#for the same reason no one gives a shit about mass shootings in schools today

[sillimancer]

the way they're martyring and parading luigi mangione around has got me thinking about 9/11, of all things.

the ruling class got hurt, so the ruling class is taking it personally and seriously.

[theramenbandit]

20 and 59 for the mashup au prompts. Any pairing that strikes your fancy :)

From this post here 

Describe how I’ll combine them: Co-teachers to lovers via secret admirer shenanigans.

“And don’t forget, project drafts are due next Thursday.”

So far, so good, Lena thinks as she gathers up her belongings and heads out the door of her first class of the day. She likes it here in Midvale. It’s a lot slower, a lot quieter, a lot--

Force, mass, velocity, something bumps into her hard.

“Oh shoot! I am so sorry. Here…” 

The woman who apparently was the thing that bumped into her bends down and picks her things up off the floor. 

Lena is, of course, properly miffed and halfway to a firm scolding until the woman straightens up again and Lena forgets how talking works for a moment.

Her hair is flowing in golden locks and the bluest eyes she had ever seen are looking at her from behind dark-rimmed glasses.

“Wait, you’re the new girl, right? Lena from Metropolis?” 

“Yes,” Lena clears her throat. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Sorry about that,” the woman says nervously. “Let me make it up to you. Lunch in the hall at lunchtime?”

Lena should say no. She’s not here to make friends. But the blonde is cute and her shoulders are...nice. So…

“Okay.”

“Okay.” 

The blonde gives her a thumbs up and turns to leave, but quickly turns around and jogs back to where Lena is standing mutely. 

“It’s Kara, by the way.” She extends a hand towards Lena in introduction. “Kara Danvers. I teach English.”

Ao3

Kara Danvers takes it upon herself to be Lena from Metropolis’ first ever official work friend.

-

Lena loses a fight with the coffee maker. She’d been having a bad day already, see. Her mother had called this morning, so naturally, by the time the damn machine stopped working, she was on the brink of tears. 

“Hey there, is everything alright?” Kara asks cautiously as she walks into the break area. 

“Everything is fucking dandy, thanks.” Lena growls, angrily swiping a hand at her eyes.

“Whoa, okay… You know, Noonan’s is right over there and your next class isn’t til 3, we could--”

“How did you know that?”

Kara casually points to the schedule on the board behind her.

Lena only growls again.

“Okay, you’re really wound up. Come on, a walk could do you some good.”

Kara learns that Lena is here as a middle school science teacher because she wants to prove something to her mother. And the pressure is getting to her.

“Sometimes you don't have to do amazing, just have to do your best.” Kara says reasonably. “Look, you're great and your students love you. So don't worry about what your mother says. Judge your work by the proper standard or... something.”

Lena chuckles at that. Kara was probably right. 

"Thank you. I… I really needed that." 

Kara nods sagely and continues to sip at her iced coffee. "What are friends for?" 

-

The note is simple and plain and handwritten and she has absolutely no idea what it means. Or who it’s from, for that matter.

It’s, well... It’s notes. The note contains notes. That much she can suppose from the five lines and the G-clef and the black dots staring back at her. She looks around for anyone who might have left it there by accident, but she’s alone in the faculty room. What’s more, the note is wedged between the pages of her lesson plan for today, the only thing currently lying on her desk. Frowning, she looks back down at the small piece of paper and shoves it into one of her drawers. She’ll decide what to do with it later.

-

The note notes are piling up now and she thinks this might be something worth investigating. She'd gotten three more over the last week, each with the same handwriting and the same paper, but the notes on the staff (she does know some things) seemed to be different every time. She lines them up in order of the dates she got them and squints intensely at them, daring the offending dots to tell her what the hell is going on. 

-

Kara's eyes widen in horror when she walks into the faculty room and sees Lena glaring at the notes. 

Her notes. 

She quickly makes to get out again but Lena's already seen her. 

"Kara, hey!" 

Shit. 

"Hi, what's up?" the blonde responds, her voice suddenly pitchy. 

"Can you help me figure this out?" She scoots over as Kara leans into her space and over her desk. 

"Oh, they're notes," Kara tries nonchalantly. 

"I can see that," Lena deadpans. "Notes to what?" 

"Ehm, well this is a G, and this is a D… That's an E minor… It's a song."

Lena fights the urge to dramatically roll her eyes. "Do you know what song it is?" 

Dammit, this is wonderful. 

"It could be any song, Lena." 

She's still trying to dodge it but Lena is adamant. And Kara doesn't want to lie, but she doesn't want to be found out, either. 

"Uh... I could play it and maybe we can figure it out?" 

"Okay, let's try that." 

-

The music room is empty, much to Kara's eternal chagrin, so she and Lena walk up to the piano and she starts to play the notes that Lena holds up in front of her. 

"It's Elvis," Kara says simply. 

Lena soon recognizes the tune and starts to hum along with the keys. Just then, Kara slowly looks up from her seat and is mesmerized by the sight: the light is hitting Lena's face just so, illuminating the lines of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the dark red of her hair. She wishes she could stay in this moment forever. And if Lena were paying attention, she would notice that Kara wasn't even looking at the notes anymore. She was playing by heart. 

"Oh, that's sweet," Lena whispers when the tune is done. "And you never told me you could play." 

"My dad taught me the basics. The rest I figured out myself," Kara says quietly. 

"Aren't you full of surprises?" 

-

"It might be Mike, you know, that guy from the marching band? He is objectively good looking." 

"He chews with his mouth open." 

"Ooh, could it be Jack from phys ed?" He walks around with a guitar most Fridays." 

"Lena, Jack is so gay for the bar owner and you know it." 

"Well, who could it be?" 

Me, Kara wants to say. But she doesn't. She doesn't want to make things weird. 

They're sitting on the bleachers during the afternoon break, Lena leaning into her side munching on the donuts Kara had gotten for them. It wasn't hard for them to fall into this sort of easy companionship. Kara was open and friendly, and Lena, once her walls had gone down, was sharp and fascinating. And Kara fears that the feelings she's developed might ruin whatever this was that they had. So instead of being honest with herself, she just shrugs and bites sullenly into her own donut. 

"It could be anyone." 

-

People are starting to notice how often they are together, start talking about how cute they look next to each other. And so people waste no time in throwing them into each other's paths, especially since prom is three days away. 

-

“Come ON, Lena!” Kara yells as she grabs Lena’s hand and drags her to the dance floor. Lena tries her best until she isn’t so much trying as she is struggling to keep up with Kara, who seems to have only got more hyper as the night wore on. But the joy on her face is infectious, and honestly, if she got to see this every day, Lena wouldn’t mind.

The song ends and the band’s vocalist approaches the mic.

"Hey, hey, everybody, y’all having a good time?” 

The crowd whoops in affirmation. 

“Alright! Well I think it’s about the proper hour, so we’re gonna slow things down a bit starting with a classic.” 

The opening strains of a piano-driven ballad fill the air, and Kara politely extends a hand towards Lena.

Lena accepts.

Wise men say only fools rush in / But I can’t help falling in love with you

The world around them dissolves as they sway together, Kara’s hand gentle against the small of Lena’s back, Lena’s arm reaching up behind Kara’s shoulder. 

“It’s Elvis,” Kara whispers against her hair.

“It was you,” Lena chuckles in response.

“You knew?” Kara says as she draws back to look at her.

“No. But I was kinda hoping.” She smiles warmly and Kara has never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

“You’re not mad?”

“Darling, why would I be mad?” Lena lifts her hand to brush it across Kara’s cheek. “You had me at Oh Shoot."

Kara laughs as she ducks her head in embarrassment and Lena cannot help but join her. 

"I'd really like to kiss you right now."

"Please do."

[uchihacore]

newton’s third law

PAIRING: keishin ukai x reader SUMMARY: every action has an equal and opposite reaction WARNINGS: nsfw, pegging, blowjobs

You frown at your reflection in the tiny rearview mirror, rubbing at the edge of a purple mark peeking out of your shirt collar. You hadn’t noticed it last night, but then again, you hadn’t really noticed much outside of Keishin calling you ‘Princess’ as he sat you in his lap and pressed a vibrator between your legs. And really, can you fault yourself for that?

Lucky for you (or rather for lucky for Keishin), you always carry a tube concealer in your purse, just for these types of situations. You pull out the tube and dab some concealer onto your tender neck, gently patting away the cream until it blends with the rest of your skin.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Keishin says from the passenger seat. You can see him from the corner of your eye, and he’s grinning like an idiot, which makes sense because he is an idiot.

“No, you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. You need to get him out of your car before he makes you late for work, or worse, a student sees you with him. You pack the tube away, pulling out your lipgloss as Keishin shrugs unapologetically.

“Nope, not even a little bit. But really,” he says, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your ear, “can you blame me? Seeing you all marked up, having to hide my hickeys at school, it’s so hot.”

“Nice to know you’re turning into a caveman, Keishin,” you say. And blush because the heater is on and not because of how close he is, the bruise on your neck tingling, “but not everyone gets the luxury of working for our mommy. Some of us have real jobs.”

(Which, admittedly, is a low blow. Especially considering he coaches the boys’ volleyball team for practically nothing, and gives Karasuno students discounts on like half his inventory.) You purse your lips together to rub in the lipgloss, fighting back an apology.

“And yet, here you are,” Keishin notes, seemingly unruffled. “Hiding my artful love-bites under a layer of makeup. Real job and all.”

“Get lost, Keishin,” you say, rolling your eyes. You toss your lipgloss into your makeup bag and turn to him. “I have classes to teach.”

“Of course you do. Have a good day at work, Princess.” he says, and the ballsy bastard actually kisses you before getting out of your car. You give him your best-unimpressed glare, and his smile widens when he turns and sees your expression before heading into the store.

And okay, yeah, maybe you a part of you is blushing and giggling on the inside like some idiot schoolgirl, but only because you’ve been treated like many things in your lifetime, from bitch to queen to child, but no one had ever made you feel like the Keishin does, like an actual, honest to God, princess.

But the other part is trying to figure out when he got so cocky, and how you’d allowed that to happen. Before you can contemplate further, a group of third-year students passes your car, and you put the car back into drive. Suddenly self-aware of how strange you must look mooning after the Sakanoshita Store guy, of all people.

You ponder it on the walk to your classroom, your sex life, or whatever it’s called, with Keishin Ukai is excellent, you’ll be the first to admit. He’s the first man ever to make your voice hoarse from moaning. But the last thing you want is for him to get a big head over it. He’s annoying enough as it is, thanks.

No, you need to get Keishin back down to Earth, somehow. He needs to be taught a lesson, taken down a peg.

And just like that, it hits you. Throwing a glance at your class, who are all too busy with morning pleasantries to notice, you pull out your phone and do a quick google search, you find the article you’re looking for and skim it. You’ll need to do some after-school shopping, but you’ll gladly sacrifice that cute skirt from H&M for this. You put your phone away and neatly write a line of notes about the kinematics on the chalkboard, drawing a smug little smiley face in the corner. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Your next 'meeting’ (because what the fuck else are you supposed to call it?) with Keishin is on Friday, and today is Tuesday. If you stop at the sex shop tonight and get the supplies, you’ll have two nights to figure them out. Which is essential because the last thing you want is to be unskilled in front of Keishin. He’d never shut up about it.

The school day passes by in a blur. You faintly remember scolding Nishinoya for using Tanaka as a springboard and a brief conversation with Hinata about the ‘epic highs and lows of high school volleyball’. Also, the concept of mitochondrial DNA had been clunking around your headspace for most of the day which was odd because you don’t even teach biology. Still, mostly you were just focused on the tantalizing idea of giving Keishin a taste of his own medicine.

You drive to the sex shop two towns over, as opposed to the one just off the highway, partly because it’s cleaner, but mostly because there’s less of a risk of seeing someone you know. You’d hate to have a student catching you buying a strap-on. Oh, the rumors.

The salesperson is a heavily tattooed girl with electric blue hair and a black heart stamped on each freckled cheekbone. She’s really helpful, though. She takes her time explaining just how all the buckles work, and which dildo to buy to fit into which harness, so do your best not to judge her too harshly. She also recommends buying silicone-based lube over water-based lube, because apparently it lasts longer and isn’t harmful in anal sex the way it is in vaginal sex.

So you give her a five-dollar tip for her troubles, to which she responds by giving you the toothiest smile you’ve seen in your entire life and telling you your boyfriend has no idea how lucky he is.

Which you give her another three dollars for because she’s completely right.

(About Keishin not knowing how lucky he is to have you. Not about him being your boyfriend, because he’s fucking not, okay?)

You bring your goodies home, feeling like you always feel after shopping: like you’ve just gotten a load of Christmas presents, and they’re waiting to be unwrapped. You have the presence of mind to hide the black and red bag in your oversized purse before entering your building. Just in case you happen to share the elevator with one of the old ladies on your floor.

Once you get into your apartment, you lock your door and layout your purchases on your dining room table, immediately picking up the dildo to test its weight. You’d picked a sparkly ribbed one, not because you particularly like it, but because you can’t wait to see Keishin’s face when he saw it. You’re pretty sure it’ll end up somewhere between shock, reproach, and begrudging amusement.

It’s the same abrasive yellow as Keishin’s bleached hair, average-sized, chosen more for entertainment value than anything else. You slot it into place then give the shaft an experimental tug to see just how well the metal ring in the harness holds it in place. Satisfied with the result, you examine the nubby, double-pronged vibrator on the opposite end of the harness. It’s supposed to go inside you when everything’s in place, so you get something out of it while you fuck Keishin senseless.

Though you’re reasonably sure that the very act itself of fucking Keishin senseless would have you curling your toes, you’re not about to deny yourself some extra stimulation.

You test the silicone lube between your fingertips. It feels weird, like the silicone-based face primer you’d used in high school, though this was less powdery and more expensive. You test on the skin above your knee, curious to see how long it takes to dry off.

While you wait, you take all of your clothes off, hanging up your blazer and throwing the rest in the hamper. You examine the harness, it’s an intimidating contraption of black nylon and silvery buckles, but that doesn’t deter you. You’re a high school science teacher, thank you very much. You explain physics to teenagers all day. This is nothing compared to that.

And actually, when you fit it onto your hips, it’s not too bad. A strap goes around each thigh, like a bikini, and one loops around your waist. You tighten the straps and peer down at the yellow, glittery penis now hanging heavily at the apex of your thighs. Huh. So this is what penises are like?

You grip the base and stroke up, grimacing at the sensation of your hand skidding over the rubber. Oh. Lube. Right. You squeeze some lube onto the dildo and start stroking again, much smoother this time. You hate how good the angle is; no wonder guys get so picky about handjobs. You fist it for a few minutes, feeling the vibrator bump against your clit. Which, considering its not even on, has no right to feel that good.

Once you get used to the way the dildo moves within its ring and how to compensate for the way the straps shift on your hips, you take the strap-on off and clean the dildo of lube. The stuff is way better than water-based lube, and you can’t wait to see it in action. You pack the strap-on and the lube back into the bag and leave it in your bedroom. Then you take a seat at your dining room table, pulling out a stack of ungraded papers instead. Time to spend some quality time with Marie Curie.

The next two days are validating, if nothing else. Keishin’s decided to go full little shit and keeps sexting you in the middle of your lectures like you’re supposed to just be able to explain oxygen theory of combustion after receiving a text detailing just how hard his cock is. You’d given him your best glare and sent a lengthy email telling him to fuck off, but to no avail. Plus, yesterday, he showed up at your office hours after practice, covered in sweat, and looking ridiculously hot, “just to say hi.” You won’t let it bother you, though. He’ll get what he deserves soon enough.

By Friday afternoon, you’re a mass of nerves and vindictive anticipation. Keishin’s been shooting you heated smirks all day. At lunch, he purposefully spills a packet soy sauce all over his hand just to seductively lick it off each of his fingers. You think it really speaks to your libido that, under the righteous indignation, you were actually pretty turned on by that. Stupid fucking Keishin, getting you hot and bothered with convenience store dumplings, of all things.

You’re practically vibrating when you open the door to your apartment at seven sharp, tamping down on your anxiety. You give Keishin your most relaxed, most expectant smile, and he responds by giving you that stupid(ly sexy) smirk and thrusting a bottle of cheap wine your way.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, bending down to peck you on the cheek. “How was your week?”

“Um,” you blink at him owlishly, thrown, “fine?”

“Really?” Keishin asks, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself. As soon as the lock clicks into place, he’s on you like a starfish, head tucked into your neck. “Because mine’s been torture. All I can think about is how gorgeous you look under me. Over me. Everywhere. God, you drive me nuts.”

You feel something heavy in your chest. You bring your hands up to card through his hair. “I know the feeling.” Because all jokes and exasperation aside, Keishin’s under your skin in a big way, pumping you full of something that tastes like burnt, thick sugar and smells like Valentine’s Day chocolates. You’re drowning in Keishin Ukai, and you fucking love it.

“Do you now?” Keishin stills, then his hands change directions on your back, one scooping down to you ass and the other up into your hair. “And how does it feel, Princess?”

Oh, and there’s the smarmy little imp that’s been harassing you in school. Your lips curl into a devilish smile, out of Keishin’s line of sight, and you lean your weight into his hold. “Oh, I’m not sure I can even explain it, Keishin,” you sigh woefully. “Maybe I should just show you instead.”

“I think I could get behind that,” he agrees, pulling back. “Maybe even literally.” He leers down at you, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Classy, Ukai.” You snort despite yourself. “Remind me why I ever agreed to have sex with you?”

“Is that a request or an invitation?” His hands fall to your hips, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into your hipbones, “I accept both.”

You purse your lips, whether to fight a grin or a scowl, you’re unsure. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” you suggest. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Keishin grins. “Lead the way.”

You set the wine bottle on the table and lead him by the hand to your room, hips swaying, nerves were forgotten. This is going to be so much fun. You open the door to your room, watching Keishin leap onto the bed. “Close your eyes and take off your clothes,” you order, unbuttoning your blouse. Keishin inhales sharply, eyes falling shut as he peels off his shirts and wiggles free from his pants. He’s already half-hard, boxers just beginning to tent.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Not yet, no,” you replied, opening the drawer and pulling out your bag of tricks. you slid the strap-on into place, tightening the buckles with confident, practiced accuracy. “I thought we’d try something different today. Just the thought of it has kept me wet all week.”

Keishin twitches in his boxers, fists clenching on the edge of the bed. “Now, I’ve got to know. ”

“Open your eyes.”

Keishin blinks them open, freezing when they land on the dildo. You stroke it slowly, delighting in the way a ruddy blush works up his toned chest.

“Oh,” he says, sounding faintly disappointed. “I thought….”

“You thought you could tease me all week at school and get away with it,” you supply, baring your teeth when he flinches. “Newsflash asshole, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So, what do you think of my cock, Keishin? I picked it out special, just for you.”

Keishin shudders, bowing his head in supplication. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice gone hoarse.

“Answer the question.”

“It’s, uh,” Keishin stammers, glancing up at it, “it’s very… pretty?”

“Damn straight, it is,” you growl, striding toward the bed in long, slow steps. “What are you going to do with such a pretty cock, Keishin?” And wow, where is this coming from? You’re just supposed to fuck him and get it over with. This aggression is all-new, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. And, judging by how hard Keishin is, you assume the feeling is mutual.

“Can I suck it?” he asks meekly, eyes pointedly not meeting yours. A total display of submission. You approve. You move to stand in front of him, positioning the cock at his lips, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Keishin groans, reaching out to suck the head into his mouth. He bobs his head, working deeper down your shaft each time. You bite your lip, feeling a hot wave of arousal work down your spine. He’s beautiful like this, cheeks hollowed around the length of yellow, sparkly rubber. Your hand leaves the base to cup the back of his head, and his hand takes its place. He pulls back to suckle at the head, eyes looking up at you heatedly.

Fuck.

“So pretty,” you sigh, hand petting the dark hair on the nape of his neck. “I can see why guys like this so much.” Keishin’s eyes flutter shut, lashes long against his cheekbones. “What do you think, Keishin? Do you like sucking cock?”

Keishin moans, sucking as deep as he can go. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re desperate. His free hand moves to his own cock, pulling it out of the gape of his underwear.

You freeze, pulling his head back by the grip in his hair. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” Keishin shoots you a pleading look, but you’re already pulling out of his mouth, dildo shiny with spit. “Take them off, get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

He stumbles to do your bidding, cock dark red and angry-looking. You pick up the lube from where you’d placed it on the nightstand and kneel behind him. The lube opens with a wet click that makes Keishin jerk in surprise. You spread the lube liberally on your fingers, reaching out to trace one over his hole, teasing. Keishin mewls and pushes back, eagerly. You feel another gush of heat between your legs, pushing the finger in slowly. You work the finger in and out, curling it down to find his prostate. You find it on the fourth try, judging by the way he keens and clenches around you.

The second finger is met with a little resistance, and Keishin takes in a deep breath to relax his muscles. You kiss the small of his back in praise, scissoring the fingers once you’re able. This is a lot more intimate than you’d expected it to be, working Keishin open like this. It fills you with a strange sense of responsibility, you want to do this right, you want to make it good for him.

“Just relax, Keishin,” you whisper, as he whines and clenches around your third finger, “you can do this. We can stop anytime you want.”

Keishin heaves a great, shivering breath, but he relaxes. You work as slowly as you can, pushing against his rim more than thrusting in until he’s loose enough to take you. You squirt more lube onto your fingers, pushing them slowly into him until he takes them all the way to the knuckle. You make sure to graze his prostate every few thrusts, only content when he’s moving back to meet you thrust-for-thrust.

“M'ready,” he whispers, sounding wrecked. You pressed a kiss his hipbone in sympathy. “Want you.”

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling your lube-slick fingers out of him. You lube up your cock quickly, pressing the tip to his rim. “You sure?”

“Do it, Princess,” he says, wriggling his hips, “or I’ll start bringing bananas for lunch.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Idiot.” You hold the cock firmly in one hand, pressing it carefully into him. His breath hitches and stops, and he leans into the intrusion. You press a wet kiss to the back of his neck when the head slides in. “How’s that?” You ask, moving slowly until the base of the dildo is pressed against his ass.

“Gimme a minute,” he manages, shoulders locked with tension. You hold your position, rubbing soothingly over his back and down his flanks. After a minute, he moves, shoulders relaxing. “Go slow, okay?”

You murmur an “okay” and pull out an inch. You move back in, starting a rhythm of tiny thrusts. You only lengthen them when he grows impatient and flails a hand at you. You pull out almost all the way, then shove back in, gasping when the vibrator buzzes to life over your clit.

You begin moving in earnest, grinding into him to feel the vibrator flutter against your clit. God, it felt good. You shift to the right a little, and Keishin moans, all high and whimpery and divine. You move to hit that spot again, grinning when he chokes out another moan. You angle yourself so that all of your thrusts will meet that spot, draping yourself over his back to work a hand on his cock. He’s hard as a rock and dripping pre-cum as he twitches under your touch.

Keishin makes a broken sound and works his hips, thrusting back onto your fake cock and forward into your fist. You feel the world spin around you; this was by far the hottest thing you ever done with anyone.

And you think Keishin might agree because thirty seconds later he starts babbling:“ fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit, feel so perfect inside me, please, let me cum, tell me I can cum, please. I need you to say yes, please.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. He wants you to give him permission? Oh, fuck, yes. “Cum for me, Keishin, wanna see you cum around my cock,” you command, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. Keishin whimpers, and he’s cumming, hips spasming. You watch his hole clench around your cock and feel yet another gush of heat, this one dripping down your thighs. You continue to move inside him until he gasps and pulls away. You pull out slowly, groaning at the way his skin tugs around the length of you.

He flips onto his back as soon as he’s free, fingers racing to undo the buckles of your harness. “You didn’t come.” He huffs, tugging at the straps, “I wanna make you come. Please let me.”

You shove the strap-on away, throwing it half-way across the room. “How do you want me, Keishin?”

Keishin collapses, rubbery, on the bed. “Sit on my face, Princess.”

Fuck. You can do that. You move up until your knees bracket his head and hold yourself over his face. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers, kissing the dampness from your thighs, working up to your center.

He licks into you delicately, mopping up all of your juices. You’re hypersensitive already and gasp into his teasing touches. Keishin slides his tongue inside you, curling it upwards. You keen, grinding down onto his mouth before you can stop yourself. You move to pull off to apologize, but Keishin holds your hips down, face more blissful than you’ve ever seen it. You run your fingers through his hair, swiveling your hips over his mouth.

“Need you on my clit,” you gasp and Keishin hums (which, okay, wow) and sucks your clit between his lips, sliding two thick fingers into you. He licks and sucks at you, pushing you farther and farther closer to the edge, but it’s the gentle nibble that finally pushes you over it. You scream soundlessly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bed. His hands keep you from falling off his mouth as he licks you down from your orgasm. When you mewl in discomfort, he presses one last kiss to you clit before pulling away.

You collapse next to him, thighs sore and blissed out.

“Learn your lesson?” you asked him sleepily, eyes closing.

“No wonder none of the boys are failing physics. You’re quite the teacher,” Keishin nods, still panting slightly. “Though, I think you may have to go over it again sometime.”

You laugh and turn to look at him. He’s smiling back at you, eyes soft and happy. The heavy feeling in your chest returns, and you feel like you can’t breathe. You lean in and kiss him, ignoring the way he tastes like you. His own flavor was much sweeter. “I think we can manage that,” you whisper against his glistening lips.

He lazily tangles his hand in yours and brings it up to kiss you knuckles. “Good.”

When you wake the next morning with muscular forearms wrapped around you, you panic for a moment before remembering who it is and relax into Keishin’s embrace.

[jafreitag]

Grateful Dead Monthly: Gaelic Park – New York, NY 8/26/71

Fifty years ago today, on Thursday, August 26, 1971, the Grateful Dead played a concert at Gaelic Park in New York City.

Gaelic Park is located at West 240th Street and Broadway, five miles north and east of Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx. In 1926, the Gaelic Athletic Association purchased it to host the Gaelic Games. What are Gaelic Games? I’m a sliver Irish (just learned that a few years ago from a cousin who did some DNA stuff), but I didn’t know about such games until I asked the Google machine. Here you go, from the Wiki:

“Gaelic games (Irish: Cluichí Gaelacha) are sports played in Ireland under the auspices of the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). They include Gaelic football, hurling, Gaelic handball and rounders. Women’s versions of hurling and football are also played: camogie, organised by the Camogie Association of Ireland, and ladies’ Gaelic football, organised by the Ladies’ Gaelic Football Association. While women’s versions are not organised by the GAA (with the exception of handball, where men’s and women’s handball competitions are both organised by the GAA Handball organisation), they are closely associated with it.”

Some to unpack there. What’s Gaelic football? It’s basically rugby. (The rules are probably way different, but this is a music blog, so don’t judge.) And hurling? Rugby with a small ball and sticks that look like sporty pizza paddles. (Again, don’t judge.) Gaelic handball? Racquetball, except you use your hands and you’re outside, not in some bougie health club from the ’80s. Finally, rounders? It’s actually alot like baseball. Pretty cool.

Why were the Dead there? A 9/2/71 piece in the Village Voice by Carman Moore, now archived on the Grateful Dead Sources blog, said that Gotham promoter Howard Stein, a Bill Graham competitor who booked the Dead to play at the Cap Theater in Port Chester, NY and the Academy of Music in NYC, had turned “the drab little Riverdale soccer field … into a summer rock mini-festival.” (Check out the poster above.) Moore’s writing has an early-70s sizzle, and he refers to his colleague, now-legendary rock scribe Robert Christgau. Here’s an excerpt:

“Last week’s Grateful Dead concert up at Gaelic Park was a usual Dead session, meaning that the band-to-fan-to-band electro-chemical process for which rock music is famed was on like high mass at Easter. Although I think I know most of the time what they are doing musically (Christgau will like this notion); I don’t quite understand them electro-chemically. Like the New York Knicks of two seasons ago, they can do excellent things together though they are not a group of deathless superstars. Garcia gets his songs across, but he can’t sing, and Bob Weir’s voice rises to about average…maybe better when he gets to screaming and the music sweeps him along. I still find it difficult to recognize the Dead songs that aren’t “Truckin'” or “St. Stephen” one from the other. I am not one of their fans, but seem to be one of their admirers. Their music speaks in a special language to their live listeners, and that language has the vocabulary of everybody else, but a convoluted syntax all its own. The note sequences are not completely dependent upon musical factors but are also dictated by how involved the band feels and also upon what kind of heat the audience is giving off. I’m trying to get to some essences of this thing.

The drama of a Dead concert revolves around the fact that wherever the band plays they know that a certain number (several tons) of their partisans will be there and that their crowd knows the Dead potential to excite them, but they also know that the Dead may not get into gear until the crowd begins to apply some heat, and so forth. Both parties also know that the concert will be long enough and informal enough for anything to happen on either side of the footlights, and so audiences improvise (smoke, go to the hot dog stand, kiss and snuggle, cheer, dance, listen like star-struck fools) just like their musician friends on stage (who play light and funny for awhile, retire backstage awhile, stand around, or get lost in a piece and turn on the heavy jets). Like good lovers, the Grateful Dead know the secrets of good foreplay, taking your time, surprising the partner for awhile, and then just reacting for a spell.”

The timing of the show seems odd. The band was on the East Coast in July, but began August back in Cali – LA, SD, Berkeley – before a three-night run at Chicago’s historic Auditorium Theater. Then they trekked back to NYC. Our resident Deaditor ECM explains that aspect: “This show was supposed to be played the day before the Yale Bowl concert on July 30, but some issues with the equipment trucks and/or weather prevented it from happening from the scheduled date. There are a few stories on the web about people who didn’t get the message (no twitter back then!) and dropped some acid only to show up to an empty stadium. Haha!”

Moore said that the show reminded him of “a high school stadium I used to know – low stands, unfulfilled infield grass, mud holes here and there, beer sold at one end in some quantity.” He continued:

“The formal shape of the concert was a general crescendo, light at the beginning and heavy-groovy at the end – not a shooting-star, call-the-law finale, just a heightened physical-emotional climate…the goods delivered as promised…sort of like good preaching in a church known to be a happy place. I did not enjoy their country-westernish opening tunes; maybe they didn’t either, because the pieces were awfully short. But by the three-quarter mark they had involved themselves, the crowd, and me too.

First they got the rhythm engaged and finally, courtesy of Jerry Garcia’s lead and interplays with Lesh and Weir, they went into the soloing and jamming which are the real magic music territory of this band. Much is made of the Dead soloists, but it became clear to me by last Thursday that bassist Phil Lesh plus those two drummers create the atmosphere that makes the Dead thing possible. The drummers were exceptionally understated, but Lesh kept bopping and thrumming away, heavily at all times, until his patterns were consistently getting the other players off. In the middle of “St. Stephen” there was a special coming together: Lesh had found a nice ambiguous but compelling set of licks; Garcia eased into a solo; Weir strummed a cross-time lick over all of it; it built; it quieted; Garcia started to play strange classical kind of lines; the drums dropped out; the audience got quiet; nothing at all could be predicted for a minute or so; then Lesh began to grope his way out with two chords and rhythms which began to regularize; audience began to jump and then to clap; guitars began to straighten out; the band came home to the cheers of the fans. Good music-making. The listener goes home without a little tune to whistle, but he hears music. As if they were finishing off some personal solos based over the last riffs heard, the fans went out of Gaelic Park without a thousand encores and without a lot of fuss on the streets outside.

It’s all very interesting, surprising, and I guess mystifying as before. All I know is that the Dead, or their fans, or the combination of both lure you into planning to return when they’re all assembled and back in town again.”

Apparently, there was some grief about bootlegs at this show. The GD Sources blog has a post that archives a 10/6/71 piece by the excellently-handled Basho Katzenjammer (Basho, the 17th Century Japanese haiku master; Katzenjammer, the German word for hangover) that gripes about an army of 200# “muscle freaks” at the direction of tour manager Sam Cutler liberating a handful of tapes from 100# weakling Johnny Lee. It’s a truly fun read. An excerpt:

“The biggest piece of shit spewing from Cutler’s mouth is about the reasons the Dead have for being so pissed off: they don’t like the quality (remember Garcia’s line in “I Got No Chance of Losin”? He says, “I’m only in it for the gold.” Yeah, music has a way of being more honest than the artist intends it to be at times…) The “quality”? Anyone who has bought a bootleg recently will know and agree that the bootleg stereo album called “Grateful Dead” is one of the best underground products yet. The tape was taken from a concert the group did at Winterland, on the coast a few months back. Yeah, Garcia fucks up a bit on “Casey Jones,” and Pigpen’s ego may have been deflated a bit by his voice coming over poorly on “Good Loving” but that was a concert. You do a concert and you stand by your performance, good or bad. That’s show business.

This effete artistic bullshit doesn’t matter anyway … When you’re out to get all the money you can out of your gigs, like the Dead seem to be (like all the groups seem to be) you might be accused of being a bit piggish; when you use strong-arm shit to insure that you get every last penny that you deserve — by making Amerikan standards — you are a Pig. Jerry Garcia, is that you?

Nobody buys that anti-bootleg shit about the artistic integrity of the artist in saying what goes out. One, you stand by your performance; two, even if you don’t want to, Jerry, somewhat, and say “all your private property is fair game for your brothers (especially when they sell records of concerts that don’t compete with coming releases) and your brother (who’s gonna continue to dig you as we live off your comets we’re gonna keep ripping you off because it is possible. As simple as that.” If you and Cutler and Stein continue your shit, though, we’ll just have to sing the song the same old way, you guys being put in the position of being the same old reactionary establishment that we’re all ripping off. It’s all around. You break your back playing gigs for ten years and suddenly success is staring you in the face. Bread: lots and lots of bread. You turn your back on your poor, ripping ’em off roots and start to tighten up. You’re in the biggest rip-off industry around, but no one cares as long as they’re having fun.

Money. That’s the whole story, isn’t it? If these were other times, in another land under a different set of rules maybe you could justifiably complain about the people who want to give your recorded performances out free because you didn’t screen them and pick out the sections you didn’t like and do them over for the cat, ’cause no one charges for their music, and because the means of production belong to the people, and they can turn out all the good sounds they can, and you have a natural right to screen all releases. But we’re here. Now. You guys are making millions — or soon will be. Money is power, especially as the concept of money is crumbling nation-wide and power freaks like Stein are cornering the market on it. The channels that the green-power the Dead bring in travel aren’t the healthiest for the generations of revolution to come. Stein is one of these hopeful images of a freak with a chance to change things positively gone sour, who uses all his power to consolidate his power; who’ll go to any extremes to insure the natural expansion of that power. Fuck him. Fuck you.”

Speak, Basho! Quaint that the beef about bootlegs back then was sound quality, rather than copyright. Stuff got figured out at some point, I think. Like when Bobby shut down the LMA, lmao.

Ed featured part of this show in the 2016 edition of his epcot 31 Days of Dead project. Here are his listening notes, which are typically spot-on (and better than than the not-quite-on-the-bus commentary from Mr. Moore): 

“Less than three weeks after Pigpen’s definitive performance of Hard To Handle at the Hollywood Palladium (8/6/71), the Grateful Dead play the final date of their summer tour in 1971 at Gaelic Park in the Bronx. It will be Pig’s last show until December and the last time the band will ever perform in their original quintet configuration of Jerry, Phil, Pig, Billy and Bobby. By September, Keith will be rehearsing with the band to assume a full-time role on the keys. Perhaps anticipating his absence, Pigpen leads the band through 6 of his songs including the rarely-played Empty Pages and the last Hard To Handle. It is also one of the last performances of Saint Stephen, until the band revived it in 1976 with a major facelift, never to be played the same way again. When you consider these historical milestones along with the departure of Mickey Hart and the closings of the legendary Fillmore East and West earlier in the year it makes you realize that this concert carried a little more weight than anyone could have ever foreseen at the time. It truly was the end of a chapter in the life of the Grateful Dead. As you listen to each song you can’t help but feel a certain degree of nostalgia.

For me, the hidden gem of the show is the outstanding version of Uncle Johns Band. Jerry’s first guitar solo is an absolute joy to hear. His notes sing with irresistible melody and happy sunshine which perfectly capture the nostalgia of those carefree early years. If you listen closely you can hear Pigpen playing the wood claves.”

Speaking of Pig, this show features the second and final performance of Empty Pages. The NYS Music blog, which has a nice write-up of this show, describes it as a McKernan original that “pairs his traditional crooning style with a slow blues jam that’s nicely peppered with fiery guitar licks from Garcia. It’s a true rarity and a shame that the band wouldn’t be able to further develop this one.”

I feel like this was a try-hard post. It might be tl;dr, idk. Here’s the true goodness…

Transport to the Charlie Miller remaster of the soundboard recording HERE.

More soon.

JF

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[nctzendreamz]

Psycho — Bae Joohyun

Irene really, really loves you. Too much, you begin to realize.

Warnings: Psychotic!Au, mentions of abuse, murder, language, and in general dark themes.

Word Count: 7k

January 16, 2020 — 9:45PM

She might as well have been a celebrity, as she was the key reason that this coffee shop got visitors. Her silky smooth skin, complimented by her sparkling eyes and perfect build was everything the masses needed to get up early in the mornings before work.

She couldn’t count all the numbers she had recieved in just the couple of months she had been employed at Velvets; the coffee shop that rested in the center of the city. It’s red and pink decor, followed by the hand crafted decorations from so many visitors in the past, was exactly where Bae Joohyun, more frequently referred to as Irene belonged.

She always had the same greeting. It was in the protocol, after all.

“Hello! Welcome to Velvet’s. How are you doing today?”

And today is no different. She always tries her best to look right at the customer as soon as she hears the familiar bell, indicating the door had opened, but her nail was chipping, and it was driving her nuts. She says her line, still fiddling before she realizes that it can’t be fixed until later.

“I’m so sorry! It’s been a long—“

And then she stops. She has seen a million people come and go to her place of work. Most of them found her beauty to be enchanting, but even the finest of them could barely make her blink. No matter how hard they tried to merge the conversation onto dinner, or what she was doing after her shift, her facial expression stayed the same—dull and unimpressed.

But you. You’re standing here in all of your glory, hair perfectly sculpted to your face. She loves this look on you. It’s the perfect color to compliment your perfect skin, and daring eyes as they swallow her whole. Usually, she did this to others, yet here you were, snatching her soul—seemingly without even trying. 

“A long day.” She finally breaths out. Her heart is racing at a dangerous pace, and she knows she looks like a creep right now. Her dark eyes are trying to break you down, and bring you to your knees, but it’s not working.

“I understand that.” You giggle. You seem tired. The bags under your eyes are slight, but still drooped enough to which she can tell you’re either a student, or you work a nine to five. Regardless, you’re not always free. Your clothing is simple. Sweats, a hoodie, and some ugg boots to shield you from the cold weather. “Your nails are so cute, by the way.” You smile, and it’s calming. It’s not a full on cheese session, but that makes it even better. It’s simple, just as you seem to be.

“Don’t flatter me.” She begins, showing them to you in full form over the marble counter. “It’s chipped.”

“And still cute.” You assure, smoothly moving a sole finger across the nail. “Is it gel polish?” You question with an adorable head tilt. Absolutely priceless. You’re probably very good at getting what you want. You know exactly how to move, and lighten your voice to make people feel what you want them to feel.

“It is. You know—

“It stays on longer.” You finish for her.

“Exactly.” She can’t hold in her smile. Was her heart...warming? If so, that meant her cheeks were turning pink, which also meant that you could see clearly that you were doing it right. If you were flirting with her, you were doing it so well, and so respectfully.

“I’ll just take a hazelnut.” You breathe out. Your hands are in your pockets, and you’re shifting the weight from your toes to your heels repeatedly. You must be cold. When you’re cold, you get jittery it seems. That’s why you’re in here in the nick of time. You’re definitely in school. You probably just got out of class, and have a shit-ton of homework to finish. That’s why you need the coffee and that’s why you seem so exhausted; although you’re trying to hide it from her.

“Hazelnut!” She shouts, turning around and giving the ticket to the real worker in here. She doesn’t even look at him as reaches out to snatch it from her. “Is that your favorite?”

“The only coffee I will drink.” You admit, covering your face with your hands. You’re embarrassed. You probably feel somewhat uncultured, and childish for even saying that out loud.

“Have you ever tried another?” She says in a light tone, tilting her head just as you did a few minutes ago. Still, you’re unfazed. You actually close your eyes for a moment before snapping them back open.

“I have. I think it was roasted chestnut? Whatever it was it was not good at all.” And now you’re laughing. Your laugh—it’s beautiful. It’s not a subtle, shy chuckle that would indicate you don’t laugh often. You laugh all the time. She can’t tell if it’s a boyfriend that always has you geeked like this, or maybe your friends. Maybe, even your girlfriend, but that would break her heart too much.

“Well, coffee isn’t the only good thing here. We’re not Starbucks, but our frapachinos are pretty good.” Irene mentions, eyes flicking to the frap menu to the left of her. She lets the red sweater she spotted slip off her shoulder ever so slightly, and you’re looking at it. It was for a mere second, but she saw it.

“Here you go.” Josh—the chef of this shift interrupted, handing you your coffee quickly.

“That’s the fastest you’ve ever done that.” Irene seethes, shooting an annoyed look to her co-worker.

“Trying to close. No offense.” Josh nods to you, already starting the trials and tribulations that closing involved. He’s wetting a rag in preparation of wiping all of the counters down.

“Oh, none taken. I hate to be that customer that comes in late like this. I just have all this work to catch up on and I figured buying aderall from the guy who sits beside me in Psych wasn’t the best idea.”

Irene breaks into a fit of laughter. Truthfully, she wasn’t faking it. You were so funny. But she was also right. She hit the nail right on the head, actually. Josh couldn’t believe his ears as he had barely seen her smile a genuine cheese. Of course he stayed silent. “You’re funny!” She coughs out through her fit.

“Don’t flatter me.” You smile brightly. Your smile is so pretty, just like you. God, she was running through too many scenarios on how she could make you stay. “Thanks for this pleasing experience. Today sucked and I needed it so badly. Do you guys have like a manager or something? Or like a survey?”

She had never been asked this before. No one had ever cared to commend them on their excellent service and caffeine recovery program they had in place for the addicts. “Um...no. But what you can do is come back. To repay us.” She whispers the last part.

She needs your name. She just knows someone like you has the most goregeous name.

And the heavens answers her request. She already saw that you had a necklace hiding under your hoodie, but you’re pulling it out now. It’s a name; she just needs to know who it is.

“That necklace, I love it.” She leans over the counter, squinting to see the name. “Y/N.” She mumbles. “Is that your name?”

“It is.” You respond. “People say it’s stupid to wear your own name, but it’s comforting to me. Plus, I don’t have someone else’s name to wear so.”

So, you were single.

“Don’t get too discouraged. Someone could come and change that. Very soon, actually.” She purrs, and she finally does it. She’s getting in your head. You’re seeing her.

You leave, your walk mezmorizing her in ways that makes her tingle. She barely follows the procedures of cleaning, as all she wants to do is go home. She needs to know everything about you.

“Y/N L/N. Twenty four years old. Younger than me.”

It wasn’t that hard to find your all your social media. All public, minus your Facebook account. Your Twitter consists of retweets of memes that probably made you scream, and your own little comedy that your select friends liked as they felt obligated.

She can’t lie; she was expecting to see a tweet about her. Something about a beautiful girl in the coffee shop. But there was nothing. Not a peep. Then again, maybe this was a good sign. Maybe you liked to keep your loves private. She’s searching through your pictures, embellishing in the sight of you until something stops her scrolling.

It’s a picture of you, and another guy. His hair is black, but his features are far from plain. He’s not impressive to her, but she knows to you, he’s everything. He seems to be just your type.

It’s been two years, and yet, it feels like a thousand.

The caption is so short, yet so sweet and gentle. It’s telling a million stories with one sentence, and even she can tell there’s real love in the photo. On your side, at least. She feels sick now. He’s tagged on the photo.

Lee Taeyong. That’s his name. The first place she searches is his likes, where she knows she’ll find proof of him being a scumbag. The way you addressed your necklace; it’s almost as if it was a mere replacement for a previous. It was a somber, silent story.

A lot of his likes are filled with hip-hop. Viral dances, artist appreciation, funny memes just as you enjoyed. You two probably found love through a similar interest. She continues to scroll though, where she finds something that truly twists her stomach. A quote.

Do you ever wish you could turn back time? Fix a mistake? Go back to when everything was perfect? When you could hold her and she was yours? Because same.

He hurt you. She didn’t know what he did, but she knows he hurt you. Her first guess was cheating, and she was going to stick to it. Maybe your chill nature was because your walls were up so high. Maybe your intense laughter wasn’t because you laughed all the time, but instead because you hadn’t laughed in a while. And it was all his fault—fuck Lee Taeyong.

He works at a video game store. No—he owns an arcade to be exact. She was going to see him. She needed to observe him in person. See his vibe. In the mean time, she can follow you on Instagram. That’s not too weird, right?

January 17, 2020 — 7:30PM

“Welcome to T’s.” A dull voice speaks.

Although the lighting in the arcade is practically blinding—all the neon creating a cool atmosphere, their customer service is awful. Probably a telling to his personality if that’s the kind of people he hired.

She waited for a moment, waiting for more. How can they just assume she knows what she’s doing? What kind of place was this? It’s a Saturday afternoon, and it shows because people are everywhere. Kids are running around, and adults are talking trash to eachother as they bet money on who will win the car game. “Men.” She sighs. But with her sighs brings the man she’s looking for. He’s almost blending in with his all black clothing, but she knows it’s him. He’s hard to miss, but not because of his features. It’s because she hates him.

Her current outfit; a tight red dress and dangerous heels aren’t really arcade attire, but she doesn’t care. She clacks her way over to Taeyong, who is surrounded by many people. He must be popular. He definitely cheated on you. The girls around him were ridiculous. So much for missing you.

She knows approaching so quickly would be foolish. It wouldn’t make sense. She decides instead to creep around, wanting to know who these people are. As she gets closer, she can recognize almost all of them. Chungha—your seemingly bestfriend was here, some guy with his arm around her shoulder. The Johnny she had seen pop up on your feed a few times, the Ten, and lastly, the Momo. Momo also seems to have some unspoken feelings about you.

She could feel it in the way she comments under your pictures. You couldn’t notice her flirtatious nature, but it was there.

The most beautiful human in the world.

My favorite.

Can I be you?

More like—can I be with you?

“Excuse me.” Irene finally speaks, interupting their laughter. She was hoping they’d give her a dirty look, so she could have even more of a reason to turn you against them, but they don’t. They look at her in synch, smiles still on their faces.

“What’s up?” Johnny says, a dashing grin on his face. Another who thinks she’s too beautiful. Exactly how she felt about you. “Are you new around here?”

Chungha punches him in the shoulder promptly, clearly not a fan of his approach. Irene can see why she was your chosen best-friend. Then again, was she really your friend? I mean, all of these people were hanging around your ex boyfriend and the only person who wasn’t here is you?

“Sorry about that.” She apologizes. “Us pretty girls are hard to come by, and they get extremely thirsty.”

She’s funny, but not as funny as you.

“Oh it’s fine. I’m Irene.” She introduces, placing her frail hand out. It connects with Chungha’s, and it’s genuine. “He’s right. I am new here. I’m a tad overdressed, I see.”

“I’m not complaining.” Johnny adds, receiving a punch from Taeyong this time.

So, he’s somewhat of a woman supporter too. I mean, he didn’t have to stop him from his words, but he did.

“I’m Taeyong.” He sighs, but he doesn’t place his hand out. That’s odd. The glow of games is making all of them look nothing less of models, but that doesn’t mean she’s impressed. No one was better than you.

“You know, you’re allowed to touch a girl other than your family and Y/N.” Johnny jokes.

The mention of your name makes everything in Irene’s body spike. They were acknowledging you, even though you weren’t here, which means maybe you didn’t mind them being here without you. Or maybe you and Taeyong weren’t exactly broken up. Something complicated instead.

He doesn’t say anything, just squints at his friend in an evil manner.

“Y/N.” Irene interrupts, putting a hand on her chin. “I met someone with that name last night.” She says. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “I work at Velvets, and this girl came in. She was wearing a necklace with that name.”

She watches for Taeyong’s reaction, and she gets what she wants. The mention of the cafe makes him almost flinch. Velvets must have been a place you two frequently visited together when you were dating. But then again, why did you seem so clueless about the menu? No, you weren’t. You mentioned you tried other coffee. It must have been with him. The way you laughed, it all makes sense now. You were thinking about him. A memory popped up.

She wants to ask if you were his ex, but that would be crossing the line. She had only known them for two minutes. It would seem too odd.

“Was she wearing sweat pants and a hoodie?” Momo questions now. Her hands are crossed over her chest, and Irene can’t read her. She doesn’t like that. Momo somewhat has her guard up.

“Yeah. I think she was.”

“That was definitely her. She’s been dressing like a complete bum lately.” Momo giggles now. If she didn’t already know this was her competition, she knows now. Momo is giggling just from thinking about you. You must make her laugh a lot. Irene doesn’t like her judgemental nature. You would be perfect in every state if she was a real one, but she’s not. So maybe she isn’t going to be a problem after all.

“You described her perfectly.” Irene seethes, quickly switching back to her normal state. The bright smile, and pink lip.

“How was she?” Taeyong questions. He still cares. She can see in in his eyes, but even if she was blind, it wouldn’t matter. His voice was so frail when talking about you.

“Oh brother.” Ten sighs

“I have a right to know.” Taeyong argues. He’s frustrated. He’s hot headed; at least when it comes to you.

“She seemed perfect to me. Laughing a lot, making jokes and stuff. I apologize if I’m out of place for this, but what’s going on? Is she okay?”

All of their faces seem to freeze for a mere second. They’re not uncomfortable with her question, but it seems like they’re wondering do they have permission to tell your buisness like that. They’re looking at Taeyong, presumably because it’s technically his buisness too.

Chungha is the first to speak. “She’s fine. These two,” she points to Taeyong, and then seemingly to thin air, “they broke up.”

Momo is oddly silent. She’s seemingly fuming, but no one is paying attention to her. That means none of these people know about her feelings for you. She��s been keeping it bottled up this entire time.

“Oh...sorry for asking.” Irene quickly scrambles, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I should’ve put that together by myself—

“It’s okay, beautiful.” Johnny places a hand on her shoulder, and she wants to slap the stupid grin off of his face, but he was going to be useful. He was stupid, and naive. One pull down of her panties, and he would tell her everything she needed to know. She moves into his touch, giggling just a tad.

The vibration of her phone distracts her, and she quickly searches for it in her Louis purse. You followed her back. One by one, you’re liking her pictures, and she can feel her heart beating hard through her little chest. Was her fairytale going to happen? Was she finally going to be able to fall in love again? God, she loved you already. Your sexy demeanor, your perfection. She needed you, and she would do anything to get it.

The bell of the shop dings, indicating that more people are walking in. From the way that they all freeze once again, she knows exactly who it is. She turns around and there you are. Her knees so badly want to get weak, but she controls herself. Today, you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt. She can’t tell if you have shorts on under, but she hopes you doesn’t. The shirt is from some band you listen to, and you have white converse on your feet. High top.

Momo is the first to greet you. She practically jumps into your arms, and Irene notices the way you don’t seem to mind. Her brain is starting to shock her, jolting her anger to all the wrong places. She could fucking kill Momo right now. The two of you are spinning around, Momo’s legs around your waist and you inhaling her scent. Everyone else is looking at the scene with a soft smile—they’re so stupid. How can they not see?

Momo finally returns back to the floor, and now you’re looking at her. She quickly fixes herself up, so quick, that you don’t even notice.

“Irene?”

The way you say her name is causing her to pool. She wants to hear you say it for the rest of the night. She takes a deep breath, not hiding it this time before she strides to you, hugging you. She knows this won’t make you uncomfortable. You seem to be willing to catch some affection for people you like. When she feels your hands on her middle back, she inhales you. You smell like spring, even in the winter, and that’s so beautiful. You’re so beautiful. She allows her cheek to graze against yours ever so slightly, and your noses to touch before she backs away. She sees the way you bite your lip. No one can see you but her, and she likes the thrill. It’s dangerous.

“Johnny.” You sigh, walking past him without a look. You don’t like Johnny—that’s obvious. Was he possible the reason for you and Taeyong’s break-up? “My Tenny!” You screech, putting his face in your hands like a baby and kissing his cheek softly. You have a soft side. “Chungha~” You sing, embracing her tightly. Now it was the big reveal. Would you speak to Taeyong? Or would you two do the awkward stare.

He still loves you. It’s obvious in the way that the love practically pours out of his eyes, and his hands shake. “Y/N.” He whispers. It’s like no one else is in the room. You must have not seen any of them in a while, based on the way they stare at you admiringly.

“Hey.” You whisper back, slowly moving to hug him. He closes his eyes for a mere second, and it’s all over. Now you’re back beside Irene, who’s very pleased.

“Irene was just telling us that the two of you know eachother.” Johnny speaks. He’s trying to get back into your good graces. It’s so obvious it’s painful.

“Yeah.” You smile, but not at him. “I was at Velvets getting my usual, and then we met. Surprised to see you here though.” You’re looking at her now.

“What? Just because I’m in a dress means I can’t be a gamer?” She jokes, and everyone around laughs. Everyone but Momo.

“No. Momo wears dresses.” You say, slapping her thigh gently. Why do you keep touching her? She’s standing right here, looking good for you, and you’re flirting with Momo? “There’s just a lot of assholes in a place like this. You don’t seem to be interested in that.”

“Well, how about I prove you wrong? Loser has to buy the other coffee.” She prompts.

She hopes everyone else looks jealous. Especially Momo. Knowing you, even if you wanted to say no, you weren’t going to deny her.

“Any coffee?” You question with a raised eyebrow.

“Anything you want—that is, if you win.”

“I say we have a tournament.” Momo adds in. “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve all been together lile this.”

Shut up, slut. God, Irene just wants to wrap her hands around her neck. She had to get you away from her as soon as possible.

“Sounds good to me.” You agree. “Is that cool with you?” You look back at her. You’re already hooked enough to have to ask permission when you had only known her for 24 hours.

“Does it matter if she is?” Johnny mentions.

“Johnny!” Chungha screeches. “Why are you being such a dick!”

“Don’t answer that.” Ten prompts, taking his friend by the hand and leading him outside.

“Anyways, that sounds like a great idea to me. Let’s roll!” Chungha yells in sorority fashion, and now all of you are going to where the fun is. There’s a million games to choose from, but it seems like you guys have a section you’re leading her to.

“As you can see, the games only get harder and harder from here.” You explain to her, placing a hand on her lower back.

“So like, kids shouldn’t be going this far.” She giggles.

“Exactly. Consider yourself privileged.” You wink.

“Just because I’m short and cute does not mean I’m a child.”

“You’re going to have to prove that to me.”

You’re definitely flirting with her now. And to make it even better, more fiesty than she had expected it to be.

“What are you doing after this?” She flirts back, placing her hand on your back now.

“You’re taking me to get coffee.”

“Velvets will be closed.” She pouts.

“I didn’t say you had to take me to Velvets. They sell hazelnut coffee everywhere.”

“You really think you can beat me, can’t you?”

“No. I know I can.”

And you did. You beat the clean breaks off of her in every single thing. The whole tournament went to hell as you and Irene were completely in your own world. You ran from game to game like children.

You weren’t rude enough to not say goodbye, but it was quick. You knew exactly what was going to happen after tonight, and you needed it. It had been too long.

“You’re not coming over?” Is the last thing you hear right before you and Irene head out. It’s Momo again, and her eyes are sad as she seems to know exactly what’s going on. “We haven’t had the big sleepover in so long, and I cleaned my house.”

Irene is reading you like the open book you are, and you’re fighting it. You haven’t seen your friends in a while, and you want their attention. You love the fact that they miss you, and you miss them even more, but you don’t crave them like you’re craving her right now.

“I promise next weekend.” You try to plead.

“But I got drinks.”

“A promise is a promise.” Now your pinky is out. The way Momo seemingly gives up on her complaining shows that your promises held weight. She connects her pinky with yours, before lightly caressing your knuckles with her thumb. You don’t think anything if it, but Irene knows, and her eyes are burning holes into her skull.

As soon as the two of you reach the car, you’ve forgotten about the coffee.

With a slammed hand on the foggy window, Irene is in bliss.

“So much for that hazelnut coffee, huh?” She purrs, kissing you once more.

“You still owe me.” You giggle.

“You’re absolutely right.” She’s now crawling down your body, fully prepared to repay you for your victory. More like her victory. She had won, and it was easy. You were easy, and yet she still loved you. She would never let you go, and anybody who got in the way of you two being together forever will feel her wrath.

February 17, 2020 — 2:00PM

“Wait wait, so you’re telling me that I leave for two seconds, and Y/N and Irene are fucking?”

“Not just fucking—fucking dating.”

Johnny and Taeyong were catching up, just as brothers did. After being pulled out of the arcade by Ten, it had been decided that Johnny needed a break from his crew. There was clearly some animosity—rightfully so within the group, and a month break was much needed.

“I didn’t even know Y/N...”

“Exactly.” Taeyong finishes for him, taking an aggressive sip from his coffee. With the slam, some of it splattered on the table. He can’t help but think about how you would immediately clean it up as little things like that bothered you, if you were here that is.

“Well, how do you feel about it?”

“I don’t understand how this happened so quick. I mean, think about how long it took me and Y/N to start dating. We talked for what felt like years before you guys pushed us to make it official.”

“You mean pushed you.” Johnny corrects, sipping his Americano with shade.

“Whatever. I just don’t like it. I mean, this Irene girl just shows up, and takes Y/N away that quick? That quick?”

“I mean, she is fine as hell. Are you saying you wouldn’t be down for that?”

“Can you not be gross for like two seconds?” Taeyong fumes.

“Shh.” The congregation of the library says in unison, causing him to throw his head down in shame.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Month of meditation actually did something I can assure you.”

“I want to look into her.”

“As in, like stalk her? Do you really think you’ll find anything?”

“I don’t want to, but this all happened too coincidentally. I know you think I’m crazy,” a nervous habit formed as a little boy, Taeyong is scratching his elbow like a manic. His rash has appeared, and rash equaled bad news.

“Well, you know I’m on your side. You might be stupid and crazy, but as your best friend it’s my job to make sure you don’t do it alone.”

They weren’t alone, even when they thought they had found a secluded area. She was there, disguised as a typical college girl. She sported a bob that made her look extremely basic, and her ears heard every drip of that conversation. Of course, being the idiots that they were, a bathroom break included them leaving all their belongings on the table.

February 21, 2020 — 12:00AM

“Do I know you?” The blonde girl says in a low voice. She’s scared as she approaches her vehicle. She worked the late shift tonight, and deep down she knew it was a horrible idea, especially when her boyfriend was too drunk to come and get her.

“You don’t need the extra money—I got you, babe.”

But she ignored him.

“No, but I know you.”

“Did my boyfriend sleep with you? Because if you want revenge, I’m not the one you need to be speaking to.”

“What would make you think that?”

“Past trauma.”

“So he’s cheated before.”

“No, past trauma.” She doesn’t know why she’s entertaining this stranger. Maybe it’s because she’s so beautiful. You can’t help but to trust her, even in such a suspicious predicament. I mean, she was leaning on her fucking car like she pays the note. “Are you an addict or something? I barely have anything for myself, okay? Maybe next week.”

“You’re Johnny’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“I’m calling the police.”

But Irene snatches her phone from her, slamming it on the ground. The black gloves that cover her hands secure her non-existent finger prints, and the phone shatters.

“Literally what the fuck!” The blonde screams, but it doesn’t matter. They’re in a parking garage and there’s no one here to save her. She tries to run away, but Irene is just too quick. The knife that was behind her back connects to the back of her neck, and she haults.

“This is for your nosy fucking boyfriend, who believes that he can somehow find out about my past and make Y/N leave me. How foolish of him.” She chuckles, letting the blood trickle down her arm.

She’s crying and screaming, but as stated, it’s irrevlant. Irene 2 — Johnny 0.

February 18, 2020 — 9:00AM

“I just...I just can’t believe it. I told her not to work that stupid fucking shift.”

“It’s not your fault, Johnny.”

“Yes it is. If I wouldn’t have been drunk out of my ass, I could’ve saved her somehow—I don’t know. But now she’s gone. I loved her. I loved her so damn much and I was finally pulling it together because of her.”

The rest of you sit on the couch, struggling to find the proper words for such a tragedy. Johnny is sobbing into his hands now, while Ten is rubbing his back gently. Taeyong is off to the side staring into space. You’re familiar with this look. He was thinking heavily about something, but you obviously would never find out what it was. Chungha is sitting on your right, rocking back and forth. Her nails are chopping at her fingers—a clear sign of her fearfulness. Similar to Taeyong, Momo is silent. You expected her eyes to be on you in search of some answers, or silent suspicions, but she refuses.

Finally, Irene is beside you to the left. You didn’t know Johnny’s lover that well, but you knew she was a decent girl. She didn’t deserve this, and you couldn’t even imagine what would it would feel like to lose someone you loved. Anyone sitting in this room. Her frail hand is locked on your elbow while her thumb is trying to soothe you.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers. Her lips find your shoulder in something sweet and comforting. “Who would do something like this? Did she have an ex boyfriend?”

It takes a minute for Johnny to find a response.

“She did tell me about some guy who began to get a little possessive, so she broke it off. But she never mentioned him coming back.”

“Maybe it was him.” Irene says quietly. You can tell she’s trying not to say too much, as she hadn’t been hanging with the crew for too long. You’re grateful that she’s here for you.

“Let’s just let the police do their job.” Momo finally speaks, standing up from the loveseat she sat on alone. Something is wrong with her, but you’d have to figure that out later.

“Let’s order some food.” You decide, standing up as well. “I know you might now want to eat right now, but it’ll clear you head even if just a little bit. We are all under a lot of stress right now.”

“I agree, babe.” Irene commends, smiling at you sadly.

“Alright.” Johnny sighs. He also rises, but he goes straight into the back of his apartment instead. None of you were worried about him hurting himself. You knew he needed time to let his emotions out, as he was constantly trying to be society’s definition of a man.

Your phone vibrates, and it’s Irene who’s hitting you up.

I think you should check on Momo. Was she friends with her? She just seems really upset and I know how close you two are.

You have to contain the smile that wants to come out for the sake of the situation, but she was so perfect. She didn’t get jealous about anything. And she was so in love with you. It had been too long since you could confidently admit that this wasn’t a one-sided situation.

Your feet are approaching the kitchen softly, trying not to make such a scene. Momo is leaned over the counter at first, but when she sees you she tries to straighten up.

“Hey.” She whispers, preparing for eavesdropping.

“Hey.” You say back.

Why was this so awkward? It was never like this before.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

Which means she’s not. You see her observing your current outfit—yoga pants with a shirt she had bought you years ago covering your body.

“Do you want to talk later?” You offer, putting a tiny smirk on your face remembering that usually made her feel better.

“I think that would be good, actually. I don’t know if we’ll have the time, but maybe when everyone’s asleep?”

“The best thing I’ve heard all day.” You open your arms out, and you know she won’t deny you. She lets out what seems to be all the stress from her week as she lets you engulf her. It had been so long since the two of you were close like this. On your nights where you couldn’t sleep from past thoughts, it was Momo who would come over and hold you until you could.

“I’ve missed you.” She mumbles into your shoulder. “So much.”

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I haven’t been exactly here as much.”

“Irene...I know.” She pulls away at the mention of her name, and it’s odd timing. “Let me just ask you something— as one of your best friends?”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t you think the two of you are moving a little fast? I mean, we saw the girl for the first time a month ago, and now you’re all committed and in love with her. I’m just concerned.”

She made several points. It wasn’t that you made people wait for you in the past. This whole scenario was just too quick, especially since you had just gotten out of a relationship not too long ago.

“Are you insinuating that I’m not over Taeyong?”

“No.” She’s confident in her answer. “I don’t want you to be with him anyway. He cheated on and is a fat jerk.”

You snort at her last two words, and she’s punching your shoulder lightly even though she’s laughing as well.

“You’re so negative minded.”

“Continue.” You breath out, covering your mouth.

“I just feel like—

The door flies open, revealing Irene on the other side. “Sorry to interrupt, but have you ordered the pizza yet? We’re all starving.”

In reality, she wasn’t in the mood for food. Ten and Taeyong had went to the back to check on Johnny, and Chungha was using the bathroom. She had heard your whole exchange and to say she was pissed was an understatement. Why didn’t you try and defend her? You should have walked out of the room, and straight into her lap the minute the slut tried to question you on something she knew nothing about.

Both of you look like you’ve been caught, and she relishes in that. The fear that is in both of your eyes.

“Yeah I got you.”

That’s all you have to say to her? First, Momo was able to get you to open up that fast, when you hadn’t even revealed to her any details of you and Taeyong’s relationship.

“Or, you can order it if you want. Me and Y/N were just catching up I’m sorry to take her away.” The slut speaks. Her voice bleeds cockiness, even though her face is soft and sweet. She knows that Irene is mad. She’s enjoying it.

“Okay.” Is all Irene mumbles before going back to the living room.

“What was that about?” Momo is looking at you in confusion and fear. She had always had suspicions about Irene. She just seemed too nice—too willing to be everything you needed, when in reality she didn’t fit the role.

Momo had been in love with you since she met you. Your smile, the way you loved everyone no matter their differences, and your seemingly never ending talent of making her laugh. You were magical, but she was okay with being on the sideline. She had done it for two years straight while you were with Taeyong, and even during your nights of crying over she kept it to herself.

She knew keeping it to herself was only hurting her, but she was willing to be hurt for the sake of your happiness as you were happy with Taeyong. She could see how much the two of you loved eachother, and even after everything went down, she didn’t want to stop your journey of loving herself to have to figure out a way to reject her feelings nicely.

“Guess I’ll have to find out later.”

You seem frustrated as your leg is tapping up and down—even though you’re not sitting. Your breathing is getting faster and faster, and she knew this picture. This is exactly how you used to react when Taeyong made you upset, or neglected your feelings.

“Does she know what pizza you like?” She decides on, trying to pick your mood up with her bare hands as you were always able to do for her. She finds herself dancing slightly—her go to when she didn’t know what to do.

“I should probably go find out.” You smack her exposed stomach before walking back into the living room, where everyone has returned. Momo is behind you, and Irene is staring straight at the wall.

“The pizza should be here soon.” She whispers without removing her eyes.

“That’s goo—

By soon, even she didn’t seem to have meant this soon. The door is being knocked on quite aggressively, and all of you are looking at eachother trying to decide who’s going to answer.

“I’ll get it.” You step up. You were always the one in the group who would rise to the things you knew they were scared to do. Before you can even put your hand on the knob though, the banging is coming again, this time even louder. “I’m coming!” You spit full of attitude, and at the same time, everyone but Irene is rising to the occasion to stand by your side. You would always protect eachother—even from the pizza man. Johnny steps infront of you, opening the door himself.

It’s the police, and they don’t look happy.

“Are you Johnny Suh?” The chubby officer questions.

“Uh—yes.” He stutters. “The police said I wasn’t getting questioned until tomorrow.”

“Oh cut the crap.” The other offer says. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Cierra Valdez.” He rips the handcuffs from his belt, and he’s trying to turn Johnny around, but Johnny will never go down without a fight.

“What are you talking about!”

“Get off of him!” You yell, immediately trying to pull him in your direction. Everyone else follows, together more powerful than the police. Johnny is out of their grasp for just a few moments before a gun is pointed towards all of you.

“Drop your hands now!”

“You’re not gonna fucking shoot us!” Taeyong screams. It was the most passion Irene had heard come from his lips, and she was quite entertained. She was entertained by all of this. If you wouldn’t have been letting Momo flirt with you, she would’ve gotten up to shield you, but you didn’t, which is why she’s sitting on the couch in fake shock.

“Y/N get over here!” She yells. She doesn’t even have to wipe the sly smirk off her face as nobody is looking at her.

But you ignore her.

“I didn’t kill her!” Johnny is crying all over again, his whole face soaked in tears. “I loved her. Why would I kill her?”

“Anything you do or say will be held against you.” The Miranda rights are flowing out of the officer like he does this all the time, and now they’re dragging him out. His back is scratching on the cement.

“Y’all have to help me!” Johnny screeches. The whole apartment complex can hear what’s going on, and it’s killing him inside. He didn’t kill the love of his life. He didn’t. “I loved her.” He cried once more. “I fucking loved her!”

Continued

[sxnnimoon]

Always & Forever

*** Hey y’all! Sorry it’s taken a bit for part 2 but here it is. Part 2 of First For Everything. This part continues from the last but maybe i’ll do a part 3 if needed, but as always hope you all enjoy this one!***

Michael Langdon x Reader

Warning- none

Summary- part 2 of FFE , You’re aunt Madelyn brings home this boy who you take a liking to and things escalate but he wants more than just a one time thing. Will you stay with him or will you run off and help him with what is to be planned for the future?

__________________________________________

***Flashback***

“We should do it again sometime.” he said.

“I would love to but I leave tomorrow.” you said looking away.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he said.

“I’m headed to New Orleans tomorrow.” you could tell he was upset. “I’ve been accepted into this school for witches.”

“The one ran by Coredelia?” he asked.

“Yes?” you questioned. “Why do you ask?”

“You can’t go there,” he said firmly.

“Why?” you were scared but curious.

“They are the reason I have nowhere to go, they are the ones that took away my Ms.Mead.” he started to tear up.

“Is it because of who you are?” you asked.

“It is because I am the one who can take them down, I am more powerful than they are combined.” he stated. “Stay with me and help me avenge what is mine.”

***End Flashback***

“You want me to what? Runaway with you?” you exclaimed.

“I don’t want you to leave my side. I want you as my queen to rule beside me throughout what is to come.” he said proudly.

“What’s your plan then?” you asked.

“That’s just it. I’m stuck on exactly where I need to start. I’m lost without my Ms. Mead.” he looked away.

“I know a place.” you said walking out of the room.

**Few days later**

 With the help of my aunt, we called the one place we knew Michael would get answers from. 

“Jeff & Mutt Enterprises Inc.?” Michael questioned.   

“They’ll help you just as much as my niece will.” Madelyn said looking at me. “You will do great things by his side.” she held my face.

“I will miss you.” you said a single tear falling down your face. You turned to Michael. 

“We should go.” leading him away. As you both walk away. Your mind is torn with what will happen to your aunt once the apocalypse happens. She needs to be at peace. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you said looking at Michael.

“Anything.” he spoke softly.

“When this whole apocalypse starts can you put a good word in with your father for Madelyn. She's all I have and I want some good to come from her death.” you said sincere. 

“I can see what I can do.” he smiled. “I will handle her situation, but for now focus on us and our future.” he said kissing your forehead.

You’d known Jeff and Mutt from the few times you went to black mass with madelyn and because you worked for them for two years. They were a few years older than you but boy did they act like children sometimes. It’s amazing the devil himself granted them all their success. But they are Michaels best bet to figuring out what it is he needs to do next. Their assistant Ms.Venable was a sight for sore eyes. She wasn’t the nicest but she did her job well. She told you both where to go not without giving a hard stare that made you feel like you used to those years back. 

“Dude, what's up? We’re dying to meet you.” Mutt said. “Madelyn has said a lot about you, same goes for Y/n. They seem totally convinced you are the one.” 

“Not to offend you but I thought you’d be a bit more jacked.” Jeff said. 

“So what was your name again.” Mutt asked. 

“Michael. Langdon. Michael Langdon.” he finally spoke.

“That’s just a little bit weak, right?” Mutt said. 

Jeff and Mutt began joking around about his name but Michael didn’t take it well and decided to walk out. But you stopped him and told him it was alright, that he didn’t need to be upset and listen to them. You’d finally spoken up seeing as they hadn’t noticed your presence starling them.

“That is enough.” you boomed. “Might you both act your age and be a little bit professional towards him. 

“He-ey , hey Y/n didn’t see you there. When did you get there.” Jeff spoke.

“If you two coke heads would have opened your eyes a bit you would have noticed me but instead you were too busy making asses of yourselves.” you said.

“Well we-we-we believe him, it’s just we thought we’d be pissing ourselves or something.” Mutt said.

“I mean, how do we even know he’s the Antichrist?” Jeff said. 

Mutt agreed with him. Michael then processed to walk towards them showing them the mark. 

“That’s cool but it’s just a tattoo on your scalp.” Mutt spoke.

Of course they weren’t convinced yet, that was until the call girl in the room began to freak out when Michael looked at her. 

“No. It’s true. I can feel the darkness. And it’s making me sick and coming from him.” she said frantic trying to run. That was until Michael set her a flame. You chuckled at the looks on their faces. Both filled with fear yet couldn’t believe their eyes.

“Holy shit!” they both exclaimed. 

Michael then showed them his face and they immediately bowed down to him. 

“You believe him now?” you chuckled. 

They both looked at you and then put their heads down. You all then went to their office to discuss what it is Michael needs and needs to do from here on out. They’d all been talking and then Michael brought up Miriam. You knew they’d be able to build a replica of her but they’d need Michael's help in the long run with her. 

Michael was thriving now that he had Miriam back. It was good to see him smile from someone other than you. But you knew he’d need to further his plans. Michael looked at you and you could tell he had some plan cooking in his head. 

“New Orleans. We leave tonight.” that's all he had to say for you to know the witches were in for a hell of a ride.

New Orleans was beautiful, you’d been a few times. That's not the reason you were here. You were standing in front of the school but something felt off. “Something's off. Magic protects the grounds.” you said feeling it all around. “It’s a barrier of protection. Far too powerful for a normal witch.”

“And you are a normal witch?” Mead questioned.

“Far from it my dear, but I'll need your help a bit Michael to gain max energy.” you spoke.

“Anything for you.” he said, kissing you.

You’d broken the barrier, entering without them noticing. They’d just begun practicing some protection spell. Michael entered first.

“Clearly that mantras bullshit.” he said startling them. “Oh come on, you can’t be that surprised to see me.” 

“Cordelia knows what I am to do to you all. I have deaths to avenge.” he said. 

You could sense all their fear. But then you felt one's energy to attack Michael. You stepped in. Throwing back whatever it was they were to use against him. Killing some. Mead then walked in. Ready to kill. 

“I was made for this.” was all she said before shooting at those still alive in the room. One tried to off Mead but ended up shot dead. Voodoo dolls I see. You walked out of the room, feeling for energy of those we needed most. Michael followed you to a room that was locked. He’d busted it down but no one was inside. He was definitely mad. You all reconvened back at Meads. Michael was angry. He wanted blood, but not of those who were shed today. Mead began speaking about what it is he needs to do next. You’d thought it weird how going back to Jeff and Mutt so you took matters into your own hands. 

“I get what you are saying but let me take you to a place, you’ve given me an idea,” you spoke. 

“And what is it you have to say.” Mead spoke. 

“Jeff and Mutt don’t have the high status like I do with this organization.” you said.

“Well, what's it called.” Michael said intrigued. 

“It’s called the Cooperative, you may know it as something else but the point is, that they can help more than we know.” you exclaimed.

The next thing you knew you were in a room with all of those apart of the organization. The meeting went great, we’ve set up bunkers around for only the elite, the chosen ones. Or well those that pay a generous amount to remain safe. Michael has placed me and Mead with Venable at his old school, probably the safest place of all as it’s underground. You just weren’t expecting that Michael was going to clear any memory of him from Mead, let alone you. 

“Please don’t do this,” you cried. “I love you.”

“When the time is right, We will meet again.” he spoke sincerely. “I love you always. Always and Forever.”

[thenixkat]

Voltron notes 2 (edited)

Ep 2

We get the full opening this time. Its pretty bland. Like? What is the music trying to go for b/c its not reaching it. Otherwise mostly generic action/scifi.

Where did Hunk get those jammies? Shiro is an early bird. Where’d Lance get those jammies? And that skincare mask and eyecover? Those are Pidge’s headphones? Sleeps to music and an emergency alarm is not waking him up.

Keith was awake but not up and that’s valid. He doesn’t have jammies. Keith is ready to fucking go

Pidge just fucking fell asleep working on the computer while sitting on the floor in the medbay

Ya know what? I don’t like Allura’s nose. Give her a fucking negro nose you cowards.

Severed heads cant talk, they don’t have lungs or a diaphragm

75 degrees what? Does Altean meat thermometers record shit in fahrenheit? 

Lance arrives 15 mins late with a drink and fabulous skin. Where’d he get the slippers?

Actually… Hunk, Lance, Pidge were attending a military school. And Shiro graduated and was teaching at that school. They should be used to this sort of shit?

But also how the fuck are they supposed to know when its morning on an alien fucking planet? Were they even able to get at least 8 hours of sleep?

??? ALien timekeeping gibberish but I guess Wednesday? They’ve been in space for ~2 days?

Your mission is to free most known inhabited planets? Yer not gonna accomplish that in your lifetime. Especially not their lifetime.

Ranked by height.

Why can’t they go back to Earth and pick up supplies and/or help and/or let their families know they're ok? The lions can generate portals. The kids with families need to talk to them. What about Mrs. Holt? Also go check and make sure that Earth isn’t being fucking invaded. Make Earth yer first stop on your Voltron coalition?

Also how they gonna form Voltron if they barely know each other?

Why is Allura in charge?

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT I HATE FAT JOKES?! 

What shitty writers.

Why break up a sequence that we’ve not seen b4 with a shitty attempt at humor?

How do the controls for the lions work?

Again these kids barely fucking know eachother.

Keith tries. Lance be nice.

What is this joke? Also why can’t the other lions also be the head? We know they can fucking shapeshift and shunt/pull mass from the aether

What the fuck Allura. Are you trying to kill them? Why the fuck is she in charge?

Lace tries to go back into the castle to avoid being shot by Allura and just fucking misses the fact that the force field is up?

Hunk tries begging for mercy. Allura doesn’t give a shit and continues to use deadly live ammo on these kids. Why is she the leader?

This bitch turns on the auto lock and just fucking leaves the control panel. Imagine if one of these kids fucking died from this? How’s that for team morale! 

Why the fuck is she the leader and who let her use the fucking weapons?

Also, people fucking live on this planet. Allura just fucking exploded a decent fucking chunk of the land surrounding the castle with no fucking heed to checking to make sure no one got hurt.

Zarkon doesn’t give a shit about his people. And doesn’t understand what luck is.

Today a Galra general/commander/someshit finds out that compassion and good leadership skills get you punished.

How the fuck did this dipshit keep and empire going for 10000 yr?

Wow Allura! It's like shitty leadership skills don’t produce the results you want!

Keith is very honest.

Ok but like these kids have to be talking shit about Allura behind her back.

Hunk asks good questions. When the fuck are they going back to Earth?

Also Pidge nice to see you give no shits at all about your mom.

It's almost like these kids barely know each other or how to work together as a team and have very different priorities.

Also like? Pretty sure the lions also have a say as to whether they form Voltron? Like we know those bitches are sentient, maybe the lions are the reason they can’t form Voltron either?

These kids don’t even know all the functions of their paladin armors yet! But yeah, combat scenario that’s what they need

What is the point of Lance’s one sided rivalry with Keith?

Why the fuck is the maze electrified? It doesn’t need to be. And did Coran take human anatomy into effect when calibrating the voltage? I don’t think so.

Keith is trying and I respect that

Why? Why a dangerous nose dive bonding? Shouldn’t they try hanging out with their lion and talking to them first? Not everything needs to be potentially deadly during training

Expert level drill that they shouldn’t be trying until they’ve had years of experience. So what if one of them fucking dies during the drill? You gonna be up shit creek without a paddle

Why would anyone put a feature in a helmet that would allow someone to remotely blind them? Why put a blinding feature in a helmet? The shit could glitch at the wrong moment and then someone fucking dies.

Can Lance just not read Keith’s voice?

How incredibly lucky that they landed in sand and not on the hard earth or any of those rocky buildings strewn about

Shiro has the best bond with his lion. Glowy eyes

Wow actual bonding attempts.

Coran attempts good leadership. Like yes? Give people breaks and make sure they’re hydrated

Ok but like the bonding actually works? Like maybe mindmelding with a bit too much for this stage but actually trying to like bond and work together is a good

Oh fuck off Allura

I don’t see this fight going well. They’ve got an engineer, a navigator/tech support, and 3 pilots. Out of the 5 humans only two seem to have like actual combat experience. Like? Teach these kids how to fight before throwing them in the pit, might be helpful

Yeah, teaching people how to fight and use their weapons is probably very helpful

I still don’t think Coran and Allura are taking human physiology into account with their calibrations on this shit

Lance might have a concussion. 

And Shiro needs therapy

Wow Allura, it's almost like they aren’t Alteans. It's almost like most of them have no real combat experience. Its almost like some of them don’t know how to effectively use their weapons in this situation. Also why are Altean children fighting fucking gladiator robots if yall peaceful.

Its almost like they’ve only been at this shit for two fucking days Allura.

Let Lance cuss

Coran is a lot better than this than Allura.

Ok this type of exercise is the short that they should have been doing more of. Just fucking working together and team bonding

Haggar can use the Force

So did she design the robeast with the gladiator dude in mind? She would have had to given the appearance of it. How long does it take to make a giant robot?

What the fuck Lance? Why are you so hostile to Keith? This makes no sense

American revolution against the space Brits

Yes they should yell at Allura. She’s been fucking unreasonable and could have gotten them killed with the fucking shooting at them earlier and she’s mostly fucking yelled at them today.

Also princess of fucking what? A building and a retainer? She ain’t got no kingdom and they don’t have to respect her nonexistent authority.

Damn right Pidge, princess of fucking what?

Allura hits Pidge with food for not respecting her nonexistent authority

My man Keith steppin in and defending his teammate

Coran’s got some skill but I’m rootin for the humans

Ya know, the foodfight coulda been both a nice bonding thing and a decent action piece. Still frames aren't action

The kids won.

Yes bonding. Team bonding is what they needed. Not bad drills.

Also Allura yer bitch ass better not try to spin this like you planned this shit

Stock footage

Allura’s bitch ass is trying to spin the food fight like she planned it

Bonding and hugs are good

I’m just gonna assume that all of the paladins AND lions have to be on the same page to make Voltron

Hunk bear hug

Pidge has secrets

Also if Pidge really looks so much like her brother that people look at her photo and mistake her for him how the fuck did her disguise work?

So how does Zarkon expect to have a giant robot both kill the paladins and have Voltron in any form of working condition?

[scottybrock]

You Were You - Trap House

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: “Could you do something about a really nice reader who advocates for mental health illnesses and other forms of equality but another youtuber, potentially an ex friend, tries to start drama around her and the group doesn’t really take that well. Just them all being super protective and extra nice to her and she realizes how lucky she is to have them? Just basically a bunch of fluff🥰❤️”

You were a huge advocate for mental health, equality, and just about anything else that made people treat other people with kindness; it was just who you were as a person. You hated that there was so much anger, so much violence in the world. Your friends often told you that your heart of gold was going to be your downfall, and unfortunately, they were right. Despite their warnings, you befriended a pretty toxic person, Gabbie Hanna. She had a penchant for exaggerating her stories, and making enemies in the YouTube community, despite the fact that her subscriber count remained relatively good. 

However, you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. That’s just what you did. You knew better than anyone, that people could change; whether it was for the worse or for the better, it was completely up to that person. You just wanted to give people that chance, to prove that they’d changed for the better. You had hope, for everyone. You wanted everyone to have the very best. That was another thing that your friends loved about you, but knew that ultimately, it would be taken advantage of, unfortunately. 

It wasn’t that you were naive. You knew that bad things happened in the world. You knew about all of the school shootings, the mass shootings, the constant fight for equality, for people to just be treated the same way. You wanted to help; it was just in your nature. You had a voice, a platform for your voice to be heard, so why wouldn’t you use your influence to inspire young minds, to encourage them to fight for what they believed in? 

Your friends were your biggest supporters. They loved everything you stood for, because you stood for everything good in the world. Not only were you using your following for good reasons, you were genuinely the kindest person ever. You were sweet and kind and so full of love, and you deserved the whole fucking world. The whole universe. The whole fucking galaxy. You deserved everything you wanted in life.

Just as your friends believed, Gabbie Hanna had made a YouTube video about you, trying to start shit. Tara believed that she was just jealous that you were universally loved, throughout all social media platforms. You’d never dealt with a scandal. Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram- no one had anything bad to say about you, ever. People who weren’t even your fans, sang their praises about you. You were a genuinely good person, and people could see that about you.

Colby knew that Gabbie had had several scandals in the past, and often used Shane Dawson as a way to make her way up the food chain. She had done the same to you, and he was furious.

Sam and Jake immediately jumped to your defense on Twitter, reiterating to your fans that you were the person who you portrayed on your channel; in fact, you were even better in person. Gabbie had tweeted them back, but they just ignored her. They knew that she was trying to leech off of you, trying to get another person “cancelled,” but looking rather stupid instead.  People were tweeting in your defense as well. Her own fans were turning on her, chastising her for turning on a supposed friend of hers, for absolutely no reason.

You were crushed. You really had thought Gabbie had changed for the better, but you were wrong. Instead, she was trying to ruin your career, when you were never anything other than a friend to her, kind to her when the world had seemingly turned their backs on her. You welcomed her into your life with open arms, hoping to help her turn her life around. It seemed like she had, up until today. You called her, begging to understand what was going on, why she was trying to ruin your life. Tears were falling in a constant stream down your cheeks as you watched her continue to try to ruin your career through Twitter.

Your door flew open. You jumped, readying yourself to scream at the top of your lungs, but relaxed when you saw Corey, Devyn, Jake, Tara, Colby, Mike- the whole group crowding into your apartment. Katrina frowned when she saw your red and puffy tearstained face. “Oh honey, no,” She cooed, rushing over to you. Colby followed right after her, his bright blue eyes dark with anger. Kat cupped your face in her hands, using her thumbs to brush the remaining tears off of your face.

Devyn and Corey stepped forward. Devyn looked devastated for you, but Corey was already shouting about what a bitch Gabbie was, and if he ever saw her again, it would be on sight. You rolled your eyes fondly at his theatrics, a small smile curling at the corners of your lips. 

He brightened at the sight of the tiny smile, then grabbed you into a bear hug. You felt the rest of your friends gradually pile on. Colby was on your right side, Mike on the left. You were crushed against Corey’s chest, and Sam was right behind you, with Jake next to him. Aryia, Kevin, Aaron, and Reggie were behind Jake, but they were impatiently waiting for their turn to wrap you up in hugs.

Tara was defending you as quickly as Gabbie could tweet, her pretty face crumpled into an angry scowl. You had managed to untangle yourself from Corey’s embrace, reaching for Aryia. Aryia pulled you into his arms, with Kevin, Aaron, and Reggie piling on, forming yet another tinier group hug. “I will literally end her,” Devyn growled, her eyes narrowing. “Say the word, and I’ll kick her ass.” Katrina and Tara nodded in agreement, their own faces mirroring the anger on Devyn’s. You shook your head. “I just,” You croaked, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I just need all of you here with me, please.”

 Your friends’ faces softened considerably, and Devyn launched herself across the room towards you, her arms extended. Tara and Katrina followed behind her, joining in on yet another group hug. Tara stroked your hair comfortingly, hushing your soft sobs. “It’s okay,” She murmured. “We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.” 

You sniffled, looking up at your group of friends with wide eyes. “How did I get so lucky to have friends like you in my life?” You wondered, shaking your head slightly. Tara’s fingers continued combing through your locks. “You were you,” Jake replied, his voice soft and sweet. “And that’s all it took.”

[softspiderling]

you mocha me crazy | t.h.

Summary: an encounter at a coffee shop leaves you with more than a cup full of coffee

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Song I listened to while writing: Here With Me by Marshmello

Author’s Note: while doing research for this piece  fell in love with the LA film school *sigh* Germany is so fucking boring. Also be proud of me, I finished writing to pieces today! *yay*

Warnings: swearing, otherwise only fluff!

Word Count: 1,8k cute words

It has been fairly difficult adjusting to the Los Angeles lifestyle, to say the least. Everything was so loud and bright, and the time difference was horrendous.

Los Angeles was nine hours behind your usual time zone; you haven’t even been here for a week and your classes have already started in full force. Even though the courses were so interesting and your fellow students were really nice, you just were so tired and barely found the motivation to smile at other people and exchange phone numbers.

Which was the reason why you were staggering into the nearest coffee shop after your first class of film history, inhaling the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. You stood in line to order as your eyes scanned the display of baked goods, contemplating whether you should pick up a cookie with your coffee.

“Hi, welcome to Yo Jo Coffee, what can I get ya?”

The greeting pulled you from your thoughts and you smiled tiredly at the cheery barista.

“Hey, can I get a large mocha and uh…” you trailed off, biting your lip as you were trying to pick between the cookies. “A double chocolate cookie please,” you decided and fished your wallet out.

“A mocha and a double chocolate cookie coming right up. Name?” the barista asked as her sharpie hovered over the side of a coffee cup.

“Y/N.”

“That’ll be six dollars and 41 cents,” the barista told you and you waved your credit card around, sticking it into the EC cash terminal to pay. As you were handed the cookie in a small paper bag, you moved to the side of the counter to wait for your coffee.

Juggling your cookie in one and your phone in the other hand, you stuffed your wallet back into your backpack, you looked around in the busy coffee shop.

Warm sunlight streamed through the windows and you fingered at the hem of your shirt, glancing down at your chest where your camera was usually hanging off your neck. Emphasis on usually. You were in such a rush in the morning, you forgot to grab the camera.

You broke off a half from the cookie and took a bite, wondering if you should try to capture a few pictures with your phone, when your name was called. You whirled around and smiled at the barista who prepared your coffee, your hand curling around the warm coffee cup.

“Thanks!” you called over your shoulder as you turned to leave, but before you could even take a sip from your mocha, you collided with someone, sending your cup flying and spilling the hot beverage all over you and the person you bumped into.

“Son of a bitch!” you cursed as the scalding fluid soaked your t shirt and most of your bare legs. Now you were really glad that you forgot to take your camera with you, you didn’t even want to imagine having to try to replace your camera. “Shit!” you heard from the other person and you looked up to see a brown haired guy you bumped into. You couldn’t quiet see his face, because he was looking down at his white t shirt. The white t shirt that was stained with brown blotches from your mocha.

“I am so sorry!” you said quickly and grabbed some tissues, starting to pat the other person down. “That’s quiet alright love, I wasn’t looking where I was going either,” he chuckled with a thick English accent and you furrowed a brow.

“You’re English,” you noted pleasantly surprised at the change from the usual American accent and looked up, finally catching a glimpse of his face. Your hands stilled as you see a face in front of you that has been plastered all over the movie posters, his brown hair tucked under a black baseball cap

“You’re Tom Holland,” you blurted out and Tom grinned boyishly at you. “Why yes, I am. Do you mind?” he asked and gestured towards his torso, where your hands were resting.

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” your cheeks tinged pink and you pulled your hands off of him, handing him a few tissues.

“Thanks,” he smiled at you and started dabbing at the stains, before grimacing and giving up. A barista, lugging a bucket and a mop behind him, gave you a dirty look as he started mopping up the puddle on the floor.

“Sorry!” you squawked and picked your empty coffee cup up from the floor before tossing it in the trash can, looking at it longingly.

“Come on, go order another one. My treat,” Tom said to you, noticing your expression. You turn your eyes back to him and he nodded in the direction of the counter, which made you shake your head quickly. “No, you don’t have to! I was the one who bumped into you, I should be the one buying you coffee,” you protested, which only made him chuckle.

“I insist. I am picking up coffees for my friends anyway, what’s one more?” Tom said and you eyed him before giving in, nodding.  

“Fine. I guess you don’t get treated for a coffee from a famous actor every day,” you mumbled and he laughed, walking up to the counter.

“Hi, I’ll have two iced coffees, an americano and…” he trailed off, looking in your direction. “A mocha.” You added, tucking your hair behind your ear, while you watched Tom pay, before following him to the end of the counter.

“So, what do you usually do besides dumping coffee down other people’s shirts?” he asked you curiously.

“I am really sorry about that,” you said again, ducking your head. “I uh, just started at LA film school.”

Tom laughed a genuine laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I am just messing with you, love, it’s not a big deal. So, film school, huh? What are you there for?”

“Cinematography. I am really into making videos and uh, I guess photography,” you told him with a small smile.

“Oh that’s sick. You seem to have the same interests as my younger brother Harry. Can I see some of your stuff?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his interest in you, before nodding, pleased. You liked sharing your work with other people, getting various opinions from different people. Art always affected people differently and you liked watching their reaction.

“Uh, yeah sure. I mainly shoot with my camera and I forgot to grab it when I left in the morning, so I just have a couple pictures on my phone that I can show you,” you reached for your phone and swiped to your gallery to show Tom some of your pictures.

“I took most of them back home, I haven’t been in LA that long, and I am swamped with classes so I didn’t really have the time to take a day off to take pictures,” you explained to him while he peered into your phone screen.

You had noticed that he was leaning over your shoulder to look at your pictures, and even though he wasn’t the tallest guy, you were still quiet shorter than him. His cheek brushed yours gently and you swallowed thickly, turning to look at him.

His face was only a few inches away from yours and you could see the faint freckles that were speckled across his cheeks.

“Your photos are really good,” he said softly and you stared at him, your lips slightly parted, before you cleared your throat and turned away with flushed cheeks. “Thanks,” you mumbled and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I am not the best photographer, can you give me some pointers?” he asked and you look at him amusedly.

“I could try,” you chuckled and he lifted his phone with a grin. “Okay then, look away and act like I am not here, yeah?” Tom instructed you, making you laugh, before doing as you’re told. You can hear a few clicks of the phone as Tom snapped pictures of you, trying your hardest to strike a natural pose.

“I am pretty sure there are a few good ones,” he said proudly as he lowered his phone, swiping through the pictures with you leaning over his shoulder.

“Yeah, they’re not so bad,” you complimented him. Tom managed to capture you with a soft smile, the sun streaming on your face, giving you a golden glow. It was a rather good picture, you had to admit.

“We’ll make a photographer out of you yet.”

Tom smirked at you proudly, pocketing his phone. “I am just that talented.”

“Oh please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes good naturedly. “I got an order for Tom!” the barista called out and Tom lifted his hand, walking over to the counter. You watched his back as he fumbled around with the coffees for quite a while.

“You need any help?” you asked with a grin, your arms crossed.

“No no, I am all good love,” he called over his shoulder, handing the barista a pen before he turned around to you, four coffee cups in a carrier in his hand.

“Here,” Tom said, handing you your coffee.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, taking a big gulp while the two of you walked out of the coffee shop.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you sighed as you stood outside the doors. Tom chuckled and nodded gesturing to two boys standing by the sidewalk.

“Yeah, my friends are waiting for me and their coffees,” he told you and you nodded. “I gotta get back to class, too,” you said slowly, waiting. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe him giving you his number.

But when he waved at you with a friendly smile, and a “See you around, Y/N.” you realized this was probably your first and last time meeting Tom Holland. With a wave of your hand, you turned on your heel and walked the other way, your cheeks burning.

It was a dream, thinking Tom Holland, out of all people, would give you his phone number after one friendly conversation. He probably met hundreds of people a day, you were merely a friendly face in the mass, you thought bitterly as you sipped on your coffee, heading to your lecture for Digital Editing I.

“Hey, thanks for saving me a seat,” you said to Jane, a friendly girl you’ve met in class.

“Yeah, no worries,” she told you with a smile as you sat down. She eyed your coffee cup before grinning.

“Already picking up guys at coffee shops, huh?” she teased and you looked at her in confusion before turning the coffee cup in your hands, a smile spreading on your face. On the white paper cup, Tom had scribbled his phone number with a black marker, the number adorned with a wide smiley.

“I guess I am,” you chuckled sheepishly, already grabbing your phone. As the lights dimmed and the professor started the lecture, you were typing away on your phone.

Y/N: writing your phone number on my cup was a pretty risky move. What would you have done if I hadn’t seen it?

Your smile widened as your message’s status quickly changed from delivered to read, the ellipses popping up, before disappearing and then reappearing.

Tom: I guess we’ll never find out 😉

Taglist: @sunflowercth

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Cursed G Pt 7(Gilgamesh, Hakuno)

Previous Part: One - Haku POV / Gil POV, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

______

The sun was outside the window, setting over the neighboring buildings as Hakuno opened her eyes.

She’d slept the day away.

That was probably fine. She really hadn’t needed to work today. It was Sunday. No one was going to be looking for her on a day like this. She would have shifts during the week and sometimes on the occasional Saturday, but Sundays were her time.

No classes either.

There was no reason to get up.

The blankets were so warm and inviting. They felt so soft today, with her safely out of the way of the rest of the universe. She could just stay here until the late night and then sneak to the kitchen to snack on some cheese and wine. Maybe she could get some turkey out for G.

Ah, G.

Hakuno glanced over at the cat, yawning softly.

The fluffy grump was yawning back at her, scooting a little closer and beginning to lick her cheek.

Such an affectionate thing.

“Are you hungry, G?”

Hakuno sat up a little, pulling G closer.

Her eyes closed, her face pressing against his fur…

Emiya.

Gilgamesh talking to her over dinner.

SHIT!

Hakuno leaped to her feet, all but dropping G onto the bed as she hurried to find something to wear.

She owed Emiya explanations!

Gilgamesh was hopping down from the bed though, giving her a meow before heading for the living room.

There was no time for that now though. She really needed to get going. Her pants were thrown on without preamble. Her shirt was the first one that she could find nearby. Shoes were by the door, her coat was put on as Gilgamesh meowed from the living room.

“I’ll be back in a bit!”

She hurried out the door, locking it and running to her car.

Her phone was out and dialing Emiya as she pulled out of her driveway.

“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up and try your call again.”

“Emiya!”

Damn it.

He normally worked on Sunday evening. She could swing by his workplace with some food and get back onto his good side with food.

That didn’t seem like a bad plan.

She tried dialing again, thinking about food places when the phone picked up.

“Emiya-“

“Hi Hakuno!”

Sakura?

Hakuno pulled over, frowning as she picked up the phone and held it to her ear.

“Hey, what’s going on? I overslept today-“

“Emiya said that you had found someone and that you had a serious relationship happening.” The woman was smiling through the phone. “I’m so happy for you! You should bring him to our next study group.”

She couldn’t exactly do that when the arranger of the study groups was currently having someone else answer the phone. What was going on.

Hakuno shifted in her seat, the amount of energy she felt being stronger than usual.

“Am I missing a session?”

“No, Emiya and I are on a date.”

“O-oh.”

The woman on the other end of the line was talking a lot. She was sounding very excited about the whole thing, but…

When had they started to become close like that?

“Did you need something, Hakuno?”

“I-I forgot the homework for tomorrow.”

“Oh! I’ll have Emiya text you it when we get home!”

“Thanks, Sakura.”

She hung up before the other could speak any further. She pressed her phone to her chin, thinking quietly as she sat there in her car.

He’d seen Gilgamesh.

The arrogant king had made it clear that she was taken, going so far as to insult Emiya while he was at it. Since they’d never actually bothered with a relationship, it made sense that Emiya would take this as a sign that they were never going to actually date.

She hadn’t really wanted to date him, but…

“Ugh, what am I thinking?”

She brushed a hand through her hair, glancing at the dashboard of the car.

What time is it?

The car flicked on, the engine coming to life so she could see the digital clock display the time.

The keys-

The keys were still in the ignition, but they weren’t turned.

She turned it herself, finding the car making a dissatisfied sound from having the ignition pressured to begin twice.

What on earth…

She glanced around, narrowing her eyes on one of the people walking on the street.

What was he thinking?

Moments passed.

The man on the street glanced her way a moment and frowned, turning his head once more and heading down the street further.

So… no superpowers randomly appearing.

It was weird that her car had turned on though.

Maybe she had imagined that it had happened.

That must have been it. Shock, confusion, the whole situation with her cat being an ancient and long lost king from a far away country- it was all just getting to her now. Going home and resting was probably the best favor she could do for herself.

That and coffee.

She didn’t even hesitate from walking into the coffee shop, ordering a usual and ignoring the looks from her frazzled hair and haphazard dressing capabilities.

One sip of the coffee said don’t worry about it.

She was an overworked college student.

The sweet taste of expensive syrups, energizing espresso that would be running through her system like a marathon runner, and the fine taste of the milk to smooth everything out was going down nicely as she stepped back out and headed for her car.

She was awake now.

Fully awake.

No more weird occurrences.

…other than Gilgamesh being an ancient king.

Only one weird occurrence now.

Hakuno pressed her hands to the wheel and shook her head, smiling a little. “Car, turn on.”

The engine burst to life, idling in wait for her to reverse from the parking space and head home.

The keys were still in her pocket.

She leaned to the side, feeling the side of the steering wheel where she was supposed to be placing her keys. All that met her hand was the keyhole slot where her keys went.

This was not a newer car.

There was no push to start or voice action.

In fact, she was barely able to have the satellite radio that was popular.

How did I…?

Did Gilgamesh have something to do with this?

Gods, but what was she even asking? Her cat? How would he know how to do anything with her car when he was barely able to understand how the television worked? He’d called it a painting! Plays on a painting, if she remembered correctly.

She had to try something else.

“Car, turn off.”

The car shut off.

Maybe…

Maybe she had this power over technology?

There was no way she could just go home before she knew the extent of this power. She had to try something else.

Climbing out of the car, Hakuno headed down the road.

Just a short walk and then she would head home with her coffee and start making nice with Gilgamesh and thinking about what to do with him.

There were a few plants that were looking a little dry in flowerbeds nearby.

They would look much better in bloom.

Others on the street paused along with her as the blooms began to grow. The small, dying tree was suddenly shoot up higher, its leaves turning a deeper and richer green color before bursting forth with a handful of cherries.

HOLY SHIT!

“How did that happen?” a few people asked one another.

“That was cool!”

That was very cool.

Hakuno glanced to another tree nearby, watching it do the same as she focused on it.

So she could turn her car on and she could grow plants better than anyone would have ever expected. No mind reading though.

Although…

A couple people passed her by.

No mind reading.

Damn.

That would have been so useful for school.

She could make the graffiti on the walls of the buildings run down the side of the building like water, puddling on the ground in a dark mass. She could make the windows lose their dust and dirt, giving a clearer picture of what was inside.

More plants.

She made the whole area suddenly bloom and grow forth until it was a lush city center.

Her eyes looked up towards the heavens.

“Rain…”

A drop fell upon her nose.

Then another.

The amount of water had grown enough that the clouds were heavy enough to pour forth rain to the earth. A flash of light here and there went off, followed by thunder as people suddenly hurried to overhangs and to buildings nearby.

As the rain fell, Hakuno looked around in amazement.

She had a cat that had crossed ages upon ages of time.

She had unlocked the mysteries of his curse and probably could put some brainpower into it to resolve the problem.

Now, she was doing magic.

There was no other word for it. Superpowers would imply that she was born to power or somehow had gotten into some kind of weird accident. Superpowers tended to have names that were either ridiculous or impossible to remember. Or impractical.

No, she could just do magic.

She let the rain continue, heading to her car and driving back to her home.

With a wave of her hand, her front door unlocked.

It was so cool.

She’d never deal with a locked door for the rest of her life.

Gilgamesh meowed loudly, running forward and looking up at her. His tail swayed slightly, his eyes narrowing.

“Gil, I can do magic.”

Not a single change other than his tail continuing to sway back and forth.

“No, Gil… Come here.”

She picked the cat up, carrying him to the kitchen and looking up at the ceiling.

“Lights on!”

The lights burst on in the room.

Gilgamesh meowed at her.

He had to be impressed. That was the kind of magic that magicians themselves would have killed to possess. It was the kind of amazing talent that would have blown the minds of skeptics and fanatics alike. Magic was real!

“Let’s make a bath and warm the water with magic next,” she told the cat, carrying him towards her room.

She carried him further into the house, down the hallway towards her room and the master bath.

The world… spun.

Hakuno grabbed the wall, dropping Gilgamesh as she tried to keep herself from falling over. Her vision was blurring around her as Gilgamesh meowed.

“I think I just… need something with caffeine…”

She was suddenly so tired…

Why was she this tired?

The room spun more, those red eyes looking over at her as Gilgamesh hissed and hurried closer.

“I-I’m fine…”

She was fine.

Just… maybe a moment…

[phantomphangphucker]

You Can’t Keep A Phantom In Mind - Phic Phight

Prompt Creator: @kinglazrus Prompt: After getting hit by his parent’s newest invention, Danny discovers he is trapped in Phantom form and can’t change back. Summary: Danny is hard on peoples brains and he’s not ok with that.

Warning: mild angst

“Uh dude, what the fuck are you doing?”, Tucker asks as he and Sam walk up to Danny Phantom, not Fenton, opening his locker door. Danny turns to them, “my parents happened that’s what, this is the last semester of school and I’ve decided I’m just fucking done. But you know what’s fucked? No one has even batted a damn eyelash, no double takes; nothing. Not even Valerie has called me out”. Sam and Tucker look around the hallway and notice that he’s right, “Wow, this is kind of sad actually”. Danny nods at Sam, “I don’t even know if they just think I’m in costume for no reason or if I have some weirdass affect on people”.

Danny flings his bag over his shoulder and the trio walk to class. On the way there Dash walks up, “hey Fen-”, Dash cuts himself off as he tilts his head at Danny. Blinking a few times and shaking his head, Dash just walks away. “Ok what the fuck”, Danny flat out glares at Dash’s back as he goes up to Dash. Stepping in front of Dash, “did you have a fucking aneurism or something, Dash?”. Dash shrugs awkwardly, “I don’t know dude, I just really don’t want to hit you now. Somethings up with you I think”. Danny just gapes at Dash as he walks off, turning to Tucker, “you have got to be fucking me”. Tucker just shrugs as they rush off to class.

Lancer looks at Danny only once as he enters, he raises an eyebrow but shakes his head. Danny at this point just wants someone to damn call him out, so he doesn’t even bother grounding himself; just floats a bit above his chair and lets his hair float about. By the end of class Danny is just writing his notes with telekinesis instead of his hands, while Tucker and Sam both gape at both him and the rest of the class. As the bell rings Tucker leans over Danny’s shoulder, “dude what?”. Danny shrugs, “I really have no fucking clue dude, but I am so taking to Mr. Lancer. That guy won’t lie to me and he honestly is rather trustworthy”. Sam sighs as she drags Tucker out, “well whatever’s going on, it would have been nice to know this along time ago”. Danny nods at them as they go, before making his way up to Mr. Lancer.

“So, I know I’m not the most forthcoming student but do you have the slightest clue why the hell you and the rest of the school haven’t called me out on my appearance?”, Danny leans his hip against the teachers desk, making a show of being non-threatening. Lancer shuffles around some of his papers and studies Danny’s appearance before answering, “well, it’s hard to describe Daniel. As soon as I look away from you I just forget. Then when I am looking it’s hard to even think about it. I’m aware but not quite sure what’s going on with you. I’m curious but not enough to actually ask”. Danny shakes his head, “that’s insane, explains so damn much though”. Mr. Lancer shakes his head and blinks a bit, “now Daniel I know you have other classes as do I so, if I’ve satisfied your question you should get along”. Walking out Danny looks back at him, “Uh, thanks I guess”.

Catching up with Tucker in his next class, “so dude, what’d he say?”. Danny shakes his head and laughs, “apparently he literally forgets when not looking at me and can’t even think about it when he is. Completely fucking absurd and I feel like I’m fucking mind controlling people in mass”. Tucker slaps his back, “fucking sweet man, new power!”. Danny rolls his eyes, “something tells me this isn’t new and dude, it’s fucking invasive not cool. I’m quite literally fucking with peoples heads”. Tucker just rolls his eyes as class starts.

During lunch, Dash walks up to their table fully intending to dump his tray on Danny but just stops when he sees him. The trio watch as Dash opens and closes his mouth a few times and just walks away, “wow dude, anti-bully magic boy, that’s what you are”. Danny slugs him, “it’s still fucking wrong, but I won’t deny it’s handy. I seriously hope this works with my parents”. Sam sighs, knowing how Danny is, “of course you of all people would be bothered, Danny. But I think this is good, just like everything else. Don’t abuse it. You’ve got a reason today, so chill”. Danny just shrugs awkwardly as the bell goes off.

In fifth period Skulker shows up in class, everyone but Danny books it out of there and Skulker stops short of shooting Danny, “Uh whelp I’m not one to question your ways but this seems rather reckless even for you”. Skulker moves his hand up and down Danny’s Phantom form as Danny snickers, “turns out I’ve got some mind control shit, none of them can actually really tell or remember how I look right now”. Danny chuckles as he shoots Skulker, “I really should pay more attention to my parents shit before I touch it”. Danny just shrugs as he lets Skulker pelt him with an ectobomb. While Danny fires back Skulker replies, “you are very reckless ghost child, but that ability is quite impressive. You’re even more desirable now!”. Danny laughs as he kicks Skulkers head off, “I’m starting to think you actually have a thing for me”. Skulkers scowls at Danny as Danny sucks him into his thermos. Danny just shrugs as he straight up phases through the walls and floats into sixth class to avoid being late.

Star, who sits next to him, jumps and then looks completely puzzled, “can you run really fast or something? Where’d you even come from?”. Danny sighs and rubs his temple, muttering “god this is a mindfuck, literally”, then turning to Star, “came from fifth class”. Star just nods and accepts this answer.

Danny has final period with Lancer again and he can’t help but feel sorry for him. Lancer has made a habit over the past years to stare at him to make sure he’s paying attention and that is resulting in a lot of rapid blinking and head shaking today. Danny mutters to himself, “he’s going to give himself neck cramps at this point”.

Halfway through class there’s another ghost attack, this time it’s some animalistic ghost. Danny just sighs, throws a pencil at it, and slowly floats over to it; while everyone but Lancer flees, since he’s more or less pinned by the ghost. Inches from the ghost face Danny blasts it point blank with an ectobeam. He’s sighs as he pulls out his thermos and sucks in the ghost. Turning to Mr. Lancer, “ok I’m probably going to give you an aneurism or something if I don’t explain, huh?”. Lancer looks from where the ghost was to Danny, who’s floating a solid 2 feet off the ground and just nods. “Kay well, Phantom Fenton, same person. I’m not all dead just halfway there, halfas the word”, Danny watches as Mr. Lancer blinks once and tilts his head before going wide-eyed, “I, wow, so this is what’s been so weird about today. Well this certainly explains a lot Daniel, though I would hope you’re aren’t just walking around school like this to mess with peoples head”. Danny shakes his head as he plants his feet on the ground, “no, I didn’t even know I could have this sorta mind control effect on people. Basically one of my parents things pretty much turned off my ability to change back to Fenton for 24 hours. Not happy about it but I pretty much decided, screw it and didn’t bother even trying to hide it”. Danny helps Mr. Lancer get off the ground, “well I’m glad you help people Daniel but maybe you should be more careful”. Danny just shrugs as he waves goodbye to Mr. Lancer. Lancer shakes his head at the now empty doorway, “I think my most disappointing child became the one I’m proudest of”. Shaking his head as he goes to sit down and stares at Daniels unfinished assignment with a small smile.

“So Mr. Lancer knows now”, Sam and Tucker both look at Danny like he’s lost his mind. “Dude, what the hell?”, Tucker is the first to speak up. “Tucker I literally shot an animal ghost in front of him while floating, and I’m pretty sure his mind was already melting or some shit before then”, Danny rolls his eyes at Tucker. Sam shakes her head, “pretty sure his brain would’ve been fine you self-sacrificing dumbass”. Danny shrugs as he waves goodbye to them.

Looking to his house door he takes a deep breath and assumes that if he just acts normal the mind thing will work. But at the same time, it’s been years and he’s kind of just done; specially when it comes to hiding from his parents. Pushing the door open, “I’m home! What’s for supper?”. Maddie sticks her head around the door and squints at Danny, who just smiles at her, “Uh, hmm, it’s Spaghetti...Danny?”. She says his name like it’s a question, which in a sense it was, “yeah it’s me and spaghetti is good, uh. Is there like, anything? You want to ask?”. Maddie scratches her head while staring at him, she eventual pulls down her goggles and then lifts them up, then down, then up. Which is confusing the hell out of Danny, “okay? I think I have a question first, what are you doing?”. Maddie blinks, takes off her goggles and shakes her head at them before looking to Danny, “I can’t tell what you look

like but yet I can? What’s going on Danny? And why do you look completely like Phantom through my goggles?”. Danny face palms and mutters quickly, “of course, they’re probably special goggles”, smiling softly he looks at his mom, “yeah been getting that in a sense all day, had a reaction with that weird purple cube thing”. Maddie shakes her head, “I don’t know how all our stuff seems to either be affected by or affect you. Well most things anyways”. Turning her head around she dashed back into the kitchen and shouts, “foods ready!”. Danny sits down at the table and smiles somewhat sadly at his mom, “um sweet”. As Maddie gives him his food she blinks at him a bit, “sweetie I don’t like that something we made has messed you up. You sure this, whatever, will wear off.  That you’ll be ok?”. Danny sighs and nods, “yeah, I’ll be fine after another few hours. Sorry about the mindfuck”. Maddie glares at Danny who just exaggeratedly shrugs, “sorry I can’t think of a different word to describe it”. Maddie sighs and shakes her head as she sits down.

“So uh, where’s dad?”, Danny asks as he puts away his bowl. “Hmmm? Oh yeah, he went out to talk to Phantom. Which I’m starting to feel was pointless? Maybe?”, Maddie shakes her head as she looks at her goggles again but doesn’t put them on. Danny chuckles, “not an easy fellow to find unless you really know where to look”. Maddie smiles softly, gets up and kisses Danny’s head. Ruffling his white hair lightly, “well whatever the reason I’m pretty sure I’m glad we came to a truce”. This makes Danny smile and chuckles lightly, saying softly; more to himself, “me too, me too”.

End.

[lettersofwrittencollective]

The Pull (12/?)

Summary: The Ragnulf’s are one of the oldest lines of werewolves known. A gift from ancient times was given to the line. Though not all of the line will experience it. There are some who will experience a Pull. This Pull leads them to their true mate, a soulmate. The problem is, just because the wolf finds their true mate does not mean that they are the same for that person.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective​ 

 Pairing: Stiles x Hale!Cousin OC (Reader)

Word Count: 2308

Warnings: I don’t believe there are any.

A/N: As always, please let me know what you thought. Any comments, questions, or concerns

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Meeting up with Lydia and Allison in between classes, you notice that Lydia’s normally perfect hair is askew and her lip gloss is smudged. “Well, someone looks like they’ve been having fun,” you tease the redhead and waggle your eyebrows at her.

A blush falls across her cheeks and she immediately begins to fix her hair. As she’s adjusting, Allison nudges the embarrassed banshee. “A certain bad boy werewolf is back at school and Lydia is going to enjoy the... What did you call him before? Oh yes, a Distraction.”

“Well, what would you call Isaac?” Lydia shoots at Allison. Her voice is cold, clipped and venomous, vanishing the humor off Allison's face and she purses her lip.

Allison, however, does not take the bait and merely remains silent. When Lydia sees that she’s not going to be able to get a response from Allison, her gaze whips to you.

“Whoa, hold on-” you begin, putting your hands up in much the same way Ethan had earlier today.

She opens her mouth to tear into you and you’re not even sure who she could think you’re seeing when Isaac walks up asking about the police presence.It’s enough to distract from the tension among the three of you. Each of you look around you and notice that there is, in fact, a couple of men walking in with Mr. Suit himself and local deputies in uniform behind them.

“What is going on?” Lydia murmurs to herself as she knows none of you will have the answer. The four of you are looking around the hallways, trying to find some kind of clue when you find Stiles talking to his dad.

“Stiles’ll tell us in moment, I’m sure.”  Allison says, having found the boy at the same time you had.

You all watch as Stiles and the Sheriff seem to be whispering between themselves. Stiles’ leg begins to bounce and as he finishes the conversation with his dad, his eyes are darting through the hallway. Seeing your group, Stiles is suddenly on his way towards you, “We need to get Scott, now,” he says without any preamble as he comes to stop in front of the four of you. There’s an urgency to his voice that no one questions and, surprisingly, it’s even enough for Isaac to follow along without any snark or sass.

 As the group of you search for Scott through the hallways, Stiles informs you all of the conversation he’d just had with his dad.

It would seem that William Barrow, The Shrapnel Bomber, who had killed some kids on a bus using a homemade bomb a couple years ago had gone in for surgery and somehow managed to escape. He’d also told Melissa that the reason he had killed all those kids was because they had eyes that were just like yours.

“Wait, Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes? Stiles, your dad said those exact words?” you asked to be sure you were hearing him correctly.

“Yeah and no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia. Just that when they opened him up they found a tumor full of live flies. Which in any other circumstance would be all kinds of awesome.”

“Did you say flies?” Lydia cuts him off from continuing and you all stop to turn to her.

Allison calls her name and Lydia shakes her head before saying “All day, I have been hearing this sound. Its like- this buzzing.”

“Like the sound of flies?” you ask wanting so very much for her to say no but knowing there’s no point in wishing for that.

It’s a second later your proven right when she says “Exactly like the sound of flies.”

“We need to get everyone out of here now.” You tell the group. “The resident banshee is hearing flies and then we have a mass murder on the loose who just so happened to have flies pop out a tumor, it can only mean that death is coming.” You’re gesturing with your hands, trying to emphasize the severity of the situation.

“They’re not letting anyone in or out of the school.”  Stiles informs your group, the nervousness in his voice starting to bleed through. “We need to find Scott.”

“And Barrow.”

No one looks very excited by the situation you find yourselves in and you don’t blame them. The five of you split up, looking for Scott.

You’re moving quickly through the halls, checking classrooms and bathrooms when a smell catches your attention. There’s a faint trace of blood coming from Coaches office and while it’s possible that Coach may have hurt himself, or gotten hurt by your prank, something seems off about the blood.

“Natasha!” you hear Allison call and turn, “They’re leaving!”

“What? Why are they leaving?”

“You tell me!”

Suddenly, you remember something Stiles said “They were gonna check the grounds right?” at their nod you say “What if they already searched but didn’t find him? We need to find Lydia”

“And Stiles.”

“Why Stiles?”

“So he can convince his dad to stay at the school.”

“Oh… yeah that’s a good idea.”

The two of you are rushing through the halls of the high school again, though this time you’re actually running. You catch sight of Stiles chasing his dad down the stairs. You make your way towards them and try to focus in on the conversation they must be having.

The first thing you hear is “Let’s go Stilinski!” from Mr Suit. He sounds annoyed and exasperated with whatever is going on.

This is not good.

“Woah! Woah! Dad, please just - Lydia said that he’s still here.” Stiles is explaining as you catch up to them.

“Wha- Did, did she see him?”

“Not exactly, no. Er well, not at all actually. But she has a feeling… A supernatural feeling.”

The Sheriff doesn’t looked convinced but if Lydia’s got a feeling, “Sheriff, he has to be here!” you blurt out.

Stiles looks surprised to see you and the Sheriff is asking who you are. You’re about to answer when Stiles cuts you off and introduces you. It’s in that moment that you realize that you haven’t actually met Stiles dad. Each time you’ve been to Stiles’ the last week, he’s been at work.

“Your names not on the chessboard.”

Having absolutely no idea what he could be talking about you’re sure you look like a goldfish as you open and close your mouth a couple times, all  you can think to say is “I’m new in town.”

The Sheriff looks from you to Stiles and then to Lydia, who is standing near a classroom, before looking back at Stiles, “Lydia wasn’t on the chessboard.”

“She is now.”

The Sheriff sounds so resigned when he asks “Kanima?” that you not only question what he does and does not know but you correct him as well.

“Banshee…The wailing woman that can actually hear the world around them on a much different frequency than you or I. They’re actually really helpful to have around, the really strong ones are said to have powers that can manipulate our world as well.”

The Sheriff still looks lost and so Stiles steps in “I know how it sounds but basically it means she can sense when someone's close to death.”

Stiles’ dad lets out a frustrated huff and growls at his son “Can she sense that I’m about to kill you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not how that works”

“Look,” the Sheriff begins, “I’m not saying I don’t believe. But right now, I’m going with eye witness over Banshee.

We’re leaving a few deputies here. School’s on lock down till 3 o'clock, nobody comes in, nobody goes out.”

The Sheriff is walking backwards telling Stiles this and that it’s the best he can do right now.

“Leaving me here? That is.. That is not the best! That is the worst!” Stiles is nervous and anxious as he stands there bouncing on one leg.

Grabbing a hold of his arm, you lead him towards Lydia and Allison. As you go to find Scott, the smell of blood hits your nose again. Forgetting where you are, you try to take a deeper whiff to hone in on the scent only to be bombarded with all the different scents of the school at once. Practically gagging you begin to sneeze to try and clear your nasal passages the others give you an odd look.

“Something smells off...” you murmur as you continue to try and clear the smells out of your nose.

“That’s it!” Stiles practically jumps where he’s walking before rounding on you. “You can sniff him out!”

“I mean, I would need his scent but yeah, I should be able to.”

The next moment, Stiles is on his phone and making a call. You figure that it must be Melissa McCall based off what you can hear and that someone else has, already, thought of the scent thing as she’s just leaving the school.

The four of you run to find Scott. When you find him he’s giving Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden barrows hospital gown and prison clothing to smell. Aiden is the last of the three to inhale before he hands you the gown.

Aiden watched as Natasha takes the gown from him and lifts it to her nose. He turns to look at Scott but a second later he hears the girl mutter, “Shit!”

Turning to the girl, he saw that she was already running down the hall in the opposite direction.  Isaac started to follow but Scott grabbed his arm.

“We need to stick to the plan,” Scott told the taller idiot, Isaac “She’ll be okay.”

It took Isaac a moment, glancing between Scott and the hallway that she had run down

“Lydia, Stiles, you need to get Allison out of the school. Allison, you need to see if the Beastiary has anything about this. Stiles, once you get her out, look for Barrow. As for us four, we’ll look for Barrow, start on opposite ends of the school and meet in the boiler room.” Scott motions for Aiden and his brother to head in the direction that Natasha had run down while he and Isaac go the opposite direction.

“Someone has to go after Natasha.” Isaac notes and Allison nods her head in agreement.

“We’re already supposed to be searching the side she ran off to. We’ll find her.” Ethan offers up and he agrees with his twin.

“If you touch one hair on her head” Isaac begins, “I swear, I don’t care what-”

“And have Derek or Peter come after us?”

“Or worse, her brothers or her dad?”

“Believe it or not we don’t have a death wish.” Looking at his brother, the twins head down the same hallway that Natasha had just gone down a few minutes ago.

Splitting up to cover more ground, Ethan heading towards the basement. Aiden finds the runaway in Coaches office.

“He was here?” she sounds confused and as he opens the door, she’s jumping back and landing in a crouched position.

“Lydia’s pretty sure he still is.” He says as he enters the room slowly.

He watches her roll her eyes, scoffing before she says, “No you idiot. Stop for a second and pay attention to what you can smell!”

Aiden takes in a deep breath there’s nothing there. Looking at the girl he merely shakes his head.

“Damn it! How are you not smelling this?!”

She walks out of the room and he follows perhaps a half pace behind her. He’s not sure what she’s following but he figures it must be whatever scent she thinks she has.

“How is that possible?”  

Natasha is moving forward a bit

“Damn it!” he hears her snarl, and she’s pacing further ahead of him “We need to find that scent.”

“Can’t split up.” he tells her and when she glares at him he says “We’ve been threatened should any harm come to you.”

“Fine.. But I meant what I said earlier, I have no idea how to help you get into Scotts pack.”

“You really don’t see it do you?”

“See what?”

“He’s already accepted you as part of his pack.”

She’s opening her mouth to respond when suddenly the fire alarm is ringing throughout the school.

As the alarm wailed through the building, you let out a sigh of relief, “Finally!”

“We need to get with the rest of the group.’ Aiden tells you and the two of you are running through the building meeting up with the rest of the group.

“Didn’t find anything.” Ethan reports.

“Not even a scent.”

“Actually- “ you begin and all eyes fall on you. “There was a scent but it just disappeared in the middle of the hallways”

“And you didn’t think to say anything when you ran off?” Isaacs growling at you.

“I wasn’t sure he was even there anymore Isaac! I’d first noticed it earlier when we were looking for Scott. There was no point in dragging everyone there when he wasn’t there.”

“It’s 3 o'clock so school’s over. If there was a bomb, wouldn’t he have set it off by now?”

“Does that mean everybody’s safe?”

Lydia's not sure, for the first time since you’ve met her, she looks unsure of herself.

“So what do we do?”

Scott turns to look at you and asks “You’re sure the scent just disappeared?”

“I can try to find it again but -”

“Scott!” you all turn to see Mr. Yukimura headed towards you. “May i have a word?” he asks and Scott looks nervous but nods his head before heading over.

“There’s not much we can do right now...” Lydia says and it’s agreed that everyone is to check in with each other throughout the night and that they’re all to stay in groups.

-

-

-

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Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective . Associated characters belong to MTV and are being borrowed for this work, all OC’s are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted 28 March 2019

[arcticdementor]

I don’t revisit my old work. I’ve been writing this weekly column for four and a half years now, and I never reread old pieces. Because for me—and I’m sure I’m not alone among opinion journalists in this regard—each essay I pen represents a catharsis of sorts. I had some bee in my bonnet, I wrote about it, and now I’ve had my say. What reason is there to go back? If what I’ve written resonates with readers, the piece will go viral. If not, it won’t. But regardless, I’ve relieved myself of whatever was busting to come out.

…

The sense of release that comes from having your say and being heard, though it may seem trivial to those with no opinions to share, can in fact be quite powerful.

Which brings me to the recent crop of right-wing mass shooters: Robert Bowers in Pittsburgh (shot up a temple), Brenton Tarrant in Christchurch (shot up a mosque), and John Earnest in Poway (shot up a different temple). As an old-timer with a morbid fascination for these things, there’s an odd twist to this new breed of gunslingin’ whiteys, compared with the ones from my youth. Before James Huberty shot up a McDonald’s full o’ Mexicans in 1984, he tried to seek medical help for what he knew was an incipient psychotic episode. Huberty had no political goals. He was feeling compelled to “hunt humans,” and deep down, he knew there was something wonky with his wiring.

In 1989, Patrick Purdy opened fire on a bunch of Asian schoolkids at Cleveland Elementary in Stockton, Calif. (our crappiest cities love naming their schools after even crappier ones, as a reminder that things can always be worse). Purdy started his day by calling in a threat to the school, telling them what he was going to do. Then he drove his car behind the school and set it on fire…loaded with fireworks! Still, the teachers and staff laughed it off, displaying the keen intellect that so exemplifies California public school employees. “We got a threat of a mass shooting? And now we have an exploding car? Crazy coincidence, man. Jupiter must be in renegade or somethin’.”

…

But today, the white dudes who commit these types of shootings leave behind lengthy, detailed manifestos. More than that, they leave themselves behind. Mass shooters in the ’80s and ’90s rarely survived, typically dying by their own hand. But these guys seem to really, really want to be taken alive. Anders Breivik in Norway was the first. Lengthy manifesto, taken alive, and he stood trial with no apologies, like a political dissident facing a kangaroo court (which it kinda was; the bastard got only 21 years for 77 murders). The Pittsburgh, Christchurch, and Poway shooters, same deal. Lengthy manifestos and 8chan posts, taken alive, now awaiting trial. Charleston’s Dylann Roof? Lengthy manifesto, taken alive, unapologetic at trial.

This is the age of the “intellectual” (and please note the scare quotes) racist killer. Black mass shooters continue to excel at their preferred specialty—workplace massacres. But white mass shooters have evolved, so to speak. Now they all want to be op-ed writers. Which brings me back to my initial point: the cathartic nature of ranting in an essay and putting it out for the world to see. It has a cleansing, purgative effect, like (again, not to be crude) a really good poop. I’ve read every one of those racial murder manifestos, and you know what? They’re as good as anything on any leftist race-baiting site. Roof? Tarrant? Earnest? Breivik? In terms of writing ability, in terms of effective polemics, their work is no worse than what you find leftists spewing on BuzzFeed, HuffPost, Salon, ThinkProgress, Vox, etc.

“White guys are killing us,” “Let’s deport all white males,” “White men must be stopped,” “White men are the face of terror,” “The plague of angry white men,” “White people are cowards,” “When white women cry: How white women’s tears oppress women of color.” These actual essays are just as racist and just as inflammatory as anything the murderer Breivik wrote. But guess what? You can post ’em freely on Facebook and Twitter!

Leftist antiwhite sites that are allowed to exist by our benevolent internet overlords—sites that are allowed to have advertisers, sites you can post on social media—employ writers who are no more skilled than these murderers, and just as hateful. In terms of writing ability, I’d put Breivik and Tarrant up against any of the semi-tards who post at Salon. Hell, those two guys, whose manifestos together total more than 1,574 pages, are exactly the kind of prolific ideologues who, were they leftists, would be highly sought after by the editors of high-quantity political sites.

But ay, there’s the rub. See, the right-wing versions of left-wing race-haters aren’t allowed the catharsis. Banned from social media, banned from websites with traffic, they write their “masterpieces” knowing that the only way their work will be seen is if the media has a reason to publicize it. So, they give the media a reason.

…

Since Breivik, every racial mass murderer with a manifesto has stated that he hopes his words and actions will provoke a race war and foment racial conflict. Same exact goal as the leftist race extremists at CNN, The L.A. Times, HuffPost, and BuzzFeed. Stir shit up between the races. But leftists get to do it with words. They’re allowed to do it with words…words that are seen and heard. When Don Lemon comes home after a hard day of yelling at white people, as he greases his backside with Vaseline, don’t doubt for a moment that he feels a sense of satisfaction that his hate has an audience. Again, this is the catharsis that ideologues feel when they know their words are actually reaching people.

…

The increase in verbose, “literate” white racist mass killers is not unrelated to the banning of far-right thought from popular internet platforms (and, in some cases, from the internet itself). Do you think it’s gone unnoticed by extremists that the only way these manifestos get seen by a wide audience is when they’re accompanied by murder? Several of these manifestos have expressed a hope that the concomitant murders will provoke governments into imposing more censorship, more gun control, and upping the antiwhite rhetoric, thereby creating even more racial conflict. And the left has responded exactly as these killers hoped. More censorship, more gun control, and more antiwhite rhetoric, thus disrespecting the victims by carrying out the wishes of the nuts who murdered them.

After 9/11, the left’s favorite line was “Don’t let the terrorists manipulate us into doing their bidding! They want us to start bombing Muslim countries! They want us to initiate a war between the West and Islam! We honor the victims of 9/11 by understanding what the terrorists were trying to bring about, and not letting it happen.”

Notice how that’s never the talking point in the wake of a racist mass shooting. You know why? The left genuinely did not want to go to war against Muslim nations. The left genuinely did not want conflict with the Muslim world. But the left really does want the same race war that Roof, Tarrant, Bowers, and Earnest seek to foment. So leftists ignore their own post-9/11 advice, and play right into the killers’ hands.

[thisisawesomeness1825]

oops, i (fake) love you, ch. 06

vi. Percy

She's so annoying, Percy thinks as he picks up the paper containing the first lesson. Then, he looks at the other papers scattered on his bed. But so thorough.

In all honesty, Percy still thinks that maybe he's dreaming, because there's no way that Annabeth is now helping him, even if this is somehow coated in sarcastic remarks and ridiculous demands (like giving him homework). When he went to ask for her help in mythology class that day, his mind was running a thousand miles a minute to actually comprehend what he's doing. Once lunch rolled out did he just realize that he really tried to ask for her help. Which was probably the most embarrassing thing he has ever done.

Asking Annabeth Chase for help? Pshhh.

Then the events just followed, and next thing he knew, he was signing up for a fake dating agreement with the enemy. THE Enemy.

For a second, he contemplates not doing any of the steps written on the lesson plan. After all, Annabeth might be sabotaging his plan of dating Rachel, and instead of making him better, she might be making him worse. But then, he figures that she's not that evil to do such a thing, even if she's a little short-tempered and rude.

So he picks up the first lesson and tries to soak up as much as he can.

The next day, when Percy goes to school, he's a little afraid to admit that he's more self-conscious than usual.

He's not wearing his glasses, and the dark green shirt Annabeth suggested he wear clings to his skin more than he likes to. He doesn't really know how wearing this will make him look more appealing to the eyes, because, to be honest, he feels a little stupid.

But when he accidentally bumps to a girl from his English class in the hallway, he changes his mind.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" A voice screeches.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't see you—"

"Percy Jackson?" The girl asks suddenly as she peers at him. "From Mr. Blofis' class?"

"Uh, yeah." Percy reaches up and rubs the back of his neck since he could not push back his glasses.

Her eyes gaze at him from head to toe, then she grins. "Would you look at that? You clean up nicely, after all."

Did he just—did he just get complimented?

"Um, thanks," he says, his cheeks a little flushed.

Out of nowhere, he feels a pinch on his side, and she winks at him. "If you ever need help in English, you know who to ask."

He can only muster a nod, then she's already waving goodbye.

Woah. That was out of the ordinary. For all his stay in Goode, he never really got a wink from anyone (except maybe for Leo, whose eyes are always twitching, anyway).

But that? That is something new to him.

Grover sidles up to him, talking about the latest campaign his club is going to host, as Percy picks up the rest of his books from his locker. Grover hasn't seen him yet.

"Y'know, I really like this fun run drive we're hosting. I mean, I know I couldn't run because duh, crutches, but the importance of this program is—woah."

"Hello, G-man," Percy greets.

Grover squints his eyes at him. "Am I talking to the right Percy Jackson?"

"Of course. Who did you think I was?"

"Are you sure you're not an imposter or something? Y'know, cos my best friend has glasses and has this really bad style of clothing."

"I didn't think it was that bad."

"Uh, sure it was."

Nico, Percy's cousin, who happens to pass by the hallway, takes a look at him and smirks. "Hey, you actually look human today, Perce."

"Says the zombie," he retorts.

"Fuck off," Nico says, then walks away.

"I'll never understand your weird cousin dynamics," Grover comments, as he shakes his head at them. "So, is this part of your new grooming tactics or...?"

Percy tucks his hands to his jeans and shrugs. "Well, I just decided to change a few styles, and ditch my glasses. Nothing major."

"For what reason?"

"I mean, I just wanted a change from a typical Percy combination. This being a new school year and all."

"Are you sure it's not just to impress Rachel?"

"Uh, umm..," He fumbles for the next words, not sure how to phrase the fact that it is indeed for Rachel, but without revealing his fake dating ploy with Annabeth. "...actually, I've—I've moved on from her."

Grover is so surprised he loses his grip on his crutches for a second. With wide and unbelieving eyes, he stares at Percy. Then, he pokes him on the chest. "No shit man. You aren't Percy."

"You're crazy. I am Percy."

The bell rings, and any retort Grover has is lost among the noise in the hallways. Percy calls in a goodbye to his friend and rushes to his first subject. When he arrives, Annabeth is already sitting and she pays him no attention as he sits on his chair.

Huh. Looks like they're gonna be that couple. Anyway, that works for him, since he doesn't have to explain much to his friends.

However, right after the class ends, instead of directly going outside the classroom, she lingers by his desk. This is no surprise for the students who are still inside the classroom since it is normal to see them arguing after class. But what sends their jaw dropping to the ground is when Annabeth gives him a bashful smile (bashful! He didn't know she was capable of faking that!) and mutters, "I'll see you later at lunch."

To be fair, Percy is quite surprised himself, and much more are the classmates who have witnessed the interaction. Thankfully, no one dared to ask him questions, but he can see the wary and amused faces of their classmates. He gives them an awkward smile which almost turns into a grimace when he sees Annabeth's smirking face by the door.

Ugh. The nerve of that girl.

When the lunch bell rings, he almost forgets Annabeth's little stint after mythology class. A number of his classmates have noticed his new appearance, and their positive comments have uplifted his mood for the first half of the day.

"Hey, you look extra dashing today, Percy," Piper says as she takes in his appearance. She smirks when she notices the flush on his cheeks. "Got a hot date?"

Jason, who apparently, overheard the comment says, "Psh. Percy with a hot date? Never."

Piper pinches Jason on the arm. Weirdly enough, the blonde's cheeks turn red. "Don't be mean to him. All my friends are capable of a hot date."

"Say it louder, Pipes!" Leo exclaims.

Just then, Percy's object of affections arrives in a mass of red curls. Rachel looks good today, just as she does always. She beams at everyone when she arrives at their table. "What are you guys talking about?"

"We're talking about how Percy looks dashing today, and whether he is capable of a hot date," Piper says.

Rachel's gaze focuses on Percy, and she smiles at him. "Yeah. I noticed that too."

He's so absorbed with her blinding smile that he fails to recognize the new voice that joins in the conversation, up until he feels a hand squeezing on his shoulder.

"Hey, I told you I'd see you during lunch," Annabeth says to him, and without waiting for a response, leans closer to press a kiss on his cheek.

Woah. Just what.

Seriously, a kiss? On his cheek?

The action makes him stiffen in surprise because really, he did not see that coming. However, this does not escape Annabeth's eyes as she gives his shoulder a tighter squeeze as a warning. But it seems that the Fates are on his side today since his friends are apparently too stunned to take notice of his reaction.

Really, a warning would have been nice next time.

Piper recovers quicker than the rest and stares at Annabeth like she expects her to suddenly wage war on their table. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?"

Annabeth looks at him and smiles a little tightly. "I'm guessing you haven't told them yet?"

"Haven't told us what?" Grover asks once he swallows his enchilada.

Underneath the table, Annabeth pinches his thighs, and glances at him as if saying, 'you tell them.' He swallows down his nerves and avoids Rachel's eyes.

"Uh, surprise! Annabeth's kind of...um, my girlfriend now."

As if to prove the point, Annabeth interlaces her fingers with his, but he still stiffens with the alien feeling. This time, Rachel catches the reaction with her eyes.

"Girlfriend," Leo repeats, and he gestures to the two of them. "So, um, the two of you are dating now?"

"Yes. Believe or not," Annabeth answers with a tight smile.

"Um, cool." Leo mutters under his breath, 'I believe it not.' Jason shoots him a look. "Congrats Percy and Annabeth. I'm glad that you've, uh...put the past behind you."

"Righttt," Piper agrees way too enthusiastic. "When did this happen?"

Percy answers "yesterday" at the same time Annabeth says "last week." At this, she sends him a knowing look while proceeding to create an excuse. "So, we actually got together last week, but knowing our past, we were hesitant to take a step forward. So we waited for a while then decided to make it official yesterday."

Percy nods his agreement.

"Oh, that's...great."

The rest of the lunch is filled with a weird and tense silence. That's the only way he can describe it. Once the lunchtime ends, Annabeth bids him goodbye with a little smile and an awkward wave to his friends.

"Did that just literally happen?" Jason asks once she's out of earshot. He stares at Percy. "Seriously, you two are dating now?"

"Is it so hard to believe that we do?"

"Um, duh. Did you forget the fact that you were fighting like cats and dogs three days ago?"

"Well, bantering is our form of flirting. And besides, the more you hate, the more you love, right?" Percy shrugs with a smile. His friends just stare at him blankly.

"That's the most messed up thing you've said. Anyways, I'm going. Bye Perce," Grover comments, and hobbles out from the cafeteria. The rest of his friends also file out, muttering goodbyes and half-hearted congratulations. Except for Rachel, who remains seated from where she arrived an hour ago.

"Percy, can we talk?" Rachel asks, then peers at the area around her. The cafeteria is almost empty, but there are still some people lingering on the sides. "Preferably somewhere private."

There's a weight on his stomach, and his nerves suddenly feel on edge. "Okay," he croaks out, then follows her out of the cafeteria. She leads him to an empty classroom in a hallway that's not frequented by people.

Rachel closes the door and crosses her arms in front of her chest. There's a determined look in her eyes and a little anger that Percy really doesn't want to face.

"What are we doing here?" he asks.

"I need you to be honest with me, Percy," she says, then fixes him a stare. "Is Annabeth setting you up for this? Is she manipulating you to act as her boyfriend?"

Percy's mind reels. What? He takes a moment to shake his head because he did not really expect that question. But this moment of hesitation seems to spur Rachel on.

"I mean, she may not look like it, but she can be very manipulative. And I don't want you to be at the end of her games. She can harm you."

"Okay, wait. No," Percy says. This is all going the wrong way. "Annabeth is not using me, nor is she manipulating me. We agreed to go out because we liked each other, even if it may not look like it. No one's using the other, okay?"

"But why do you freeze when she touches you? Like she's repulsive to you?"

Percy internally flinches because that wasn't intentional at all. It's an after effect of what happened to him on the past, and even though he is getting better, the muscle memory still remains. He's not ready to tell Rachel any of it, so he makes a statement that is not entirely a lie.

"To be fair, I'm still getting used to the physical touches couples do when they're together. And Annabeth's my first girlfriend, so it may take some time for me to adjust."

Rachel nods hesitantly like she still doesn't fully believe what he's saying but is willing to let it go. "Okay, fine. But are you really sure? You know you can always ask me to trip her on track practice or something if she does hurt you in one way or another."

"Right. I'll be sure to keep that in mind," he says with a smile. "Thanks for worrying about me, anyway."

"Of course. You're my friend."

This time the smile Rachel sends him feels like a knife to the heart.

"That could've gone way worse," Percy amends as he watches Annabeth pace up and down to his room. She had ambushed him yet again right after he got out of his last class, so he had to make up an excuse for his friends that he couldn't join them.

"It was the worst!" Annabeth exclaims. "They looked at me like I literally kicked a puppy when you introduced me as your girlfriend."

"Well, you were rude to me a lot of times so..." he stops talking once he sees the deadly glare she's giving him. "They were probably just caught off-guard. I mean, we just fought like we couldn't be around each other three days ago."

"Plus, we almost messed up with our inconsistent answers!" She falls back to his bed with a groan. "God! I can't believe I forgot to create a backstory."

"Good thing they're too stunned to question us properly then." Percy scrunches his eyebrows as he remembers their reactions. "But I don't think that they really bought this dating thing."

"Yeah. It was evident on their faces," she agrees. He nods.

"By the way, why are you always flinching whenever I touch you? It doesn't look good if we want to convince them that we're really dating," Annabeth asks. She stares at him, but he avoids her eyes.

"I'm—I'm not really used to physical touches," he lies. He can feel Annabeth's eyes on him, probably thinking whether to call out his BS or not, because back when they still got each other's backs, they used to touch all the time. Hugs, friendly punches, anything really.

"You never minded before."

That's different, he wants to say. He doesn't really know whether to tell her or not that she'd been right about Gabe all along. No, he decides, because she doesn't deserve to know after she left him unguarded in the dark.

This time, he looks at her in the eyes. "Yeah, but you were never a stranger then."

She sucks in a breath and sits up facing away from him. "Stranger, huh?"

"You did say that we can't be friends."

"You're right." She turns to him. "But that doesn't mean we can't be acquaintances."

He raises an eyebrow at her. She does the same.

Annabeth shrugs and asks, "So, tell me something new about yourself."

"Why?"

"So we can be acquaintances and no longer strangers to each other," she answers. He contemplates this for a moment.

"I like dolphins," he says, after a while.

"That wasn't new."

"I got a scraped knee after tripping on the bushes in fourth grade."

"I know that already."

"What? How?"

"That's because I was the one who pushed you."

"I knew that wasn't an accident."

She smirks. "Come on. Tell me something new."

"You probably knew everything about me already."

"Lie. I've only known you for half of your life, and that still leaves the other half."

"Fine. I tried eating olive pizza, and I've got to admit that it wasn't as bad as I've expected."

"Really? I knew you would like it. Nobody hates olive pizza," Annabeth says with a grin.

He rolls his eyes. "I never said I like it. I just said that it wasn't that bad."

"Sounds the same to me. Anyway," she clears her throat. "As for me, I once switched a girl's shampoo for glue because she was being rude to all of us. In short, her hair became a sticky mess."

"Savage," Percy comments. "I didn't know you had it in you."

She shrugs. "Well, she was being mean. Somebody ought to give her a lesson."

"Through a sticky hair?"

"Through a sticky hair." Annabeth reaches her hand out to him. "Now that we know one thing new about the other, we're no longer strangers. I suppose this will make you less nervous?"

He shrugs. "Maybe."

She intertwines her fingers with his own. Her hand, although tanned, still looks pale in comparison to his bronze ones. This time, when she squeezes, he doesn't flinch.

"You have small hands," he comments.

Annabeth chuckles. "I don't. Yours are just long." She looks at their hands, where his fingers almost engulf her own. "To be fair, I never really expected you to grow taller than me."

"Ye girl of little faith."

"I have a lot of faith."

"Really, huh?"

"Just not in you."

"You're mean," Percy says, and let goes of her hand to pinch her.

She glares at him for a moment but slides her fingers back with his. He startles but it's barely noticeable. Yet she has known anyway.

Her gray eyes meet his. "I want you to hold my hand until you get used to the feeling, okay?"

Looking at their intertwined hands and their first civil conversation in a while, he smiles.

"Sure."

He can get used to this alright.

A/N: Hello! I had some fun writing this chapter because it's generally light and fluffy. (I LOVE writing fluff). Also, this is a 'little' longer than my usual chapter length so I hoped you appreciated that.

And I'd just like to greet everyone "Happy Holidays!" Hope you all are doing great, and please don't forget to leave a comment or anything really. I always look forward to feedback from you guys.

[timeisacephalopod]

Sunflower

Just a little spider verse AU in which Peter and Miles meet. Minor Peter/ Miles.

“-so yeah, the multiverse is a thing but we don’t have Tony Stark. I have no clue who you are but you’re pretty cute,” Miles says and Tony feels skeevy for having been subjected to a child deciding he’s attractive.

Peter wrinkles his nose. “Ew Miles, that’s my dad,” he mumbles.

“What about your aunt May? Because the other two Peter Parker’s had aunt Mays,” Miles says.

“Oh yeah, she’s still around. I go to her place on the weekends!” he says excitedly.

Miles considers this for a moment and then nods. “Cool. Can you turn invisible?” he asks and Peter gives him an upset look.

“What? No. Can you?” he asks and Miles gives him an awkward look.

“Haha, no, I can’t do that,” he says and promptly turns invisible. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he adds when he seems to realize somewhat late that he’s not visible anymore.

“It doesn’t look like anything,” Tony says, “so basically its exactly what it looks like.”

“This is the worst power ever honestly, its not even that cool and it only does this stuff when its inconvenient. Like I’m in the locker room getting changed for gym and bam, invisible and now I’m holding shorts and the whole grade of guys is looking over at me and I gotta pretend to be a ghost to keep from blowing my cover and now the whole school thinks I have a poltergeist attached to me because the ghost only ever touches my stuff,” he says.

Peter turns to him with wide eyes, “he’s adorable, can we keep him?”

Tony sighs, “well, he’s fucking fifteen. I can’t throw him in the street with a note pinned to his chest so I guess.”

“Wait, do I exist in this universe? I could just call my parents,” Miles suggests and yes, great idea because Tony is getting his child’s obvious crush all over him and he would rather not.

*

“Aw, my parents don’t exist in this universe? Stupid. Okay, so what are we doing today?” Miles asks Peter, moving past the parents thing fast. That’s, Tony figures, when he figures out that this isn’t the first time Miles has landed in another universe. No kid is that calm about their parents flat out not existing, which leads Tony to believe that he’ll be likely to run into other spider people soon.

“I don’t know, probably class. Can I skip class? Miles can sting people! Without webs!” he adds given that he has webs with a similar function.

Tony sighs. “Fine. but don’t let me catch you two doing dumb shit. A villain shows up and I’ll deal with it. Especially if its a Doom bot, those things are hard to take out and your webs mostly only make them sticky,” he says, shaking his head. Then the fucking things stick together, and then they have a hoard of Doom bots rolling down the street causing mass destruction as they shoot at everything and also each other in an attempt to free themselves.

“But Doom bots are fun,” Peter says and Tony gives him a look. He sighs, “okay fine. Can we go see a movie?” he asks and Tony shrugs.

“Knock yourself out. Don’t let aunt May catch you either,” he adds. Fuck that, he gets enough parenting lectures as it is and when he first got Peter that made sense. She’d spent more time with him at that point and knew his habits, but after a few months Tony pretty much got the hang of it. Also, that was when Peter was an actual baby so he thinks that after fourteen and a half years he’s figured it out mostly.

As soon as the boys leave he gets a call about a disturbance down town and of course.

*

Miles swings in because yeah okay, he got told not to interfere but Peter said Tony wouldn’t even be that mad and Doc Ock is kind of his villain so you know. Makes sense to go deal with her. Also Tony’s suit is really cool and colorful, which is probably why he gets smacked in the head- he’s looking at the shiny suit- but then Peter swings in and saves his ass so its all good.

“I told you two to stay out- Miles, you better be sticking around to listen to me lecture- Jesus lady I’m trying to parent a fifteen year old can you not swing your poorly designed and ugly tentacles at me!” Tony snaps, blasting one of Olivia’s tentacles away from him as he looks around. Miles swings himself up onto a building and watches as Tony starts lecturing nothing.

“He’s gunna be pissed when he realizes he’s not even talking to you,” Peter says.

“Yeah, probably, but Doc Ock is from my universe so like. I feel compelled to sort this out,” he says. And also show off because he has powers this Peter Parker doesn’t and this Peter Parker is adorable and also age appropriate. And he also doesn’t have a dad bod like his older and significantly more beat up predecessor. Does the other older Peter count as a predecessor? He doesn’t know, point is he’s got people to show off to and his uncle’s advice was no good so he needs to figure out something better than ‘hey’ in a weird tone of voice and fast before he’s sucked into another universe. Or back to his own, its a toss up lately and Miguel needs to calm it with his jumping around. Every time he shuffles they all shuffle and that’s annoying. His parents are probably mad that he’s behind on homework.

He tracks Ock’s movements for a bit before making his move, going visible just before he runs into one of her tentacles. He’s done this like three times before, he’s totally got this. If he moves right those stupid little tentacles end up tied together and its kind of funny to watch them struggle to free themselves. He’s half way through The Tangle Method when Iron Man, that’s what Tony’s hero name is, comes in and blasts a couple tentacles. “Oh come on, they were almost tangled!” he says.

“Kid, that third tentacle was going straight for your head you are not good at this,” Tony tells him and okay that’s just rude.

“I think I was doing okay,” he says in his defense.

“You make a good distraction. Do that,” he tells Miles and fine, okay, he can do that. He swings himself up to a building, sticking to the side of it and Peter can do that too so that’s cool. He assesses the situation for a moment before swinging back into things and letting a few webs fly. Only one lands where he wanted it to but it does mean one of the prong ends of a tentacle is out of business for at least five minutes and that’s good news. He webs that tentacle in particular to a building and Iron Man immediately blasts it free. “Oh come on! What’s that for?” he asks.

“Webs are strong, they tend to result in a lot of damage to public buildings when people get stuck to them and then rip themselves off. Try sticking her to stuff people don’t care about. Like billboards and McDonald’s advertisements,” Peter explains before webbing himself out again.

Miles kind of cares about McDonald’s advertisements, they’re funny. Or at least that’s what he thinks until he runs into one and okay never mind, in this universe McDonald’s looks like it sells chicken flavored bricks and also isn’t funny at all so he sticks Ock to that and she immediately pulls herself free.

“The infrastructure in this universe is not good,” he comments as Peter swings by.

“Yeah, we need to work on that as a country,” Tony says as he blasts another tentacle away from him. He swears those things reproduce super fast or something. Take one out and two more grow back and all that.

By the time they manage to secure Doc Ock another spider person has shown up and Miles doesn’t know this one.

*

Jessica Drew doesn’t look impressed, but looks especially less impressed with the knowledge that in this universe she exists, but only as a famous spider with an inexplicable last name. “What the hell is with me jumping around all the time?” she asks, glaring at him for some reason and like Tony knows.

“Okay, so here’s what happened,” Miles says. “There’s this guy, right, Kingpin. And he wanted his dead family back so he built this thing to access the multiverse so he could pick up some other versions of his wife and kid. And then Peter Parker- not you,” he adds to Peter. “Got killed but this other Peter came through and also Gwen, who’s really pretty but she’s kind of upset because her Peter Parker died too, right in front of her and-”

“Get to the point, kid,” Tony tells him at the same time Peter says, “why do I die so much?”

“Right. So the other Peter Parker was all ‘I’m not training you, I’m just going to shut down Kingpin’s stuff’ but then he trained me anyway and I think he wants kids. Also, he got dumped by his wife but he said he handled it real good so I think he’s mostly okay. Anyway, so he trained me a little, and Gwen gave me some tips, but then there are all these other spider people. Spider ham is the weirdest, he’s a pig and he can talk. Apparently all animals can talk in his universe or that’s what he implied-”

“Kid, the point,” Jessica says and Miles nods.

“Yeah, I’m getting there. So all the spider people eat Kingpin’s ass but not in a sexy way, like in a violent way. There were trains flying around, it was wild in there. But we shut it down and we were like hey cool, the universe is back to normal, all the spider people are where they belong, its good. But then my favorite dumbass spider person Miguel made a jump autonomously, he’s got a goober, but when he shuffles we all shuffle and that’s how I ended up here,” he finishes with a flourish.

“How do we get back?” Jessica asks.

Miles shrugs, “wait for Miguel to make another jump. Oh and also if you stay in the wrong universe too long your atoms will rip themselves apart and you’ll die so don’t stay here too long,” he adds like that’s a small caveat. 

Tony is going to die of stress.

*

When Miguel makes another jump the all know it because Jessica gets sucked into somewhere new and Miles feels the sensation coming on so he knows he’s going places too but Peter looks freaked out. “Its cool, you’re just going to a new universe its all good,” he tells him.

‘He’s going to a what!” Tony shrieks just as he and Peter disappear. They land in New York, Miles’ New York, he knows right away.

“Oh cool, home,” he says. “Come on, my parents will probably be worried,” he says to Peter, who’s looking down at his hands.

“Why am I animated?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, that’s just how we look here. Your world looks like my world’s video games so technically I was animate in your universe! Come on, there’s probably at least one other spider person hanging around here,” he says.

Peter follows him along and they don’t run into any spider people but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any here. Miles will feel them out eventually. When he gets home though his parents run to him and hug him, going on in English and Spanish about how worried they were. He tries to reassure them both at the same time, which results in some ugly spanglish, but that’s okay because they get the point.

“This is Peter, in his universe its animated!” he says excitedly. This results in his parents giving Peter weird looks but that’s rude, he can’t help being cartoon sometimes. Apparently Miles is a cartoon here so no one should judge. Multiverse is weird.

*

Peter can’t get used to having lines around his body. Its just weird and he doesn’t like it. “So um. This is my room,” Miles says and Peter thinks its unfair to look cute in cartoon.

Does this make him a brony? He hopes not.

“Uh, cool,” he says, looking around. Miles as a lot of drawing stuff around, and a lot of posters of what Peter thinks are musicians but none look immediately familiar to him.

Peter tries to get a grasp on being animated while Miles inches a little closer to him, probably also trying to make sense of his weird animated body and wait, what’s his junk look like? Is that animated too?! Oh god, he can’t handle animated-

“Hey,” Miles says, settling a hand on his shoulder. He looks vaguely pained and a little confused.

“Um. Hey. Are you okay?” he asks.

“Miles just ask him out like a normal person, Aaron was am awful pick up artist,” Miles’ dad, Jeff, says from the doorway.

Miles looks immediately horrified. “Dad what the hell, you can’t just say totally untrue things like that!” he says.

Jeff looks nonplussed, “you want to go to dinner with him or no?” he asks Peter.

He shrugs, “yeah okay.” Might as well see what animated food taste like. He hopes it tastes like the way Ghibli movie food looks.

[haberdashing]

Spider-Void: Tragic Backstory

Exactly what it says on the tin. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

on AO3

A Beginning / on AO3

Adaptation / on AO3

Note: This chapter includes a detailed account of a fictional mass shooting incident. If that may be a problem for you, I would recommend that you skip this chapter.

Adrian didn’t have too many options when it came to sharing information about their newfound superpowers with people.

They had lost track of all their friends from high school and college, which Adrian liked to think was for a number of complicated reasons, but really, in the end, it all boiled down to them not putting in the effort to maintain those relationships, and one by one their old friends stopped reaching out to them in turn.

They had some friends on the Internet, which was great- really, it was great, they were great- but they were hesitant to talk about something so big with those friends, unsure how much their Internet friends could help from states or countries or continents away, worried that one way or another anything they said on the Internet would get shared and traced back to them.

Their extended family had basically turned their backs on them entirely the moment they came out as agender, which, honestly, fuck them. If they couldn’t accept Adrian for who they really were, then who gave a shit about them, really?

(Adrian tried not to think about how they had been so close to a number of those same relatives during their childhood and adolescence, about exactly how many budding familial relationships had been completely and utterly destroyed by one uncomfortable truth.)

Adrian was an only child, so there were no siblings for them to reach out to or lean on in this time of need.

And their mother wasn’t around anymore. She had died in a car accident when Adrian was fourteen. It wasn’t pretty. (Even after years of therapy, Adrian still had never been able to bring themself to get behind the wheel. Which, they supposed, was now suddenly a non-issue. One small upside there.)

Which left... their father.

Their father, who Adrian’s phone showed was calling them now, a little over a week after their unexpected overnight transformation.

Adrian hesitated for a moment before taking the phone call.

“Adrian?”

Adrian let out a soft laugh, and then wondered as their laughter faded if their voice had always sounded so high-pitched and childish.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I just thought I’d check up on you. It’s been a while, you know.” Adrian’s father didn’t say that he wished Adrian had thought to call him rather than vice versa. Adrian’s father didn’t have to say it; Adrian knew just the same.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ve just been caught up with work.” Not a lie, exactly. They weren’t good with lies, and they certainly knew better than to try lying to their father, who might as well have been a living lie detector. But they had been caught up with work, had buried themself in projects so they had something on their mind besides the whole superpower transformation weirdness, and thus minutes had turned to days with them barely noticing.

“My dear child, always the busy little worker bee.”

Adrian couldn’t quite tell if that was sarcasm on their father’s part.

“I’ve been busy too, actually,” he continued. “I’ve been working a big case the last few weeks, but it finally wrapped up today.”

“Uh, that’s good, I guess.”

Adrian knew what their father was going to request before the words could leave his lips.

“Hey, Adrian, can we meet up after I finish work tonight?”

Knowing in advance didn’t make the blow any softer.

Because Adrian wanted to meet their father, they really did, but...

But going out like this wasn’t an option.

And meeting their father like this definitely wasn’t an option.

“Uh, I don’t know...”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We can go to that cafe you like so much, the one with the chocolate croissants, I always forget the name-”

“Cafe Amito.” Adrian answered reflexively.

“That’s the one! I’ll swing by around six, get two croissants- one for me, one for you- and you can drop by when you finish up with your work, how about it?”

“Uh.” The silence hung in the air uncomfortably, almost tangibly. “I’m not sure if I can-”

That was a lie, of course. They were sure. Sure that they couldn’t meet up, as much as they wished they could.

“Sure you can! Aren’t you always saying how flexible your work schedule is? Can’t you make a little room in it for your dear old dad?”

Adrian’s insides tensed up. “It’s not that, it’s just, uh, well, it’s complicated- wait, aren’t you supposed to be cutting back on your sugar?”

Their father laughed a little. “You’re right, I am. I guess you’d better get there before I eat your croissant, too, then.”

“Wait, Dad, I-”

“See you there!”

Click.

Adrian let out a long sigh as they stared at their phone, the call over, hoping that their relationship with their father wasn’t over along with it.

As they sat there and stared, however, they began to form an idea.

They couldn’t actually meet their father at the cafe, but maybe, if they did everything just right, they would get the chance to see him all the same.

Adrian pulled together an outfit made entirely of black clothing, including that ski mask they’d bought on a whim months ago and never actually wore, even in the depths of winter. Their skin blended in with their clothing, making their appearance look significantly less, well, freakish. Good. Between the black clothing and the evening sky growing darker and darker, maybe nobody would give them a second look.

Next, they opened one of their windows.

And looked down.

And gulped.

Part of them suspected that this wasn’t actually that good of a plan after all; part of them was determined to follow through with it nonetheless.

And sure, their spider webbing had held out firmly enough when they were swinging from room to room earlier.

But it was one thing to jump into the air and swing from the top of a doorframe, and it was an entirely different thing to jump from their fourth-story apartment and hope that they would manage to swing to safety before hitting the ground.

They thought about what a bad idea this whole plan was.

They wondered if they could stick to the side of their apartment building like they had stuck to their ceiling before, if that might be a way to save themself if their webbing failed them.

They were pretty sure that even if that didn’t pan out, either, falling four stories wouldn’t kill them. Probably. And hey, they had super-healing, right? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and all that?

They closed their eyes and let out a long breath before jumping.

They looked at the closest building that wasn’t their own and focused really, really hard on getting their spider webbing to shoot out towards it.

And so it did.

Their heart raced as they spun web after web and flew from skyscraper to skyscraper, moving fast enough that they never came too close to hitting the ground. Their arms were shaking. Their adrenaline was racing. Their legs felt a little weak and their stomach was a bit queasy and they were sweating bullets- wearing all black in the dead of summer, while necessary under the circumstances, wasn’t exactly the best choice when it came to beating the heat- but they felt strangely alive in a way they couldn’t remember feeling before.

Luckily, Cafe Amito was a straight shot from their apartment building, only a few short blocks away. (The part of Adrian that hadn’t completely freaked out by this point was quietly glad that they wouldn’t have to figure out how to navigate turns; web-slinging from building to building was hard enough as it was.) Adrian started directing their webs further and further up as they approached the cafe before climbing onto an adjacent rooftop and staring down at the cafe below.

They couldn’t really see that much from all the way up there. Adrian considered testing their theory about clinging to the sides of buildings as a way to get closer to the cafe, but even though they were pretty sure by now that they could web themself to safety if they failed, a person standing on the side of a building without falling seemed like the sort of thing that might get people’s attention, and the last thing they wanted to do right now was draw attention to their presence.

But even though they couldn’t see too many details from the top of the nearest building, they could still tell that, a few minutes before six, their father dutifully sat himself down at one of Cafe Amito’s outside tables. He was wearing that one brown striped suit that he’d owned ever since Adrian could remember, one that Adrian sometimes gently teased him about, saying how old it was or how it didn’t flatter him.

Adrian couldn’t tell from this high up if the plate their father had put on the table held croissants, let alone whether there were one or two sitting there.

For a brief moment, Adrian thought of how some scientists would say that their world was just one of a great number of universes in existence. Adrian wondered if, in one of those other universes, they were sitting down there right now, teasing their father about that old striped suit in between bites of chocolate croissant.

They stood there for a few long minutes, watching their father sit outside waiting in vain for their arrival, but soon enough, they decided to turn back and head home. Watching their father from afar wasn’t really accomplishing anything; all it did was make them miss him all the more, made them feel that much further from him, the distance between them vast and overwhelming even though he was just a building over and a few dozen stories beneath their feet.

After they got home, they took a moment to catch their breath, took off most of their too-hot clothes (that ski mask was positively filthy now, and practically dripping with sweat, sticky to the touch as they pulled it off of their face), and sat back down next to their computer and went back to work as if nothing had happened. In a way, perhaps nothing had happened, really.

But then one of their Internet friends pulled their attention away from their work.

Adrian, are you okay?

Adrian stared at the words on the screen, blinking a few times, as if that would answer the half-formed questions in their head for them.

Yeah, I’m okay.

After a moment’s consideration, Adrian sent another message.

Why? Did something happen?

Their friend responded almost immediately.

You didn’t hear?

Adrian’s hands were shaking as they typed their response, but this time, it wasn’t because of an adrenaline rush.

I guess not. Hear what?

The seconds seemed to go by so slowly, time trickling by as their friend typed up their response.

Someone shot up a cafe in New York. A couple people died, a few more are in the hospital now... I’m glad to hear that you’re safe and sound, at least.

Oh.

Oh shit.

It didn’t take them long to connect the dots, even though the logical part of them was screaming that there had to be thousands of cafes in New York, that the odds of the one in question being Cafe Amito were slim to none, that they were jumping to conclusions as recklessly as they had jumped from their apartment building not too long ago...

But it seemed that today, at least, luck wasn’t on their side.

One glance at Twitter revealed that #CafeAmito was trending. (As was #NewYorkStrong, and #ThoughtsAndPrayers, and half a dozen other hashtags related to the shooting besides.)

Adrian looked to the news articles and scanned them for references to the victims, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t see their father’s name among them, that he had left before the bloodshed started, that this tragedy would be just another senseless shooting that happened to take place in their hometown, rather than... than...

The victims included Savannah Connor, the gap-toothed blonde second-grader who loved math and unicorns and the color yellow and would never grow up to be a doctor as she had dreamed of doing. And Mr. and Mrs. Park, newlyweds on their honeymoon, exploring New York City together for the first time; Mr. Park was killed in the shooting, while Mrs. Park was still fighting for her life from a hospital bed. And Daniel “Danny” Riley, his middle school’s star quarterback, who survived the shooting, but was told by doctors that he would never walk again. And Jackson Hunt, a bright young man who survived a childhood bout with leukemia and was headed to MIT in the fall for a degree in Computer Science, who had been injured by the first bullet that hit him and killed by the second.

And Anthony “Tony” Ragno, a local attorney and widower, who had been pronounced dead on arrival at the nearest hospital, and whose adult child, not present at the shooting, could not be reached for comment.

Tony was one of the first to be shot and killed on the scene, Adrian read on as they fought off tears. The gunman had pointed his gun at Savannah Connor, and Tony Ragno had gotten up from his seat and tried to wrestle the gun away from the shooter before little Savannah could get hurt.

It had almost worked, too.

Almost.

(None of the news articles made any mention of whether Tony Ragno had been eating a chocolate croissant at the time.)

As they read article after article, they learned not only about the victims of the Cafe Amito shooting but about its instigator. Some part of Adrian knew, from the moment that they read the shooter’s name, that they would never be able to forget it for as long as they lived. They saw pictures of him smiling at his college graduation, saw a less-flattering mugshot from when he had been taken into custody a few months prior for a domestic violence charge that never got prosecuted. They learned that he had lost his job two weeks beforehand, and that he had been living with his girlfriend, who he had shot and killed in their shared apartment before heading to Cafe Amito. Nobody had a good answer for why he had chosen Cafe Amito as the site of so much violence, and it seemed likely that nobody would ever know the truth, as the gunman had shot himself in the head as the police were closing in on him, choosing death over a probable lifetime of imprisonment.

Adrian turned their phone on silent and let it ring and ring and ring, let the missed calls pile up and their voicemail inbox fill without giving it so much as a second glance. They checked their Facebook early the next morning and decided to delete their account altogether rather than dealing with the outpouring of messages directed their way.

Adrian couldn’t go to their father’s funeral, much as they wanted to be there, much as they wanted to get the kind of closure that that might bring. But their relatives (who had consistently misgendered and deadnamed them in interviews with the press, to the point where half the news outlets were referring to them by their deadname, even though they had been officially named Adrian for over four years now, thank you very much) already thought they were a freak, and they weren’t going to show up with pitch-black skin and prove them right.

They sent flowers, though.

Actually, they sent flowers to all the victims of the Cafe Amito shooting, sent a large arrangement of spider lilies to the living and the dead alike, to funeral beds and to hospital rooms. The bouquets were all sent anonymously, with a note that read simply, You deserved better.

Adrian knew, logically, that the shooting wasn’t really their fault, that this blood wasn’t on their hands. But they also knew that they had superpowers, that they had been near Cafe Amito only a few short minutes before the shooting began, and some part of them couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, if they had stuck around, if they had joined their father at the cafe after all... maybe they could have prevented it.

But they would never really know for sure, they supposed.

That wasn’t the universe they were living in. That wasn’t the way things had played out. Anything else was nothing more than baseless speculation.

That’s what they tried to tell themself, anyway.

Cafe Amito hadn’t accepted orders for delivery before the shooting, but a lot had changed since then, and when they were facing bankruptcy and received a sizable anonymous donation requesting that they do deliveries, well, the cafe’s owner wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The majority of orders were still placed by people wanting to eat in or around the cafe itself, but they gained a fair amount of delivery customers as well once the option was available. Most were one-off orders, but soon enough they developed a handful of regular customers who, for one reason or another, preferred to have the cafe’s food delivered to them.

One of those regulars lived in a fourth-floor apartment only a few blocks down the street from Cafe Amito, who once a month, like clockwork, would place an order for two chocolate croissants, to be delivered right to their door.