girls. 

oOo

It was a warm night but I still wore my red leather jacket. It protected my skin and it had my symbol on the back. I never intended for that symbol to mean anything, I just thought it looked cool. But now I almost have to wear it so people know who I am and what to expect. 

That symbol was why (when I rolled up to the line) others either stepped out or changed their bets. 

My bike wasn’t anything special but I knew how to take care of it. Unlike the others here who spent thousands of credits to fix up or buy new bikes; mine was old and cheap. Before I made a name for myself, it was what gave me the advantage. Everyone knew how I raced now so there was little point. The only reason I came here night after night was for the money cause the thrill had left long ago.

I had my hair tucked up inside my helmet so it didn’t get knocked like crazy; not to hide even as my helmet hid my face. Anyone that saw me on the street would know it was me thanks to my jacket. But not everyone here wanted to be known. It wouldn’t be a surprise if an Under was mixed in the crowd. My jacket made me known but also gave me deniability on the streets in daylight. 

It was this reason that I wasn’t surprised when a stranger pulled up next to me on their bike and had a blacked-out helmet. Mine was blacked out as well but that was more out of preference than fear. It had been years since a new person showed up to race here; so I busied myself sizing them up. Their bike was nice, a newer model than mine. And an actual brand; a Tomoaki. It was a decent ride but I wasn’t worried. 

The new guy refused to look anywhere but the track ahead. They were clearly a Newb, it was showing in their laser focus as well as the small shake in their arms as they waited for the ‘gun’. It had me chuckling in my helmet and fogging up the glass. 

It was me, Newb, and three other guys ready and waiting for this race. Two of them were from the Homunculus gang so they would be trouble. As they were every time they lost. The other guy I knew pretty well; Roy on his trademark Mustang bike was hard to miss. That meant Risa was somewhere in the crowd. He was a good guy and a decent racer. But I was better.

This was going to be another easy win; easy money.

Olivier stood before us, taking her place with the flag to start. She was how I learned about this place; her brother complaining about the illegal activities his dear sister was involved in. Not sure what he’s so worried about; there are far worse things to be into as far as illegal activities go. Far more lucrative too but I was pushing it with Al doing this much.

The tall and buxom blonde lifted her arms for our full attention. A few idiots in the crowd with death wishes whistled at Olivier. She was a beautiful woman but if you ever told her that she would break your face. Olivier started the races for one reason only; to be a distraction and throw a few of us off guard. I looked at the Newb next to me to see if it worked. The rest of us were used to it by now. Newb didn’t look shaken in the slightest but he still shook. 

Olivier dropped the flag and it was time to stop dicking around, hitting my accelerator and jumping ahead of the rest instantly. There was no one ahead of me; the track was mine. Our location switched every week and you had to be in the know to find it. You also had to use the GPS to stay on the assigned track. Mine was beeping that there was a hard left turn ahead. This was one of the reasons I was unbeatable. Without skin on it to worry about losing to the pavement, I was able to dip lower on left turns and take them faster than the rest. 

It was right turns that slowed me down and this track had two right at the end. Even so, I still have the lead and little to fear. 

This was it. Alone on the track, going as fast as I pleased. The only thing missing was the wind in my hair and on my skin. This was where I felt peace; felt free. Winning was no longer a thrill for me. I only enjoyed this moment now; being my own boss and in control of everything. My speed, my movements, and my life. It was easy to forget the troubles I faced daily while I raced away into the night.

Nearing the end of the track, I leaned into the first right turn. Of course, I slowed and dipped a little less than before. This was my real leg, the only one I had left. It was expected. What wasn’t expected was the other racer that passed me in the middle of it. 

It was the new guy, flying by dangerously on the turn. I had been cocky and stupid, getting lost in the freedom instead of actually racing. Now they had the lead. If it was a straight away or another left turn, I could have taken the lead back. But it was neither of those and even as I dipped lower and went faster than I was comfortable with, they still had the lead. 

The Newb was going to win.

There was a strange pressure that I felt in my chest. I hadn’t felt it in a while. It was… excitement. 

I pushed my machine to its limits to gain a few seconds on the Newb’s lead but the race was pretty much over. We crossed the line with a two-second difference and the crowd was a mix of shock, awe, and anger. Just like the first time I raced and won. 

A lot of people just lost a lot of money.

The Newb stopped and I pulled up right next to them. “Follow me, NOW!”

They shook their head at me. “Why? I want my money.”

Their voice was garbled by an electronic voice changer. It wasn’t weird; a bit uncommon but again there was always the possibility of Unders in the crowd and with this person a Newb it was a good thing they were protecting their identity.

“I’ll get your money tomorrow and give it to you later. You need to get out of here!”

Newb glanced behind us at the crowd and I looked as well; even knowing what I would see. The crowd was restless, shouting, and pushing. There were more races to be had (the night was still young) but it was clearly over as the others were already fighting. 

“Great. How am I supposed to come back with that?” The Newb asked.

“It’ll be fine, they’ll get over it. But those guys,” I said, pointing to the two Homunculus members that had raced and lost to the Newb, “they will come and tear you apart if we don’t get out of here now.”

There were no more questions after that and as much as I wanted to help the guy out, I couldn’t force him. So I was glad the guy shut up and followed closely. The Homunculus followed for a while but it wasn’t too hard to lose them. We came to a stop miles from the track. A few quiet shops sat to one side while an empty park on the other. Without a word or sign, we both made for the park and killed our engines; turning our bikes into chairs with our kickstands out.

“That was too easy.” The Newb spat. “I thought they wanted to tear me to pieces?”

Even with the voice changer, I could tell they were mocking me. Resting on my bike, I pulled my helmet off so I could get more air. “Yeah, well they probably figured that they’ll get you next week. You should consider taking a little break for a while.”

They huffed, the automated voice struggling with the sound and came out like singing. “You just don’t want to lose again.”

My Automail was stiff from the ride. As were both my shoulders. So I stretched my hands high above my head and then rolled my shoulders around. “Nah, you got lucky this time. It won’t happen again.”

Newb was silent and I enjoyed the quiet while it lasted. “Why did you help me?”

His question was soft but in the silence, it was easy to hear. “Why not? I used to be right where you are now. New and talented. The Homunculi are a bunch of jealous assholes who don’t care about rules as long as they win.”

“What about you? Is winning that important to you?”

I looked at the dark window of their helmet, trying to see through it even with it impossible. My mouth still pulled into a smirk. “Of course it’s important. You get more money if you win. But only if I do it by my own merits.”

“So it’s the money you really care about?”

I shrugged, looking at my gloves and fixing the loose hold they had on my hands. “I need it. Everyone there does. It’s how this all works, right?”

“I’m in it for the racing, not the money.”

I grimaced hard back at the guy, thankful I took my helmet off so they could see the fire in my eyes. “Then you should be going pro, not slumming it with the rest of us.”

This Newb really needed to learn when to shut the fuck up; still talking away but I was no longer listening. I cut him off with the roar of my engine. He was a stranger; he had no clue who I was or the life I’d lived. My past was as much a mystery as his was to me. Only I no longer cared to know his past or present. His judgment could eat shit; I took off and left the fucker there.

He could find his own way home.

[im-captain-egg]

Masterlist

Harry Potter

Bedroom Eyes (E, 1.4k, Wolfstar) ”You’ve been giving me bedroom eyes for the past half an hour now, Sirius,” he said. “Wanna show me what you were thinking about?” Remus asked hoarsely, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Our Friends Are Idiots (E, 2.8k, Wolfstar) James and Peter think that their best friend is in trouble but Sirius thinks that they're idiots. All he wanted was some sexy time with his hot werewolf boyfriend.

i don’t want to be your friend, i want to kiss your lips (E, 3k, Wolfstar) Remus tried to find the right words. He had played this out in his head a thousand times, had imagined how it would be to finally admit his feelings, to tell Sirius. But now, all the words were gone, his thoughts filled with nothing but Sirius.

i’ll make the moon shine just for you (not rated, wip, Wolfstar)

Punny Little Thing Called Love (T, 1.2k, Wolfstar) Three times Sirius gives Remus a stupid nickname and one time he doesn't.

breaking through the atmosphere (E, 2.1k, Wolfstar) Sirius struggles with being locked-up in 12 Grimmauld Place but Remus is there to take care of him.

sit still, look pretty (E, 1.5k, Wolfstar) Remus is a tease but Sirius doesn’t mind.

tell me about last night (M, 1.9k, Wolfstar) In which Remus Lupin drinks too much and hooks up with Sirius Black, captain of the university’s Polo team and Remus’ long-time crush. Awkwardness ensues the next morning.

waves (E, 6.6k, Wolfstar) Hell breaks loose at 12 Grimmauld Place and an injured Sirius Black seeks refuge at the Potters.

A Purrfect Match (G, 1.6k, Wolfstar) When Remus walked into the shelter that day, he expected to leave with a new furry companion and not meet the love of his life.

bewitched you in the moonlight (T, 4k, Wolfstar) Sirius is absolutely smitten by an adorably awkward Remus dressed as a werewolf.

Lightning in a Bottle (M, 11.1k, Wolfstar) 29-year-old businessman Sirius Black finds himself falling in love with 23-year-old art student Remus Lupin, who turns Sirius' life upside down in a matter of seconds.

Red, White & Royal Annoyance (T, 3k, Wolfstar) A royal wedding, two rivals, a kiss in the garden.

The Big Birthday Cake Catastrophe (T, 1.5k, Wolfstar) Sirius and James attempt to bake a birthday cake for Remus when disaster strikes.

Of Sharks, Manatees, and Master Matchmakers (T, 2.1k, Wolfstar) Remus works at an aquarium where he meets Sirius, a guy with a PhD in marine biology who can talk to sharks and thinks that Remus' lanyard is funky.

Red, White & Royal Blue

Paris Nights / New York Mornings (E, 1.7k, Alex/Henry) Henry is stuck in a hot hotel room in Paris and Alex is more than happy to keep him company.

smoke and mirrors (E, 3.1k, Alex/Henry) Henry owns a blue suit that drives Alex crazy and Henry thinks that the baby blue tie just looks too good around Alex's wrists.

Honey and Lemons (G, 668, Alex/Henry) Henry has a cold. Alex is there to take care of him.

Champagne Bubbles (T, 788, Alex/Henry) When Alex comes home from work, Henry has a surprise date planned for them.

David and the Case of Finding Furever Home (G, 1k, Alex/Henry) It's another normal day at the shelter for Alex until Henry walks in.

Night at the Lake House (T, 599, Alex/Henry) Henry goes skinny dipping. Alex thinks his boyfriend is the most beautiful person in the world.

Shower Curtains (E, 2.5k, Alex/Henry) Taking a shower with Henry is never about getting clean. Never.

you take my breath and steal the things i know (E, 56.4k, Alex/Henry) Alex hates Henry and Henry hates Alex—at least that's what Alex likes to tell himself. It all changes though when Henry comes to the States to film a docu-series with Nora and June, and Alex involuntarily gets to know Henry better, finding his world completely turned on its head by the end of it.

baby, it’s cold outside (T, 2.4k, Alex/Henry) A collection of all my drabbles for the RWRB Winterfest 2020!

dogs that bark don’t bite (T, 415) Alex was a weird kid.

notes from David (G, wip) A compilation of David having thoughts.

I will adore you until eternity (E, 4.3k, Alex/Henry) Alex got Henry two sets of lingerie and Henry is eager to try them on.

completely and perfectly and incandescently happy (G, 254, Alex/Henry) “What endearments am I allowed then?” Henry asks with a smile, cupping Alexander’s face with his hand and brushing his thumb across the sun-kissed skin there.

Tidal Wave (E, 4.8k, Alex/Henry) Rivalling captains Alexander and Henry have been neck to neck for years but their relationship takes a different turn when Henry shows up unexpectedly on the Claremont.

your mouth is a hurricane (E, 3.7, Alex/Henry) Drummers hit it the hardest, they say.

like fireflies (E, 5.7k, Alex/Henry) Alex and Henry see each other again. Featuring dark storage rooms, leather gloves, and a weird fuzzy feeling that simply won't leave Alex alone whenever he's around Henry.

to be kissed by you (T, 1k, Alex/Henry) Alex and Henry meet for a quick rendezvous before attending an official event.

like cherries and wine (T, 640, June/Nora) June meets up with Pez for brunch where she, literally, runs into a cute waitress.

she is my all, she is the one, she is (T, 1k, June/Nora) Nora struggles to find a fitting Valentine's present for her girlfriend.

can i call you tonight? (E, 7.8k, Alex/Henry) Falling in love with someone who lives an ocean away is weird. Especially if you are staying at their house and they stay at yours. or Alex and Henry swap houses and fall in love in the process.

shouting curses at ursa major (T, 1.2k, Alex/Henry) Sometimes, forever doesn't last as long as you might want it to.

Shifting Gears (E, 1.7k, Alex/Henry) Henry and Alex plan on taking a short vacation in Wales when a punctured tire ruins their fun. Or does it?

you’re the beat playing in my heart (E, 6.6k, Alex/Henry) Things between Alex and Henry get weird after Pittsburgh but then Henry invites Alex to London.

what is grief, if not love persevering? (T, 423) As suggested by his therapist, Henry writes a letter to his dad.

rosemary & firewood (T, 1.1k, Alex/Henry) When they brew Amortentia for the first time, Alex discovers something new about himself.

i hope you don't mind that i put down in words how wonderful life is while you're in the world (T, 827, Alex/Henry) "What do you love the most about Henry?" - "Does everything count as an answer? Though even that wouldn't be enough." Some of the things Alex loves about Henry.

spell my name with her tongue, like (uh) (E, 2.5k, June/Nora) Stuck at a state dinner, Nora decides to have some fun with June under the table.

i’ll tell you what i like / my wildflower (E, 2.6k, Alex/Henry) Henry takes Alex on a ride on a motorbike which quickly leads to something more heated once they make it back to the garage.

oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets (E, 2.8k, Alex/Henry) Henry comes home after being away for three weeks and Alex is very eager to welcome him home properly.

if they only knew how you talk to me when it’s just us two (E, 5.3k, Alex/Henry) With Henry being gone for a week to take care of things back home, Alex is left in NYC on his own but when he feels needy, Henry is only a text message away.

when he calls me pretty (E, 2.7k, Alex/Henry) Alex is horny and Henry is happy to help out even if they are an ocean apart.

Cherry Bomb (E, 3.1k, June/Nora) June gets a new lingerie set. Nora is more than happy to admire it.

One Last Stop

sugar & spice (E, 1.5k, August/Jane) August can't sleep. Jane offers to help.

Voltron

Birthday Boy (E, 2k, Klance) It's Keith's birthday and the boys are a little drunk and horny and utterly in love.

Song of Achilles

he touched my soul, skin to bone (E, 2.3k, Achilles/Patroclus) It’s Achilles’ birthday and Patroclus brought some figs for them to share.

[aire101]

Ferrum Intro

My brain absolutely, positively refuses to focus on romance atm, which means I have made no progress on my WIP and instead my brain ended up producing this concept which I will probably continue at least until I get it out of my system.  So here’s the beginning of a post-Endgame MCU/SAO Irondad fic that I went online to read, discovered it didn’t exist yet, and so could NOT GET OUT OF MY DAMN HEAD.

-------

It had been a long day.

Then again, every day seemed like a long one lately.

It had been a relatively beautiful November day for New York City, and with the approaching holidays Peter was starting to see the usual uptick in petty crime begin this season. Within his five hour patrol he had helped eight lost tourists, found one lost pet, caught two armed burglars and tied up a ridiculous number of petty thieves. Nothing too problematic, just another day in the life of our friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Peter sat crouched on a roof looking over the newest Iron Man mural to pop up, this time right on the edge between Queens and Brooklyn. There were several around town already, but this one was especially heart-wrenching. Most were either of the armor mid-action or of Mr. Stark in his trademark press look. But this one was different in the best and worst way.

In this art, Mr. Stark was still in his armor, but the helmet was retracted, allowing the viewer to see the blood crusted on his face, the lines of worry even deeper than they were before everything had gone to hell. There weren’t many pictures of Mr. Stark from the five year period now known as the Blip, but in the ones there were Peter knew he had looked like this— tired and worn in a way Peter had never seen, but could well understand. All in all, it looked uncannily similar to the last time Peter had seen him. When—

Anyway—

And on the shoulders of this mural’s Tony Stark rested an enormous orb holding dozens of galaxies spiraling around a central point— a tiny arc reactor in the shape of a heart.

There was still a little while before he would be expected at Ned’s tonight, but the more he tried to convince himself to hit the streets again, the heavier his limbs felt.

He couldn’t do it. Not like this. Experience told him it was a recipe for disaster, likely to get himself or someone else badly hurt. Himself he could handle, someone else… his conscience couldn’t take another body added to its count right now. Besides, he had promised Ned he’d be there tonight.

Peter sighed and swung away from his rooftop perch to head back towards Ned’s, not sparing the art a backwards glance.

No matter how good it was, no reproduction could ever duplicate what he had lost.

----------

“Whoa, you’re early,” said Ned with a mild tone of shock. Which honestly… was probably fair. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, I decided to call it a night early. It was actually pretty quiet tonight anyway. Didn’t want to get too wrung out on the web considering we have plans tonight,” said Peter as he stepped into the Leeds’ apartment, slipping off his shoes and hanging his coat on the rack. “Where is everyone?”

“Dad has to work tonight, and mom and Angelica went to Laser Bounce earlier, but they should be back before too long. I stayed home to finish some stuff up before the launch tonight. Plus, I wasn’t sure when you’d be getting here, so…”

“Sorry, I should have messaged earlier.”

“You’re alright man. Like I said, I had some stuff to wrap up. I plan to be in-game as much as possible tomorrow,” said Ned as they moved into his bedroom.

“You sure you don’t mind me getting the first run tonight? They might have some secret opening event planned for the first few hours…” asked Peter.

“I am absolutely positive. I am going to have plenty of opportunities to lose unhealthy amounts of sleep to this game. Besides, between the two of us I think you need the break more than me.  On a related note— you look terrible man. Have you been sleeping at all?”

“I sleep,” said Peter defensively. “I don’t really need much though, you know?”

“Physically, sure. Mentally? You’re still just as human as the rest of us Peter. Have you talked to May about it? Or Happy?”

“Can we please drop this? It’s just been a long day, alright?”

“What happened? I thought you said it was mostly quiet?” asked Ned, confused.

“I meant it was quiet for New York, I was still busy pretty much all evening,” said Peter, falling backwards onto Ned’s bed.

Ned sat down at his computer, spinning around to face Peter. “Fine, but I’m definitely going to harass you later, and you better actually sleep after we trade off in a few hours. Anyway, I am SO PSYCHED or this! God I hope its worth all the hype.”

“I can’t imagine it being a flop. The tech behind it is revolutionary, and the head developer has been working on the game for like a decade,” said Peter, as he scrolled through the GameSpot special coverage from that day.

“Wasn’t SI contracted to consult on it, too?” asked Ned.

Peter felt his throat begin to constrict. The nails of his right hand bit into the flesh of his palm as he forced himself to take a slow breath—hold—and release…

“Yeah, Mr. Stark consulted on it himself. Some of the engineering on the headset is similar to the BARF technology. I think he might have worked on a couple system AI’s as well.”

“That is so cool man. So this is almost like his last tech contribution? Last gift to the world…”

“I doubt that. It was just a consult job, most of the work was done by Argus. Plus, Mr. Stark had years worth of projects and updates on file. We’ll probably see things he had a hand in being released for the next ten years at the least,” said Peter.

“Still pretty cool though,” said Ned with a shrug.

At that moment, Peter heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the front door.

“Looks like they’re back,” he said, continuing to scroll, this time through discussions on Reddit.

“Have you had dinner yet? You know if you haven’t she’s going to force you to eat before you dive.”

“Nah, I didn’t get a chance to stop off earlier. What kind of leftovers do ya have?”

“I think there’s meatloaf and some chicken adobo left at the moment.”

“Yaaasss… Chicken adobo…”

Just then Ned’s bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Leeds poked her head in, a large smile on her face.

“Peter! I thought I saw your coat by the door! I’m glad you were able to make it tonight! Edward has been excited about the sleepover for weeks,” she said.

“Oh my god, mom! It’s not a sleepover! I doubt we’ll even sleep much!”

“Isn’t that what sleepovers are about?! You’re ridiculous… Anyway, have you eaten?” Mrs. Leeds asked, looking at Peter.

Peter had to bite back a smile, but shook his head.

“Hala ka, you’re going to waste away into dry bones! I don’t care how busy you are these days, you shouldn’t be skipping meals. You’ll blow away in a strong breeze. Come, I’ll heat something up. I know how bad you boys get about eating when its a normal game. A full immersion VR? You’ll forget you even have a real body that needs sustenance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Peter, dutifully following her into the kitchen.

“You are in luck. We have some leftover chicken adobo from last night. I know you like that recipe. Did May ever give it a go?”

Peter flashed back to the gloopy, slightly charred mess that was May’s attempt at cooking the dish. “Eh… Yeah but it wasn’t quite the same. Still needs a bit of work.”

“Huh,” Mrs. Leeds said, sounding confused.

“Peter!” shouted a voice from behind him.

“Hey Angie,” said Peter, before he felt arms wrap around him from behind in a bear hug.

His heart throbbed in his chest. His breath caught and wouldn’t come.

Thanos was coming for the gauntlet he couldn’t let him have it he had to run the aliens were grabbing him he had to—

“You never come around anymore! It’s been months—!”

“Stop that Angelica. It’s been a crazy year, and Peter stays very busy between school and an internship. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? It’s already way passed bedtime.”

Angie rolled her eyes dramatically but stomped back off towards her room to do as she was asked.

“Sorry, dear. She just missed her big brothers, you know.”

Peter did his best to force out a grin, but he wasn’t sure just how well it came off because the next thing he knew Mrs. Leeds was giving him a tender kiss on the head and muttering about making some cups of cocoa.

It was moments like this that he truly felt the strange reality of the fact that he had lost five years of his life. On the surface level everything felt mostly the same— Aunt May along with the majority of his friends had also been snapped, as well as several of his teachers. But while they were gone, Ned’s little sister aged from an innocent five year old, to a ten year old girl who had grown in a world in more confusion, pain and desperation than Peter could really comprehend. Freshman he had helped tutor in school had graduated. Families he had known were irreparably torn apart, seemingly overnight.

It felt like while he was still the same, the rest of the world had tilted slight to the left, leaving him unbalanced and unsure where to step next. He’d always felt a bit out of place anyway after the spider bite, but now it was so much worse. Sometimes Peter wanted a taste of what normal used to be like, without freaky spider powers, world protecting responsibilities and the guilt of looking around him and wondering if he deserved to be here at all.

He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall— fifteen minutes till midnight.

“I should probably go brush my teeth too and get settled in. The server will open soon,” said Peter as he stood.

“Yeah, though there shouldn’t really be much to do other than to actually connect since we calibrated your account the other day,” said Ned.

Within ten minutes Peter had taken care of his nightly necessities and given Angie and Mrs. Leeds both a hug goodnight, settling in on the upper bunk of Ned’s bed.

“Last time I’m asking— are you sure you don’t mind me giving this the first run?” asked Peter.

Ned sighed and spun around from his computer to send Peter an exasperated look. “Do you not want to take it on its maiden voyage?”

“That’s not what I said,” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Then stop worrying.  Just have a good time for once.  Also, I downloaded a couple files to the gear.  Not sure how reliable it is yet, but a few beta testers put out some first floor tips on the DL as a downloadable in game file, so check that out once you dive.  It might help out a bit.”

“Will do.  Thanks.”

“No problem.  Now get going, and be sure to take plenty of notes in your journal to send me later.”

“See you around, kid.”

“I am older than you are by two months.  Shut up and dive, loser.”

Peter smiled as he fitted the Nervegear onto his head, laid back and said, “Link Start.”

———————

In a remote, nondescript server room a certain file kicked to life.  It’s programming had been remotely accessed, a mere accident of oversight.  The digital pathways that connected it to the Argus servers, while known about, had been forgotten in the chaos of the last few years.  The file was not one created within the system, but one created to interact within it.  The Cardinal system downloaded the precious data, implementing it in the category that best described its form and function.

Program designation: Client

System ID: Ferrum Vir

Administration level: GM

. . . .

Installation Complete

————————

At 12:00 am EST on November 5th, 2023 (1:00 pm JST), Peter Parker joined 10,000 others in the world’s first full dive MMORPG— Sword Art Online.

And so did a very confused Anthony Edward Stark.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey steph. i’m going through a really tough time right now and i’m wondering if you have any fics that deal with grief? preferably none that are too long. thank you

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: hello! love your blog a bunch, and read a lot of your fic recs! i have to ask, do you have any sherlock fics on sherlock grieving, and john helping him out?? thanks so much and have a lovely day! H

Hi Nonnies! 

First of all, BIG HUGS to you both, and especially to Nonny One, I’m sorry you’re having a rough go

GRIEF AND / OR MOURNING 

Please see these lists for some additional Grief and Mourning:

Reverse Reichenbach

Reunion Fics and Other Post TRF Fics

The Empty Hearse-Related Fics

Letters from Sherlock After the Fall

John During the Hiatus

A Quiet Reunion by ShipAddict (K, 851 w. || Reunion, Angst, Sentiment) – Two years after Sherlock’s faked death, he enters 221B Baker St. to see the man who grieved for him.

Dismantle the Sun by Mount_Seleya (T, 965 w. || John Whump, 3G, Angst, Grief) – After a gunshot leaves John in critical condition, Sherlock holds vigil beside his hospital bed, slowly unravelling as the night progresses.

Yet What I Can, I Give Him by a_big_apple (G, 1,391 w || Fluff, Kisses) – This Christmas is much improved over the last–mostly because Sherlock isn’t dead–but it isn’t so simple for John to recover from his grief, and he finds comfort in likely and unlikely places.

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Open Ending, Grief) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock’s death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he’s not without his own grief. It ain’t easy being The British Government. But at least he’s got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Spectrum of Mourning at the Funeral of a Solitary Man by TheBookshelfDweller (T, 1,956 w. || Angst, Grief, Friendship, First Person POV, Introspection) – Because each kind of love produces its own kind of grief, a long-ignored voice tells the story of five mourners of Sherlock Holmes, a man who in the end, was all but solitary.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

You Paid Me Well In Memories by Ballykissangel - (K+, 3,149 w. || Heavy Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Grief) –  It’s Sherlock’s birthday and John is not doing well. No matter how hard he’s tried to keep on living, he knows he is going to give up soon and he isn’t going to make it. Today is his last and only chance to visit Sherlock’s grave to talk and give him his gifts: His dog tags, a book full of notes and memories and the meaning of love as Sherlock watches on in grief.

Nothing Quite So Spectacular by Kerkerian-Horizon (K+, 5,762 w. || Drama, Hurt / Comfort, Post-TRF) – How John Watson grieves after Sherlock Holmes’ alleged suicide, and what happens when the detective returns home. Set post-Reichenbach, two parts.

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

Survival Instinct by shirleyholmes (T, 7,162 w. || Post-TRF, First Kiss, Schmoop, Nightmares, Fluff & Angst, Grief, Idiots in Love) – After Sherlock’s “comeback” John starts obsessing with constantly making sure he’s alive (checking his heartbeat etc.)

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does. (REVERSE-TRF, FAVE)

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues, Cuddling) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom (E, 157,369 w. || Post-TRF, John First POV, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Present Tense, Imaginary Sherlock) – “Do you just carry on talking when I’m away?”

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

MARKED FOR LATER

A Home for Us by sussexbound (NR, 3,440 w. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,505 w. || Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes & Funerals, Angst, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression and Insecurity, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,822 w. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Men Who Talked Between the Words by Odamaki (E, 463,024 w. || Parentlock, UST/URT, Pining Sherlock, Grieving John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Slow Burn/Build, Case Fic, First Kiss / Time, Implied/Referenced Suicide & Drug Use, Slow Burn, Sherlock Whump, Panic Attacks) – John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don’t get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

[babblingblondegenius]

Future Ficlet: All You Need is Love...and Coffee

Wow, tonight’s episode was brutal.  Between the painful Olicity separation in present time and the lack of Olicity in the dark future of the flash-forwards, we aren’t seeing any of the happy right now.  There seems to be no hope. Our heroes’ sacrifices were all in vain.  Basically, everything sucks.

As kismet would have it, a couple of weeks ago, I shared a fun little head canon with @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity and they both encouraged me to ‘write the thing.’  I’ve had a terrible case of writer’s block for quite some time (meaning I have a gazillion story ideas and a ton of WIPs that are unfinished).  I expected this one to end up dormant in my drafts as well.  But after tonight’s episode, I felt the need to finish it because we (and Olicity, of course) deserve a little hope and happy.  Set two years in the future, the premise of this little fluffy ficlet is that Felicity needs an assistant but she has particular criteria ;)  

This should have been the easy part.  

After months of enticing investors, obtaining the proper licenses and permits, all the legal mumbo jumbo, and locating the perfect office space, hiring an executive assistant is going to be the breaking point where she finally loses her sanity.  

Which completely defeats the purpose of trying to find someone to help her in the first place.

She has been doing fine on her own, thriving actually, since she decided it was time to recommence building a tech company from the ground up, sans Curtis this time.   This venture, for better or worse, will be all hers.  Her vision.  Her name. Her legacy.

Despite her initial apprehension at that thought, she has a clarity and confidence in her mission and goals that has propelled her forward at a pace she couldn’t have imagined.  So far, choosing which of her many prototypes she wanted to launch first has been her biggest challenge.

Until now.  

She had narrowed down the stack of over 100 applications to the eight most qualified for the position, and began the interview process at 7:00 this morning.  

The first one had been punctual, neat, and lacking any sort of personality whatsoever.  

The second one arrived twenty minutes late and then interrupted Felicity mid-interview to take a non-emergency personal call on her cell phone.

The third one tapped her super long artificial nails on the edge of Felicity’s desk the entire time and included ‘loud typer’ when asked how her current co-workers would describe her.

The fourth one was a chaotic whirlwind who overshared details of his personal life on every single question.

Maybe he just had too much caffeine in his system. Or maybe she doesn’t have enough.

Coffee.  She needs coffee.  Her next interviewee isn’t scheduled to come in for another hour, so she takes the reprieve to just lay her head down on her desk for a moment in order to gather up the energy she needs to make the trek down the block for her caffeine fix.

“One vanilla soy latte, extra sugar, extra cinnamon, extra whip cream.”  

Oh yes.  That’s exactly what she wants.  Why she is thinking it in Oliver’s voice, she doesn’t know.  Her coffee daydream is so vivid, she can even smell the soothing notes of vanilla with hints of sweet cinnamon spice wafting through the air. Mmmmmmmm.

“Felicity….honey, are you okay?”  Oliver’s voice again.  She slowly lifts her head and sees her husband standing on the other side of her desk, holding a large cup emblazoned with the logo of her favorite java joint and her name scrawled across it in black marker.

“I am now,” she practically purrs as he hands over her treasured treat.  After taking a deep inhale and a long swallow, she blissfully smiles at him.  “It’s perfect.  You’re perfect.”  Suddenly jumping up out of her chair, she shares the revelation brought on by the jolt of caffeine in her system. “Oh!  I have a great idea!  You should apply to be my EA.”  

Oliver chuffs out a laugh.  “Because I brought you coffee?  Your standards must be pretty low.”  

“Worried you couldn’t cut it, Mr. Queen?” she asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

“I think my time served as Mayor proves otherwise,” he retorts with an air of gravitas but mimics her gesture, silently letting her know that he enjoys her teasing him and is willing to play along.  

She shakes her head.  “Nope, not helpful.  You couldn’t even get me a break on my taxes when you were the mayor.  What are your current qualifications?”

He ponders the inquiry for a moment before responding proudly, “I’m the head chef at Chez Queen.”

She rolls her eyes at Oliver’s corny moniker for their kitchen but gives him an encouraging smile.  “Oh yeah, I’ve eaten there a few times.  The food is magnificent.  But do you have any business experience?”

His expression goes from proud to smug.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  I was formerly the CEO of Queen Consolidated.”

She takes another swig of coffee and checks an incoming text on her cell phone before reminding him, “I happen to have first-hand knowledge you wouldn’t have made it a week without your super smart and highly efficient EA.”   

“That’s true,” he concedes with a grin, “though on the downside, she only brought me coffee one time.  One”, he repeats, taking her coffee and phone and setting them off to the side. Placing his palms flat on the edge of her desk, he leans in closer, a visible twinkle in his vivid blue eyes.   “I think she actually broke our coffeemaker.  Violently,” he teases in a conspiratorial whisper.

Mirroring her husband, she leans in over the desk until their noses are almost touching.  “A little violence doesn’t scare you, does it, Mr. Queen?”  She allows her gaze to run down the length of his torso, visibly appreciating the definition of his biceps that his jacket cannot conceal. “You look like you could handle yourself just fine.”

“I like to stay in shape.”  He feigns modesty but she knows her husband and can recognize that look in his eyes. “Some cardio, free weights, martial arts, salmon ladder…”

“That’s so hot” she blurts out, temporarily slipping out of character as her brain produces an amazing visual of sweaty and shirtless Oliver making his way up the salmon ladder.  Will there ever be a day when that doesn’t turn her on?  Probably not, and judging from the self-satisfied smirk on his face, he mentioned it on purpose just to get that very reaction out of her.   Determined to get back on track, she rephrases, “I mean, that sounds interesting.”  She decides a change of topic would be helpful to give her an advantage in their little game.  “Computer skills?”

She immediately regrets that question when Oliver gives her a feral smile that makes her weak in the knees.  Lowering his voice to the same octave he uses when he is dressed in green leather, he divulges, “I’ve hacked a federal prison network.”

Guh, game over.  In all her years with Oliver, that is the sexiest thing he has ever said. She quickly makes her way around the desk and invades his personal space. “Seems like you’re a man of many talents,” she coos appreciatively, latching onto his arm and nuzzling her face into the sleeve of his jacket to breathe in the scent that is uniquely Oliver.

“My wife taught me a thing or two,” he boasts, turning so they are face-to-face and he can wrap his arms around her.  

Her hands instinctively move from his arm to his chest, resting over his heart.  “She must be an amazing woman.”

Oliver nods in agreement, his nose nuzzling hers. “She is.  She’s the best.”

“I know you’re just saying that to get husband points and its working,” she acknowledges affectionately, her hand caressing the stubble on his jaw.   He tilts his head into her palm like a contented cat and she takes the opportunity to kiss him like she wanted to since she saw him in front of her desk, whether it was five minutes ago with coffee or nine years ago with a bullet-ridden laptop.  

Oliver moans and deepens the kiss, the fervent strokes of his tongue making her long for more.  “Okay, you’re hired,” she pants, breaking the kiss when her need for air temporarily overcomes her need for Oliver.  “Smoak Tech is a start-up so your health care package consists of me patching you up if you are injured and I’m sure we can work out some type of compensation for your time and skills,” provocatively shifting her body against his and feeling his obvious interest through his jeans and her skirt.  Two soft kisses and one firm rotation of his hips later, she is internally debating the sturdiness of her desk and whether they have time for her to show him exactly what she means by ‘compensation’ before her next appointment shows up.

“That’s a very tempting offer, Ms. Smoak” he murmurs into her hair as his hand travels down her back and immediately finds its usual place on the curve of her shapely ass, pulling her impossibly closer, “but I’m afraid my current employer really needs me right now and I just can’t bear to leave her,” his free hand gesturing to the stroller where their daughter slumbers peacefully.

Felicity sighs, pure happiness filling her heart and clearing her mind as she rests her head on her husband’s chest to gaze lovingly at the chubby-cheeked, perfect amalgamation of her and Oliver they brought into the world just four short months ago.   “Sounds like she has you wrapped around her little finger.”  

Oliver rests his chin on the top of her head and she can hear the love and contentment in his voice when he whispers in her hair, “From the very first moment I met her.  She takes after her mother that way.”

A/N:  Thank you for reading!  I hope this helped to soothe the sting of all the angst.  Queen family feels FTW.  William was not in this fic because at that time of day, he should be in school and also I didn’t want to traumatize him any further with Olicity’s blatant flirty flirt.  The poor kid has seen enough already lol.  

Huge thanks and virtual hugs to @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity for all the fun conversations and being all around wonderful :)

Oliver’s ‘current employer’ ;)

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER EIGHT] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[Ao3!]

The school parking lot is rammed with limousines and Rolls Royce’s. Dan idles the car in a queue for about ten minutes waiting for one particularly obnoxious pink limo to do a seventy-point turn in an attempt to get out of the exit again. Amanda coos over the colour of the awful car, nose pressed almost to the glass, and Phil gently teases her for being a stereotype.

She rolls her eyes and swats him in the shoulder. “Girls are allowed to like pink.”

Phil laughs and pokes her in the side, making her smile. Dan watches the fond exchange in the rearview mirror, lips pressed together. Eventually, he finds a parking space, though it’s a tight squeeze between the hundreds of cars that have shown up here tonight. He switches off the engine, blank eyes staring out of the windscreen at the building in front of him. They’re about half an hour late, so the parking lot is pretty much deserted – everyone is already inside. The back door of the car opens, and Amanda begins climbing out, complaining and laughing at once about how difficult it is to elegantly clamber out of a car in a big dress and heels. Dan’s fingertips tingle. He’s already mentally projecting to the next available smoking opportunity.

Phil leans forwards then, his chin resting on the back of Dan’s seat. “You’re gonna come in, right?”

Dan is silent for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking I might wait out here.”

“Please come in,” Phil says. “I don’t want to go to Prom without my best friend.”

Venom sears Dan’s throat, he swallows it down but it stings. “Is that what we are?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Phil looks desperate, as though he’s begging Dan not to push it. Luckily for him, Amanda knocks on the glass of the back window, making a face that says ‘what’s the hold up?’.

Phil gives him one last pleading look, and Dan’s resolve breaks. Reluctantly, he sighs, and unplugs his seatbelt.

Prom is everything Dan expected, and worse. The hall is crammed with his peers, each of them decked out in a taffeta frock, or a cheap rented suit – with the exception of the Elites, of course, all of whom wear tight designer dresses, or tailored tuxedos.

The Elites have commandeered a table near the back, and are lounging around it holding plastic stem glasses of what appears to be punch, but Dan suspects is not. There’s a stage in the hall, on which a marginally terrible band is playing a mashup of chart hits, the majority of which Dan only knows because Louise forces him to have Radio One playing in the café at all hours.

There are paper chains, and a glitterball, and crêpe-papered tables holding punch bowls and bowls of crisps. It’s the kind of Prom that Dan has seen in a dozen American high school movies, which isn’t that surprising, as the Prom-planning committee’s inspiration was Pretty In Pink.

Everyone’s attention is stolen by the entrance of Phil with Amanda Jones on his arm. Hardy, over at the Elite table, glares across the room at them, sour-faced. He’s wearing a white tuxedo, as if he could get any more douchey, and seems to have brought a different Elite girl as his date, though he doesn’t appear to be paying too much attention to her.

Dan can’t imagine that Amanda would be welcomed if she tried to go over to her usual possy, but she doesn’t so much as look their direction. Phil, looking slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of near everyone in the room, leads Amanda through the crowd towards the punch table. Dan follows solemnly behind them; distracted as they are by the scandalous date of the century, nobody pays him any attention at all.

*

“This punch tastes like ass,” Dan says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, they made me use Diet lemonade,” Lee says. “It’s gross.”

If Dan asked Lee why he’d chosen to volunteer at the Sixth Form Prom, doling out ladlefuls of disgusting punch to a load of teenagers that are sneaking vodka into it anyway, he’d probably say that he had nothing better to do with his Friday night, or that he came to watch everyone be ‘tragic’. In reality, he is almost definitely here to hang around Dan. In another timeline, Dan might find this annoying, but tonight he’s glad of the company.

The punch table is on the periphery of the dancefloor; in the centre, a few brave couples have already started vaguely swaying together to the cacophony of noise the band is making. One of those couples are Phil and Amanda.

Dan would have put good money on the fact that Phil cannot dance, and he’d have won the bet. Phil is tall, and clumsy, with two left feet and a tendency to not know where to place his hands. Amanda seems to find this utter incompetence on his part incredibly endearing, and keeps laughing every time Phil steps on her pointed shoes.

The moment they began, she picked up Phil’s hands and placed them straight on her hips, then slung hers around his neck, just as Dan said she would. They’re awkward, and due to their height difference the movements are far from graceful, but they’re having fun, apparently, if their laughter is anything to go by.

“Got a cold?” Lee asks, handing Dan a napkin.

Dan sniffs for the hundredth time, shrugging, and takes it from him. “Can we get out of here? Go for a smoke or something?”

“I got something even better,” Lee says with a grin.

He reaches discreetly into the pocket of his sweatpants, and exposes the tip of a flask. He tucks it away quickly before any of the patrolling teachers notice.

“You make yourself useful, I’ll give you that,” Dan says, then inclines his head, and starts to make his way over to the hall doors.

*

“Geez, that’s a bit full on,” Lee says, staring into Amanda’s painted face. The canvas is bigger than Dan remembers it being. “What’s he planning on doing with it?”

“He’s gonna gift it to her, apparently,” Dan replies. 

He’s already taken the flask from Lee, and is sipping it quietly, perched up on a desk. Phil’s left a few paintbrushes and dried up palettes scattered about the place, but the usual vibrancy he brings to the art studio is missing. Now, the room seems bereft, dark.

“Weird,” Lee says, leaning close to peer into Amanda’s vacant brown eyes.

Dan takes another sip of what tastes vaguely like whiskey, but is probably more likely to be a mixture of a few spirits Lee swiped from his parents’ liquor cabinet in order to avoid being caught.

“I want a cigarette. Let’s sit behind here,” Dan says, walking around to the back of a big stack of blank canvases, propped against a desk. In the tight space behind them, he and Lee will be impossible to see from the door if a teacher comes snooping. Lee follows him obediently, squatting down in the small nook. Dan offers him the flask while he digs around for his pack of cigarettes, but Lee refuses.

“You look like you need it more, mate.”

Dan wants to call him out on this statement, argue and demand he explain himself, but he thinks better of it. So what if his misery is written all over his face? Lee is too up his ass to do anything with the information that Dan might be crushing on Phil, if he has indeed picked up on it. Dan puts the flask between his knees and pulls two cigarettes out of his rapidly depleting pack of Djarums.

“Here,” Dan says, not giving Lee a chance to refuse. He hands one of the cigarettes over, and pulls out a lighter. The first drag is glorious. A thick rush of nicotine sluices through Dan from head to fingertips. Lee lights his up after a moment, too, then promptly splutters, grimacing.

He puts it straight out again. “Eugh, what the fuck’s that? All perfumey.”

Dan snorts with laughter, about to explain that they’re flavoured, but right then, voices permeate the quiet air, right outside the door. Dan looks forlornly at his cigarette, which he’s only just begun. He takes another deep drag, then one more, breathing it out in a long rush just as the door opens. Then he stubs it out on the tiled floor.

“…you think you could do a better job of it?”

Dan’s heart plummets straight through his ribcage, landing on the floor with a pathetic ‘plop’. He imagines he can see it pulsating weakly on the tile beside his the ashes of his cigarette. It’s Amanda’s voice. Which means…

“Hey, maybe that’s my calling,” Phil says. “I could be the next big thing in the cover band world.”

“I do agree that you couldn’t be any worse than that lot,” Amanda agrees. “But I guess we can’t be too critical- what the… oh my God.”

Her voice falls away, leaving only the stagnant silence of this room in its wake. A few seconds pass, and then there’s the sound of her kitten heels tritting slowly across the floor. She’s approaching the canvas, on the other side of where Dan and Lee hide. The door closes, and Dan hears Phil moving cautiously further into the studio.

“It’s difficult to capture you,” Phil says; Dan can feel the nerves in his best friend’s voice. “I wanted to do something big, but there’s so much about you I didn’t manage to get right-”

“Phil,” Amanda interrupts. Her voice is choked. Dan swallows down a gulp of tobacco flavoured saliva. “I’ve never seen anything like this. You painted this? By hand?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “For you.”

“I don’t understand,” Amanda says; yep, she’s definitely choking back tears. Desperate to escape, Dan looks around himself for a possible exit, but without Amanda and Phil seeing him, there’s no choice but to just sit here and listen. He brings his knuckles up to bite at them. “Why would you do this for me?”

“There’s more,” Phil says, and oh God, Dan had almost forgotten.

Eyes smarting, Dan hears the rustle of Phil digging around in his suit pocket. Phil steps forward, closing the gap between he and the girl of his dreams. A moment passes, and then she gasps.

“Oh my God, Phil I can’t… you shouldn’t have-”

“Just let me explain,” Phil says. Amanda stays quiet. “I know you spend every day wishing you were born differently, watching your friends glide through life with ease just because they have money. I know it makes you feel inferior to them. It shouldn’t, because you’re perfect. That’s why I wanted to paint you, to show you that to me, at least, you’re flawless.”

Dan shifts quietly. The floor is hardening beneath him, making it impossible to stay still. He catches Lee watching him, fingers covering his mouth in an attempt to stay quiet. It doesn’t matter, he wants to shout at Lee, they’d never notice us. Even if we screamed.

Dan wants to put his fingers in his ears to block it out, but Lee might ask him why later, and Dan can’t handle it. So he just grits his teeth and tells himself it won’t last forever, and that later he can deal with the pain. He remembers, belatedly, the flask laying in his lap, so unscrews the cap and pours a great deal of whatever is inside into his mouth. It tastes disgusting, but then he has another swig, and it goes down a little easier.

“I bought you these because you deserve them,” Phil tells Amanda then, and Dan knows he must be handing her the earrings. Those beautiful black pearls on silver stems. “I want you to feel like you ought to feel. I want you to feel as precious as I see you every day.”

“It’s too much,” Amanda says, weakly. “I can’t accept them.”

“Please take them,” Phil says. “I want to show you what you’re worth.”

A quiet falls, and all Dan can hear is vague rustling. Lee is staring at him now, his eyes feel like they’re boring into his skull. It might be something to do with the tear that’s just fallen down Dan’s cheek.

“How do they look?” Amanda says after a while.

To Dan’s surprise, Phil doesn’t respond straight away. Dan kind of wants to peer his head over the canvases and see for himself. Maybe they really do look hideous on her; Dan had always thought they weren’t really her usual style.

“Yeah,” Phil says then, though his voice is not at all convincing. “Really nice.”

Tip-tap go Amanda’s shoes as she closes the distance between them. Dan can’t help it, he shifts again, bum numbed by the horrible hard tile. As he moves, he realises there’s a slit between two canvases, allowing him just enough space to see through if he leans awkwardly. In the tiny gap, he watches, heart tearing itself down the middle, as Amanda’s hand rests on Phil’s chin, and she tiptoes up to press a kiss to his lips.

At this point, the tears are too insistent to try and hold back. Lee can think what he wants. Dan sips more of the flask, and sinks back to his former position, hating himself for torturing his own heart this way.

“Can you smell cherry?” Amanda asks then, and Dan freezes. He turns to Lee, wide-eyed.

Like they’re connected, Dan can feel it in his chest as the realisation floods over Phil. He hears the guilt in his silence, and aches from it. Phil will sweep his gaze over the room, will note the strange wall of canvases and know at once what they hide. He will know, of course he will know, and now he will pretend he doesn’t.

“N-no,” Phil says, just like Dan knew he would. There’s a slit in his voice, like it’s about to crack, to splinter into bits. “I can’t smell anything. Come on, let’s go back to the dance.”

*

“Dan,” Lee says for maybe the fifth time. “Dan, are you alright?”

The jumble of art supplies in front of Dan seems to be moving. The supplies swirl about randomly, paint brushes blending into charcoals, oil pastels bleeding into one another, creating a brown sludge.

“ ‘m fine,” Dan gets out. He tries to drain the last of the flask, but finds that it’s somehow already empty. He turns to Lee, eyes blurred from the film of moisture gathered in his ducts. “Hey,” he slurs, pushing the empty flask at him. “You’re sober, right?”

Warily, Lee nods.

Dan digs in his trouser pocket for Ricky’s car keys. “I need a favour.”

*

The bright lights and jarring, staticky noise coming from the ancient speakers is a lot worse now that Dan’s mind is thickened with alcohol. He pushes through seemingly hoards of people, some of whom grunt and shout things at him, indignant. These people, his classmates, seem alien to him, their faces unrecognisable, distorted and strange.

He’s trying to find the exit, but ends up at the back of the room somehow, with all the tables. Amanda and Phil are sat at one, just the two of them, sharing a glass of punch, their cheeks rosy with happiness. Amanda’s earlobes are glistening with two black pearls.

Just as a wash of bile crawls up Dan’s throat, something happens. It shatters the warping, undulating bubble of Dan’s drunken state, and everything clatters into clarity just as Hardy Jenns’ fist slams down in front of Phil, shaking the table. Phil leaps to his feet, stricken, and Hardy starts to yell.

“...showing up here with my girl on your arm! Who the fuck d’you think you are, you little shitbox, I’m gonna punch your lights out!”

Dan watches in alarm, a tiny ‘no’ slipping from his lips. He surges forwards, straight through a gaggle of girls on the periphery of the dance floor, and lunges. Hardy’s fist draws back, his teeth bared into a snarl as he pulls his weight into the incoming punch. He swings, fast, but Dan is faster. Phil falls to the floor with how hard Dan barrels into him, but it doesn’t matter, because Hardy’s fist misses him by centimetres, and connects with the bone of Dan’s right cheek instead. It makes a dull ‘thwack’, and Dan is thrown backwards by the force of it.

The alcohol numbs the pain, but it throbs unbearably even so. He straightens up, clutching his face and swearing loudly. Phil, on the floor still, has his mouth open in shock.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you again,” Hardy growls. There’s a slur to his voice too; Dan clearly isn’t the only one imbibing this evening. “Thought I told you to tell your boyfriend to leave my girl alone!” 

Dan jabs a finger at Hardy, breathing hard through the pain. “Get away from him, Hardy.” 

The corner of Hardy’s mouth curls into a nasty sneer. “Or what?” 

For a moment, Dan just glares at him. He notices Phil struggling to sit up in the periphery of his vision, and is momentarily distracted. He turns, noting the terror on Phil’s face. 

“Dan, just leave it,” Phil garbles, urgently. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” 

“Yeah, whore,” Hardy says, drawing Dan’s attention again. He’s still got that smug, shit-eating smirk on his face. Dan’s fist begins to curl. Oh, he’s been aching for a release, and this is all too perfectly set up to resist. “Why don’t you leave it? Go back to whatever back room you crawled out of, wait for the next John to pull down his fly for you.” 

“Dan,” Phil says, from somewhere seemingly far away. “Dan, ignore him.” 

Drunkenly, Dan turns to Phil for a split second. He shoots him a stupid grin, allowing the rush of white heat and anger to flood him, and then lunges forwards, his own fist connecting with Hardy’s jaw.

“Dan!” Phil calls out. The concern in his voice is blissful. It slips into Dan’s bloodstream, giving him the energy to land a second punch on Hardy’s stupid forehead. This time, it knocks him backwards, and he crashes onto the table behind him. 

“Dan, stop!” Phil’s voice is shrill.

“Get the fuck off me you little cunt,” Hardy shouts, as Dan grabs him by the lapels of his idiotic white suit, slamming him down against the table he’s sprawled on, so the back of his skull thunks against it. Amanda is still sitting down, watching with wide-eyes; Dan doesn’t spare her a glance. He’s seething, livid, and Hardy’s stupid, ignorant face suddenly represents every reason why. 

Dan knows he doesn’t look like he could lift a fruitfly, but he’s had to toughen up, living where he does. He’s stronger than anyone he knows his age, which people don’t expect. By the look on Hardy’s face, he’s no exception. Dan slaps Hardy sharp across the cheek, hard enough to leave a red mark come morning. They’ve gathered a crowd now, so it won’t be long until a teacher notices and comes over to break them up. So, Dan brings his face close to Hardy’s, close enough that the dickhead should be able to smell the nicotine on his breath.

“Amanda is not your girl,” Dan hisses. “She can do whatever she wants. And mercifully, that’s not you anymore.”

“Get off me!” There’s something urgent and worried in Hardy’s tone. Dan’s half on top of him now, and it seems to be making Hardy even more furious. Dan’s having to exert a lot of energy just pinning him here. “Get the fuck off me you fag fuck!” 

And then, it all becomes painfully clear. 

The anger recedes a little as Dan’s knee comes into contact with a rather obvious bulge. His eyebrows lift, and Hardy’s terror is palpable. Dan sends him a little ‘gotcha’ smile. 

He leans forwards, feeling Hardy go limp, sensing the defeat. “Don’t think you and I will be having a problem anymore, do you?”

Hardy doesn’t respond at first, so Dan pushes his knee sharply into Hardy’s crotch, and he shakes his head quickly. “Please move,” Hardy begs. “I’ll back off, I swear. Just don’t say anything.” 

“Swear to me you’ll leave him alone,” Dan says, knee still jammed up against Hardy’s erection. 

“I swear, fuck.” 

“And Amanda.”

“Fine, fine,” Hardy says hurriedly. 

“If you tell your Dad, and get me fired,” Dan says. “I will tell everyone about what I felt here tonight.” 

Hardy nods inn understanding, cheeks aflame. Dan releases him then, and wipes his hands on his shirt in disgust. Hardy doesn’t move for a minute. There’s a wide, stunned look in his eyes, as though he’s not sure of his next move. He casts a quick, frightened gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of every onlooker, and then jumps up, fleeing to the hall doors.

Bizarrely, just as Dan turns to go, it’s Amanda’s gaze that he catches. She’s staring at him wonderingly, calmly, despite having seen him beat up and threaten her ex moments ago. In her right thumb and forefinger, she twiddles one of her earrings. Dan turns from her then, nauseated, eye and cheek throbbing, and pushes back into the crowd. He can see the glowing exit sign now, and the crowds seem all too happy to part as he moves towards it. He doesn’t care about these people anymore, nor did he ever. So they’ve finally seen just what happens when somebody pisses off the scary emo kid just a little too much. Let them be scared of him. Maybe it’ll make them leave him alone.

He’s almost at the door, almost free from this horrendous night, when something catches his arm. When Dan turns to see who is stopping him, he has to stop himself from throwing more punches.

“Where are you going?” Phil asks; his eyes are red. Dan tastes blood. “You’re hurt.”

Dan licks the corner of his mouth. His lip ring is missing, and there’s blood pooled there. It must have ripped out during the fight. He wipes the blood with the back of his hand, hardly caring.

“I’m goin’ home,” Dan says, dejected. The alcohol in his system has swooped back into play, and he feels drunk again, the adrenaline of the pain and violence gone. “I’ve given Lee th’keys t’Ricky’s car. He agreed to drive you and Amanda back.”

“Don’t go,” Phil begs him. He seems desperate, and Dan cannot fathom why. “Please, just stay for a while, we can talk, I can get you some ice-”

Dan pulls free of Phil’s grip, annoyed. “If y’wanted t’talk t’me, y’could’ve this morning. Now’m tired, and drunk, and’m leaving.”

“Why did you let Hardy punch you?” Phil’s blue eyes are deep and watery. Dan could throw anchors into them, made of longing, and hurt, and misery, but they’d never reach the bottoms - they’re too deep. “Why did you push me out of the way?”

The question, to Dan, is absurd. “B’cause he was going to hurt you.”

“So?”

“So,” Dan whispers. He tastes blood again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re the only thing that matters.”

“You matter,” Phil whispers back. “You matter to me.”

Dan snorts in derision, not bothering to reply. Instead, he turns away, and pushes through the fire exit, out into the cold night beyond

*

The vodka in Dan’s blood is making the dense, humid air shimmer. He’s wrapped in someone’s arms, grinding on someone’s thigh. There’s a sultry, pulsating beat all around him. He thinks maybe, before, there was a finger in his mouth, a small blue pill pressed onto his tongue. Dark grey eyes are locked on his, and as they move to the music, Dan can feel warmth, sweat, hands on his hips.

He wishes he were in bed, not here, with the covers pulled over him, and a pillow to softly soak up the tears. But going home would mean facing Ricky, and perhaps getting another punch thrown at him for kicks. Dan doesn’t even have his brother’s car anymore. Facing Ricky’s wrath without it would be suicidal. The right side of his face throbs and aches. It’s bruised badly, Dan saw it in Ozone’s cracked bathroom mirror. His eye is swollen, making it hard to see.

“What’s it gonna cost me to take you home?” A rough, gravelly voice says into Dan’s ear.

It’s a little surprising Dan is able to pull anyone in the state he’s in. Damaged goods are apparently not a dealbreaker for the dudes in here. A rush of something blissful and heady threads itself through Dan’s body, making him wonder what exactly it was that he swallowed half an hour ago, compressed into that tiny pill. He welcomes the rush of pleasure even so, closing his aching eyes as he allows the drug to sweep away the pain.

He leans forwards, lips to the guy’s ear, and says: “What’ve you got?”

(Chapter Nine!)

[itshigh-boop]

Late for the Date

Omg, I finally finished this thing. I’ve had this in my WIP since January but I thought it’d fit nicely with Mcsombra Week! This ficlet was inspired by red-12am‘s two pieces of art that are connected: you can see them here and here! Written with permission!

Mcsombra week - Day 1 - First  - this is kind of an AU!

“¡Chingado! Ándale...un...poco…¡más!” With trembling hands and as strong a grip as possible, Sombra attempted for the third time to inch the hem of her pants past her thighs. The stiff denim refused to budge past the first inch just above her knees. Depleted of her energy, Sombra groaned and released the grip on her jeans, dropping unceremoniously back onto her bed, letting an arm drape over her eyes. She knew skinny jeans were difficult to wear but she didn’t realize they were this frustrating. With a huff, Sombra rolled onto her side and sat up, bringing her legs close as she struggled to read the size tag on the pair of jeans. No, she bought the right size, which was lucky enough, finding skinny jeans that’d fit her wide hips. But getting them past her thighs and over her behind was another matter entirely, it seemed. She wanted this date to go well and part of that, for Sombra, meant dressing for the part. She already had the perfect blouse, sweater, coat, and boots picked out. They’d all been picked along with the jeans she was currently struggling to don. She was sure that her date would appreciate her choices and while she had no real experience with romantic affairs, she knew that making a good first impression was important. What better way to make an impression than dressing for the part? Sombra was well aware she was attractive and she planned to take advantage. But what sort of impression would she leave if she couldn’t even get dressed in the first place? With another grunt of determination, Sombra pressed her legs together as tightly as possible, laying on her back before swinging her legs into the air, momentarily using gravity to her advantage to inch and swish the impossible jeans down the contours of her legs. With each sway of her hips and tug of the pants, the hem slowly made it past her hips. Sombra grinned, happy that she was actually going to see results. Her fingers slipped into the belt hoops and tugged the rest of the pant length up her legs before she passed onto the next phase: buttoning her jeans. It took her a solid five minutes of aching, shaking fingers and grit teeth to finally button the pair of pants and she gingerly rolled onto her side, climbing off of her bed and walking toward her body-length mirror. Once she reached it, she smoothed out the few wrinkles that’d formed in her struggle, finally turning around to see the results of her efforts. Just as she expected. The word ‘perfect’ floated through her mind as she inspected her reflection over her shoulder. Now all she had left was...wait, what time was it? She turned, noting the orange light seeping in through the blinds of her window. Just how much time had passed since she got out of the shower? She rushed toward her night stand, grabbing her digital clock before nearly dropping it in alarm. How had an hour passed her by?! Did the jeans really take up that much of her time? In a realization of horror, she dove for her bed, tossing her sheets around until she found her phone, with its screen facing down. Upon turning it around, Sombra discovered two unread messages sent within the last ten minutes and a missed call. Dammit...they had agreed on this time, hadn’t they? The burn of shame and fear at the possibility of a good evening being ruined warmed her ears as Sombra quickly opened up the last unread message, her thumbs gliding across the screen in order to relay her message to her waiting beau. Please don’t let it be too late.

McCree checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. It’d been almost an hour. He knew women had the universally known stereotype of running late for special events but this seemed excessive. And he was an even bigger fool for sticking around as long as he did. That, or terribly lonely. Probably both. He’d sent a few messages to the woman, even a phone call when he felt a bit desperate but each went unanswered. Why was he doing this to himself? Just because she’d seemed interested at the time didn’t mean she would still be interested at the time of their date. Quite honestly, he was used to this song and dance - a bitter tune, really, but begrudgingly familiar. McCree took one look down at the bouquet of roses he held and the numerous cigarette butts that littered the snow around him. Figured a no-show wasn’t any reason to ruin his lungs any more than he already did on a daily basis. Sighing, McCree lifted the brim of his hat, looking up at the setting sun and let his shoulders slump forward. Shifting the still lit cigarette between his lips, he took one last drag, intending to snuff it out and get going. Just as he started moving, vibrations in his pocket caused him to stop. At first he almost thought he imagined it, until he felt it again, and he grabbed his phone. A message - no, two messages. His brow lifted in question, slowly making his way to swipe his phone in order to read the messages until his phone began to vibrate once more, the plain jingle of the default ringtone filling the air. Her name - Sombra- flashed across the screen. There went his damn nerve. And his traitorous heart started beating like when he got his first kiss from a pretty girl. Would he ever learn? Apparently not, if his fingers moving to swipe right were any indication. Sighing, he lifted the phone to his ear, trying to sound as aloof as possible. “Hello?” “McCree? It’s Sombra.” The woman’s accented voice filled his eardrums and for a moment, he felt his stomach flutter in the same way it did when he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out. There was a sound of distress - a whine, almost, until she continued. “Look, I’m sorry that I’ve been keeping you waiting. It’s just-” “Ya don’t have to explain anythin’. I understand.” McCree figured he’d just fill in the gaps and awkward pauses that were coming up to save himself a headache. “Somethin’ came up, right?” “What? No.” Well, that was new. If it wasn’t silence and zero contact, he’d get some excuse or another about a friend suddenly getting sick or some important deadline that just happened to be that very night. McCree remained quiet, letting her finish. “It’s just…” A sigh resonated. “I lost track of time getting dressed. I just barely checked my phone and saw that sent me a few messages and called. I wasn’t ignoring you. I’m sorry.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, voice strained. “Look, I understand if you want to cancel plans tonight-” Ah, there it was. The old “give you the illusion that you’re making the call” line. McCree couldn’t lie - he felt himself bite down on the cigarette still in his mouth, the bitter, toxic taste spreading like the wave of disappointment over him. No matter how many times this had happened to him, it always hit him pretty hard. But this latest lady - he didn’t know how to explain it. Just that he felt someone might’ve been on the same wavelength as him, for once. “...but I personally still want to go out. Just let me know.” That...that was new. He almost didn’t know how to respond, not used to it getting this far. When he heard her voice again, asking him if he was still there, he nearly dropped his phone, fumbling to respond before she hung up, as if he hadn’t been the one waiting this entire time. “No. I mean, yeah, I still wanna head out tonight.” A sigh. “Good. Okay. Yeah.” She sounded just as nervous as he felt and that helped to calm some of the damn jitter in his belly. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve still got a bit to get ready. Is that okay?” The cold breeze that passed by subtly reminded McCree that maybe waiting longer for this woman wasn’t such a good idea. “Does it normally take you this long to get ready for a date?” he questioned, tone implying he was just teasing. “Only for those I actually want to go on.” That shut him up. “Why don’t you head down to the bar I told you about? Go ahead and order whatever you’d like, I’ve got a tab there, just mention my name.” At least it was better than standing around in the cold for another hour or however long she’d keep him waiting. He checked his watch again and sighed, though a weary smile made its way onto his face. “Tryin’ to get me drunk before the date even starts?” “Well, I hope you can hold your liquor. This might be a short date if you can’t.” The challenge in her voice spurred him into moving, already walking away from his spot as he began heading toward the aforementioned bar. “Alright. See you there, then.” He must have sounded hopeful, a hint of a question in what he perceived as a confident statement. “You will,” was all she responded with. -- True to her word, Sombra did end up having a tab. The bartender didn’t seem too suspicious, if only raising a brow at him when he mentioned her and glossed a look over the bouquet he still held, but otherwise gave him the drink he ordered. As tempting as it was to order to his heart’s content, he also wanted to make some sort of decent impression on the woman - enough to land him a second date if all went well. He’d refused to check his watch, if only because the stretch of time would feel impossible to bear if he thought about how many minutes actually passed him by. Instead, he chose to occupy his time with small talk with the bartender and by watching the holoscreen above. Just as he watched the same commercial that played for the tenth time that evening, he felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned, perhaps a bit too quickly, and saw her again - Sombra. “Hola,” she greeted with a small smile and he swore she looked bashful. “Hey,” he replied dumbly after a few seconds. Realizing she was finally here with him, he scrambled off his barstool, moving to take off his hat and place it over his chest. “Glad ya could make it.” “Wouldn’t miss it, vaquero.” Her eyes glanced to the side. “Those for me?” He gave her the bouquet that’d been resting on the side of his barstool, awaiting their rightful owner. He hadn’t been so sure if they were a good purchase when he bought them earlier that day but seeing her holding them close and enjoying their perfumed scent, he was glad he did. The bat of her eyelashes had him feeling warm, and that was besides the drink he’d already partook. After offering to help her with her coat, he took a moment to admire her. Damn. If it took her that long to get ready and this was the result? He knows that rationally he should be annoyed at how much time she’s wasted but he can’t help but feel some level of joy that she concerned herself this much for a date with him. “Like what you see?” McCree looked up, seeing Sombra wink at him. She must’ve caught him looking. That or he took a second too long to gawk. If his jaw had been open, he had no doubt that she would have reached over to close it for him. “Mm. Ya do look stunning,” he admitted. “All that extra care ‘n attention really shows.” Sombra shrugged coyly, moving to sit on the barstool next to his. “I wanted to make a good first impression.” She turned her head, looking ahead at the shelves of bottles along the wall behind the counter. “That turned out to work out fine, didn’t it?” He took her hand in his, already trying to forget the rocky start that the evening began with. “Let’s not worry about that. We’re both here now so let’s just enjoy our time together, hm?” Quickly waving down the bartender, he turned back to his date, letting his thumbs brush over her knuckles. Slowly, but surely, he was gaining his confidence back. As much as he was charmed by this woman, he wanted to do the same. She looked surprised, violet eyes blinking slowly until she laughed through her nose, and nodded. “Of course, vaquero. I wanna see just how well you hold your liquor.” “Ya think I’m a lightweight?” he asked as the bartender placed two glasses of tequila in front of them. Sombra grabbed her glass and peered inside. “Prove to me you’re not?” The look she passed him was downright sinful, challenging, and McCree was a fool who took great delight in that fact. He laughed, instead choosing to take his own glass and lift it in good spirits. “To a good evenin’, with good drink ‘n even better company,” he offered, a grin on his lips. “Salud,” Sombra answered, lifting her tequila and taking a sip, humming in appreciation. “You’ve got good taste,” she all but purred her approval in his choice of tequila. “The best,” he answered, tipping his hat. Pleased with her reaction, he had a feeling that the rest of their evening would play out splendidly. -- “You sure you’re good to head out, McCree?” Sombra asked, holding her keys in one hand and the bouquet tucked in her arm. “We kinda got carried away there at the end.” McCree waved it off. “I’m good. I’ve ended up where I had to go worse off than this,” he explained. “Thanks for worryin’ ‘bout lil ol’ me though, darlin’. I appreciate it.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “I’m just wondering if I’ll have someone to answer the phone when I want a second date,” she teased. He hadn’t even been thinking about it, having been preoccupied with the good time they were having that evening that McCree completely forgot about the possibility of seeing this woman a second time. Maybe even a third. “Oh?” he finally said, his head still lightly spinning. “I’ll be damned sure to answer that phone call, sweetheart.” The sweet laugh that bubbled out of Sombra’s throat warmed him right up even in the middle of the cold of that winter night. The glow of the light outside her door illuminated her face and he swore he never saw anyone more beautiful. “I’d like to kiss you,” McCree admitted, blunt and quickly. He wasn’t drunk but alcohol had the tendency to make him say things that were at the front of his mind. Instead of quiet acceptance, he felt her grab his coat and drag him down to her level before the lips he’d been staring at all night long finally pressed onto his. McCree wrapped his arms around her, as if anchoring himself to the reality that this day was ending so perfectly. As she pulled away, she made no move to remove herself from his hold, instead breathing along with him, the impact of their lip lock made evident from the visual puffs of air in the cold weather. “McCree,” Sombra started quietly. Just as he contemplated his name being the sweetest sound ever from her mouth, she continued. “Do you want to come inside?” She didn’t even have to ask twice.

[randomfandomfiction]

Sterek Hogwarts AUs

Dedicated to alicehadatardisinwonderland. I have an obsession with these and i need to stop.

Such Things Don’t Bear Repeating by Allizane (25k) Explicit A wizard, a wolf, and a boy. Or: spells and magic can never truly substitute for strength. (Harry Potter AU, in triplicate.) 

it does not do to dwell on dreams (and forget to live) by HaleyElizabeth (23k) M After years spent abroad, Derek Hale is called back to the United Kingdom, and offered a job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as the new Care of Magical Creatures professor. After begrudgingly accepting, Derek quickly realizes that his students are a lot more than he signed up for- one of them in particular. 

Some rules are made with all intentions to break by theaeblackthorn (23k) Explicit When Tutshill Tornados star chaser Derek Hale leaves the team and returns to Hogwarts to become the new flying instructor, sixth year Slytherin Stiles Stilinski can't decide what he wants more: to know why his favourite Quidditch player has quit the game, or said Quidditch player naked in his bed.Now, all he needs is a plan.

Half a house elf by Zarhara (17k WIP) T+ Stiles doesn’t really remember anything but that house. It was all he’d ever known. It was as constant as the air he breathed, and he needed it just as much. The others, who worked around the house, avoided him. They were older than he was, and wiser as they often said. They always called him ‘half’, though they never explained to him why that was. Or: Stiles is kidnapped shortly after his mother’s death, and forced to work for an old pure blood family. They change his appearence to that of an average house elf to make sure that he is never found. But more importantly they change his magic, creating a certain spark within, the likes of which the wizarding world has never seen before. Good thing too, because he’s gonna need it.

Forget Our Future Plans series by verity (13k) Explicit The second time Derek and Stiles meet is in a gay bar. A wizarding gay bar. It's very sparkly.

chantes une nouvelle chanson pour moi by pr1nc3ssp34ch (13k) Explicit Stiles Stilinski has been at Hogwarts since his first year, okay. That’s six years of experience. He knows how Hogwarts works, how it operates. He’s not quite an expert or anything, but he’s pretty damn sure he knows this school. So why the hell have they waited like a million years to start taking transfer students? And why is he the only one who can’t get a French date?

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble by pandacowhipster (13k) T+ When potions prodigy Stiles blows up one cauldron too many during one of his ‘experiments’, he gets assigned to making Wolfsbane Potion for the new groundskeeper. Which wouldn’t be so bad if the guy wasn’t you know, terrifying.

Green and Gold by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle (12k) T+ Derek had a lot to consider going into his fifth year of Hogwarts. His parents were pressuring him to make good grades and to preform well on his O.W.L.’s. They were a family that worked in the Ministry after all. But he was more concerned with Quidditch. And his grades showed. Well, Transfiguration did anyway. So, he was going to get a tutor. That was okay. He just wasn’t expecting it to be one Stiles Stilinski. 

Mother of Dragons by Lissadiane (11k) GA Since Hogwarts had opened its doors to werewolves, many Hale children had apparently come through, wary and angry, refusing to socialize with the other students. And one by one, they’d been sorted into Slytherin, obviously, with the odd Ravenclaw to mix things up. And then along came little Derek Hale, who’d barely gotten his ass on the stool before the hat was calling out Gryffindor. Everyone thought it was funny, even now, when Derek was in his seventh year. Stiles, though, found it fascinating.It helped, of course, that Derek was two years older and hotter than the sun.

Get Me In Trouble by scottmcniceass (8k) M Stiles is in his seventh and finale year at Hogwarts. Things were supposed to go smoothly-- he'd work hard, hang out with his friends, the usual. Unfortunately for him, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has it out for him. To make matters worse, he happens to be the most attractive person Stiles had ever laid eyes on.

He Blinded Me With Library Science by mklutz (6.5k) Explicit Stiles blinks. “Right, the reading room. Do you have your, uh …library card?” he asks. He’s never been able to make that sound normal and not vaguely dirty when he actually means wand.

You Feel Like Home by thestreetballet (4.3k) GA “Derek, don’t bully Mr Stilinski. He’s had a bad few days.” 

No Other Star by thestreetballet (21k) T+ Derek Hale, a sixth-year student (and werewolf) at Hogwarts, discovers that he’s bonded spontaneously to Stiles Stilinski, a second-year student. So, he does what any other werewolf would do - befriend the younger boy to get closer to him. Derek’s sister tries to play matchmaker, Stiles remains oblivious, the Hunters want his blood, whilst his own uncle is a rabid werewolf purist who hates humans (and Stiles’ father). Unsurprisingly, Derek wishes everyone would leave them alone.  Comment: This is a continuation of You Feel Like Home! ^^

kickstarts again by 1001cranes (4k) T+ Derek has known Stiles was his mate since Fourth Year; Stiles keeps getting lost on the way to the Common Room - these two things may very well be related.

The Boy Who Pined by lupus (3.6k) T+ "That will be your legacy, ‘Derek Hale: The Boy Who Pined’, I like it, it suits you.” “Laura I don’t care if we’re related if you say that out loud ever again, I will shank you.” Hogwarts AU in which Derek likes Stiles but is too emotionally constipated to actually do anything about it.

delicate in every way but one by callunavulgari (3.3k) T+ “This is what I get for associating with Hufflepuffs,” Stiles huffs, pushing Derek’s face gently away from his. Lydia had to go back to work, but Allison’s supervising them, borrowing Mr. Weasley’s car and driving them back to Scott. She keeps shooting worried glances over her shoulder, like Derek is going to ravish Stiles in the back seat if she doesn’t keep an eye on him. There is no ravishing going on. Derek’s too close and has no personal bubble, but all he’s wanted so far is to rub his scent all over Stiles and tell him how wonderful he is. There’s a lot of love going on in the back seat, but no sexy times. On cue, Derek grins soppily at him, eyes glittering in the witchlight. “You were the best Slytherin ever. I remember.” Stiles snorts. “Well,” he says. “You got one thing right.”

Wistful Thinking by yodasyoyo (1.8k) T+ Unfortunately Derek has had a crush on Stiles for years. It’s not like Stiles has ever noticed him though.

Untamed by rosepetals42 (28k) T+ Of course, the transfer kid gets mentioned because transfers are rare, but the news isn’t that exciting. In fact, according to Laura, no one even seems to know his first name. The only thing anyone has really figured out about him is that he’s American. And that’s not exactly hard because he obviously has an accent. The only thing Derek really knows is that, despite other reports, he seems quiet enough, prefers to work alone, and has the most amazing shade of amber eyes that Derek has ever seen. Not that he’s looking. Obviously. OR: A Harry Potter AU where Stiles is a Slytherin transfer student and Derek is the grumpy Gryffindor who falls in love with him.

Comment: Sequel to Wistful Thinking ^ so make sure you read that first!!

I Wish He Was Mine, He’s Really Divine by yodasyoyo (80k WIP) T+ Derek has been pining for Stiles Stilinski for years. He never thought he’d actually be in with a chance, but all that’s about to change. OR: Very slow build Sterek, with nerd!Derek, sort of badboy!Stiles, plenty of pining and a Kira/Derek friendship for the ages.

Sleep Well by how_about_no (1.3k) GA Stiles and Derek both skip the quidditch game, and bond over sleepless nights.

Headed Straight For Your Heart by starcrossed (3.1k) GA His quest to get Derek to fall in love with him isn't going so well. He accidentally set one of Derek's eyebrows on fire today during Charms and Stiles is pretty sure he's screwed up for good. At least he can tell McWerewolf about his misfortune tonight. OR Stiles meets a new (anonymous) friend at the Astronomy Tower and maybe has a crush on Derek. Maybe.