#flat panel nightstand

[whattheheckfestival]

Master in Philadelphia Example of a mid-sized trendy master carpeted and beige floor bedroom design with gray walls and no fireplace

[maggiewestphotography]

Bedroom (Philadelphia)

[mikellis]

San Francisco Guest Example of a medium-sized minimalist guest bedroom with a beige carpet and no fireplace and white walls.

[salingers]

hayride.

dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: visiting (the) home depot with your dad's best friend, joel miller. [and, him eating and fucking you, in the hay field located behind the store]. warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap. agoraphilia. au. begging. brat!reader. cream pie. daddy!joel. daddy!kink. dirty talk. dom!joel. (anal) fingering. jealous!joel. language. no outbreak. oral sex. no use of 'y/n'. praising. smut. unprotected piv. use of 'good girl'. use of 'slut'. word count: [about] 2,600. a/n: hi, more october-set smut, before the month's over. thank you for welcoming me into the fandom, by supporting my debut, october's end. [part two's next month]. cover by me, divider by @saradika. @saradika-graphics.

A decade’s fleeted, since the last time that Joel Miller’s arcing, bedroom window’s framed your body; You’re nearly an apparition.

Your mere silhouette’s evoking long-neglected memories for Joel; Your private school’s fussy graduation. Whistling, from the bleacher’s humid, metallic plank. Joel’s abruptly blinking away his proud reverie.

Your haphazard, gauzy curtains aren’t proffering any privacy. Your dresser’s girlish; A dust-ladened and weathered wicker. You’re scrounging the half-dozen drawers, sorting teenaged remnants, Joel’s guessing.

It’s arguably morally awry, that he’s guessing at all. You’ve unearthed an ivory-colored pair of panties. You’re sampling the garment’s width, against your clothed waist; Your index finger’s hooking the pliant underwear and slowly stretching. Joel curses, “Fuck’s sake.”

Joel’s denim-clad groin’s growing taut; You’re unbuttoning your pants. His conscience’s hollering, QuitWatchingQuitWatching. Then, Joel’s belatedly swiping his curtain’s panel shut. The plaid, trembling fabric’s punishing him. You’re right there.

Your peripheral’s revealing that brown, tartan material’s now obscuring Joel Miller’s looming, perusing shadow.

Your phone’s deeply droning, near plummeting from your nightstand’s uneven, wickered top. You answer, “Hi.”

Dad’s beginning, “Hi, you.” Before, “Room ‘lright?” 

You aimlessly nod, “Yeah. Need ‘t paint it, though.”

The flat, stark white’s reminiscent of an operating room. A scalpel amid your dominant, gloved hand; Your abandoned internship. You’re certainly color-drenching this bland, interim room.

Dad’s conveniently chirping, “Y’know, Joel’s headin’ over ‘t The Home Depot. ‘Jus asked if I needed anythin’ for work.”

You humorously say, “The Home Depot?”

Dad amusedly huffs, “The one ‘n only.” Then, “I’ll dial ‘im back. Tell ‘im ‘t bring ‘ya.”

You’re nervously inquiring, “He won’t mind?”

Dad’s chuckling, “Kid, seriously? ‘S just Joel.”

He hasn’t been just Joel, since his absurdly sexy appearance in Dad’s FaceBook album, dorkily titled, ‘Fishin’ Missions’. Dad’s askew lens, recording Joel’s roughened, veiny hand, sizably surpassing his fish’s ample breadth; His arm’s rind, rugged and sun-freckled.

 That heathered-gray muscle-tee; Hued identically to Joel’s own silvery threads. Accentuating. Your horny musing’s interrupted, when the doorbell’s nostalgic ding’s reverberated. A leadened, salacious feeling’s pin-balling your rib’s conical-shaped cage.

You’re descending the stairway’s carpeted tread. A once-over’s rushedly ensuing, amid the entry way’s gritty mirror. You’re timidly turning the front door’s bulbous knob; Your skin’s avidly warming.

Joel’s gruffing, “Waitin’ on an invitation?”

You’re feignedly snark, “Go ‘head, Miller.” 

Joel’s arousingly large. His belt’s leathered and suppled; Tapering his tender waist. You’re deliriously visualizing biting it. Your teeth’s individualized grooving, engraving Joel’s every-day accessory.

He’s beckoning, “C’mere. Settlin’ in okay?”

Your pulse’s embarrassingly hurried, as Joel’s hugging you. Your nose’s upturned, against his collar’s corduroy lapel; His inherent aroma’s autumnal. A heady medley of burnt cinnamon, earthy hay.

You breathlessly retort, “Y–Yes. ‘Jus fine.”

His beard’s deliciously graying and scruffy; Bristling you. Joel’s inching away; A hand’s kneading your elbow’s point, “Grown. Ain’t ‘ya?”

You’re muttering, “Think anythin’ in my ‘ol dresser’ll fit?”

Joel rasps, “Be fittin’ somethin’ ‘a mine. Talkin’ like that.”

You teasingly tut, “Oh? Promise?”

His jaw’s tightening, “G–Get in my fuckin’ truck, ‘lready.”

The retail store’s unmistakingly orange and tan exterior’s materializing onward. Joel’s hushedly threatening, “Got ‘t behave.”

You’re amusedly assuring him, “Me? ‘Course.”

He’s backwardly parking. His arm’s generously imposing against your seat’s cushiony spine, “Lot ‘a clients ‘a mine, in ‘ere.”

His chin’s abutting along his broad, reaching shoulder’s top. Joel’s delectable, lofting nose’s leading his prominent side-profile; His pursed, upper lip’s capped under an impressive, stiff mustache. Your cunt’s pulsating. You need to rabidly rut against Joel Miller’s aging, sun-tinged face.

You’re resignedly sighing, “Fine.”

Joel replies, “Bratty fuckin’ girl.”

His accent’s aggressively Texan; Languid. Syrupy. You’re involuntarily leaking, beyond your underwear’s cottony corral. The archaic radio’s uttering early-seventies Linda Ronstadt, until Joel’s halting the ignition.

You murmur, “Any cute clients?”

Joel’s apparently unimpressed; He’s agitatedly rolling his coffee-shaded eyes. Tutting, “Best be ‘lone, when I find ‘ya.”

You’re unpromisingly shrugging, before evacuating his Ford’s heated interior. Whispering, “See ‘bout that, Miller.”

Your skin’s momentarily rasped, from the atypically frigid, October wind. The store-front’s decorated seasonally. There’s pallets, upon pallets, of pumpkins; A uniformed variety of classic orange and creamy white.

You’re distractedly mulling around carving or painting pumpkins, while Joel’s unexpectedly wrapping his freshly-shedded, heavy chore-coat against you; His hand’s comfortingly scrubbing your shoulder’s taut blade.

Joel’s deeply humming, “Better, darlin’? Hm?”

You’re instantaneously arming the clothing item’s perfectly tenderized sleeves, “M–Much, Joel.”

You’re leaning, subsequently touching his torso’s muscular crest. Joel’s thumbing your collar’s curving bone, “Warm, here?”

You whine, “Yes.”

Joel’s beginning to crane downard, until he’s chinning your shoulder’s trembling shelf. You’re gasping, as he’s fingering your loaner, Carhartt jacket’s bottom button, from behind. His arm’s caging you.

His calloused pinky’s reaching, before flitting your pant’s folded fly, “And, here?” He’s wagering, “Warmer?”

You’re groaning, “Ngh. Y–Yeah.”

Joel carnally scolds, “Filthy fuckin’ girl. A–Askin’ me ‘bout other men? While your pussy’s pre-heatin’ ‘f me?”

His finger nail’s raking your zipper’s aluminum teeth. Joel’s tauntingly whispering, “Ain’t brattin’ much, now.”

You’re begging, “L–Let’s leave.”

He’s instantly moving. You’re incoherently stunned, as Joel’s adopting an orange-colored cart, “Find ‘ya in the paintin’ section?”

You’re spluttering, “J–Joel. ‘S not what I meant.”

Joel’s winking, “Darlin’, I know what ‘ya meant.”

He’s ambling ahead, bypassing the automatic door’s yawning jaw. Your dominant hand’s flexing, electrocuted in palpable pleasure; It’s reminiscent of Mr. Darcy. You’re involuntarily summoning an image of Joel, dressed as the aforementioned aristocrat, participating in Halloween.

Joel’s robust shoulders, heaving against an incompletely unbuttoned, wispy shirt. His chest’s foggy-toned, furling hair. His head’s rain-rustled, curly strands. A high-waisted trouser; Ascending his belly’s delectable slope, whilst canopying his cock’s dilating weight. You know it’s big.

You’re unfocused; Footing the hardware store’s threshold. There’s an assortment of motion-triggered, Halloween decorations erected nearby. You’re curiously setting one, an animatronic ‘Boogeyman’. The creepy distraction’s festively futile. Joel Miller’s still permeating your skull.

The paint attendant’s named ‘Ruger’. A gun manufacturer namesake’s befitting, given Ruger’s camouflaged, distressed t-shirt. He’s an Austin, Texas quintessential, twenty-something male; A ‘modernized’ mullet-and-mustache duet? Check. A smothering of ‘patchworked’ tattoos? Check.

He’s flirtatiously greeting, “Sugar. How can I do ‘ya?”

You’re brandishing an array of complimentary paint-swatches, against his counter’s crest, “Do color-matchin’?”

Ruger’s endorsing, “Best ‘round.”

You’re inwardly wincing, but Joel’s abruptly approaching. So, “Ain’t doubt it. Clothes shouldn’t be an issue?”

Your palm’s routing your breast’s pocket; Ruger’s murmuring, “T–That jacket? ‘Moss’ by Carhartt. Got codin’.”

You’re falsely enthusiastic, “Really? You’re the best.”

Ruger tosses an isolated thumb, signaling to his computerized, machine mixer, “Told ‘ya.” Asking, “Color’s goin’ in your bedroom?”

You’re agreeably nodding, “Yep.”

Ruger’s grinning, “Lucky paint.”

You begin, “You? Feelin’ lucky?”

Joel’s reprimanding, “Lucky that I ain’t kill ‘im.” Before, “Passin’ at my girl. Gettin’ paid ‘t do that?”

Ruger’s answering, “N–No, Sir.”

Joel’s deeply repeating, “No.” Then, “Two gallons ‘a Sherwin-Williams. Emerald. Matte finishin’, both of ‘em.”

You’re second-handedly embarrassed and incapable of meeting Ruger’s apologetic, parting peer. Joel’s efficiently emptying his cart’s plastic-composed basin, before rehoming his kindred supplies, upon the check-stand’s laminate surface. You muse, “Emerald’s two-hundred dollars ‘a paint?”

Joel’s genuinely offended, “Ain’t payin’. I’m gettin’ it.”

You’re avidly insisting, “Don’t have ‘t do that, Miller.”

Then, Joel’s rapidly reaching outward; Yanking your belt’s fraying loop. You’re firmly tugged against him. He drawls, “Want ‘t do it.”

His breath’s cinnamony and smoky; An inebriating merging of gum and cigarettes. You dizzyingly respond, “Y–Yeah?”

Joel’s languidly leaning, before brushing his nose’s point against your ear’s lobe, “Yeah.” Whispering, “Paintin’ your bedroom the color ‘a my jacket? What’s that ‘bout, darlin’ girl?”

You’re shyly stammering, “D–‘Dunno.” Accusing, “Sayin’ aloud, ‘my girl’? What’s that ‘bout, Joel?”

Joel’s grinning, “That? Want ‘t find out?”

You’re panting, “Oh?”

His palm’s barreling behind; Stuffing his pant’s pocket. You’re savoring the rattling sound of his key-ring’s recovery. Then, Joel’s rapidly shoving the mixed-metal wad inside your rear-pocket. His bulky hand’s harshly kneading your bottom’s fleshy heft; Your cunt’s thumping.

He demands, “Go ‘head. Right behind ‘ya.”

You’re ocularly rummaging around Joel’s unkempt vehicle. American Spirits. Matches. A thrifted, Patsy Cline cassette. Big Red. Coins. A dog-eared, John Steinbeck novel. The sexual suspense’s dampening your sternum; Sticky. Sweaty. You’re beginning to desperately undress.

The Carhartt coat’s discarded. Your flimsy henley’s unbuttoned. Joel’s egressing from Home Depot’s aromatic interior, before pausing at the Garden Center’s check-stand. No way. A hundred-dollar note’s being thrusted, from Joel’s girthy hand, unto the cashier’s gloved palm.

This broad, burly man’s buying you fucking pumpkins. He’s pensively plucking them. His brow’s furrowing; His forehead’s wrinkling. Joel’s literally examining them, heeding any blemished gourds. You’re bewilderedly blinking, as Joel’s palming them, like they’re… Basketballs.

Your waist’s winding, impatiently rutting against his truck’s benched seat; Your pant’s denimed seam, slotting your cunt’s drooly entry.

Then, Joel’s jerking the back-seat’s door ajar. Asking, “Pick ‘em ‘lright? Did ‘ya see?” His scruffy chin’s jutting, at his quartet of pumpkins.

You’re swallowing, “Y–Yep. Thanks, Miller.”

Joel’s gruffing, “C’mon. ‘Course, pretty girl.”

His arm’s effortlessly flexing, tanned and veined, amid transferring his plastic-bagged supplies. Joel’s guessing, “Need ‘t be fucked, in ‘ere?”

You shamelessly moan, “Mhm.”

He’s teasingly whistling, “Yeah? Ain’t far from home, baby.”

You’re grumbling, “T–Too far.”

Joel’s patronizing, “Gettin’ cocked, in ‘ere? ‘S really slutty.”

You sigh, “Don’t care. C’mere.”

The shopping cart’s rapidly returned, before the driver-seat’s groaning under Joel’s jeaned ass, “Needy pussy.” His construction boot’s tamping the brake’s pedal, “Ain’t it? Get ‘t fingerin’. Feed me somethin’ warm.”

Your brassy button’s unhitching; Your toothy zipper’s buzzing. You’re hurriedly shrugging the denimed material downward; Ankling it. His mouth’s prematurely parting. Your underwear’s transparent, flooding in arousal. Joel’s dangerously speeding, departing the feebly-populated parking lot.

He’s feverishly warning, “There’s an empty hay field, ‘round back. Bit ‘a off-roadin’. Yeah?” Directing, “Give ‘em.”

Then, Joel’s toughly tugging your panty’s waist-line. You’re shamelessly obedient; Your fabric restraint’s promptly removed. His beefy, index finger’s impatiently suspended; Pumping. Your pussy’s watering his passenger-seat’s cushioning; Your underwear’s encircling Joel’s commanding digit.

The all-terrain truck’s bumpily impeling, devouring the barren field’s acreage. Eyes involuntarily shutting, Joel’s blindly steering, inbreathing your underwear’s deluged gusset. His nostril’s flaring. His cock’s pitching, prodding below his crotch’s denimed rein; You’re stuffing your pussy’s well.

Joel’s harshly moaning, “Listen ‘t that. Cryin’ fuckin’ hole.”

You’re whimpering, “M–Mm. Ngh.”

He’s greedily ringing your plunging wrist; Yanking. The rapid removal’s obscenely squelchy. Then, Joel’s immediately slurping your index and middle finger’s balmy glaze; Your thumb’s pinning upon his chin’s graying, scratchy underside. The truck’s recklessly slowing.

Joel’s haphazardly parking. The halting, howling tires begin spewing an autumnal confetti; A misting of dry hay and auburn leaves. You’re suddenly hoisting against Joel’s bulging lap; He’s instantaneously hammering, before spitting out your moistened finger’s duet.

And, Joel Miller’s finally kissing you. His groan’s pouring, beyond your esophagus. Licking your mouth’s rippled roof; Siphoning your tongue’s humid pad. Your naked pussy’s pouncing upon Joel’s clad cock. He’s thumbing your cheek-bone’s divot and cupping your jaw-line’s hind; Whimpering.

He’s arousingly exhaling, “Ngh. ‘S fuckin’ tasty.” Then, Joel’s dropping horizontally. Laying, “Fixin’ ‘t guzzle ‘ya.”

His head’s hedging the passenger-side’s door; His boot’s budging the driver-side’s door. You’re drawing upward, as Joel’s guiding you. Your dewy hole’s ramming against Joel’s awaiting face; He’s nosing your clit’s distended mound. Your innard thigh’s twitching, “G–God. Feel fuckin’ good.”

 Arousal’s rigorously sopping Joel’s beard. His mustache’s coated and creamy. Your behind’s leveraging; Ass firmly spreading. Joel’s maneuvering and manhandling you. He’s lapping, nearly pornographically swigging. You’re internally levitating; Your spine’s liquefied, “A–Ahhhh. Joel, Joel.”

Joel’s innocently whispering, “What?” Then, “Asshole’s puckerin’. Need pluggin’?”

You’re deliriously nodding, Yes. His center digit’s tantalizingly traveling below. Brushing your clit’s crest; Scooping your cunt’s slick. Your fluttering, furthest hole’s aching, against Joel’s circling, finger’s pad. He’s beginning to tandemly traverse; Eating. Fingering.

Your stomach’s tightening, as Joel’s knuckling you. His head’s nuzzling; Shaking. His beard’s rigidly whiskering, across your core’s folding, before he’s relentlessly sucking. Your clit’s flickering; You’re blindingly cumming. Joel’s airily humping; His cock’s englarging.

He’s hoarsely speaking, “A–‘Atta girl.” Praising, “Drippin’ inside ‘a my fuckin’ ear?” Sniffling, “Up my fuckin’ nose? Good, wet girl.”

You’re dizzyingly horny, “Miller. PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel’s grinning, “Please?” 

Your puffy pussy’s eagerly lowering, “Yes.” You’re gyrating, against his lap’s ridge, “Fuck. F–Fuck me.”

He’s grunting, “Fuck ‘ya? Fuckin’ slut. Keep beggin’.”

Joel’s leaning upright and sitting upward. Your disoriented shirt’s being tossed away. Licking your throat’s trail; Skimming your nipple’s peak. You’re nakedly stamping atop his torso’s towering mass. Your skin’s goose-bumping, “Ngh. P–Please, Daddy.”

His brow’s amusedly arching, “Y–Yeah?” Demanding, “Who’s.” Thrust. “Your.” Thrust. “Daddy?”

Promising, “You.”

Joel’s approvingly nodding; His driver-side door’s thudding open. His arm’s muscularly solid, whilst effortlessly upholding you. You’re burrowing, at his throat’s protruding, pulsing vein, as he’s regressing vertical. His anterior boot’s pressing upon decaying hay; A gelid gust of wind’s wreathing.

He’s attentively mumbling, “Shiverin’? Let’s warm ‘ya. Hm?”

His beard’s balmy and cunt-scented. You’re being settled, amongst his driver-seat’s aged upholstering. You’re amorously fidgeting, as Joel’s flitting his belt’s metallic prong. The accessory’s yanked from his fading Wranglers, as Joel’s abutting the cushion’s edge; His zipper’s deliciously drawing.

The belt’s noisily plummeting; A leathery slap, against the floor-mat’s rubbery surface. Your waist-line’s eagerly grasped, whilst Joel’s positioning your pussy’s twingeing hole. He’s hissing, during an arousing upheaval, of his cock’s entirety; The seeping tip’s bypassing his belly-button’s nook.

His t-shirt’s becoming translucent, as pre-cum’s dampening it. You’re following the ample shaft’s terse twitching. Blurting, “Need. That.”

Joel’s attractively smug, “This?” He’s robustly swatting his cock, across your clit’s cummy summit, “Think it’ll fit?”

You whimper, “F–Fuckin’ make it.”

He’s lowly whispering, “Dirty fuckin’ mouth.” Then, Joel’s abruptly and aggressively entering, “Go ‘head. Keep mouthin’ off.”

The truck’s boisterously creaking, as Joel’s ruggedly rutting. Your cervix wall’s convulsing, crowning his cock’s head. Your shiny spend’s glossing Joel’s graying, pubic tuft. His groin’s angrily clobbering, striking your cunt’s doused expanse. You’re incoherently stammering, “N–Ngh.”

Joel’s responding, “Can’t hear ‘ya, bratty girl.”

You’re painfully stretching, inside-and-out. His jeaned, lower-portion’s gloriously grating your thigh’s rear. Your right-side leg’s hooking through the steering wheel’s median; Your left-side leg’s perching, against Joel’s widening shoulder’s tier, as he’s weightily falling forward, “Say somethin’?”

Your limb’s achingly pinned vertically; Your body’s contorting, creating an indecent, ninety-degree angle. His focused, sun-wrinkled forehead’s grown moist. His furling, silver-tinged strands begin cascading. The benched seat’s dilapidated stitching’s imprinting, decorating your back’s extent.

Your taint’s repeatedly thwacked, by Joel’s brimming balls. His angle’s hitching, hitting that spot. You’re shrieking, “A–Ah.”

Joel’s accordingly bottoming-out, “Doin’ good. Stretchin’ well. Ain’t it?” His hip’s briskly oscillating, “Good girl. Good pussy.”

You’re shuddering, “D–DaddyDaddyDaddy.”

The pleasure’s pouring. Your cunt’s palpitating; Your spine’s taut. Joel’s resultantly stroking, maintaining his pacing, but drilling harder. He’s licking, crossing your hung jaw-line’s road. His tenderized t-shirt’s feathering, against your exposed nipples, over-sensitively tapering them.

Joel’s rasping, “C’mon. Flood my fuckin’ truck.”

His tone’s arousingly languid. That’s it. You’re breathlessly cumming. Every extremity’s tightening, before blissfully dissolving. Your vision’s brightly impaired. Your climaxing moan’s fractured, as Joel’s ingesting it. His mouth’s restorative, whilst being ruining. You’re whispering, “Flood me.”

He’s whimpering, “Y–Yeah?” A prominent vein’s materializing, against his throat’s girthy rind, “Ain’t wet ‘nough, ‘lready? Greedy hole.”

Then, Joel Miller’s hotly erupting. His length’s flinching. Your fatigued, flittering hole’s wringing him. His aging brow’s bunching; You’re caressing his cinched expression. Your right-side leg’s being removed, amidst the steering wheel’s medial opening. Joel’s comforting, “Hurtin’?”

You’re indifferently shrugging; Joel’s unconvinced. His palm’s expertly massaging your leg’s weary ligament. You’re pathetically sighing, making Joel laugh. He’s kneading your knee-cap’s exhausted muscle, before fingering your calf-tendon’s aspiring knot. You stammer, “T–Thanks, Miller.”

Joel’s questioning, “How ‘bout Lowe’s, ‘morrow?”

You’re grinning, “Sure. If ‘ya sleep-over, tonight.”

[chargaco0]

Phone Charging Solutions: Powering Your Devices Efficiently

In today’s digital age, keeping your phone charged and ready to use is essential for communication, work, and entertainment. A reliable phone charging solution ensures that you have the power you need, wherever you are. Whether you're at home, on the go, or in a public space, there are several charging options available to meet your needs.

In this article, we’ll explore different types of phone charging solutions, their features, and how to choose the right one based on your lifestyle and preferences.

Types of Phone Charging Solutions

1. Wired Chargers

Wired chargers are the most common and traditional charging solution. These chargers come with a cable that connects your phone to a power outlet.

USB-A to Lightning/USB-C/Micro-USB: These are standard wired chargers used for iPhones, Android phones, and other devices.

Fast Chargers: Fast chargers use technologies like USB Power Delivery (PD) or Qualcomm Quick Charge to charge phones more quickly than standard chargers.

Magnetic Chargers: Magnetic charging cables easily attach to the phone's port for seamless charging and prevent wear on the charging port.

Benefits:

Fast and reliable charging.

Compatible with most phone models.

Often comes with the phone purchase.

2. Wireless Chargers

Wireless chargers allow you to charge your phone without the hassle of cables. These chargers use Qi wireless technology and require the phone to be placed on a charging pad or stand.

Wireless Charging Pads: These flat surfaces let you lay your phone on them to charge wirelessly.

Wireless Charging Stands: Stands hold your phone upright while charging, making it easy to use your phone while it powers up.

Multi-Device Wireless Chargers: These chargers allow you to charge multiple devices, such as phones, earbuds, and smartwatches, all at once.

Benefits:

No need for cables, reducing wear and tear on the charging port.

Convenient and easy to use.

Great for desk setups, nightstands, or shared spaces.

3. Portable Chargers (Power Banks)

Portable chargers, also known as power banks, are a must-have for people who are constantly on the go. These external batteries store power that can be used to recharge your phone when you're away from an outlet.

Small Power Banks: Ideal for smartphones, these are compact and can fit in your pocket or bag.

High-Capacity Power Banks: These offer more power and can charge multiple devices or provide several charges for your phone.

Solar Power Banks: Solar-powered chargers use sunlight to recharge themselves, making them great for outdoor enthusiasts.

Benefits:

Charge your phone anywhere without needing an outlet.

Available in a variety of sizes and capacities to suit your needs.

Perfect for travel, camping, or emergencies.

4. Charging Stations

Charging stations are designed to charge multiple devices at once, making them perfect for households or offices where several phones and other gadgets need charging.

Multi-Port USB Charging Stations: These stations have multiple USB ports, allowing several phones to charge simultaneously using wired connections.

Wireless Charging Stations: Capable of charging multiple phones wirelessly at the same time.

Public Charging Stations: Found in airports, malls, or public spaces, these stations offer a secure place to charge phones on the go.

Benefits:

Organize and charge multiple devices in one spot.

Reduces cable clutter in homes or offices.

Ideal for families, shared living spaces, or businesses.

5. Eco-Friendly Charging Solutions

Eco-conscious consumers can opt for environmentally friendly charging solutions that use renewable energy sources.

Solar Phone Chargers: These chargers use solar panels to power up your phone, ideal for outdoor use or areas with limited electricity.

Energy-Efficient Chargers: Some chargers feature energy-saving technology that reduces power consumption when not in use or automatically shuts off when the device is fully charged.

Benefits:

Reduce your carbon footprint.

Perfect for off-grid use, such as camping or hiking.

Helps lower electricity costs.

How to Choose the Right Phone Charging Solution

1. Fast Charging Requirements

If speed is important, opt for a fast charger that supports your phone’s fast charging technology, such as USB Power Delivery or Qualcomm Quick Charge. This is especially useful for people who need to charge their phone quickly during short breaks.

2. Portability

For frequent travelers or people on the go, a portable charger is essential. Choose a power bank with enough capacity (measured in milliamp-hours, or mAh) to charge your phone multiple times. Solar-powered options are also great for outdoor adventures.

3. Multiple Devices

If you need to charge multiple devices, such as your phone, tablet, or smartwatch, a charging station can be a smart choice. These allow you to charge several devices simultaneously, either through wired or wireless connections, and help minimize clutter.

4. Wireless Convenience

If you prefer a cable-free solution, a wireless charger is ideal. Ensure your phone is Qi-compatible for wireless charging. A wireless charging stand can be more convenient if you want to use your phone while it’s charging.

5. Eco-Friendly Solutions

For environmentally conscious users, solar chargers and energy-efficient models are the best options. These solutions are ideal for reducing energy consumption and can be especially useful in outdoor settings where access to electricity is limited.

Top Features to Look For

Charging Speed: Look for fast charging capabilities if you want your phone to charge quickly. Some wireless chargers also support fast charging.

Port Compatibility: Make sure the charger has the correct ports for your phone, whether that’s USB-A, USB-C, or Lightning.

Portability: For travel, look for compact and lightweight chargers that fit easily in your bag.

Durability: If you’re using the charger outdoors or while traveling, opt for rugged designs that are waterproof or shockproof.

Multi-Device Charging: If you have multiple gadgets, a charger that supports several devices at once will simplify your charging process.

Conclusion

Choosing the right phone charging solution depends on your lifestyle and needs. Whether you prefer the reliability of a wired charger, the convenience of a wireless pad, or the versatility of a portable power bank, there are a variety of options available to keep your phone powered throughout the day. By considering factors like fast charging, portability, and the ability to charge multiple devices, you can find the perfect solution to suit your routine.

[artsychowroamer]

Epicurean; Atlanta Hotspot

Author: Artsy Chow Roamer

EPICUREAN

ATLANTA HOTSPOT

This blogger and writer is big on exploring in your own backyard so we decided to make a run down to Atlanta to celebrate our anniversary with a stay at the Epicurean. An architect friend of mine posited that the property was one of the best new places to stay in Atlanta proper.

We took a speedy tour online and liked what we saw. A fresh contemporary design with a young modern vibe on the interiors, amenities and menus. Located in the heart of Midtown, there are lots of cute shops, restaurants and bars to take advantage of as you walk about. This post will give a good idea of what to expect should you want to book your own quick get-away.

CHECK IN

We opted to use our GPS to get there from our mountain home. Warning: it was confused. Between one-way roads and closed roads from construction, it was difficult to get there. The valet and entrance face West Peachtree which is one-way heading away from town. It was closed to traffic right above the property so it was not easy to get to the right roads. After a few work arounds we managed.

The nice valet helped us with our bags and walked us to the check in which was tucked into a cozy little corner of the bar. Almost hidden, there were a couple of tables and chairs for folks to sit and wait or power up a phone or lap top. You could also grab some lovely cucumber water or a cup of coffee.

We were quickly checked in after they asked our preference for a view; to the pool and courtyard or a downtown skyline. We picked downtown but I wished we had picked the pool after I saw how pretty it was. We got our cards after sipping our welcome glass of white wine and headed to the elevators to ride up to the 11th floor.

Security is a good thing. You must tap your room card on the elevator panel to get it to accept your room floor button choice. We also noticed that the sustainable bamboo panels on the elevator were the same as our floors downstairs in our mountain home-great choice!

THE ROOM

The rooms are spacious with a big king size bed with luxurious linens, a leather headboard and wood wall paneling. A table provides a spot to open suitcases with large flat screen TV above and is joined with a gracious work desk. The art is lit with a wonderful small contemporary fixture highlighting a clever collection of epicurean items; a sketch of peach pits, paintings of radishes and a slice of pie, a poster pushing coffee and a cute wire sculpture in the shape of a coffee cup.

A freehand sketch of The Varsity in Atlanta hanging in the entry and a pillow with knife and fork on the bed are all unique design details that are well thought out, fun and support the overall local concept of the property. Floating nightstands with good lighting made it easy to read in bed and the seating in the corner was very comfy for morning coffee and catching up on the news.

Instead of the usual mini bar in fridge, a high-end wall design included glasses of several types, a nice offering of wines and canned cocktails along with a selection of liquors and mixers. Well done with a mini fidge below it for anything needing to be cooled down. The only critique I had was one needed to take the bucket down to the lobby for ice which is not handy.

A sliding barn door opens to your spacious bathroom with a well organized sink, towel and amenity area designed in classic neutrals that will stay looking sleek in the years to come. A large tub/shower combo offered a lot of grab bars for safety but it might have been more forward thinking to simply offer a step in design with glass doors.

THE TOUR

After settling in, we walked back down to the lobby to check out the public spaces and look over the offerings for dinner in the bar and restaurant. The bar has stunning views with lots of options for seating. You can sit at the bar directly, dine at tables or just hang in a living room type setting with comfortable sofas.

Reverence Bar & Bites offers artisanal small plates and snacks with a “fusion of bold flavors and culinary innovation” offered in a sophisticated and stylish interior within the bar proper. Choose between three or six selections of fromage and charcuterie, snacks like citrus olives or crab dip and small plates of bang bang shrimp or lamb meatballs.

Choose the Reverence dining room and your options expand to five different salads like roasted beet or fried artichokes, additional small plates like peri peri chicken kabobs, boneless pork ribs or seared scallops. Large plates include a pasta, steak, seafood and burger option. End with one of the five lovely desserts on offer including a panne cotta, creme brule, gelato or cheesecake.

THE POOL

Head up to the 9th floor where you will find the event spaces which were very busy hosting a large wedding the day we visited. You will also find some outstanding gardens to walk, sit on a bench and read or enjoy some journaling. Order a fancy signature cocktail at the outdoor bar.

We were surprised at the stunning variety of plants and trees there were throughout the property which offered a large pool with in-water recliners, cabanas and a casual outdoor dining option in Aerial Kitchen & Bar. Menu items take on a Mexican feel with smashed avocado, shrimp ceviche, yucca fries, shishito peppers and molotes.

If that doesn’t work for you, try their ensaladas and bowls, tortas with fries or masa plates with exciting taco choices like mushroom adobo, carne asada, roasted chicken or shrimp. Finish off with a banana hazelnut capirotada or fresa con crema. Ole!

THE BREAKFAST

Upon waking the next morning, we had a wonderful Bloody Mary mixed from the bar with some goodies we brought from home. A Nespresso coffee maker provided the best beginning to the day and since check out was at noon, breakfast was more like brunch for us and began with a lovely hot pot of Earl Grey tea.

While the early breakfast rush was over, there were still a good number of late diners enjoying some great offerings on the menu. We looked it over and immediately opted for the tiramisu french toast with coffee mousseline, white chocolate crumble and macerated berries. Served with warm syrup on the side, this dish was simply fabulous.

You do have a choice of omelets, eggs with sausage or bacon, avocado tartine or short rib hash as well as cereals, oatmeal, yogurts, fruits and more. There was also a wonderful buffet available for a set price that had so many things on it I can’t list them all here.

CONCLUSION

Exploring in your own backyard is always a fun adventure. The staff were very considerate of us and patient with all of my photography attempts. You can tell they want you to have the best visit so you will return.

This is a little gem of a property in the Marriot Bonvoy Collection. They are well located and you are able to walk to a very nice Italian restaurant across the street that I will post about in another blog. You’ll also want to walk across the car park to The Office Bar which is a part of the hotel. It’s a great spot for a late night after dinner drink, coffee or light snack. Book your backyard adventure soon and enjoy the video tour below.

If you enjoyed what you read you might also like other posts from Explore the World. Look for my next post on the the lovely Italian restaurant we revisited after many years that’s just across the street. Until then…

Cheers!

ArtsyChowRoamer

Follow me on You Tube, Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram & Twitter

[shanghaiyadanofficefurniture]

Introducing the IES-X Series Cabinets: Inspiration, Exquisite, and Style

In today's fast-paced world, people lead diverse lifestyles that require efficient and versatile solutions for their living spaces. From the living room to the bedroom, every area of the home has unique storage and accommodating needs. For instance, in the living room, people need a place to put their TV, while in the bedroom, they require a helper that is within reach. At Yadan Steel Furniture, we understand the importance of providing furniture that meets all of these needs and more. That's why we have developed this all-in-one series, IES, which stands for Inspiration, Exquisite, and Style.

(Please click the link below to check its details on our site:)

This is a set of environmentally friendly and very functional pieces of furniture made of high-quality cold-rolled steel that fits almost anywhere in the home. Surely furniture should not only focus on practical functions, but also be stylish and reflective of one's personal taste. And this is what we have done in this series to let you enjoy a comfortable and beautiful home.

Design concept

The design concept of IES series is to make each piece shine with its own light by the use and matching of different materials. In this way, each piece could have aesthetic that is unique to its own. 

In general, they all have a wood-like style, which is reflected in the surface finish of the material and the multiple planes and three-dimensional fringes and corners adopted in the design. At the same time, the diagonal-cross patterns also embody the Arts and Crafts style. This is a furniture style that can be traced back to the late 19th century, with emphasis on traditional craftsmanship, simplicity, and functionality.

A discussion on paper about its design blueprint may leave an unremarkable or “plain” impression overall, but once you see it brought to life by our refined steelworking skills and art, especially in person, you'll discover that its true beauty shines through.

Detailing

1. Guide rail

For the drawers, they have high-quality guide rails, which provide smooth push and pull and reduce noises. 

2. Faux-wood design at edges and corners

The drawer panels and top panels adopt wood-imitation craftsmanship, which employs more planes and creates a sterical visual effect. This was enabled by our state-of-the-art bending process on steel plates.   

3. Diagonal-cross shaped frames

X-shaped frame is a reflection of the Arts and Crafts style. This design and decoration style can be traced back to mid-19th century Britain, when reformers believed that machinery, factory production and industrialization had caused the decline of aesthetic standards, so they began to focus on the expression of art in life.

4. Foot pads

At the base where they meet the ground, adjustable plastic foot pads are adopted. This design can protect the ground from being scratched by the sharp metal material and help it adapt to uneven terrains.

5. Drawers

The drawers are made by excellent workmanship, with a flat and even surface and a beautifully powder-coated color shade for the finish. All drawers can be pulled out completely for easy access.

Individual modules

1. Night Stand

Behind the overall simplistic and plain style is our exquisite bending technique, which has been newly upgraded. By adding a three-dimensional effect on the edges and corners as well as visible cracks in between components, it shows a strong wood-imitation taste, thus becoming a night stand that breaks boundaries and redefines what a cupboard at your bedside can be.

Weighing at 12.5 kg and a size of 48cm in width, 41.5cm in depth and 54cm for height, it's compact and lightweight, but at the same time spacious enough to store the things you may need in bed. And not just for the bedside, it’s actually suitable for multiple home scenarios as a multi-purpose storage solution.

2. TV Stand & Storage

These three pieces together create a both beautiful and practical solution for placing TV and storing all kinds of daily items in a more open area, and of course you can mix and match them at will.

A very eye-catching point about them is the X-shaped diagonal-cross frames on the acrylic windows, which is what the "X" in the name of this series "IES-X" stands for. And the design of this shape pays homage to the "Arts and Crafts" movement in the 19th century, as a rebellious reaction to the industrialization and mass production of goods. The movement emphasized traditional craftsmanship, simple forms, and natural materials. Our "IES-X" series embodies the essence of the Arts and Crafts movement with its emphasis on craftsmanship and attention to detail. In addition, such structure for the frames also increase stability and firmness.

1.23 meters long and 85 centimeters in height, it is enough to place a lot of things you need to put around the TV and in the living room, while in the mean time it only weighs 29 kilograms, which is an amount of heaviness an adult woman can move without much effort.

These stands are made of very good steel, and note that what you put in the living room is generally something you want your visitors, relatives or friends to see, which often include some heavy handicrafts. If you use a common cupboard made of glass or wood planks, there would be a risk of deformation or even collapse. This is where the benefits of steel furniture, in terms of sturdiness, manifest.

3. Side Cabinet（with Open Top Cubby)

The side cabinets can be matched with TV stand, and are also great for being used stand alone. This side cabinet, featuring an open compartment on the top thus increasing the convenience for taking some frequently used items, is very versatile. It can be put in any room as a storage tool or a very beautiful decoration.

47cm wide, 86.5cm high and only 19kg in weight, it is small and light likewise, but its higher height compared to ordinary night stands makes it have more accommodation space and more of the function for showcase and display. It will be great to use with crafts and books.

(Explore more good furniture masterpieces @ Yadan Steel Furniture:)

4. Side Cabinet (with Bottom Double Acrylic Doors)

This side cabinet is comparatively larger, 60 cm wide and 96 cm high. For the lower part it features a compartment with a double acrylic door and a three-partition layout within.

We don’t want to repeat - and probably neither do you want to hear more about the aesthetics brought by the unique diagonal cross design (but in this way we still managed to remind you once more), but what we would also like to mention is its exceptionally good matchup with those indoor environments with more elegant decoration and a touch of nobility. It also goes particularly well with houseplants.

In conclusion, Yadan Steel Furniture's IES-X series is a versatile and stylish solution for anyone looking to elevate their home decor while also meeting their storage and accommodating needs. The unique design concept of the IES-X series ensures that each piece stands out with its own aesthetic, while the use of high-quality materials and state-of-the-art steelworking techniques ensure that they are also functional and durable.

[eremosjournal]

inventory

by Elise Letrondo // volume 18

in an ongoing fall from the terribly tall 

sunless cliffs where god didn’t save me,

i lay down my lashes and sort through the ashes 

of the useless things he gave me:

a waning but persistent propensity for the blues;

doubled-down debts for an unborn daughter and seven million second-hand shoes;

the dueling fear of and draw toward little dolls and their creaking cribs;

broken out skin as red as raw steak and two too many ribs;

weakness for a waifish lost boy and the taste of his neck nape;

stupid self-imposed stigmata burned in small heart shapes;

permanent neon bracelets glowing after a glass of wine;

an endless brawl and slow mud-crawl past the chiseled hands of time;

manic nights memorialized in two pronounced eye bags;

a blood-bound contract to the benefactor of half of my red flags;

paralyzing May malaise that leaks sneakily into June;

wet, loveless beds and expired cold meds i expect to kick in soon;

an unkillable inclination towards bad tempers, hot and sudden;

a bloodshot eye ever wandering by the control panel’s big red button;

an intimate and prizeless lifelong affair with playing pretend;

wicked, willful selfishness; a bloodline’s colorful end;

a habit of appearing in friends’ lives empty-handed and unannounced;

a singular talent for not speaking up for myself when it most counts;

overripe kiwi fruit, overpriced bodysuits, and sixteen shoplifted lip balms;

shameful grace in lending my face to a lover’s drunken palm;

a seasonal menu of vices to peruse when i get listless;

a marked misinterpretation of repression as forgiveness;

a gifted nightstand trimmed with flat seltzer cans, unread tarot cards and loose hair-

Exhibit A of a special forte in neglecting things left in my care.

the uphill attempts to be still water to another’s touch, 

and the cloying internal impotence of never mastering as much;

a staunch resistance to accepting good things as they appear;

a feral, free-form desert dance to the devil’s voice in my ear.

[cheerfulomelette]

[Image ID]

A three panel comic by Tom Gauld. The art is line and flat colour with very simple shading.

In the first panel, a silhouetted figure is standing outside a bookshop, looking at a window display of the eight "books of the year".

In the second panel, the same figure is walking towards a building implied to be their home with a stack of eight books. The spines are the same colours as the covers of the books in the window.

In the third panel, the figure is in their bedroom. There are 26 books piled on the floor. Another stack, piled precariously on the nightstand, contains 32 books, with arrows pointing to the "books of last year", "books of the year before", and "books of many years ago"

[End image ID]

#booksoftheyear for @guardian books

p.s. my new book of cartoons is out now: tomgauld.com/comic-books-v2

[nyamadermont]

[#FFF111 Clandestine Closet]

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt Clandestine Closet.

532 words

The Clandestine Closet

She always knew that she didn’t know everything. After leaving Air Temple Island as a teen, Kya knew that her people would grow and change in ways she wouldn’t see for years, if ever.

But moving in with Lin just drove the point home, over and over.

It was easy to shrug off the weekly budget for honey for her tea. The additives that went into her coffee when she thought no one was looking. The fuzzy blankets piled behind the armchair (so they couldn’t be seen from the door). The shelf of vapid romance novels at the bottom of her nightstand.

She got a better laugh when she found the fuzzy (pastel blue, with a dolphin motif) slippers in the storage unit that only came out when the fall winds started to blow.

She was glad she was alone when she found Lin’s journal of the days after Amon.

But her eyes were opened one evening. She was putting away a box in the closet when she faltered, and put out a hand to steady herself.

Except her hand dislodged a panel from the wall of the closet. As she got her balance back, she realized something was behind the wall. And then she found the Lin she had never known.

The first box had patterns. Dolls - dolls obviously meant to be girls, and obviously meant to be boys, and a few that were just human. Stuffed animals of so many kinds. The fire ferret. The tigerdillo. She found five different turtleduck patterns. Even an arctic hen, complete with an egg and nest.

The second box had materials. Cloth scraps. Needles and thread. Buttons and beads. Fur, sawdust, and foam. A few half-finished models.

But it was the third box that made Kya fall from her knees to sit flat on the floor.

She found the pictures. Small children, hugging a stuffed doll or tigerdillo. This one was in a hospital bed. That one was in a refugee tent. One was in the back of a patrol car. A box full of pictures. Each of them dated, going back years. Sometimes, there was a name. A few had a place, or an event.

“So you finally found my clandestine closet.”

Kya lurched and whipped around to see Lin looking at her with a face full of love, and just a twinge of embarrassment.

“Why do you hide this?”

“Can’t have people thinking I’ve gone soft.”

“But all these kids know better.”

“And they are all sworn to secrecy. They take that very seriously. Let me see the box.”

Kya handed it over to Lin, who crouched beside her. She flipped through the earlier pictures. She found the one she wanted, and turned it to Kya.

“I thought I had picked this one because it was a simple pattern. I hadn’t been making them for very long, and didn’t trust myself with anything complicated. But maybe there was something else going on.”

In the picture, a tiny, disconsolate Asami Sato sat on the steps of their mansion. Her father holding her so that she couldn’t see the burn marks on the doors.

Holding her the way she was holding her brand-new polar bear dog.

[shi-chimera]

Balan Wonderworld headcanons have been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna plop them here. Enjoy, don't enjoy, whatever.

◇General◇

-The Balan Theater is MASSIVE and works much like the door in Howl's Moving Castle. Anyone can access it from a number of dilapidated old buildings if they know which ones to look for.

-The theater has at least two dozen rooms, a large restaurant style kitchen, a full bar, and a massive library with window seats, a day bed, and roughly five thousand books at any given time. The books change out at random because the library has a mind of its own.

-Other rooms include Balan and Lance's bedrooms (they live in the theater), Balan's office, and some guest rooms and lounge/living room type spaces. Some of the rooms have flippable floors and sliding walls to convert them into smaller or different rooms.

-The building also has a small rear courtyard with a single, ENORMOUS tree in it. There are also some small flowerbeds and in one corner by the building is a dumpster.

-The theater's porch lights indicate if an exterior door (i.e. an entrance) is active or not. If the lights are on, the doors are open!

♡Balan♡

-Balan feeds off positive emotions and energy. It's part of why he entertains people. Smiling people are happy and happy people keep him going.

-The most extra person you can find, and has a fixation with his appearance. The smallest stain or speck of dirt, loose thread, etc. and he LOSES HIS MIND. He WILL throw an absolute drama queen level spectacle. Everything he does is over the top.

-High energy, so much so that he tends to fidget, pace, or other wise be in constant motion to burn it all off. He's also ambidexterous, but favors his left so you're likely to see him writing paperwork or lifting things with his left hand more often.

-Is an excellent chef and will cook you the most delicious meal you've ever eaten.

-Balan enjoys tea (in a traditional cup and saucer, Earl Grey in particular), but enjoys it more with cookies. If you bring him tea, make yourself a cup too because he will insist you also have one. He will also probably share a cookie with you. Save yourself a headache and just take it. He considers anything he gives you a gift and if you decline or throw it away he will be very upset and assume you don't like him anymore. You can, however, throw away napkins and the like, of course.

-NEVER drops the smile if he can at all help it. He can and will be in emotional distress and you'd never know unless you knew what to look for. Subtle eye movements and shifts in his posture reveal his mood. Will drum his fingers in specific patterns to calm himself down depending on how he's feeling, though you'll almost never see them.

-He only takes off his hat around people he trusts wholely with every fiber of his being. Lance is one of the few. He's quite pretty underneath, with finely swirling gold patterns all over him similar to Lance and a golden heart shape on his forehead (also like Lance).

-He likes wine, especially red wine. He has a high alcohol tolerance. Can and WILL drink you under the table. He gets extra flirty when he's properly drunk, and if you can get him talking he'll definitely lose track of how much he's had. He can phase objects through one another, so you'll frequently see him fill his glass by tipping it against a bottle.

-Likes to play around with a vaudeville hook and will hook Lance out of the ether if they try to phase out of a conversation or if he expressly needs something from them.

-He's HUGE and all the furniture in the theater is sized for humans, and I do mean ALL OF IT, so his lanky ass looks ridiculous sitting on any kind of furniture. There is one exception to this and that is his bed.

-Speaking of, his room is huge and decked out in a red/white/gold/navy color scheme (hmm, I wonder why?). It has wall panels. He has a walk in closet filled to the brim and a large vanity with a mirror edged in lights. It's also MESSY. Piles of clothes, random objects, makeup all over the vanity. The bed is a 3/4 circle, and it wasn't his idea. Lance actually had it put in while Balan was distracted.

-Why did Lance get Balan a new bed? Well, Balan USED TO sleep in a human sized bed, and he sleeps like he's dead. As such, he can and did fall out of bed every night without fail, usually taking a nightstand or other large object out on the way down and not waking up at all. The crashing sounds kept waking Lance up and they had enough of that.

-Threw a hissyfit when Lance got him the new bed without permission. Sleeps splayed out in the "starfish" position, usually tangled up in the sheets like they came alive and tried to strangle him. One or more limbs will usually be hanging over the side, including his head. Doesn't fall out of the new bed NEARLY as often.

-If you fall asleep in the theater, expect to wake up in that bed. He will insist you sleep in comfort, and the bed is big enough for five people so you aren't inconveniencing him in any way by laying in it. He can sleep across from you on the other side, and will sleep still as a statue if you're there.

-Has little to no concept of gender as a whole. He has no biological gender and can be whatever he wants as he feels fit. Accepts any and all pronouns. As such, he doesn't assign gender stereotypes to ANYTHING (clothes, people, objects of any kind) and doesn't understand most human created gender related norms.

-Will frequently call people Darling. If he likes you, will sometimes call you Dear. I.e. "Lance, darling, why are you always like this? Just SMILE!" and "Look at that smile, dear girl! Positively RADIANT!"

-For the LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE LOVE HIM. There is NEVER such a thing as too much affection as far as Balan is concerned. He will PINE for it. Hug him, lean on him, ask him to hold your hand or carry you around. Something, anything! He WANTS as much attention as possible and will come at you like he's more touch starved than Lance. He has ZERO concept of personal space. He will toss you in the air (he will also always catch you, calm down), hold your face, pat you on the head, flat out glomp you, the whole shebang. Unless you clearly state otherwise, he will be all over you ALL THE TIME.

-Rarely if ever gets TRULY upset, and if he does the cracks will start to show. He will pace and rapidly teleport when stressed out, and will sometimes summon doubles without realizing. The doubles can't talk, and mainly just act as stand-ins in shows.

-Always puts the visitors first and will cancel a show if he feels someone is in danger, emotional distress, etc.

-His eyes glow in the dark, and the pupils get narrower instead of smaller (kinda like a cat). His dreads are also prehensile (they can be moved at will) and he has a set of four back tendrils like Lance. He never shows them unless absolutely neccessary or for intimidation. They're curled up like little nubbins on his back, under his clothes. They're extremely sensitive and are actually feelers that let him read the energy in a room so he can react accordingly.

-He DOES have casual clothes, usually semiformal (button up shirts, suit vests, etc.) and will pull his dreads back out of his face when his hat is off.

-He enjoys witty banter, and will have a "banter battle" with anyone willing, Lance unwillingly included. Annoying Lance is actually one of his favorite pasttimes. He's kinda a lil shit sometimes.

-Is literally millenia old and has been hanging around doing this showbiz thing for ages, just in different ways. Picked up the theater thing when it was immensely popular around Shakespeare's time. He's actually older than Lance, and despite his largely immature attitude, he's actually more emotionally stable.

☆Lance☆

-Angsty lil cinnamon bun.

-Absolutely starved for affection of any kind (Balan doesn't count), and very lonely. Will immediately doubt you/deny/contradict you if you compliment them. Will squirm and make desperation "THEY'RE TOUCHING ME. WHAT DO I DO? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. BALAN HALP." noises if you show them physical affection. Will also blush profousely.

-Plays the villain role in all the shows, and as a result almost no one likes or acknowledges them. As a whole they tend to be antisocial with very clear touch boundaries (Balan does NOT CARE). Very quiet and serious, and only speaks when absolutely necessary.

-Will NOT sugarcoat things (unless they like you, then expect sugarcoating of unimportant/trivial things). Less than stellar at the whole "emotional comfort" thing. If they like you, will hold you if you ask (especially if you're visibly upset).

-Feeds on negative emotions, meaning they have a more constant energy supply than Balan (though Balan is physically and power-wise stronger). Tends to be emotionally unstable and will get easily fed up/throw a small tantrum when they've had enough. Generally low energy and sleeps/naps often.

-Strictly They/Them pronouns. Also lacks a biological gender like Balan and can be anything they feel like being. Understands human created gender stereotypes and social norms.

-Prefers more feminine clothing. You're more likely to see casual clothes with Lance. They rarely care about other people's opinions on the matter. They prefer comfy, truly casual clothing made of soft cloth. Will always be wearing heels of some kind, though, and usually a scarf. Hair will be pulled back, typically in a messy bun or something similar.

-Does all the repairs and maintinence for the theater, including costume repair (especially if Balan's costume needs it, he will weep LOUDLY until Lance fixes the issue). Not uncommon to see them with their head in a ceiling fixing wiring, etc.

-Will absolutely melt if you stroke/run your fingers through their hair. They find it soothing, and if you pull them to you they'll fall asleep on your lap, against your shoulder, etc.

-Back tendrils are PAINFULLY sensitive, please don't touch without permission.

-Is a terrible cook in all things except desserts and sweets. They excell at all sugary treat making. Also an excellent bartender with a wide knowledge of cocktails.

-Absolute lightweight. Will get drunk off two shots, and is a weepy drunk. Tends to steer clear of drinking alcohol as a result. Enjoys Shirley Temple drinks, and can tie cherry stems into shapes with their tongue. Will cut you off if they think you've had enough booze.

-Impeccable and neat room filled with crystals, candles, incense, and lots of glow in the dark things. Their room has a purple and dark theme with small gold accents and is in general a small room with one window on the left side. Modestly sized canopy bed with plain bedding. Expect to never see this room unless they really adore you. They will know if you've so much as touched the doorknob and they WILL show up immediately to shoo you away.

-Tends to phase through the floor in a puddle of shadows, especially when trying to avoid a conversation. Will flail desperately if Balan pulls them back with his vaudeville hook.

-Lance is a light sleeper and any small sound will usually wake them up. Balan leaves them constantly sleep deprived. Sleeps curled up in a ball with their face snuggled into the comforter.

-If they find you asleep in the theater, they won't move you, but you're likely to wake up with pillows under your head and hips and a blanket tucked over you. They will also fall asleep anywhere and everywhere so if you're drowsy they'll steer you to the best napping spots (the daybed in the library is one of their favorites).

-Will throw stuff at Balan, watch your head.

-Has two sets of upper fangs, one right after the other and the second set is smaller than the first set, and one set of bottom fangs. Will rarely if ever smile, and is hesitant to be happy around you if they like you. NO ONE likes them, and if YOU like them you're the only one so they don't want to scare you off.

-They are remarkably gentle (despite being constantly cast as the villain), and tend to move more gracefully than Balan. Excellent at the Waltz and Tango, though they don't dance often.

-Eyes ALSO glow in the dark, and the pupils are slitted like a cat. They get huge and round if something catches Lance's attention.

[absideon-ephemeral]

II - Roommates, Commanders, and Generals.

A/N: And they were roommates - I'm sorry. The next chapter will be a lot more interesting as we finally get into the plot. And just as a heads up, THERE WILL BE NO SMUT AT ALL. Idk how to write it and I don't want to make a complete fool of myself if I do so. If I ever learn I may add some.

Warnings: mild language, curse words.

METANOIA Masterlist

——————————

Who knew a ship could be so damn big.

     I had walked and walked, following the map on my datapad to my quarters, which seemed to be on the other side of the ship. It was nearly midnight and I still hadn't reached it.

     During the entire walk, I couldn't get the strange encounter with Kylo Ren out of my head. Why had he just stared at me? What was that prickling sensation? My mind was going so fast, asking so many questions, that I almost ran into a wall. I had stopped myself just short a couple of inches from slamming right into it. I stood there, recollecting myself, as a quiet, minuscule beeping came from my datapad.

     Looking down, the beeping was signifying that I had reached my destination. In front of me were my quarters and not some random wall.

"For kriffs sake, finally," I muttered.

     I shut off my pad and went to reach for the control panel next to me, but I stopped myself from hitting the door button. Are my roommates already inside? What if they're already asleep? I don't want to get on their bad side, who knows how long I'll be rooming with them.

"Hey!"

     My head whips to the side to be met with a stormtrooper.

"What are you doing here?" They asked. From the sounds of it, the stormtrooper was female.

"I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be rooming here." My words flew out fast and uneasy.

"Whose orders?" The stormtrooper asked.

"Head technician Ademir. He said that there were no available rooms in the technicians' quarters and that this was the first available spot," I explained.

     The stormtrooper made a noise of understanding and hit the door button on the panel. It slid open with a slight whoosh and was pitch black inside. The stormtrooper went in, turning the lights on in the process. I stood there, awkwardly, almost waiting for an invitation.

"Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in?" The stormtrooper said.

"Uh, yeah right." I hurriedly walked in, the door closing behind me.

     The room was semi spacious. It had two dressers, three beds, each with its small nightstand; a refresher, and a window that outlooked the galaxy.

I made my way further in and sat on the bed that looked unoccupied. I sat rather stiffly as the stormtrooper began to take off her armor.

     Her helmet came off first, revealing dark skin, that almost seemed to have a honey glow to it, brown eyes, and a pretty face.

"So what's your name little technician?" She asked. Without the helmet on, I could hear an accent that was unfamiliar to me. I gave her my name and asked for hers.

"LN-7245." She answered as she continued to undress.

"LN-72- okay, that's a lot to call you by. Do you have a nickname or something I can use?" I asked.

She momentarily stopped her movements. "No. All we ever go by is our numbers." She then resumed, sitting down on the bed to take off her shin armor.

"Well, what about," I pondered for a second, "Leonora or Leo for short." She looked up at me.

"Leonora," she tested the name on her tongue, "I like it. Sounds nice. Where'd you come up with that?"

" Your number started with LN. I just took it from there and made something out of it that sounded pretty."

"Well, thank you for that." Leonora stood up, grabbed a case from under her bed, and began to pack away her armor for tomorrow.

When she finished, she grabbed some clothes, presumably sleep ones, out of the drawer on her nightstand. Before walking away to the refresher to change, she turned to the bed farthest away from me and smacked the person, who I honestly didn't even see, that was lying in it. They awoke with a start, cursing in Durese, a language known by space travelers.

"Why would you do that? I was sleeping so nicely!" They groaned. It was another female. This one had blond hair with brown streaks, blue eyes, and a pretty face as well.

"We have a new roommate. Be nice." Leonora smacked her again with her clothes and went to the refresher to change.

The girl grumbled something then turned to me, leaning back on her elbows, her head cocked to the side.

"So, what's your name?" She asked. I gave it to her. She peered at me curiously.

"You don't look like a stormtrooper." She pointed out.

I laughed. "What gave that away?"

She looked me up and down, "You don't have the body of a stormtrooper. And the way you seem to carry yourself, I'd assume you're a technician."

"Right you are." She laughed.

"I'm ZA-7283."

"Nice to meet you. Can I give you a nickname?" I asked.

"Nickname?" She asked. Leonora walked out of the refresher, dressed in comfy, all-black, nightclothes.

"She gave me one," Leo laid down on her cot, putting hands behind her head, "I'm Leonora, Leo for short." She had an air of pride around her.

The other girl gasped. "That sounds so cool! I want one too!"

"Okay, um, how about Zariah?" I suggested.

"Ooo, I like that. Makes me sound badass!" Zariah exclaimed. Leo and I laughed at her enthusiasm.

After we all calmed down, Zariah asked me a question.

"So why did they put a technician with two stormtroopers?"

I told her the same thing I told Leo.

"Ahhh okay. Well, at least you got two roommates who aren't sticks in the mud. That would've sucked." Zariah laid back down. I nodded in agreement.

—————————

"Shit, shit, shit, shit."

     I hoped to maker that there were no higher-up officials around, because if so, I would've most likely faced punishment. I was currently running through the halls like a mad man with my jumpsuit half on and struggling to carry my small tool bag.

     I had completely forgotten to set an alarm last night, causing me to wake up 20 minutes late, which is by no means acceptable. Leo and Zari left way before me, as troopers have to get up earlier than the techs, and they didn't even bother to wake me up.

So now I had to resort to dashing my way through the metal halls, weaving in and out of other technicians and stormtroopers. As I slid around a corner, I suddenly ran straight into something. The force I hit it with was enough to send me sprawling backward onto the cold metal floor. I groaned in slight pain and made an effort to sit up. Regaining my bearings, my sight is immediately met with black boots.

My blood ran cold.

Trailing my eyes up, all I see is black. Black pants, a black shirt, a black cloak, and a black helmet.

The prickling sensation returns. This time it's sifting through my mind, weaving in and out of the crevices.

Kylo Ren.

I scramble to my feet as quickly as possible and bring my arm into a salute. Once again, the black soulless eyes of his mask stare into the very depths of me.

"Please forgive me, Commander, sir!" The wavering words flew out. He said nothing, and I feared that he would whip out his lightsaber and end me right then and there. But he simply stared for a few more moments then briskly walked away, the prickling fading with him.

I watched as he left, not dropping my salute until he disappeared completely and I could no longer hear his boots on the metal floor.

When I had deemed it safe, I dropped my arm and breathed a sigh of relief. Gathering myself together, zipping up my uniform properly, and grabbing my bag, I made my way to my task for the day.

I was assigned to fix some damage in a meeting room, presumably caused by Kylo Ren during a meeting that had gone sour.

But when I walked through the doors metal blast doors, I couldn't help but curse.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

In front of me was one of the biggest messes I have ever seen. The poor innocent wallhad been slashed many times by a burning saber, leaving deep jagged lines. They crossed and weaved in and out of one another, forming some type of chaotic artwork. No matter the strange beauty, this was going to be a pain to fix.

Setting my bag down, I went closer to inspect the damage. The wiring underneath it had been damaged severely. Some areas are worse than others, but half of the underneath panels would need to be replaced.

Looking away from the wall, I took notice of a larger bag of tools and a welding cart set off of the side; free for me to use. I walk over to the bag, open it, and grab my first piece.

——————

Four hours and counting. That's how long I've been fixing this mess. And I haven't even gotten to re-welding the slashes yet.

For the last hour, I've been working in a tight space. Literally.

To fix some of the wires in one of the deeper slashes, I had to go inside the wall. It required me to remove the vent cover, which resided right below the slash near the floor, and crawl inside; upside down. It took me several tries and having to unzip my jumpsuit halfway, revealing my black under tank, and tie the sleeves around my waist to finally weasel in. My back was flat against the air vent as I worked and I could hardly hear anything. Honestly, it was a miracle I even fit. After removing the air duct lining, I was able to finally access the wires.

Which leads me up to now. I was in the process of attaching one of my last wires, peacefully working and oblivious to the outside world, when something unexpectedly nudged my foot.

The sensation made me jolt up, my head slamming into the roof of the duct.

"Kriff!" The word escaped as pain now radiated through my head. My foot was nudged again. "One moment please!" I shouted. I began to weasel my way back out, having slight difficulty due to not being able to see much.

Once I finally got my head and arms out, I sat on the ground, blinking my eyes to adjust to the harsh lighting, having been in a dark vent for the last hour.

"Did you hear me?"

My head whipped up, and I was met with someone you hoped to never meet; the infamous, General Hux.

I stood immediately, getting a slight head rush from the fast movement, and saluted. "General Hux, sir." I addressed him.

He looked at me with distaste; not pleased to see me without my uniform on properly. But there was no going back now. He looked me up and down, a frown forming on his face. He was just like I've heard him to be. Short, red-haired, and a not-so-pleasing face that was always screwed up in a face of displeasure.

He huffed and spoke again. "Did you hear me at all?" His voice was snobby and pitched.

"No sir, I couldn't hear anything in there." I curtly replied, taking notice of the men behind him. Other Generals and officers, I had never seen, but by the way they presented themselves, they were important.

"Well, I had asked what you are doing in here. This is a restricted area to those without permission." He sneered, obviously not liking me.

"I was tasked to fix this damage, sir. Some of the wirings needed to be replaced but I could only access it through the vent, sir." I remained still, keeping my salute.

"On whose orders?"

"Head technician Ademir, sir. I have the assignment on my data-pad if you wish to see, sir."

"That won't be necessary. Do you have any other tasks to do?" He was growing frustrated at my presence.

"No sir, I don't. This is my only one due to how much work it requires." I answered. He huffed and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the blast doors opening, and someone walking in. My view was blocked by the other men, but General Hux rolled his eyes, already knowing who had entered.

"Ah, Commander, how pleasant of you to join us."

[bird-in-a-cage]

#42 from the prompt list... I mean I'm sorry but... I NEED TO SEE THAT.

Wow, am I sorry this took so long! This was a tough prompt but, thanks to @cockasinthebird for being a wonderful human being, we got through it. So I hope this was worth the wait!

Prompt list is here if anyone wants to throw a prompt at me!

#42: “I didn’t say “sex party” as in orgy.  I said “hex party” as in witches.”

So far, college had been okay. It was as hard and challenging as Steve had expected, but he was getting on almost well. He had to spend a lot of time studying in the library, reading and re-reading source materials, typing, editing, deleting and starting all over again with essays and assignments sure. But it was different from high school, on a deep level he wanted to be here, amongst the old stone buildings that either held no heat at all or far too much depending on the weather outside, surrounded by people who also shared a passion for learning. It was different to focus on what he wanted to learn instead of just having to cram a little bit of everything into his brain everyday.

Turns out, if he was just allowed to go a little slower and take his time, he wasn’t as dumb as everyone back home at thought.

He’d gotten into college by the skin of his teeth, pulling far too many all nighters and living off five hour energy to drag his grades up when it was almost too late, pulling in every favour he had to retake anything below a C with nothing but a prayer and a pleading smile, somehow managing to not go completely insane in the process. Getting a 3 point grade average at graduation had been nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to say his parents had nothing to do with his acceptance into quite a nice school, but in reality Steve knew they probably greased a palm or two. Maybe helped pay for the new set of band uniforms that were recently unveiled.

The college itself was beautiful. Steve had fallen for it on his first visit. Old stone buildings, a large green campus area, a good surrounding community, regular activities and groups to go meet up with and try different things with now he was getting out of small town Hawkins and away from being stuck in what he knew. 

There was something a bit…odd about the college though. Steve would be sat in the library, for example, finishing up a comparison piece when he would hear the telltale low battery beep from his headphones. He always forgot to bring a charger. He knew it was on his nightstand back in the dorm room, wrapped around the drawer handle so he wouldn’t forget to lift it this time, so it was pointless checking his bag for it. He would go to pack his things away, open up his slouchy backpack and there it would be, his exact one because he’d wrapped a piece of green tape around it when his roommate kept stealing it and swearing blind he hadn’t, laying curled around his water bottle..

That wasn’t the only example though. Things would just appear when he was looking for them. Books he needed from a completely different section would just happen to be on the shelf he was currently looking at. If a flavour of soda was sold out at a vending machine, he would pick another, but the one he originally wanted would tumble out, ice cold and somehow impossibly refreshing. None of them were a major inconvenience by far, but it was just odd. 

The only small downside to the college of his dreams is that he forgot to investigate anything about the fraternities and sororities. Steve didn’t really have any desire to be in any frat even if offered, they were just houses for boys to pretend not to be at least a little bicurious as they bumped into each other all sweaty playing sports, using basketball as an excuse to touch each other’s muscles. Flat out no homo-ing each other. Steve was out and proud at college, didn’t need an excuse anymore other than “you’re hot, you wanna?”. The days of bi-panic and needing a thinly veiled excuse such as helping someone he thought was cute off the ground in the middle of a match were long gone.  Steve had been to a couple of frat parties, naturally, everyone did. They were kinda fun if you hung around outside away from the thick, choking air of sexual tension that was threatening to bubble over at any minute.

Everyone knew frat houses were just potential orgy dens, right?

There was one frat house though, just off campus and to the right a little, that gave off a weird vibe. The Omega House. It didn’t look that special, had dark grey panelling on the outside, windows trimmed in white, the omega symbol on the outer wall above the door painted in silver that reflected the sunlight and looked almost like real silver. Like the college itself, it was just odd. As far as Steve could tell it didn’t have many members, only four, as far as he’d counted, would walk around in blazing orange letterman jackets with that emblem stitched into the back and a smaller one on the front right breast. He didn’t know what majors they took, probably all on sports scholarships with how stacked a couple of them looked, and one liked to hang around the library. Always in sunglasses even indoors, tight jeans to combat the slightly too big jacket. Blonde hair shaved at the sides but longer on top, not wildly long but just enough for natural loose curls to develop.

Not that Steve had been looking at how handsome he was at all.

Thinking about it, he seemed to always be around when the odd things happened. When there would suddenly be a spare chair even though all the tables were packed with other students trying to do their work, a fresh stack of post it notes in Steve’s bag when he needed to write an annotation down quickly, a newly sharpened pencil just happening to be on the floor by his feet when he’d lost his before class. The rain suddenly starting as soon as Steve got into a building when he’d forgotten an umbrella like it was waiting for him to be safe and dry.

There was just something weird about the whole thing. Not enough for him to freak out and want to go home though, no way. He could deal with weird and slightly odd far better than being stuck in a town going nowhere, where his only future was getting a job in his father’s company and a wife he didn’t love, cranking out a couple kids after a year of so and slowly but surely morphing into a mirror image of the man he lowkey despised.

Even the thought of that was horrifying. It was bad enough that genetically they might look similar one day. Hopefully many, many years in the future. When plastic surgery was cheap.

The library was quiet when Steve entered. Of course it was, it was a Friday night. There were a number of parties and gatherings happening all over the place, but this week he’d promised himself to be good. Study now and party later. He’d been invited to a glow paint, totally-not-a-rave party happening just outside of town that he was pretty excited for. He’d been focusing hard on his studies so it was time to let off some steam. And maybe that steam had been building for quite some time cause ol’ Lefty wasn’t doing the trick anymore, mashing his face into a pillow in the dead of night, furiously jacking off under a blanket and praying his roommate didn’t wake up or come back soon. And, maybe sometimes, Steve thought about that cute blonde in the Omega House jacket and how good it would be to see those thick lips all slick and swollen wrapped around his cock. Really those thoughts were just between him and God, who he hoped wasn’t paying attention most of the time he was alone in his room.

Steve found the spot he liked, towards the back facing towards the window where he couldn’t be distracted by people walking in, and pulled his laptop and the well annotated copy of Dracula he was working from. His half finished essay sat on the screen, cursor blinking at him accusingly, demandingly even. He sighed at it and opened up to the page he was last working from when the chair next to him was pulled out. Not even one or two over, obeying the unspoken rule of the Personal Study Bubble. No, the very next chair. Steve could see orange reflected on his screen. He frowned slightly and turned to just give a passing glance, hoping for a the fuck? expression, when he saw staggeringly blue eyes staring back, nestled into tan freckled skin, natural curls just reaching down into the field of view. The regular sunglasses had been tucked up into the neck of a black tee. The back of Steve’s neck felt instantly hot as he looked away, hoping for a moment he hadn’t been seen, but that was impossible. He was right there.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before. Must be in the same class though.” His voice was deep and Steve felt his legs turn a little bit to jello. He chanced another glance and saw the guy was holding a copy of Dracula too. Steve wasn’t sure he’d been holding it before… 

“Well, I attend almost every lecture…”

“You must do if you’re in here by yourself on a Friday,” the guy smiled. It didn’t look cruel, neither did it sound like he was making fun. This was already confusing, and Steve wasn’t the greatest with people at the best of times, let alone he around guys he thought were kind of stupidly handsome from afar, and apparently just stunning close up.

Steve just nodded and shifted in his seat slightly since this guy clearly wasn’t going to go away any time soon. He didn’t have anything on the table in front of him, didn’t even look like he had a backpack for the potential of anything. The odd feeling was definitely strong and getting stronger. “Can I… can I help you with something?”

“That depends,” the book was quickly tossed aside and the guy nudged closer with his chair, Steve could smell his cologne. It didn’t smell like anything he’d tried before. It was floral but dark and spicy, but also fruity too. Slightly burnt lemon and vanilla loaf? His hand wrapped easily around Steve’s freer one. His skin was warm, a little rough maybe from weightlifting which he clearly did, applying a comforting amount of pressure. Steve couldn’t help the skin on his arm breaking out in goose pimples. He glanced at their hands together and his throat felt impossibly tight. “I’m Billy by the way.”

“Steve...”

“Great. So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things can be a little, strange around here-”

Steve glanced at their hands again, felt that blue steel bore into his eyes and further back. “Oh they’re strange alright…”

“You ever wondered why?” This guy, Billy, grinned something devilish and let Steve’s hand go only to put it on his knee, squeezing firm but not unpleasant. Steve was sure he was starting to sweat under the attention of all this. Yeah he had fooled around with a couple guys drunk at parties, stumbled into a dorm room or two he didn’t recognise to have some fun and wake up with carpet burns over his back and his knees, but this felt very direct. Especially when Billy’s hand started slowly drifting higher. Steve couldn’t even say he didn’t want it, he’d been staring at this guy from a distance for months now, but to have him suddenly be right in front and touching with obvious intent. It was something else.

“Uh, n-not really. Sometimes maybe?”

Billy’s eyes turned from cool to blazingly erotic in an instant, for just a moment, then back to cool again. He nudged even closer into Steve’s bubble, who was more helpless than a fish on dry land at this moment. 

“Would you like to know why?” The way Billy’s tongue licked over the L was something filthy. If Steve had been set jello before he was now quickly melting into a sweet pool of tangy cherry. “My friends and I can show you.”

Steve felt like he was drowning. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. But still BIlly’s firm hand crept ever higher until he was practically cupping Steve through his jeans, inching closer until their lips were connected in the middle of the library. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed. He was already boiling alive in his skin from all the attention and Billy’s lips weren’t helping. They were as plush as Steve had imagined. Maybe not in the right area just yet but with the way Billy was pushing his palm directly against Steve’s slowly awakening dick they just might be soon.

He was half hard when Billy pulled away, flushed bright red like he’d been sunburnt.

“Come by the house tomorrow night, you’ll see. We promise you’ll enjoy it.” 

With that, Billy winked, slipped his sunglasses back on and left. Steve blinked at nothing for a long time, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened to him.

Did… did he just get invited to an orgy?

He packed up quickly and went back to his dorm, there was no way any studying was going to happen now. It didn’t happen throughout all of Saturday either. Just the memory of the whole short incident rolling around and around in Steve’s mind, of Billy’s words dripping from those lips and the feel of his hand pressing just right.

He’d definitely gotten invited to an orgy.

He lay on his bed for a while just thinking, tapping his forefingers together as something for them to do. Steve was kind of flattered really, he knew he was nice looking, but there were far better looking guys on campus, and from the stories he’d heard they’d probably be up for it no questions asked. It also popped into his head that the guys he’d seen wearing the orange Omega jackets were a lot more jacked than he was, and Steve had seen enough porn to know what that probably meant. A part of him knew this was utterly insane. Shit like this didn’t happen without a bored camera crew and fourteen different close up angles.

But then maybe it did happen. He was from a small town after all. He was pretty sure his neighbours three doors down were swingers from all the cars that would suddenly appear once a month for just a night. Least that was the rumor that he may or may not have pushed a couple times. And, afterall, wasn’t this what college was about? Being out there and experimenting with crazy shit you wouldn’t do in the real world. He’d taken ecstasy in his first few weeks at a warehouse party, he had no desire to do that back home.

So, maybe he was warming up to the idea of being a bottom at an orgy party being held in the weird grey frat house. Who was anyone to judge? Steve just wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, that’s all.

He felt nervous standing on the front steps of the Omega House. All the blinds were drawn inside. He didn’t know what to bring, what was customary? It didn’t feel right to bring, like, snacks, so he’d just brought himself, already flushing and trying not to get hard by just the thought of Billy getting his hands on him again, how good he must look naked and sweating, finding out what those lips could really do.

The man himself answered the door after two sharp knocks. The grin he wore was sinful, eyes wild and excited, grip firm as he pulled Steve easily inside the dark room. Steve wasn’t sure what to expect, but low mood lighting, a coffee table in the middle of three couches covered in books and blank papers, and every other surface holding up thick lit candles dripping with wax wasn’t it. It also appeared to be just the two of them.

It wasn’t entirely what he had signed up for. But Steve wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Man, am I happy you actually came,” Billy started, pulling his letterman off and hanging it over the banister like a coat hook. His black tee had the sleeves ripped off, his arms were nothing short of statue worthy. He ruffled his hair a little, the curls bobbing just so. They looked delightfully soft. “The rest of the guys are at some sorority bullshit, but they’ll be here later.”

“Uh, o-okay, cool.” Steve tried to sound confident as he went to go take a seat on one of the couches. Billy sat next to him, up close and personal again and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was radiating body heat which Steve wanted to eat up greedily. He noticed some of the books on the table. A copy of Frankenstein, a very old looking copy of Dracula, maybe second edition, a copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and copies of both Malleus Maleficarum and A Guide to Modern Witchcraft. Those titles mixed with all the candles and the mood lighting and Billy’s staring and frankly demonic grin led Steve down the path that seemed the most obvious to him.

This was a sex cult house. And it was about to get all Rosemary’s Baby up in here.

Billy’s hand was back on his thigh again, heavy and pressing, taking Steve out of his deep barrel of thoughts. The grin was back on his tanned features. “You look nervous.” He gave Steve’s thigh a squeeze. Even though he had no idea what was going on it still made his cock jump alert in his jeans.

“Well, I’ve never exactly been to… one of these before…”

Billy’s eyebrows furrowed together a little, he still wore a smile though. It suited his face. “One of what?”

“You know...?” Steve rolled his hands as his face turned ever redder. He was sure it could almost be seen from space. He wasn’t a prude by any means, but growing up in quite a strict household meant he just struggled saying some things out loud. So he whispered it instead. “...an orgy?”

Billy stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter that wasn’t at all humiliating. He must have sensed Steve’s rapidly growing discomfort and indignity because the laughter quickly died and turned more into gentle questioning. “Did you think that was what this was gonna be?”

“Well I don’t know what else this would be!” Steve spat out in frustration. He hated not knowing the whole story and here he felt he barely even knew the first line of the novel. Billy smiled warm like a summer day and cupped his cheek. He felt instantly calmed, being swallowed up by those cool blues like a gentle river on an August afternoon.  “I said I’d explain about all the odd things that happen around campus. They’re from us in this house. We’re kind of, different.”

“Different how?”

Billy took his hand back and snapped his fingers loud and piercing. All the candles extinguished themselves at once. Not a breeze to be felt. It wasn’t scary, or spooky, but it was pretty cool. “Different different. You’re the only person who’s seemed to notice. And, by house law, that means you get initiated. You get to know that we’re all witches.”

The word hung in the air and seemed ridiculous. But, at the same time, it didn’t. It did certainly explain how chargers and post its and pencils would suddenly just appear whenever Steve needed them. He still wasn’t completely convinced though.

“Witches?” He repeated back carefully, just in case he’d heard that wrong too. Billy nodded and clapped his hands. Every candle reignited themselves, flickering back to life one by one in a circle around the room. A bottle of whiskey and cans of coke appeared on the table where there had been just papers before. The books remained. There was a proud look on his face. Short of being drugged at the door and this all being a crazy fever dream, this was definitely real. Steve didn’t really have any reason to not believe his eyes and what was happening around him. Billy didn’t look like David Copperfield that was for sure. “So, not an orgy?”

“No. Not an orgy.” Billy chuckled and repeated back. He must have seen Steve’s face go from confused to understanding to a little disappointed all within the space of a few seconds because his hand was high on Steve’s thigh again. Maybe the guy just didn’t understand personal space? That seemed growingly likely. “I don’t think I’d wanna share you anyway.”

Steve felt the flush on his face again, but he grinned through it this time. Weird, spooky, otherworldly shit could be saved for later if there was even a chance of getting what he’d been thinking alone in his bed. “But you’d wanna maybe...?”

He let the question stay floating between them as Billy smirked lewd and pressed himself up against Steve’s body. “Bet you’d love to find out what I can do with my fingers pretty boy…”

Oh, Steve really would.

[spnsmile]

Cas will smite everyone who insults Dean's freckles

Yes yes he will! No questions asked! 👀

But shit just went down here, anon! Still sweet end, don't worry ✨ For you 😅

--------------- 👀

Castiel likes it when Dean is honest with himself. 

Since their first kiss, their first night, both confessing how they always wanted each other in every way, Castiel made Dean agree they both stop their 'wishful thinking' and start doing as they please. They wasted time dancing around each other, Castiel is not about to condition Dean on his own wants. He wants Dean. Permission was given. Castiel trusts Dean and that's about everything they needed to know.

So he likes it when Dean steals kisses while in the middle of a stressful hunt. Likes it so much when Dean entwines their hands while doing manual research. Best, of course, is when he can pin Dean on the wall without much as a blink. Gets thrilled when Dean pushes his chair and straddles his lap without warning.

It happens anywhere in the Bunker: the library, the kitchen, even the upper entrance where they set the chessboard game. He loves Dean's honesty, it makes his whole face brighten and make Castiel feel like sunshine is flooding his soul.

So it's true. Honesty is the best policy. Except for Sam. Sam needs limits. Sam says he needs his peace of mind so honesty is not for all. Sam who caught them by the ham radio panel once, twice by the telescope too- needs his rules. They had to make sure Sam is safely out of the way.

So when Dean stands up from his chair and walked to him while Castiel sits on the couch by side table, Castiel smiles too. Sam is out for the night. And Dean wearing his cheeky little grin and twinkling green eyes suggestively makes Castiel's invisible broken wings to flutter in excitement.

Dean takes the book from Castiel's hand and threw it away. Angel's eyes follow where it landed (in case he needs to retrieve it before a dog eats it) before falling on his knees. Castiel watches Dean, mesmerized as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. Their eye contact is glazed and intense when Dean looks up before kissing the tip of its head.

Castiel exhales for the blessing. Leaning back on the chair, he cards his hand on the hunter's hair. Dean is beautiful. Much beautiful with cheeks flushed and lips wrapped around his cock. But it's not this that gets Castiel staring fixedly. 

"I love them. Your freckles."

It's the first time he's said it. 

Also, first time to see Dean glare up to the angel's surprise. His movement did not cease but the pacing grows bolder and quicker that Castiel is throwing his head back breathlessly,  fingers digging on the hunter's hair till he comes. Dean draws more from him, Castiel wonders if its Dean telling him to stop talking.

Dean's lips certainly can and when the hunter smirks at Castiel's wrecked form, the angel thought nothing of it anymore

Until the next hunt.

***

The impala door slams shut, scaring off squirrels on the nearest lawn in the middle of a hot suburb. 

"What's the plan, Samwise?"

"Shut up, Dean. We need this done pronto. We already know the demon's inside the house holding two college students hostage-"

"-who happened to play around with a book of witchcraft and eventually summon an actual powerful demon-" Cas supplies flatly.

"Good times." Dean rolls his eyes.

"Is it?" Cas is confused. 

"Guys, listen," Sam pursed his lips "we still have to know what kind of demon they summon okay? From the description of the mother, the book she saw is ancient-"

"That's my boy remembering all the nerdy stuff." Dean pats Sam's shoulder who scowls. 

"I was thinking they could've summoned an old demonized pagan god which means it's going to be a little tricky."

"Can't I smite it on the spot?"

Dean beams at Cas, full of heart eyes. 

"That's why I love that you're here, Cas. You've no idea of half the shit Sam and I went through when we deal with the old bitch stuff as pagan gods." Cas only squints.

Sam shakes his head. "No, Cas. If we can catch it that's much better. We don't know what happened to the third kid."

"And there's a third kid." Dean sighs. "There's always a third kid. Cas, we can't have the demon ganked until we have the whereabout of the kid, okay?"

"Understood."

"You can smite it when things got out of hand," Sam adds. Castiel relaxes. "Dean will work on the trap downstairs while I tackle it wherever the hell it is."

"Definitely not in hell." Dean snorts humorously but nobody laughed. He scowls.

"Cas can cover the back of the house, Dean can go front while I clear what's the second floor, see if the kids are there. And Dean. Don't kick the door, please." Sam finishes. 

Dean winks at Cas. "Sammy does the search and rescue while we get the tough job."

They do the drill. 

Dean is the first to reach the living room. Castiel hears him kick the door. Rolling his eyes, he walks through the kitchen, searching high and low. But he stops when he feels the evil energy contained in the space ascend so he hurries to Dean.

Dean has it in a devil's trap. It has shed the mortal body to its gruesome true form of bile and wood, an old pagan indeed. Probably after Sam exorcises it. 

The demonic voice did not surprise him he hears it talking to Dean. He hears the threats, the convulsing energy that wants to harm, but when the demon starts cursing at Dean, Castiel steps forward. The demon saw him and yells curses in his direction.

"I got it, Cas," Dean says.

"You?" spits the demon, "Yoke of the yellow eyes with his tongue's mark on your skin, got me? Freckled fuck-"

Castiel's whole form flares with anger. He sees Dean flinch, sees the color drain from his face as the demon went on with insults but it's over in a second. Castiel smites the demon, holy grace exploding in blinding rage. His eyes stay on Dean who blinks at him in surprise. They stand there not talking till Sam appears telling them third kid is not upstairs.

"Cas! I told you we need him!" Sam says, crestfallen at the empty devil's trap.

 "It got out of hand," Castiel says tone leveled. "Dean?"

"Uh... Yeah, yeah out of hand. Let's find thirdy." Dean reverts to his business tone, hunter first mode but Castiel sees through him.

Turns out the third kid is dead.

***

That night when in the safety of Dean's room, after Castiel strips all but the necktie on his neck and granted Dean's fantasy, when the hunter is in a better, relaxed mood, Castiel asks Dean about it. 

Honesty is what they needed most.

"It's not that. I love everything you say, Cas." Dean says with the left arm at the back of his head, the other Castiel's pillow while the angel stared up at him. "I just don't like it getting pointed... During, you know, sex."

"Why not?"

Dean looks away. "I know they don't look good. Not in the dark, not with fire-"

"What? Some mortal you had sex with said it's not?" Castiel couldn't imagine the fire at first, wondering how some one- nightstand can make Dean Winchester doubt the perfection of every part of his body. 

Dean doesn't answer so Castiel pushes himself to look Dean in the eyes. His green eyes look somber and hurt. It confuses the angel.

"Dean."

"It's not exactly mortal." he points out.

"Anna?" Castiel chastises.

"No."

"I can recite all the supernatural beings in the world Dean, both in Alphabetical and numerical order.  Also in symbols even Enochian if you want. So unless you want me to start the vigil-"

"I think you'll get there easy with demon A plus torture, y'happy now?" Dean snaps, turning his body away from the surprised angel.

But Castiel is a bottle of rage. He wants to climb out of bed and charge hell once again. Destroy everyone who made Deam suffer. But this is not about him.

Castiel's inside flounders at the gravity of the meaning. He stares at Dean's shrinking form, his exposed back where he can see the lovely sunspots graced by heaven's light even in the darkness of the room. 

The remark of the demon hits him hard. Even when it's been years, scars of words don't easily heal...

He feels Dean's anguish, can see the brightness of Dean's soul slowly diminish. And it's easy to fall prey to your own demons sometimes, much easier than loving yourself after what happened.

It hurts the angel.

"Dean." he places a gentle hand on the hunter's shoulder possessively, glad Dean isn't pulling away. "Dean, when I put you together from hell when I touched you right here," he squeezes the shoulder, "I cleansed your soul from any damage and residue that hell brought you. That's what an angel's claim means to do. To purify and renew. Any sin you committed before then has been... Um, in your words, turned a clean slate. There was no doubt you came out from there intact and cleansed."

"Let's not talk about it." Dean fumes. "Not in the sack. Don't mention it, please, Cas.."

Castiel looks brokenheartedly at Dean. He rubs his hand gently on Dean's skin before finally pulling the man's back flat on the bed. His heart ached when he sees the blurry green eyes swimming in silent unshed tears. 

Castiel frowns deeper. Dean is beautiful and no kind of demon will ever see that. It takes amount of love to see it. Dean needs to see it. So he leans down. Crawls over the man, their bodies parallel, his knees on each side of Dean's hips and then worships him

Lile how Dean deserves it.

He catches Dean's eyes. Makes Dean see the intensity of his love. Presses a gentle kiss on Dean's eyes, his nose, his cheeks. Dean's lips he brushes with his own. 

"I love them. They are beautiful," he repeats firmly, confidently. 

Dean swallows hard. Castiel crushes his lips on Dean to a bruising kiss, distracting Dean further when he presses their body together, igniting the flame dampened by a cursed memory. But Castiel won't let Dean continue believing his freckles are Taboo. He loves Dean's freckles. Loves everything that is Dean. 

So he repeats it when he touches Dean and makes him come. Repeats it when he takes Dean apart. Whispers it when Dean falls asleep in his arms. Knows Dean starts believing when he says it repeatedly on his ears and Dean smiles.

"I love them, okay?"

Dean pecks on his lips and murmurs, "I love everything you love, Cas."

"That means you."

Dean looks him in the eyes softly. Castiel waits, embracing Dean closer like doing so would keep Dean's heart together. Then-

"Mm kay. I love myself too."

Castiel tucks his face on Dean’s neck. 

"Fuck, Cas - babe, you cryin?"

 It's between that and smiling.

[elizabeth-234]

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Sixteen: Civil War 

Summary so far from previous chapter: Here's a summary of the previous chapter: Peter goes to upstate New York with his team plus Flash and Ned. They all have fun with some heart to heart conversations about the disaster that was the end of their project because of the trip to Oscorp. It's summer with two weeks back to school. Peter reflects on what happened with Mr. Stark with much angst and sadness. He's also working himself too hard with two jobs, one at a coffee shop and the other at a radio supply store called Barry's. It is there that Peter finds himself watching the news as Civil War happens. Close footage of the event is released and the world watches as two superheroes battle it out. Peter stumbles home and calls Mr. Stark to make sure he's okay only to get a voicemail. He doesn't leave a message. 

Chapter Seventeen: Reflection and Realizations 

Peter always felt at odds with the world. From his youth – the time waking up alone in the hospital and going through middle school with laughter following at his back – left the impression of permanent displacement. The uncomfortable foreignness he sometimes felt inside his own skin was nothing new. Peter’s preference for a quiet room over something loud was strange to people. Sam Carlson called him a freak and at the time Peter cried. When no one stood up for him he believed it was true. What else would explain the differences between him and everyone else?

At home, his family knew and loved his differences. Ben wore his varsity jacket with pride. Peter would run up to him and beg to wear it, loving how the plush leather draped around his shoulders. Hoping one day he could wear his own like Ben. Peter could remember Ben’s excited ramblings. All the plans he made for Peter - with Peter. When he fell short of those dreams, Ben still loved him.

Ben took him to ice cream outings after spelling bees and pushing Peter to believe in himself no matter what. He showed Peter that sometimes, with special people, those differences weren’t considered bad but unique. Like his quirks were interesting instead of outlandish.

With the anniversary of Ben’s death approaching at the end of the week and now Germany, the differences felt like too much. His skin itched. He wanted to destroy his phone and hide under the blankets in his room. He also wanted to plop himself down in front of five monitors and make sure he didn’t miss anything.

It was a week since Germany. Seven days of news stations repeating words and phrases over and over again. Their pantomime words were pointless and flat but Peter couldn’t do anything but watch them. He had to make sure there wasn’t a speck of information missed. What if new injuries came to light? What if, after the bloody fight there was more violence and fear? The smallest word could incite the people of New York and the world to shift to a strange unease. To look at their heroes as lesser because of an in-house fight. Would they be wrong do so? So, hours of the tv he watched.

Today, though was different. He climbed out of bed to drag himself to the couch in their living room. It was still pushed to the side of the wall so May could roll her yoga mat out in the middle of the room so he had to sit at the end and crane his neck to see.

Peter yawned and stretched his back before turning on the tv. Both hope and dread tangled in his stomach as he waited to see if anything new happened while he was asleep. The first thing he noticed was the absence of colors. There was no red and gold; no red, white, and blue either. Instead a story played about a new workout fad on the morning show. Both hosts tried to squat in heels and a tight suit and all Peter could do was watch in disbelief.

He moved to the edge of the couch, digging his hands into the sides of the cushions. Peter switched the channels back and forth but …  there was nothing. Not a single story on the Avengers.

The day passed in a blur after that. Peter sat in the back of Barry’s listening to the radio as he worked. The Yaesu FT – 891 sat exposed in front of him on the table. Gears and widgets crowded the small paneling of the front.

Still no word about it on the radio. Iron Man, Captain America, The Avengers. Nothing.

It was incomprehensible. How had the world already moved on? The arguably largest powers of the world clashed in epic proportions and a week later no one cared. Everyone else was getting back to normal.

Peter’s whole world had changed. Maybe in minuscule terms but at a fundamental level. If this was what it meant to be at odds with the world then maybe it was a good thing. If he could remember, keep those relentless attacks and trembling fists in mind, then maybe it was worth it.

Before their upstate getaway. Peter scowled at the news. He hated how these strangers gossiped and mongered any information they had about Mr. Stark. Chest heaving from running. Peter watched from the side of the street as Iron Man was on the tv. Mr. Stark wearing his superhero persona complete with the large glasses and faux smile. When the woman who walked up beside him asked him who the man really was he was blindsided. Who else would he be besides Iron Man?

Peter didn’t understand at the time.

It was when he saw Mr. Stark, when Iron Man had fallen to the ground. Blood stained the red metal dripping onto the concrete underneath him. Peter realized he was as bad as the people in the hallway of the Tower like the man who spilled coffee on himself as their boss walked by all those months ago. He was the one staring at the man from behind glass – through a pair of Mr. Stark’s rose tinted glasses.

All those months he’d spent in knots because “it was Iron Man, after all.” Isn’t that what he thought before his presentation? All those dinners and movie nights with the man and Peter never viewed him as a person.

He was Iron Man.

But he was also Tony Stark.

Peter had never crossed that bridge or made the connection until now. His stomach churned at how long he’d willfully been ignorant.

Mr. Stark was a real human being made of flesh and blood. Not someone who didn’t care if their ‘past indiscretions’ were picked apart on the regular. Not a figurehead of a huge company or a symbol to the people. He was arrogant and flawed and … a kind person.

He was someone who fed Peter his favorite orders and watched boring school movies with him. He worried that Peter would get home safely ever time. He reached out to Peter, lifted him up, and all those months he worked with Peter. Mentored him as softly as he could when Peter was in no state to receive help.

It was like his eyes were opening after a long sleep.

When Ben passed it tore something out of Peter. He closed himself off from people. The hurt of him leaving left a bitter knot in Peter. One he never wanted to feel again. A hurt he would do anything to make sure he didn’t feel it again. The pain in his chest, squeezing and weighing heavy until he couldn’t breathe followed him for months

In the anguish, the solution became about connection. It was his connection that hurt, their love that was leaving this pain in Peter long after Ben was gone. If it wasn’t for that, maybe he wouldn’t be hurting as much. If, Peter had kept a distance, maybe Ben would still be alive. So, he turned his life was on autopilot. Didn’t allow himself to get attached to anyone and he was alone. He was getting by. It was all the better for it, he told himself.

Then the S.T.A.R.K. posters took over Midtown and something changed. A small spark ignited, just barely smoldering, but aflame all the same. Peter wanted to participate. He wanted to win. For the first time in a long time, he battled his insecurities and wrote his name on the paper outside the school office. Fingers trembled against the concrete wall but looking back on it now, it was the first step to reaching out and making a new connection, though at the time he didn’t see it that way.

His back still hurt from the hours spent hunched over at his desk scribbling in notebooks and testing materials. The knot in his stomach urged him to find a better solution. The recipe needed tweaking and the equation needed changing to make it the best. If he could find the right formula then maybe he could help someone. Maybe, the words taunted him, he could’ve saved Ben.

It was a lifeline just out of his reach. Peter struggled and grappled to grab hold and pull himself up even after hearing Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark spoke about him as he hid behind the plants. Not after the tour and the internship began could he breath again.

Not until the lab. The quiet moments in lab two were like the first relief of that pressure. The first quiet after the storm. Working next to Mr. Stark he found the ability to breathe again. Just for a few hours he could be present in himself, not feel the uncomfortable itch of being in his own skin, and just be. Only now did he realize he was sitting in the eye of the storm while the winds raged around him, waiting to move away and sink him into their tempest clouds.  

Mr. Stark made effort after effort to reach him. He asked about May and with genuine interest asked about school and life. Peter’s face turned hot as he remembered the glass of water and medicine waiting for him on the nightstand when he insisted on going to the tower when he was ill.

Why hadn’t he realized before?

Maybe it was because of Ben and his parents. Maybe Peter was scared to lose someone again. He didn’t want to ever put on a black, ill-fitting suit and hear the flat, kind words that never really captured what was special about a person again.

The man tried to show him but Peter wasn’t in a place to receive.

And that made the ache in his chest throb all the more.

There was nothing more he wished than to be thrown that rope again but it was gone now, pulled back to the safety of the boat while Peter was just now realizing he was lost at sea.

The why wasn’t important. It didn’t matter what Mr. Stark was getting out of it. It didn’t matter why he picked Peter or that he used him in whatever was happening with Oscorp. All of that stung but it didn’t negate the real moments when Mr. Stark became someone he could look up to. Someone he could look to for help.

What mattered was he showed Peter who he was underneath the larger than life image. Mr. Stark was a man who hadn’t noticed the view from his obnoxiously large tower until Peter pointed it out. He was the one who burned frozen pizza but new how to build rockets and whatever else his imagination dreamed up.

He had faults but he was trying.

Mr. Stark was a man Peter would never know further.

Again, his world changed without really changing at all. The subtle self-awareness became sharper and he could see, could finally admit what he wanted.

He wanted to visit with Julia and collaborate again, study together like friends. He wanted to hang out with Ned and Flash and just laugh without feeling so damn guilty. Peter wanted to go back to the Tower and spend his afternoons working on projects. Watch movies and make frozen pizza, not burned preferably. He thought of his promise to May, the feel of her arms impossibly strong around him and their words whispered together. He had thought he’d meant it when he said he would try for himself and her.

Now, though, he knew it was more of a child’s promise. Something said without much thought to how to progress.

“I want you to start taking care of yourself and loving yourself. I know it’s not easy and it downright sucks most of the time but can you try to do that?” May had said.

Had he tried?  Did he make any progress this summer?

At first, he worked himself to the bone. Tired from waking up and going to bed from school, Barry’s, and The Bitter End. There was purposefully no room to think and reflect, which was how Peter wanted it. While self-reflection was one of his strong suits, it was also a downfall. He would get trapped in these endless cycles of overthinking and doubting himself.

But it wasn’t sustainable. He was only one, arguably asocial, individual. It was too much at all hours of the day. His time at The Bitter End came to just that with loud shouting from Cindy and a year ban from the store. Peter wasn’t sure if the latter was a joke or not.

Working one job with school so far was working. Barry was a low maintenance boss and if he stayed on top of homework, school wasn’t too bad. Still, he missed going to the Tower after school. Working collaboratively with his team and spending time there after.

Peter sighed, rubbing his chest absentmindedly before shutting the radio off and leaning back in his chair.

How could the world move on so quick? How, after everything the Avengers did for them, could they just talk about workouts and other mundane things?

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. His thumb hovered over the enter button as he watched the blinking light highlight Mr. Stark’s number.

“Damn.” He said under his breath and closed the phone again. After that last time, he didn’t have the courage to call the number again or leave a voicemail.

Peter sank forward. His head rested into the curve of his elbows on the desk as he thought of what he should do next.

-

Despite his adversity to it, change came into his life whether he wanted it or not. Uncaring at the best of times and brutal at the worst.

Ned stood beside him and a glazed over Flash to the other side. The former was rambling on about a last-minute vacation he took with his parents to Toronto, while the latter didn’t even attempt to be impressed.  

“- and there’s this little town where they perform all these plays every year. We saw A Midsummer Night's Dream and boy was that way hornier than I thought.” 


“Well, if that isn’t fascinating but some of us have to get to class.”


“Don’t act all high and mighty, Flash. We’re in the same first period as you, dude.” Ned winked at Peter.

Flash was still Flash but he’d become less rough as time wore on. Ned seemed to have that effect on people, Julia too. Flash would gripe and grumble but to Peter, he seemed happier now than their freshman year. He wondered if maybe Flash had wanted a fresh start in high school as much as him. Peter grinned at him and rolled his eyes in good nature with Flash as Ned continued giving them a rundown of the play.

He looked around at the other students comparing schedules and groaning over their new teachers. A group of short students walked by them. Peter froze at their height difference. Was he that short last year? It felt weird but good to see how much he’d grown. They were no longer the small fish on campus. He grinned.

Peter followed Flash and Ned to their English first period. As luck, or not, would have it Mrs. Brzozowski was teaching their class again. Her scowl spoke volumes for how she felt about her schedule change.

He groaned along with the rest of the class when they received their assigned seating. Setting his backpack under his seat, Peter took a seat by the window and managed not to gloat at the good spot. Middle back and next to the window. Plenty of fodder for daydreams, though he suspects their novels will keep him engaged through the year. He missed Austen but was excited to read some American Literature this year.

By the time he made it home, Peter’s head was pounding. Lunch was thankfully quiet because he managed to find a spot in the library. Ned visited him before he was off to greet Midge and everyone. Peter sat in relative silence thinking over his peanut butter and jelly made from the heels of the bread (he’d have to get some more after work) about the school year ahead and the one he left behind last June. All the while he resisted the urge to look at his phone notifications.

Peter knew that he wouldn’t find anything there.

Tomorrow he could go and eat with everyone, Peter decided. By then the first day jitters would subside, at least a bit, and it would be nice to see Midge and Jaimik again. Not so much to hear about Mike’s latest antics.

As was his routine after work and homework, Peter climbed into bed adjusting his t-shirt from clinging to his back and curled up under the covers. After much tossing and turning and entirely too much thinking, he fell asleep.

Peter woke in a sweat clawing at his chest. The sweat soaked his shirt making it damp to the touch. His chest heaved from the great pressure threatening to explode out. His hands trembled and he threw them in front of him. There was no blood. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t the rabbit or being torn apart as his subconscious wanted him to believe.

Peter couldn’t stop the ragged breathes. He tried to concentrate on his heart but it burned in his chest, the raging rhythm seemed to take over his body, pulsing in his head and stomach. Blindly, Peter reached out and pulled the notebook from the crevice of his bed and wall.  

Sometimes he would read through them but today he hugged them close to his chest. His fingers traced the indents and now fraying page ends until he could finally breath deep and steady.

It was only then in the still and dusk of not quite morning that Peter realized he was crying.

Thank you for reading.

Next Chapter Eighteen: Existing 

[curse-of-the-dark-emerald]

Curse of the Dark Emerald, chapter 3.

Back at Green Hill, Tom tossed a few times in his bed, trying so hard to get to sleep. But everything he tried, he couldn’t shut off his brain. He glanced at Maddie, her back facing the opposite of his gaze, she didn’t seem to be bothered or notice his restlessness.

He gave up trying to ignore the growing worry for Sonic. Tom pushes the blanket away and stands up slowly, making sure not to disturb his wife.

“I’m overthinking, I’m overthinking…”

Tom left his room and went to the ladder and stairway to the attic, and stood on the spot, deciding if checking on him was really a good idea this late in the night. He scratches his hair nervously and it thought, it was now or never. Tom was inches off from touching the floorboards, but stopped.

Tom shook his head and sighs heavily “I’m such a worry-wart.”

Tom gets back in his room and glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand; reading 2:32 am. He needed to be up in 4 hours for work, and this wasn’t helping him. Tom gets back in bed and just after a few minutes, he finally goes into slumber.

…

Sonic awoke and jolted his body up, eyes flashing to ocean blue for a moment and froze.

“Where-? I was..”

Immediately, confusion settled in and he sluggishly stood up, and made a run for it, only to be hit face-first into a wall of glass. “Ack!!”

Taking a moment to actually scan his surroundings, he saw a new opening, Sonic made another leap and ran to escape, only to have the same result. He continued to ram himself  into the walls though he knew it wasn’t working, each time it put his body in pain, each time he cried and yelled at every hit.

“Hey!! Anyone there?!”

Sonic’s heart began to throb and race against his chest, his eyes frantically looking for a way out, he jumped the highest he possibly could, reaching under 15 feet but it was still too high to climb or reach. Sonic grit his teeth and more panic took over. He pounded his hands on the glass, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to not be afraid, and the one person who could be responsible for all this…

“You’re awake?”

A voice on speaker somewhere within this glass prison crackles, Sonic looks up, a man with somewhat dark skin, a short beard, and gentle smile stares back.

“Good to see you’re still alive, what was your name again? Sonic?”

Sonic only glares at the man, teeth grinding, “Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Stone, close assistant to someone you...should already know.” Stone nods his head at Sonic, in a pleasant demeanor.

“Yeah, I pieced that together, right before you knocked me out.” Sonic’s voice turns sharp and cold at him.

“Don’t worry about my boss, he’s not actually here at the moment.” Stone gestured with his hand, “You’ll just be with me for now.”

“You think I’m gonna just sit in your little fish aquarium, and you what? Drown me?” Sonic retorts, keeping one brow raised at Stone.

“Jeez, someone’s a little morbid.” Stone panned, and shook his head. “No, Sonic. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that...you know..” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Anyways, my mission is half finished; you were pretty easy to catch as long as I wasn’t seen by you. And might as well tell you why you’re here: Your purpose is to simply charge power to my bosses machines. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sonic caught a glimpse of something in Stone’s expression, was it doubt, or fear? He didn’t sound all that convinced to himself. Sonic noticed that he didn’t have the Rings with him or the Emerald anymore, creating a painful knot in his stomach.

“Damn it..”

Bzzt -”Hurry up, Stone, or else I’ll finish you off first.”-

Stone flinched and hastily started pushing buttons. Sonic’s ears twitch at the voice from the speaker, he knew that voice and confirmed it,

“It IS Eggman. But where??” He tried to look for his enemy, but saw him nowhere.

Sounds of whirring and machinery became louder, making the glass tube he was contained in to vibrate. Sonic knew he was in serious trouble, he desperately looked for a way out. Cursing at himself that he should’ve been more careful in the first place…Stone was concentrated on the dash in front of him, jumpstarting the necessary power and programs to begin whatever it was Sonic feared he was going to do. After a few more moments, Stone grins.

“Finished that. You ready, Sonic?”

Sonic glares at him again.

“Good enough.”

Stone holds up a bright, green object in his hand, “I assume you already know what this thing is?”

Sonic’s eyes went wide and gasped. “The...Chaos Emerald?”

“Sure, if that's what you wanna call it.” Stone shrugged, and left his spot.

Sonic’s weary gaze never left following the accomplice of his enemy, as he carried the Emerald.

“I ran a small test on this object, it has a lot of radioactive-like energy, but not toxic in any shape or form so I can touch it, it seems. You, and it should be enough to complete the procedures.”

He climbed on an upper catwalk that Sonic could see enough to watch him. Stone opened a metal door to a new chamber with a wide window; and set the Emerald in the center of the chamber on top of a flat surfaced support beam. Stone quickly returns to his original post.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Sonic spat sharply.

“Oh, I know.” Agent makes a brief smile at him while he glances at Sonic, then focuses back on the control panel.

“Don't worry, I’ll make it quick. I honestly am impressed with how brave you are. If this goes smoothly, you might live.”

What’s with this guy? He’s definitely not like Eggman, so he’s kind of nice..?

Sonic blinks rapidly, trying to not fall for this man’s showcase of kindness and complements.

“Yet, I’m here, because I was so stupid.” Sonic’s voice trembles, it was low enough for Stone to not hear it.

“Initiating power-point.”

A cool, robotic voice echoed throughout, Sonic looks at Stone for any changes, or any chance this man might change his mind and let him go, but he could tell Stone was now avoiding any eye contact. Sonic’s head dipped down. He sat on his knees, his soft ears drooping downward.

“Powering at 20%...”

“I’m so stupid…”

The machines began to point lasers at the Chaos Emerald in the other room, a metal prong touches the top of it, getting ready to extract and connect it to the machines Stone desired to make stronger for his Master.

“Powering at 50%”

“I’ll never see them again.”

Sonic closed his eyes, head still down looking like a wounded puppy. He’d forgotten at the moment where he was and what was about to happen. His thoughts went to Tom and Maddie, missing their smiles. Their laughter, their hugs.

“Powering at 75%..”

“I HATE myself…” Sonic makes a guttural growl in his throat.

In the chamber with the Chaos Emerald...the vibrant green color in it’s center fades briefly to a darker shade of emerald green. Then for a second, to a grayish black. And back to it’s normal green. Sparks of its energy popped in the air, making the window nearby actually crack from the inside.

“90%”

Stone only saw for a second Sonic unresponsive with his head bent down. He wished he didn’t. His own chest tightened with what he tried to hold back: guilt. He pushed the turmoil away to finish what he started, placing his hand on the trigger to start the extraction.

“93%”

Sonic knew he was going to die. In what he felt would be his final moments, his mind flashes countless images of his guardians. Every moment he spent with them was the happiest he had ever felt. He would have given anything to be with them again, talk to them..let them know he was leaving for good. That bare minimum of time he wished he could have, would never come to be.

“I hate myself…” A single tear rolled down Sonic’s cheek.

The Chaos Emeralds hue began to fade….

“Power, complete.”

Stone pulls the trigger. Sparks of white electricity light up at the top of the holding chamber to Sonic’s prison and they plunged downwards through the glass.

Sonic let out a blood curdling scream. He lurches his body up, seizing from the pain caused by the machines.

“UUUAAAAGGHH!!”

Stone watched the monitor closely,  scanning the amount of power being taken away from the Chaos Emerald and from Sonic simultaneously. A digital scale on the monitors revealed a blue colored energy leaving Sonic’s small body, and from the Chaos Emerald, it’s own separate energy was, he saw, destabilizing. Stone hoped it wouldn’t overflow too much.

Sonic slumps over and then falls to the floor, letting his arms support him up. He grit his teeth so hard he thought his jaw was going to break. The Emerald loses all traces of its green color and begins to morph out wisps of black smoke, becoming dark.

Suddenly, something was happening.

Stone finally looked at Sonic and his eyes grew large at what he began to witness…

Still screaming in agony, Sonic glared at Stone with the most enraged and angry scowl.  He put his hands on his head, shaking uncontrollably, while his muscles and body throbbed and wriggled.. Sonic’s teeth began to enlarge into sharp, longer fangs, his sky blue fur darkens to navy. His gloves rip and become torn apart revealing elongating claws at his fingertips and tufts of long, white fur breaks through the skin of both his wrists. The rest of his entire body shifts into a bigger build and height. Sonic’s sneakers were still intact, but metal spikes poked out from it’s material. His once neatly, smooth quills began to grow longer, with coarse, white fading tips at the end. Still shaking from the pain, Sonic let out a ferocious roar.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

Stone realizes he was not safe anymore and makes a run for it.

Sonic has had enough, and with his sheer strength alone, breaks his prison of glass walls into thousands of pieces, shattering the entire tube. He jumps out, hand outreaching for his enemy, wanting to tear out his throat. Sonic looks everywhere for Stone, wanting his blood. This new desire didn’t make him question what he was thinking, he wanted to kill and slice something, no matter what it was.

Briefly coming to his senses, he growled in annoyance and went to the other room with the Chaos Emerald, he smashed the window from outside, and furiously grabbed it back in his possession. Along the way, his eyes spotted his pouch of Rings sitting close to where Stone had been standing before.

“You’re lucky Stone. Maybe next time you catch me, you won't be.” Sonic sneers to himself, his green eyes narrowed into slits.

Sonic jumps high and breaks through the metal enclosed ceiling, finally free. He roared again, letting out his anger and fear from being captured. The now full moon shone and bathed him in its light, revealing the new beastly shape in its wake. Sonic lands and runs, noticing he wasn’t going as fast like he usually does, but pushes that aside. Still angered and hurt by what had become of him, he howled like a lone wolf in the night. None of this made him question it; to him it felt natural and as if he was like this his whole life. The Sonic he had always known as himself was swallowed aside. After calming down just a little, Sonic had stopped running and walked at a regular pace. His mind was in a daze and then he remembered what was most important:

He held the blackened Chaos Emerald above his head, a fascination washed over him, it’s current presence was an entirely different entity. But he was happy it wasn’t in his enemy’s hands. Sonic holds it tightly and in the other hand he opened the pouch for his Rings and takes one,

“I have to..to get home-“

An explosion to his right side blows dirt on him and he jumped, scared out of his skin. Sonic growls, his anger returns again and a white, egg shaped robot hovering above him. Several were along with the one that made the first explosion.

“UGH!!! Leave me ALONE!!”

More of the robots fired at different times and Sonic evades every one, tired of being reminded and chased by the one who has tried and failed to kill him he leaps into the air, grabs the nearest bot and squeezes it into his chest, crushing it to pieces. Not wanting to prolong this stupid fiasco, Sonic makes a run for it, the bots follow and continue to fire at him mercilessly. Sonic tosses the golden ring that he depended on to save himself, his expression desperate to survive.

The ring opens, on the other side was the one place he called his home and jumped in; but a robot had managed to land a strike on his back, before cutting off the rest of the fleet. Sonic lands on his chest.

“Ugh…” Sonic winced at the new injury he was slapped with. He weakly sees the house just before him.

“Tom..!” He cried in a broken voice.

He needed to see his best friend. He needed to get to him. But, the cruelty of the long night had taken a toll on his strength; and Sonic had given up trying to stand up.

He wasn’t far from the patio of the house; the front door opened and Tom closed it behind him. He turns to see a patch of blue fur, it was Sonic lying on the ground, he froze in horror and drops his car keys. 

“S-Sonic!?”

“Donut lord..” Sonic called Tom's nickname, he felt a little sense of relief to see him.

“What happened?! What-“ Tom pauses and finally sees what had become of Sonic, he was almost unrecognizable; the fur, claws, and teeth gave it all away, his arms and back were almost covered in blood from cuts and little pieces of glass sparkled faintly on his messy fur.

“What happened to you?” Tom breathes out a scared, and shaky voice.

Sonic was too weak to answer, and he finally passed out. Tom turned him over on his back, listening for his heart beat, and it was moderately beating, to his hopes. The sun begins to rise and it’s light crept onto Sonics hand and on Tom, welcoming the new morning. Sonic’s body spits out purple wisps of an unknown energy to Tom, engulfing the hedgehog until it vanishes, and Sonic's appearance returns to his normal blue fur.

Tom turns in different directions to see if anything was watching him and he picks up Sonic, and carries him into the house to treat his wounds.