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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years ago

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Hero | Luke Patterson

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Song Fic February Week 4: Musicals

Inspiration: StarStruck (DCOM)

Requested: Yes/No

A/N: Anon suggested doing something with the Starstruck soundtrack, so I’m writing a whole-ass series. This is based off the plot of Starstruck but the reader was a fan of JATP until she met Luke... Basically crush to enemies to lovers! Also a modern!au.

The third installment of the StarStruck series!

StarStruck

Something About The Sunshine

Hero

What You Mean To Me

Pairing: Luke x Fem!reader

Song(s) used: Hero - Christopher Wilde (StarStruck ST)

Warnings: few swear words, mention of car accidents, mention of child abuse, mention of postnatal depression, tiny bit of angst

Words: 8.6K

I’m almost nervous to see him again. There’s a nervous flutter erupting from the pit of my stomach and I feel hot and sweaty when it’s not even that warm out. The boy didn’t have that effect on me just a day ago and now he suddenly does? I hate this.

“Morning,” I greet when I find Luke standing outside the coffee shop with his hood pulled far over his head and sunglasses covering his beautiful eyes. He shoots me a smile, but I don’t think he actually looks at me. Right, the whole “I can’t be seen with you”-thing.

“Want to go grab some coffee before we go?” I ask instead, pointing at the shop.

Luke nods his head and follows me inside where we wait in line together. The silence that hangs over us is uncomfortable for the first time. I don’t know why but his mysterious, secretive antics are making me nervous.

“Next!” the barista calls and the two of us step forward. The twenty-something woman shoots the both of us a polite smile, not even acknowledging that Luke’s keeping his head low. This is L.A., she’s probably used to it by now. “What can I get for ya?”

“An iced vanilla latte for me, please,” I say and then glance down at Luke.

He coughs. “Iced caramel macchiato.” His voice is low, just above a whisper, as though he’s telling the barista and me a secret. I’m glad we’re going to be out of the city soon, so Luke can go back to his regular self. Or to the singing-on-top-of-a-car-in-the-middle-of-nowhere self.

“What’s your name, please?”

“Y/N…” My eyes land on Luke for a split second, and I’m pretty sure he’s not even going to answer. Luke’s a pretty generic name, I’m sure people won’t even bother to look up. “Put my name on both, please.”

The barista smiles and then dashes off after I paid to start making our coffees while we shuffle towards the end of the counter, ready to take our drinks when they’re ready. Luke keeps his head down. He doesn’t even look up at me and the awkward silence doesn’t eb away.

“You’re not gonna talk to me yet, are you?” I ask him as I hand him one of the two straws I picked up. He shakes his head. I try my hardest not to groan and instead, hand him the keys to my car. “Here, get yourself settled in my car, I’ll handle this.”

His eyes peer over the rim of his sunglasses, flickering with uncertainty and gratefulness at the same time. I shoot him a smile, urging him to get out of here, which he does with a quick flash of his teeth.

The awkwardness quickly washes off me when he’s left the coffee shop and I’m all alone, hoping everything would change once we’re all alone, away from the prying eyes of Los Angeles’ residents.

“Iced vanilla latte and iced caramel macchiato for y/n,” the barista calls and places the cups on the counter in front of me.

I smile at her, say, “Thank you! Bye!” and then dart out of the coffee shop as fast as I could. I weave my way through hasty people and slacking tourists towards my Toyota Yaris where a hooded boy sits in my passenger seat. He still has his hood pulled up and his sunglasses balancing on the bridge of his nose. He almost looks sad, which makes me a little sad too. I wish I could do more than let him wait in my car.

“Here you go,” I say and hand him his coffee when I’ve settled into my seat.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just for the beverage.

A smile etches its way to my cheeks as I regard him. “You’re welcome,” I say and then start the engine. As I pull out of the parking lot, Luke finally sparks up a conversation. I’m almost relieved to hear his voice again for more than two words.

“Where’re we going?” he asks.

I debate telling him but then decide I’d do it anyway. I’ve been researching a lot last night and have found the greatest secluded spots and the time slots when they’re mostly deserted or have the least visitors. The one I wanted to take him to today was a lot closer than the other ones, so I figured we could start with that.

“The Old L.A. Zoo. It’s less crowded before 9am, so I figured we could go explore it a bit until too many people arrive?” The statement comes out of my mouth as a question since I’m unsure whether or not he’d like that.

“Cool,” he replies, and he sounds honest, too. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

It surprises me a little, but I go with it anyway. “Really? I’ve been there plenty of times! It’s really cool! Kinda spooky.” Luke lets out an airy laugh at that and it makes my heart flutter a little.

Within ten minutes, we arrive at the old zoo. Ten minutes had gone by and yet it felt like a split second. The conversation ran fluently on our way there and Luke told me things about the band and his childhood that not even the biggest fangirl on earth could possibly know. I love talking to Luke about those seemingly uninteresting, small things.

The rest of the morning, too, goes by as if there’s no concept of time whatsoever. The two of us walk through the old, abandoned zoo and explore every single old habitat. I even find a website that tells us the entire history of each section of the zoo and as I read it, Luke listens and adds in his own commentary. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much in just a few hours. This guy is genuinely funny and I just adore talking to him. Our conversations go from the ridiculous to the serious, and every subject in between.

It’s just the perfect day that I wish would never end, but inevitably, Luke has his own responsibilities and has to go by lunch time.

“Hey, why don’t you come with me to the studio?” he asks with a smile as we’re making our way back to the car. “I’m in there all by myself, aside from our producer, and I’m recording a few songs.”

I open and close my mouth a few times, letting incomprehensible sounds roll out. It makes me look like a dumbfounded fish, I’m sure, but I don’t care. My brain is dysfunctioning for a moment. Luke Patterson is asking me to come to the studio with him. To watch him record some songs. Songs that are going to be on the album.

Luke’s laugh makes the gears in my brain fall back into place. “Is that a yes?” he asks.

A heat rises up to my cheeks. “Yeah,” I finally manage.

“Cool,” he says and then gets into the car.

The ride to the studio is filled with smooth conversation. We never miss a beat, there’s never an awkward silence between the two of us. Only when we arrive at the recording studio and we’re met with a huddle of paparazzi outside the door.

“Fuck,” he mutters and ducks down. I do the same, knowing he doesn’t want me to be seen with him either. “Drive around back,” he orders before fumbling into the glove compartment of my car. He retrieves a pair of sunglasses I kept there, along with a shawl of my mother’s that I didn’t know was still in there. “Put this on.”

“No,” I reply sternly, pushing his hand with the shawl away. I do take the sunglasses from his hand though, and push them onto my nose. “Put that shawl away,” I bark. The boy obeys and stuffs the piece of cursed fabric back where it came from.

Mental note: throw that out.

When we finally do get into the recording studio, as soon as I’m on Luke’s side, he grabs my hand and drags me into the building before anyone could ever spot us. I nearly stumble on my own feet, but quickly pick myself back up before I faceplant the floor.

Luke huffs. “Phew, that was close.”

He looks at me, and for a second, I think he might bring up the shawl again, but he doesn’t and instead turns to his producer, who had gotten up from his swivel chair the second we burst in.

“Connor!” Luke greets excitedly and shakes the man’s hand.

He looks near his thirties, strong built with flawless dark skin and a full head of afro hair. Combined with his extremely savvy outfit, I find him really cool-looking. He’s the kind of guy that would get all the girls in high school while still being a sweetheart.

“You brought some new flesh, I see,” Connor says to me and outstretches his hand for me to shake. I do so with a wide smile on my face while pretending not to be completely nervous about being in a recording studio for the first time.

“Y/N,” I introduce myself.

“Welcome to our little slice of heaven on earth, y/n.” My eyes flick to Luke, who’s giving me that look again, so I quickly turn back to Connor. “Any knowledge of recording studios, y/n?” he asks.

“Never been in one, but my friend is a producer and he did teach me some things.”

I hear Luke huff beside me. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know.” I shoot him a wink as Connor beckons me towards his deck. For a while, Connor guides me through his paces while Luke gives the best of himself on this song.

After a few takes, Luke comes out of the booth and joins me and Connor to listen to what we’d recorded thus far. “What if –” I pause, debating my thoughts. “What if we go in with some soft backing vocals on here?” I click the part of the chorus we’d recorded and sing along with recorded Luke.

“'Cause I I can be everything you need If you're the one for me Like gravity I'll be unstoppable I, yeah, I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy With heart and soul But if your the one for me Then I'll be your hero”

“I think if you put Julie on those backings, it could give that duet-vibe you guys are so good at.” I notice Connor and Luke glance at each other, soft smiles playing on both their lips.

“Why don’t you show us?” Connor asks as Luke already grabs my hand.

“What?! Me? No! Julie.”

Luke chuckles and drags me into the booth with him. “Yeah, but we’re gonna need a demo, don’t we?” He delicately places a set of headphones on my head before placing one on his own. He signals to Connor and no later than 2 seconds, the instrumental version of the song blasts through the headphones.

Gazing at me, Luke starts singing the first verse of the song, and I let him. It almost feels like he’s serenading me. Almost. All that’s missing is a guitar or a boombox over his head.

“I'm no superman I can't take your hand And fly you anywhere you want to go Yeah I can't read your mind Like a billboard sign And tell you everything you want to hear But I'll be your hero”

From the chorus onwards, I jump in with backing vocals wherever I feel like it’s acceptable without taking my eyes off of Luke.

“I I can be everything you need If you're the one for me Like gravity I'll be unstoppable I, yeah, I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy With heart and soul But if you're the one for me Then I'll be your hero”

“Could you be the one Could you be the one for me” “Oh I'll be your hero” “Could you be the one Could you be the one for me” “Yeah I'll be your hero”

“So incredible Some kind of miracle That's what it's meant to be I'll become a hero So I wait, wait, wait, wait for you”

We keep our eyes locked at the high note too, smiles plastered on our faces from ear to ear. Singing with Luke gives me some kinda rush. A feeling I can’t quite describe but it’s a feeling I want to feel more often.

“Yeah, I'll be your hero Yeah”

“Cause I I can be everything you need If you're the one for me Like gravity I'll be unstoppable I, Yeah, I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy with and soul But if you're the one for me I'll be your hero”

“Yeah, I'll be your hero”

“Could you be the one Could you be the one for me”

“Yeah I'll be your hero”

The music fades out in our headphones, and soon, Connor’s applause sounds through it instead. I’m snapped back into reality, away from cloud 9, away from the pure bliss that’s singing with Luke and gazing into his eyes.

“That was amazing! Good job, guys!” Connor says, beaming.

Luke and I remove our headphones and he grabs my hand to lead me back to the decks where Connor welcomes us with open arms and a wide smile.

“I thought you and Julie were the most watchable duetters, but I’ve been proven wrong.”

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks before Luke snaps me out of it again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Con. Can you send the finished product to the band and our manager? I’m sure they’d like to hear this. Don’t tell them who’s on backing vocals, though. They don’t need to know that.”

I swallow a lump in my throat and try to convince myself it’s probably not that deep. Luke doesn’t want to be seen with me. Not even by his band mates. It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

We wrap up the recording session and I drive Luke back to the coffee shop where he looks behind him and out of every single one of the windows, just to be sure the coast is clear of paparazzi.

“Thanks for the day, y/n. I really enjoyed spending time with you again.”

I force a smile. Ever since his statement to Connor about not wanting the band to know about me, I’ve been going over everything in my mind and it has caused me to fold in on myself.

“Yeah, it was fun.”

He gazes at me for a moment, inspecting every inch of my face as if detecting the lie from my eyes. When I think he’s just going to bid his goodbyes and get out, he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his body to me and reaches for his phone. I watch as he unlocks it and taps away on it before turning the device towards me. There’s a new contact form open on his screen.

“Gimme your number. I’d love to do this again some day.”

I furrow my brow while taking the phone in my hands. “Do you even have time to spend days with a nobody like me?” I don’t dare look at him and keep my eyes on the screen as I type my name and number.

He doesn’t say anything either until I finally cave and look up when giving his phone back. There’s a crease in his forehead as his eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

“You’re not a nobody, y/n. I’d gladly make time for you. I told you, I loved spending days away from reality. Especially with you.” Fangirl Me is jumping out of my skin while Present Me tries to keep her cool and ignore all of the butterflies that erupt in her stomach.

“Cool,” Present Me says out loud while Fangirl Me is scolding her so hard.

Cool? Cool?! Seriously? Dude.

“I’ll text you, yeah?”

I nod my head in response and watch as he gets out of my car. Before I can even place my foot on the gas or shift out of park, my phone beeps in the pocket of my sweater. For the first time in forever, I smile when seeing an unknown number on my screen.

As I look out of my window, I find Luke looking at me with his hood pulled over his head again. He shoots me a quick smile and a wave before I turn to my phone again and type a reply.

I whip my head up to see his reaction. His jaw drops before his face turns into a scowl as he glares at me. Giggling and satisfied with the reaction, I place my phone on the passenger’s seat where Luke was sitting before and then pull out of the parking spot.

That night, I save Luke’s number to my phone. I go between “Luke P.”, “Patterson” and “Luke ❤️” but eventually decide on the funnier option and save him as “Poo Musician 💩”.

I stand in line at the coffee shop before 8:30 that morning and I’m a little nervous. Last night when I returned from my day with Luke, the two of us had been texting back and forth. I felt like a sixteen year old again. One of those giggly teenagers that’s texting their crush. Which is what I was, but it’s been a while since I felt like it.

Once I have an iced vanilla latte and an iced caramel macchiato, I head outside where I find a boy waiting by my car. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt paired with a bright blue sleeveless sweater, his hood pulled far over his head so his face is hidden from prying eyes.

I don’t need to see his face to know it’s Luke. I’d recognize those muscles from a mile away. The way he’s leaning against the hood of my car and the way he’s holding his phone is a dead giveaway too.

“Your coffee, sir,” I say in a serious, deep voice.

Luke’s head snaps up, eyes wide. He looks like a deer caught in headlights until he notices it’s just me and relaxes. A smile etches onto his face as he tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans whilst taking the coffee I ordered for him with his other hand.

He takes a cautious sip from the beverage. “Hm, Caramel Macchiato, someone’s been stalking me.” I know he’s just teasing, I can tell by the way one corner of his mouth curls up and his eyes have that childlike glint in them.

Making my way to the driver’s side of my car, I smile and say, “Contrary to popular belief, Patterson, I’m not a stalker. I just remembered your order from yesterday.”

Luke’s smile tells me something I’d rather not think about. It’s like he’s saying “You remembered my order” in that flirty way only he knows how to. I simply shrug before opening my door and getting in with Luke following my example. Without missing a beat, he fishes my phone from between my fingers and grabs my free hand to use my thumb to unlock my phone. This time, I don’t object and let him. I know that it’s just to get to my music app anyway.

While Journey’s Anyway You Want It plays through the car’s speakers, I pull out of the parking spot in front of the coffee shop and start driving to the next location I’d found during my research the other night.

“Where’re we going?” he asks, and I flashback to yesterday when he asked me the exact same question in that exact same way.

I smile as I place my cup in the cupholder between the two of us. “You’ll see.” I glance over, finding him tilting his head slightly and giving me that ‘Really?’ look. “I promise it’s very secluded and not a lot of people will be there.”

“Cool,” he says and sips. “Is this where you’re going to kidnap me and hold me for ransom? I bet you could get a lot of money for a Julie and The Phantoms band member.”

I snort at his remark. “How much do you think I could get for you?”

He scrunches up his nose in thought, which I catch as I take a quick glance at him again. As I face the road again, I reach for my coffee and take a quick sip, awaiting Luke’s response to my question.

“Like 10k?”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “10k?!” I screech, and his laugh thunders through my car. “Careful or I’ll actually kidnap you and hold you for ransom if I’m gonna earn that much.”

The laughter dies down and after a few moments of silence lingering in the air, Luke says, “How much do you think I’m worth?”

Without missing a beat, I respond to his question, dead serious. “Not even a dollar.”

Luke gasps, his mouth dropping in absolute disbelief while I can’t help but cackle loudly. Judging from this conversation alone, I’m positive today will be a good day. A good, fun day.

“I’m worth more than a dollar, right?”

“No, you’re right, I’d probably ask like a million and then no one will pay the ransom and you’ll have to stay with me for the rest of your life.”

I let out my best maniacal laughter as I feel him watch me. I know the exact look he’s giving me. The look. The one with the glistening eyes and the slightly turned up lips. The one all girls and gays swoon for. The one I would swoon for if I’d turn my head right now. But I don’t. For once in my life, I’m smart and keep my eyes on the road.

“You like me,” he states proudly.

“Slightly less strong dislike.” I’m lying through my teeth, but I’m hoping Luke won’t notice. Or at least not acknowledge it because I can already feel the heat rising to my cheeks.

“I’ll take it.”

He reaches forward and turns the volume up as Taylor Swift’s “Blank Space” floats through the speakers. Very loudly, and very obnoxiously, the boy begins to sing along. If it wasn’t for the velvet smooth voice, I would’ve scolded at him to keep it down. But the sound actually makes my toes curl and my stomach flutter. For a verse, I let him sing by himself while I enjoy his performance but by the chorus, I can’t withhold myself and sing along with him.

The rest of the ride is filled with belting of the road trip tunes, laced with patches of small talk. It’s the perfect car ride, and before we know it, we’ve arrived at our destination. Santa Fe Dam Recreation Area. The parking lot is practically empty, aside from two cars, which I’m assuming are the staff’s. It’s the perfect indication that I picked the right spot to go to, and I can tell Luke knows it too.

He’s bouncing in his seat, either from excitement or the amount of sugar that was in his iced coffee, and when I turn off the ignition and turn to him, he looks at me with the widest smile plastered on his face. He almost looks like an excited toddler on Christmas morning, ready to open his presents.

“I came here once with my parents when I was younger,” he tells me, “I love this place.”

His confession makes me smile. “Good because I’ve been scouring the internet for the perfect place.” He shoots me the look again. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to kiss me.”

He shrugs, “Maybe I want to.”

“So you want me to slap you?”

His smile fades away immediately. “Let’s go,” he grumbles and quickly gets out.

I heave in a deep breath, recollecting myself before getting out too and retrieving the backpack I brought, filled with stuff for today. Including my itinerary – or just a notebook filled with some ideas I had.

“How about we start with a bike ride across the park?” I suggest, pointing at the bike rental shop I found on Google the other night.

We walk into the rental place, expecting there to be bikes upon bikes but instead, we’re met with kayaks, pedal boats and go-karts. My eyebrows furrow, creasing my forehead as I look around the space. Why’s this called a bike rental when there are technically no bikes to rent? No actual bikes.

“I thought we were going for a bike ride?” Luke says, teasingly. I look up at him, and I think my face tells him enough about my knowledge about this place. My research clearly wasn’t sufficient.

Deciding to just roll with the circumstances, I roll my shoulders back and put a smile on my face. “Yeah, we’re going on a bike ride with one of these!” I say and point to the large, green go-kart. One of those that look like an old-school car at the front and have children’s seats in front of the terribly cushioned seats for adults. The ones with the small plastic wheel and bike pedals for two adults. I remember going on one of those big ones for six people with my family.

“You’re serious?” Luke asks, his eyes wide.

Instead of answering, I shoot him a smile before stepping forwards towards the staff member at the counter. The woman behind the counter looks no older than 45 and has long, billowing blonde locks that cascade down her shoulders. Her bright blue piercing eyes glisten as they land on the two of us, clearly glad she sees some customers so early in the day.

“Good morning,” she greets with a smile, “We open in half an hour.”

“Oh…” My research has been poor.

Before I can possibly think of an answer, Luke steps forward and flashes the woman a smile. I’m not sure if he’s going to use his manly charms or if he’s going to pull the “Don’t you know who I am?” card.

“Can’t you… make an exception for us?” he asks, leaning his elbow on the counter as he looks at the woman through his lashes. The woman looks up at Luke, her face like stone. She doesn’t recognize him and doesn’t fall for his charms either.

Shaking my head, I spring into action. I quickly change the ring on my index finger to my ring finger and wrap my arm around Luke’s bicep while the other rests on his chest, making sure the ring is as visible as can be. As I flutter my eyelashes at the woman, I let the words tumble out of my mouth.

“Please, ma’am? It’s our one year engagement anniversary and he was going to take me on this romantic bike ride….” I then lean forward over the counter. “He’s not very good at researching our dates, but he tries.”

The woman’s eyebrows knit together as her eyes dart from me to Luke and back.

“Aren’t you guys a little young to be engaged?”

Luke jumps into the improvisation spot. “We’ve been told that a lot but we’ve been best friends for years and there’s no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” He looks down at me and when I glance up, too, he kisses the tip of my nose, which I then scrunch.

I ignore the flutters in my stomach and face the woman again. She seems to have softened, her eyes less icy than it was before. Then, she turns to her computer and clicks through a few browsers before facing us again.

“What do you guys want? The Surrey?” She points to the green bike-thing at the front of the shop. I nod my head in response. “Okay. You’ve got it for two hours for the price of one hour.”

A smile etches its way to my face. “That’s perfect, thank you.”

Luke pays the woman the rental fee and then she helps us get Surrey out of the garage. After bidding our goodbyes, Luke and I pedal off on the bike.

“One year engagement, really?” Luke asks me when we’re far enough from the rental and I switch my rings back around.

“Well, whatever you were doing didn’t work.”

He scoffs. “It was working.”

We pedal down the winding road with the wind blowing through our hair. I love how warm the breeze is and how the birds are chirping in the trees around us. This is the perfect day to go out and do this.

“What exactly were you planning to do?” I ask him, glancing up at him. He’s focusing on the road ahead of us, a comfortable smile resting on his lips while his eyes flick from one side to another, taking everything in.

He glances down at me, the smile turning into a smirk. “I was going to charm her with my manly wiles.”

“And how was that working for ya?”

For a second, we lock eyes. Luke has an annoyed look on his face while I can’t help but have my lips curl up on one side into a smirk. When he whips his head forward again, I notice the slight tint of pink covering his cheeks.

Did I just make Luke Patterson blush?

“So,” he coughs. “Whatcha wanna do?”

I shrug. “We could play twenty questions? Get to know each other better.”

He nods his head in response. “You wanna start?”

“That’s your first question?”

“That’s yours?”

I press my lips together, shutting myself up for just a moment before recomposing myself. I’m not going to lie, I totally Googled some questions to ask in a game of 20 questions. So, I’m prepared.

“If you had to be trapped on a deserted island with one of your friends, who would you pick and why?” Luke’s eyes widen at the question a little.

“Woah, straight in! I thought you were gonna start with ‘favorite color’ or something.” He chuckles lightly, and so do I. “Uhm… Not Alex, he’d probably be super anxious and pace all the way across the island and make me nervous. Not Reggie either, he’d be singing country songs the entire time, though he is a great cuddler. Maybe Julie? Though she’s gonna be miserable without Flynn….”

With every thought he says out loud, my smile grows bigger and bigger.

“You?” My heart leaps in my chest at his answer. “Yeah, I like spending time with you and what better place to get away from real life than a deserted island, right?”

Without missing a beat, the next words pour out of my mouth. “It’s cute how you think we’re friends now.” I surprise myself with the words I speak. We are friends, but I like winding him up into thinking we’re not.

“Friends who wanna kiss each other.”

Ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks, I reply, “You mean kill?”

Luke shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. “When are you going to admit that you like me?”

“Never – Next question.”

“Uhm… What was the last thing you stole or shoplifted?” he asks and I’m glad he doesn’t push any further on the fact I basically admitted that I like him.

“Oh! A magnet in a tourist shop in Lanzarote,” I reply, giggling a little at the memory. “I was there with a couple of friends during Spring Break and those magnets cost way too much for what they are and there was like a rack outside the shop. So, I shoplifted an overpriced Lanzarote magnet.”

Luke throws his head back as he laughs, nearly steering us into the bushes. “That’s amazing,” he cackles.

We cruise through the entire park for two entire hours, asking each other questions, and after returning the Surrey, we walk towards the lake where we settle down onto the blanket I brought for some food. I’d prepared an entire picnic basket for us to enjoy during our lunch.

“I find it very cute that you made an entire picnic basket for our first date.”

I smile. “I find it very cute that you think this is a date.”

He gives me the look again, but I ignore it and get every piece of food out of my backpack, sprawling it out around us. Sandwiches, chopped up vegetables and fruits, muffins,... All the delicious foods you’d find in a picnic.

“Tell me more about your childhood,” Luke then says as he takes a chicken sandwich and takes a bite. “You don’t talk about it much.”

My heart drops into my stomach. I wish he wouldn’t ask about that. Talking about my childhood means talking about my mother and I’ve been trying to avoid that for the past years. Not that many of my friends even know about that.

“I told you plenty.”

“You talked about your teenage years, but never about your childhood.”

I take a deep breath. He’s not going to shut up about this until I tell him. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s just that I don’t love talking about what happened with my mother. It’s something I’d much rather forget.

“There’s a reason for that,” I reply pointedly and then shut myself up by taking a sip from the box of orange juice. I’d packed one for the both of us, but I’m the only one who’s opened it already as Luke had gone straight in with the sandwiches.

Luke stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. His eyes pierce through my soul and give me a sense of comfort. They lift a weight of my shoulders and chest that I hadn’t even noticed were there. His eyes feel like coming home. Comfortable. A place to relax. A place to be me, be myself.

I heave in a deep breath and place my juice box on my nervously bouncing knee, holding it with my hand. It doesn’t stop the bouncing, so now my whole body is practically shaking along with the movement.

“I–” I stop myself, reconsidering my words. “My childhood wasn’t the sunshine and roses it’s supposed to be.” I chuckle nervously and when I meet Luke’s eyes again, they’re looking at me with such intent that I almost launch forward and kiss him. But I don’t.

“Mom was… difficult to live with…” I start cautiously, not even daring to look at Luke as I speak and keep my eyes on the still lake in front of us. “She uhm… After I was born, she kinda went into postnatal depression. She didn’t take care of me, she barely even looked at me… At one point, it went so far that she got into an accident, on purpose, with me in the back. She did it a few times, even, to the point where dad just had to report it. She was admitted to the psych ward and that was that... I was ten at the time.” I swallow to hold back the tears that are pricking behind my eyes.

Feeling a soft brush of the hand on my knee, I glance up, meeting Luke’s eyes. They give me that sense of comfort again, that sense of home, the reassurance that I’m okay.

“We haven’t really seen her since. She’s out of our lives…” I sniffle and place my hand over Luke’s, giving it a thankful squeeze. “I don’t like talking about it.”

Luke carefully laces his fingers through mine, his cold rings cooling my warm hand. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” I shrug dismissively. “But thank you for telling me.”

“So, tell me,” I lift our entwined hands for a second as though pulling us back into reality. “How did Sunset Curve-slash-Julie and The Phantoms came to be?”

Luke chuckles before engulfing our locked hands with his other and tumbling into the origin story of the bands he was in. He talks about meeting Reggie and Alex in primary school, and then meeting Bobby in middle school. He explains how they started the band in music class and then continued playing together until Bobby moved away from Los Angeles. The story then lapses into giggles and chuckles about all the things they tried to keep Sunset Curve alive, but terribly failed.

“But then we met Julie in high school and – the rest is history.”

We’re clearing up our mess before making our way back towards the car. I love hearing Luke talk, especially about the band. It makes his eyes light up and he gets all bouncy and enthusiastic. It’s the cutest side of Luke I ever did see in the past few days of hanging out with him.

I take one last look at the lake where tiny dots of humans are floating along on the lake in their tiny boats. There are just a few, so nothing to worry about, but it does make me want to go kayaking too. Mostly because I don’t want the day to end.

“Wanna go kayaking?” I ask Luke, pulling him to a halt by tugging at our still intertwined hands. His eyes dart from mine to the lake and back. I can tell he’s debating it, but then he nods and a smile appears on his face.

With our hands intertwined, we go back to the rental place and ask the woman for a double kayak. We pay, put on the safety vests she’s given us and then proceed onto the water. As we pedal along, Luke tells me about all the adventures he’s been on with his friends and how he used to do this all the time before his schedule got so crazy.

Every now and again, he stops and pretends to tip the kayak, making me squeal each and every time whilst he laughs his most maniacal laugh.

The wall I’d built around my heart was slowly crumbling. Every laugh, every touch, every glance took away a small part of the brick wall. I’m falling in love with the boy I’d had a crush on and then strongly disliked for a good five-ish days.

Getting distracted was not a good idea as I’m not prepared for what follows next. Luke pretends to tip it over again, but this time, he wobbles too hard and actually makes the boat topple overhead. I squeal, but quickly shut my mouth as I tumble into the water, making sure not too much of the lake’s contents gets into my body.

“Patterson!” I scowl as I crash the surface again and find Luke laughing a few feet away. His brown, shaggy hair sticks to his head, dripping small drops of water onto his face. If I wasn’t so angry at him, I would definitely kiss him right here, right now.

“I hate you!” I splash some water at him as the words roll off my lips. Luke’s laughter abruptly stops and he stares at me. His once glistening eyes dull down while his mouth falters into a frown.

“You do?”

My face softens as I watch him. He looks so beautiful with his hair all dishevelled and the reflection of the sun on the water mirroring onto his face. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so bad.

I swim closer towards him and stroke his wet hair out of his face. My breath hitches in my throat at how close we are but I try to play it off by keeping my hands on his face and my eyes locked with his. I notice his eyes flicking down to my lips a few times, telling me he wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him.

Should I? Full throttle? Or step on the brakes?

I don’t even get the time to think about it as Luke presses his lips to mine. Now I don’t hesitate a single moment and immediately kiss him back. Sliding my hands into his wet locks and pressing my body as close as I can, I melt entirely into him. The same sense of bliss I have when singing with Luke washes over me and I find myself on cloud 9 again.

We pull back after a moment to catch our breath. The glint in his eyes is back and his mouth, though a little swollen and red, curls up into a smile. He presses one more kiss to my nose before helping me towards the shore. We climb out of the water and bring the boat back to the rental place, along with our safety vests.

Grabbing my backpack I had left with the woman for safekeeping, Luke and I bid our goodbyes and leave the rental, intertwining our hands again. The feeling his hand in mine gives me will never get old.

As we get to the car again, I yawn, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over me. Luke smiles upon noticing this and takes the keys from my hand. Wordlessly, he presses a kiss to my forehead and then leads me to the passenger side. He opens the door and lets me get in before shutting the door and jogging to the other side.

The car is filled with a comfortable silence, just the crackling of a song playing on the radio filling out the quietness. I rest my head against the headrest and glance at Luke every now and again as he drives Sabrina. He has that one-hand feel on the steering wheel and the other rest comfortably in mine on the gearshift.

“I had a lot of fun today,” I mumble, unable to speak any louder.

A smile etches its way to Luke’s face. “Me too.” He takes a quick glance at me and then lifts our hands to plant a kiss on my knuckles. “Our band’s house is closer, you want to stop there and get us dry before you go home?”

I hum softly, letting my eyes fall shut for a moment. Luke’s thumb grazing the back of my hand almost lulls me to sleep until he curses before the car comes to a halt. He pulls his hand away from mine and when I look up, the driveway and street in front of the enormous white-brick house is filled with dozens of cars.

“Fuck, I forgot about the album wrap party,” he grumbles and then looks over at me. I’m shivering from the cold and exhaustion. “I can’t let you drive home like that.”

I’m unsure if he’s talking to me or pondering out loud, but I shake my head instead. “It’s fine,” I say. “My house isn’t that far away… I think…”

“No, y/n. I’m not letting you drive home exhausted and cold.” His voice is stern, yet laced with a bit of worry. “You’re gonna come in and I’m– I’m gonna bring you up to my room. You can dry off there and maybe take a nap or something. Yeah! Yeah, that’s it!” He sounds way too excited about something so banal.

He hops out of the car and quickly jogs over to my side whilst I’m already opening the door. Before I could react, he tugs me towards the house. I can barely get my bearings or take the time to look where I’m going before I’m pulled into a room.

“There are shirts and joggers in the dresser over there, pick out whichever you like and then take a nap or something. I’ll be back before you know it.” He kisses my cheek and then dashes towards the door.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?”

He lets go of the door handle and slowly turns towards me. His eyes are laced with regret as he takes in the sight in front of him. I must look ridiculous with my hair and clothes wet and bags under my eyes.

“Please, y/n? I can’t have people know about us, okay? I just – can’t…”

Turning on his heel, he opens the door and leaves me in his bedroom all alone. I take a minute to let the information process in my brain before turning around and taking in the room I’m in.

The walls are painted white, except for the one wall behind his bed that’s a muted dark blue. His bed is king size and on either side is a nightstand. I inch closer to the one that’s actually filled with stuff, which I’m assuming is the one he uses most. Nightstand contents often tell a lot about a person. His contains the band’s autobiography, “Bruce Springsteen: All The Songs” and “Beach Read” by Emily Henry, the book I started the other week and shared on Instagram Stories.

Would he have seen that and decided to read it too?

Shaking the ridiculous thought out of my head, I move over to his dresser and take out a pair of joggers and his Rush muscle tank I’ve seen him in many a time during gigs. I peel my drenched clothes off my body and get into Luke’s freshly washed ones. They smell of his laundry products. It’s a fresh and calming scent.

For a while, I look around his room. The books on the shelves and the pictures on the walls, most of which of the band and some of him and Carrie Wilson. There had been a rumor about him dating the Instagram Influencer, but I’d never believed it until I saw her face pop up in some of the framed photos in his room.

I decide to go and venture about the house since all the commotion seems to be outside in the garden. I weave through hallway upon hallway, finding more photos and more things that belong to the band. The living room walls are adorned with platinum records and other awards they’d won over the two years they’d been active in the music industry. I can’t help but feel a sense of pride rush over me. That’s my favorite band right there. That’s the boy I’ve fallen in love with.

“Excuse me – Who are you?”

The voice makes me jump out of my skin. I thought everyone was outside. When I look up, I find the perfectly flawless face of Carrie Wilson. Her long, blonde hair cascades into curls down her shoulders and back while her round, brown eyes stare at me with intent and curiosity.

“Oh, sorry. I’m y/n. I–” I stop myself, remembering Luke didn’t want anyone to know about us. That includes his girlfriend – or ex-girlfriend.

Carrie’s mouth curls up into an amused, curious smile, catching onto what’s happening. “You’re Luke’s new adventure, aren’t you?” I huff out the breath I was holding. It’s a telling huff, I’m sure. “You are…” She trails off and inspects me for a second before continuing. “Just so you know, it’s not going to work. Luke’s too infatuated with this lifestyle of his. He loves his job, he loves his stardom. He loves it too much to ever focus on a partner. Believe me, we tried.”

I exhale at the use of her past tense, but then all the other information downs on me. Luke’s life is so much different from mine. While I work several jobs to pay for college and still live with my dad, he lives by himself and tours the world. He’s too busy to start anything serious with me. Whatever happened in the last few days was just temporary.

“You seem sweet, y/n, so I’m going to be frank. Get out before it’s too late. You’re only gonna get hurt if you’re gonna stay.” As she passes me, she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

If my brain wasn’t going a mile a second about everything she’s telling me, I would be caught off guard by how sweet Carrie Wilson is. She’s always portrayed as this complete ego-centric bitch who used people to her advantage.

The exhaustion taking over, I shuffle back upstairs and sit down on Luke’s bed but when I hear the commotion outside die down and guitar strums float through the air into the house, I grow curious. I get up from the bed and make a beeline towards the ceiling-to-floor glass doors that give out onto a balcony. I carefully open the door and step out, the summer breeze tickling my skin while Luke’s voice reaches my ears.

The balcony looks out onto the garden, it’s just out of sight from where everyone’s huddled up around the band. I lean my elbows on the bannister and watch on as Luke’s voice floated through the air.

“I'm no superman I can take your hand And fly you anywhere you wanna go, yeah I can read your mind Like a billboard sign And tell you everything you wanna hear, but I'll be your hero”

I smile at the memory of us in the studio yesterday. The last few days have been perfect. Just… Perfect. And now this girl has to come and ruin it by pulling me back into reality.

“Cause I, I can be everything you need If you're the one for me, like gravity, I'll be unstoppable I, yeah I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy without his soul But if you're the one for me Then I'll be a hero Oh, I'll be a hero, yeah I'll be a hero”

It’s not that Carrie isn’t right. She is. Luke is way too busy with the band and his fame and everything around it. He doesn’t have time or room between those things for me. Not for an ordinary girl. Not for anyone.

“So incredible Some kinda miracle That when it's meant to be, I'll become a hero, oh So I'll wait, wait, wait, wait for you”

Luke’s eyes meet mine as he hits that high note and his mouth curls up into that beautiful smile I’ve come to love. Once again, I’ve fallen in love with someone who would never reciprocate those feelings. If I don’t get out now, I’m going to get hurt.

“Yeah I'll be a hero Cause I, I can be everything you need If you're the one for me, like gravity, I'll be unstoppable I, yeah I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy without his soul But if you're the one for me I'll be a hero Yeah, yeah I'll be a hero, yeah I'll be a hero Hero”

As the last notes of his song ring out into the night, I grab my still wet clothes and my keys Luke left on the dresser, and then leave the house. My heart breaks with every step I take, but I know it’s what’s best for me. It’s what’s best for both of us. There’s no room for me in his life. Like he said, he’s no superman, he can’t handle this many things at once. Not even a hero would be able to.

Everything taglist:

@wanniiieeee @phantompogues

JATP taglist:

@hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @charliesmountains @thedarkqueenofavalon @calamitykaty @caitsymichelle13 @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @stellasmusa @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @pxperphxntom @crybabyddl @crybabyddl @headheartbellarke @authentic-gillespie @happinessinthedarkesttimes @bright-molina @rangerelik @cordeliascrown @willex-owns-my-heart @fangirlangioma @frickin-bats @flower-name @jaskiers-sweetkiss @jandthephantoms @kelpwithawhy @the-hufflepuff-hunter @lookingthroughmirrors @buckybarnesishot310 @echocharm17618 @littlemissaddict @mystic-writings @joynerxmercer @brooke0297 @magicalxdaydream @musicianspiritsblog @bexxy @ruvaitkevicius @whitetigerlover17 @stressyanddepressysimp @talk-on-the-street @theolivekiddo @sunsetcurvej @teti-menchon0604 @candycornmgg @gray_jato

Charlie/Luke taglist:

@lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @perfectlywrongformend3s @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98 @myfriendscallmebeans @rachmmb @whitemanshoe19 @killerqueenfan

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatpsongficfeb #luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson fic #luke jatp #luke patterson x fem!reader #modern!au #StarStruck

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elisende · 4 years ago

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Songs in the Night (3/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion, Wyll, Gale

Rating: M

Words: 1627

Summary: Halsin and Langoth fight for their lives--and souls--on the fugue plane while in the Underdark Gale struggles to complete the ritual to bring them back to life.

They had only to persevere long enough for revival. To clasp hands at the precise moment the last words were spoken on the material plane.

But in the shadow of the dragon’s enormous form, blasted by the heat that radiated from its black sides as though from a blazing furnace, that seemed nigh impossible.

“Behind me,” Halsin said to the ranger, grimacing against the dragon’s roar. Instead, Langoth stood beside him, drawing his bow. Although his longsword and dagger had not survived the fatal journey between planes, his ironwood bow was imbued with deep magic and a brother’s love and had traveled with the soul of its owner to this purgatory. Seeing it in his hands gave him heart.

Langoth loosed an arrow at the ancient styx dragon’s neck; it merely plinked off its armored scales.

The dragon seemed to chuckle, exhaling plumes of flame with its laughter. Your spirits will make a meager meal but there is rich entertainment in watching you struggle, at least, said the dragon. It raised one clawed foot, blotting out the grey sky and Halsin dove, a line of white hot fire screaming across the back of his leg where the dragon’s spur caught his flesh. He yelled as its poison sank into muscle--his soul, in fact, for in this plane, body and soul were one.

The pain was vivid. Halsin opened himself to it, allowed it to sharpen his focus and turned back to the dragon. There was no weakness he could perceive, no gap in the undulant ranks of its black scales. But every dragon was tender around the muzzle and this one had foolishly lowered his, the better to watch him suffer. Halsin screamed again for effect, clutching his leg and the dragon sank even lower, its face in striking range. Marshaling all of his strength, Halsin drew the club from his back and threw it like a javelin into the dragon’s nose. It struck true, showering him a waterfall of hot, black blood, like tar.

The creature’s tortured shriek was terrible as it echoed across their minds. Halsin staggered over to Langoth, both his wound and his head on fire.

“When the time comes--whatever else should happen,” Halsin said, “You must take my hand.”

Before Langoth could reply, the dragon was upon them again. It was no longer toying with them: now it was out for blood. Only luck saved Halsin from being cut in two as he dove away--this time the dragon’s claws sliced through empty air.

How much longer? Langoth asked. He wove and tumbled around the dragon’s legs, avoiding its swiping claws with limber grace that might be a dance but for the raging dragon above them.

The monster busy with Langoth, Halsin ignored the throbbing pain in his leg and closed his eyes for a moment to test the link he’d left to the plane where their bodies lay, lifeless.

...was a mad idea, what if they don’t come back at all? Across the planes, Astarion’s voice was watery and hollow, as though he were speaking from the other end of a very long sea cave.

Master Halsin’s nearly past the point of no return, looks like, Wyll said. Hells, what’s that on his leg?

Gale’s voice echoed more forcefully in Halsin’s mind. Less commentary, if you please, this does require a bit of focus, you know--Halsin, is that you? Is it time?

Almost, he thought, Be ready. He felt the wizard’s assent and turned back to the fray. Langoth had sunk an ice arrow into the dragon’s nostril and it was trying to scratch it away, howling from its sting.

Halsin dashed over to the ranger, avoiding the sweep of the dragon’s tail as it staggered and bellowed in blind rage. They would just have to hope the distraction lasted long enough to complete the ritual. Langoth looked shaken but unhurt, his keen eyes watchful. Even as the dragon roared above them, Halsin felt a surge of love, of humility in the face of its enormity: greater than any ancient guardian of the Fugue Plane, greater even than death. “It’s time,” he said. Their hands joined and he reached across the void again, to Gale.

What if it’s too late? Langoth said. He sensed the ranger’s despair.

“Just don’t let go. No matter what happens.”

In answer, Langoth interlaced his fingers and squeezed them tight. The druid shut his eyes and perceived, worlds away, Gale whispering the incantations that would bring their souls back.

Halsin, Langoth’s voice rang in his mind, sharp with fear.

He opened his eyes to see the dragon bearing down on them, its mouth open, throat welling with blue fire.

“Don’t let go,” Halsin said, even as every instinct screamed at him to break away, to dive to safety. Langoth gripped his hand so hard he feared his bones would bruise.

The styx dragon bore down on them, a gout of flame shooting from its maw. Halsin closed his eyes again. The ritual was nearly complete--a few words away, if Gale did not stumble.

I need to tell you something, Langoth said. While there’s time. I--

But before he could finish, darkness took them both.

“...breathing, that has to be a good sign, surely?”

Dim, green light danced around him. Langoth moaned and shut his eyes again. Cold, he was so cold. Everything from his waist up was agony: pain that throbbed, ached, stung, burned, and stabbed. From the waist down, all was numb.

“Langoth,” Wyll said. He heard the warlock approach but couldn’t bear to open his eyes again. His voice sounded distant. “Hells, he’s properly torn up. Here, give us that potion.”

A hand cradled his head, tipped it back, and another held a phial of healing potion to his bloodied lips. It slid down his throat and he sighed as it took effect, restoring life to his stiff limbs. A sickening crunch as his spine reknit itself and sensation rushed back to his legs. He shivered. It felt as though he’d never be warm again.

“Halsin,” he said, remembering. The fugue plane, the dragon, the blue flames--he struggled to his hands and knees and collapsed with a groan.

“It’s alright, mate. Halsin is just there, look.” Wyll pointed to the other corner of the courtyard, where the druid was staggering to his feet, shaking his thick mane of hair and rubbing his face. Langoth sank back down in relief. They had made it, somehow.

“I’m fine too,” Astarion said. “If you were wondering. I also nearly died, on your behalf. Again.”

“Thank the gods,” Langoth rasped with a smile. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply--real air, again. Even though it was centuries stale and stank of fungus and dead minotaur, there was no sweeter smell.

“Actually, thank Gale,” the wizard said, approaching with Halsin by his side. “It was a very near thing, indeed. Suppose I owed you for all the times you’ve pulled me back from death’s door.”

The druid leaned over him and took Langoth’s icy hands between his own. “Thank you,” Langoth whispered.

Halsin laid a hand on his chest. “Don’t speak. You need food. Your soul has been too long in Kelemvor’s kingdom and needs to be fully restored.”

“And nothing better for that than a nice warming mug of soup,” Gale said. “I would know. I shall see to it.”

An arm around Halsin’s waist, Langoth limped past the minotaur corpses laid out on blood slick flagstones to sit in the fort’s cozy refectory by the fire that Gale had set roaring with a cantrip.

“Rest here,” Halsin said, helping into a dusty leather chair which was surprisingly comfortable, considering its age. “But don’t sleep yet. Your soul’s connection to your body is still too tenuous.”

“Stay with me?” he asked. Their eyes met and warmth spread through him; heat not just from the roaring fire. Gale busied himself nearby with the cooking, humming tunefully as he banged pots and spoons and asking Astarion if he might use his dagger to mince the garlic.

Halsin eased down beside Langoth on a rickety bench, favoring one leg.

“The dragon?” It still hurt to speak.

Halsin nodded, wincing as he settled onto the bench. “It will mend, in time.”

“Did I hear the word dragon?” Wyll said. “I think that might be next on my list, having taken down a minotaur single handedly.”

Astarion shot him an acid look from across the room.

“Well, almost single handedly. Alright, you lot all helped.”

“Your magnanimity, Wyll, is as ever, inspirational,” Gale said, magicking a stream of hot water into the cookpot.

Langoth laughed, and felt a little warmer still. It was good, he reflected, to be alive. The heady scent of garlic and onions sizzling over the fire reached his nose and his stomach growled.

“Well, our foray into the Underdark is off to a wonderful start,” Astarion said from the shadows. “I just can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps decapitation?” He met Langoth’s eye.

“Stop sulking in the corner, Astarion,” Langoth said. “We survived, didn’t we?”

The vampire spawn scoffed but he approached and even sat on the bench with Halsin. At the opposite end, but it was a start.

“Mad idea, coming down here,” Astarion said, looking moodily into the fire. He turned to Langoth and with unexpected emotion said, “We almost lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Langoth said. “And we will make it to Moonrise Towers.”

He did not fail to observe the expression of foreboding on Halsin’s weathered features. He’d never seen the druid look so tired. Again, he perceived there was something he was holding back, some unspoken burden he carried. Langoth took his hand but he only patted it absently, staring into the dark.

#halsin #bg3 halsin #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #halsin/omc #langoth #baldur's gate gale #wyll #astarion

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its-all-in-the-cards · 5 years ago

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“Ugh. I really could care less about all of this shameless flirting, were it not for the public displays of affection being shoved before my eyes. Please keep that for a more private setting, everyone, some of us don’t want to see these things... it is not proper.”

#let's have a word (ic dash commentary)#god she's such a killjoy #i love it

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tyrantisterror · 5 years ago

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TT’S GONNA RECOMMEND SOME SELF-PUBLISHED KAIJU FICTION

Because the mood struck me

(and also because I’ve been meaning to give these a full fledged reviews for a RIDICULOUSLY LONG TIME and I’m kind of embarrassed how long it’s been taking so I figure if I do some quickies I’ll feel less bad about myself as a person ok LET’S GO)

I’m gonna start with the Daikaiju Yuki series by Raffael Coronelli, because its first entry was also the first self published kaiju novel I read. This series is fun and fast paced, with wonderful characters and dynamic storylines in a highly unique setting: a post-post apocaylptic world, where humanity has rebuilt civilization after a kaiju war hundreds of years ago destroyed the old one (i.e. ours). The protagonist of the series, Yuki, partners up with one of the few kaiju who decided to defend humanity back in the kaiju war, a grouchy old bipedal lion named Narajin, and the two essentially fuse to fight various threats to their world with the other remaining members of the Pantheon Colossi (i.e. the protector kaiju).

(Our heroes, Yuki and Narajin, ready to conquer your kaiju-fan heart)

For newbies, this series covers a lot of kaiju tropes in an engaging and unique way that actually serves as a pretty decent primer for how this genre stands out from other monster fiction. For experienced kaiju fans, the new twists author Raffael Coronelli has put on the old tropes and the innovations he’s added solely of his own invention make for a take on the genre that is astoundingly fresh, managing the difficult task of paying homage to what came before while crafting something very new and distinct from it.

I also can’t stress enough how fun these books are. The characters grow on you very quickly, and the stories move at a lively pace that makes the books very easy to digest while still having a lot of substance. Also there’s a LOT of content to consume here, so if you find you like the first book, you’re in luck - because not only is there a lot more of what you liked in the other entries, but Coronelli’s writing has gotten even better with each installment.

Buy them here:

Daikaiju Yuki

Yuki Conquers the World

Yuki vs. Fleshworld

Mokwa: The Lifesblood of the Earth (a spinoff focusing on another member of the Pantheon Colossi - also has the best villain of the whole series IMO)

Scythian Frost (short story anthology in the same universe as Daikaiju Yuki)

Pharoah of Eels (novella in the same universe as Daikaiju Yuki)

BONUS: I’m gonna link Coronelli’s Big Egg here because while it’s arguably more of a Weird West story than a kaiju story and not part of the Daikaiju Yuki series, it’s nonetheless VERY GOOD and kaiju-adjacent enough to feel relevant.

If you love it when kaiju stories go dark and experiment with body horror - and I know a good chunk of my followers here do, both from the posts you make and from the sheer number of body horror-riffic entries you’ve submitted to my Create a Kaiju Contests in the past - you owe it to yourself to read All Your Ruins by Alex Gayhart. It is a bleak kaiju story that leans as far into the horror as kaiju stories can, while still retaining many of a kaiju story’s hallmarks. You’ve got experimental robots, you’ve got a big lizard who shoots lasers from his mouth and has a few suprisingly poignant and tragic moments of pathos, you’ve got scenes of massive property damage - and you’ve also got scenes of people being torn apart by swarms of giant bugs, poisoned by toxic kaiju blood, assimilated into piles of fungus, and all other sorts of horrifying demises. If you want a kaiju story to send chills down your spine, this is your book.

I’m emphasizing the grim aspects of this story, but I also want to note that it avoids one of the pitfalls a lot of modern horror falls into, in that it balances all the horrific shit by having characters in it that you actually care about. It’s a tragedy, you know from the start things won’t end well, but some of the people involved in the conflict are so lovable and try so hard to survive that you root for them despite the prevailing sense of dread. It’s a gloomy story, but it’s not the sort that makes everyone relentlessly awful - more George Romero Day of the Dead in tone than, say, the all consuming bleakness of The Walking Dead.

Also it’s got some killer illustrations. The main monster even takes the “bipedal lizard with dorsal spikes” visual in a direction so unique that it actually stands out against the progenitor of that design concept. That’s not the say the book depends on those illustrations, mind you - Gayhart’s prose isn’t afraid of laying it on thick every now and then to paint an appropriately distinct and horrific image with words. That might not be for all tastes, but as a person who’s read a LOT of classic horror literature, I personally appreciate it - a dash of melodrama in the description of the horrific, when used well, can make it very effective, and Gayhart put just enough in there to work very well for my tastes.

Buy it here:

All Your Ruins

BONUS: I’m going to recommend the two books in author Alex Gayhart’s Black Star Saga here as well. I haven’t actually fully read them yet - I bought the initial release where the two volumes were bundled together as one, and got sidetracked by LIFE BULLSHIT shortly after I started it (this happens to me too often while reading - I still need to finish Stephen King’s It and Marie Kondo’s books too), but I liked what I read, and from what I’ve heard the more recent editions made some big improvements to the story’s pacing. It’s the same quality of writing as Gayhart’s All Your Ruins, but with a less grim tone - more Ultraman and less Shin Godzilla.

The Black Star Saga Volume 1: 2525

The Black Star Saga Volume 2: Moonage Daydream

A lot of classic kaiju movies bring up the threat of giant monsters destroying all of civilization if they aren’t stopped, but almost none have shown them carry that threat through. In the Shadow of Extinction let’s that threat actually play out - you see the kaiju apocalypse begin and civilization as we know it end in the first third of the book. The remaining two thirds focuses on survivors picking up the pieces in a world now ruled by giants. It’s the kind of story you’d think there’d be more of in our genre, but outside of All Your Ruins and, uh, the Godzilla anime trilogy, there really aren’t that other takes out there.

While Gayhart’s All Your Ruins focuses on the horror aspect of a kaiju apocalypse, Kyle Warner’s In the Shadow of Extinction focuses on a political/crisis management angle. It’s like if Shin Godzilla had a baby with George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, and that baby had the “bureaucratic failings of big governments in the wake of national disasters” elements of the former and the “multiple different perspectives via a large cast of characters” format of the later. There’s no one protagonist in this one - you follow a large and diverse cast of characters from around the world and from pretty much all walks of life as they try to navigate a disaster that destroys society as it once was.

Once the civilization effectively ends in the first third of the novel, In the Shadow of Extinction transition from “disaster movie” to “post apocalyptic thriller,” like The Stand, Day of the Triffids, 28 Days Later, or, I dunno, a toned down version of Mad Max (but, y’know, with giant monsters, so I guess not THAT toned down). I bring this up because the content of the last two thirds takes after the tropes of post apocalyptic thrillers as much if not more so than kaiju stories - that is to say, there is some Triggering Content in this one. That’s not something to dissuade you - the characters and story remains very solid and unique for the kaiju genre - but it is something I feel you should be aware of, and if you want a more explicit description of what kind of Triggers I mean here, shoot me a message. Suffice to say, kaiju aren’t the only monsters when civilization breaks down here.

But Kaiju do remain prominent in the book nonetheless - it is ultimately a kaiju story more than anything else, and it’s impressive how the book manages to incorporate all those other influences as well as a heaping dose of political commentary without ever diminishing the presence of its monster stars.

Buy it here:

In the Shadow of Extinction

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to do what I should have done years ago and write some damn Amazon reviews for these so the authors can have a boost in Amazon’s search algorithms.

#Daikaiju Yuki #All Your Ruins #In the Shadow of Extinction

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heroquills-a · 6 years ago

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Dang man. It’s about time I hosted one of these, huh?

As of April 15th it will have marked an entire year i’ve been roleplaying in this community, and I gotta say it’s been a real blast. I’ve met so many awesome people, made such incredible friends, and have overall gained a lot of experience as a roleplayer that I’m super thankful for. All the ridiculous dash shenanigans, fun and interesting interactions, and emotionally gut-punching threads have been one heck of a ride and I’m definitely eager to continue on in this community for plenty of time to come. I figured, since this little anniversary is coming up soon, what better way to celebrate it than to host an event?

So what’s happening?

On Saturday, April 13th, Sonic’s gonna be throwing a big party for all his friends and acquaintances to come have fun!! It will be taking place in a rented ballroom hall on Mission Street (Central City), starting at 6 PM pacific time and ending 11 PM pacific time! Now, I know that sounds a bit fancy, but trust me. Sonic’s keepin’ it casual! fancy ballgowns and tuxes aren’t required for this shindig!

There will be plenty of fun activities for your muse to partake in! things including:

music & dancing!

a snack bar, as well as dinner & dessert being served at some point in the night.

party games such as musical chairs, charades, truth or dare, never have i ever!

face painting, courtesy of Tails the Fox! 🦊

karaoke!

an indoor pool!

alcoholic beverages (but only served after a certain time so ppl can avoid it if they want)

and of COURSE a talent show!

basic guidelines will be as followed, although you can ask more questions about the event itself over at @party-event (which i highly encourage you to follow if you’re planning to participate because it will contain very crucial information you’ll need to stay in the loop of things during the event itself. you will also be able to have your muse sign up for the talent show here as well.)

PLEASE READ:

duplicates, AUs, villain characters, and OCs are allowed, but they all must be sonic related! sorry to any followers who have a muse from a different fandom !! ;o;

don’t godmode/infomod/whatever you know the basics.

villain characters are NOT allowed to disturb the peace/use this as an opportunity to cause harm for other characters/make villainous schemes. however, harmless mischief is absolutely encouraged, just make you run it by the mun of the characters you plan to mess with first and ofc don’t do anything they don’t want you to do to their muse

do not start any fights at the party. if your muse has beef with another person’s muse and for some reason you can’t keep ‘em under control, your muses will be forced to leave the party till they settle their conflict.

this goes for OOC too. don’t start drama/arguments OOC. don’t harass other muns. if i catch anyone doing this you will be banned from the rest of the event. no exceptions. lets just keep this a peaceful fun event, yeah?

this event will be taking place here on tumblr, so i encourage EVERYONE who participates to tag their posts as #party event. not only so i can track the tag and pay attention to everyone who participates, but also so people who wish to block the tag so it’s not spammed all over their dash can do so. PLEASE tag your posts, this will be very crucial.

there will be a discord server too, however it won’t be for RP reasons. IF you plan to have your muse participate in the talent show, it’s required that you join this server so that we can discuss the performance line up. this server will also be used to commentate OOC on stuff during the party too, and for you to chat and mingle with other muns, and also will allow you to find people to interact with if you’re struggling ! this server will be opened a few days before the event takes place so there is time to prepare.

remember, you can learn MORE about the rp party over at @party-event. it will be a very useful tool for you and will contain all the info you need to know for this thing. and remember, tag all posts regarding the event as #party event so i can track it and so ppl can blacklist it.

Secondly, a movie.

what, did you think that was all that there would be? nah man! on the 14th, the day after the party, I’m planning to stream Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse on rabbit!! this movie has become one of my top favorites as of late and i’ve been wanting to stream it for a hecking while! so, at 7PM pacific time, I’ll be streaming it. anyone is welcome to join !! it just note, it wont be an IC stream. you’re free to have your muse make crack commentary of course, but this is mostly just an OOC stream for muns to come and hang out and watch a movie. sound good?

important note about the movie itself: it contains a lot of flashing colors and imagery, so if you are someone who is sensitive to that/deals with epilepsy i strongly warn you to take caution in watching this film, if you haven’t seen it already.

ALRIGHT. i think that just about covers everything. thank you so much for reading and i’m looking forward to seeing everyone who joins in on the fun !! you know the drill, if you could maybe spread this around a little bit and get the word out there, that’d be real great! thank you so much!!

~Blu.

#🌀 — later guys! i’m outta here! ❪ ooc. ❫#sonic rp #sonic rp event #rp event #long post #party event #hooo boy howsy #i was considering giving up on this thing but hhh its too fun to pass up #i hope it sounds fun im honestly still really excited for this thing #alrighty well here we go #baby's first real attempt at an rp event

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zmediaoutlet · 6 years ago

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presumption

Title: presumption Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: E Length: ~6,700 words Tags: Season/Series 12, Established Relationship, Rape Mention, Bottom Sam

After killing Hitler, Sam and Dean take a day to celebrate. Sam's got a plan for how the evening's going to go.

(read on AO3)

After they kill Hitler—or, no, Sam thinks to himself. After Dean kills Hitler, because it's not like Dean's going to let him forget it for the next ten years. They're driving even faster than usual, a bright morning in Ohio blurring into a brighter afternoon in Indiana, and Sam's suffering through Dean's celebration mixtape in mostly-good humor. They saved the day, more or less. Girl survived, and the Thule were defeated, and—

"Hey, Sam," Dean shouts, grinning at the open road. The windows are half-down and the highway wind's loud, almost as loud as If You Want Blood screaming through the speakers. "Sam! Guess what!" Sam rolls his eyes, very deliberately, but Dean's undimmed. "I killed Hitler!"

"No way!" Sam calls back, and shakes his head as Dean laughs and cranks the volume a notch higher. Hard not to follow Dean into that good of a mood, no matter how ridiculous he gets. They've got nowhere to be, other than back home, and they saved the day, and the bad guys lost, and they lived. Dean lived. Another night conquered. Anymore, that's enough for Sam. No matter what size of bad guy they took down. Dean's drumming along on the steering wheel and Sam taps his thumb on his thigh, letting the wind blow his hair back. Pie for breakfast. Days can start worse.

Lunch outside Chicago, deep dish that's worth waiting almost an hour for. Sam starts looking for a new job. Across the table, Dean's following football commentary with every evidence of enjoyment, nursing his beer, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Sam keeps watching him instead of reading. Sometimes he's just—pinned down. A thumb right on top of his heart, slowing the beat down and reminding him, look. Look, here. Look what you've got. Dean's eyes flick over and catch Sam watching, and these days Sam doesn't look away, because he doesn't have to. "Aren't you supposed to be finding something exciting for me to kill?" Dean says, bottle tipped toward Sam's laptop. "Not that you could ever top, uh, hi," he stumbles, interrupted by the waitress replacing Sam's iced tea.

"Thank you," Sam says, smiling at the girl (a blush—teenagers). He squeezes lemon into the tea, catching the seeds with his fingers. Once she's gone he points a concerned look at Dean. "You know, maybe we should've been a little less selfish back there." Dean frowns. "Called Aaron, gotten him to come out and kill the big guy. He's actually Jewish. You kind of stole his thunder."

Dean's eyes get big and he sets his beer down with a clack on the metal table. "No, you don't get to PC me," Dean says, warning. Sam bites the inside of his cheek. "We couldn't wait, okay—look, I mean, I'll call him and let him know, happy Hanukkah or whatever, but—look—finders keepers, damn it!"

"Finders keepers?" Sam says, and can't keep his grin down anymore, and Dean's mouth drops open before he kicks Sam under the table. "Ow!"

"You suck, you know that?" Dean relaxes back into his half of the booth again, swiping his beer off the tabletop. Sam gets another offended point of the bottle. "Chief pin-holder in the balloon factory, that's you."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, sucking the lemon juice off his fingers, and he's rewarded by Dean's eyes dropping quick, a flick of tongue over Dean's lower lip. He turns back to the football but his ears are pink. Sam wipes his fingers dry on his jeans and smiles smaller down at the laptop. Yeah, Dean's in a good mood. Better mood than he's been in for—weeks. Longer. Sam's missed it. Truth is, Sam's missed a little more than that, but it hasn't exactly been easy lately. Maybe that's about to turn around.

Their mom being around, while it lasted, that was—yeah. Weird didn't begin to cover it. Now Dean's texting her and Sam's getting a word in, once in a while, and things are better. Dean's acting less like the universe sucker-punched him every morning. Lots of things are going wrong, lots of things always are, but this past week or two has been okay. Finally. Sam's ready for things to get back to normal. At least, as normal as things ever are. He's long since stopped pretending that real normal's on the menu, and he wouldn't want it even if it were. Dean downs the last few swallows from his bottle and Sam watches his throat, his thumb swiping the wet off his lip. Normal really is overrated.

When lunch is over, it looks like the Broncos are going to have a decent season and Sam's got a line on something that could sort of maybe be a case up by St. Cloud. "Worth checking up on, anyway," he says, and Dean shrugs and slaps cash on the table and they're gone, out of the restaurant, out of the town.

Feels like—years ago. Before the bunker, maybe. Driving easy, the world a bright smear and the sun setting over the Impala's hood. Music playing and both of them in a good mood and nowhere to be, not really. Sam closes his eyes, slouches way down and tips his head back on the seat, his knees pressed up against the dash. "Oh, you passin' out on me?" Dean says, shoving at his shoulder, and Sam smiles, rocks with the push. They're on Zeppelin now, because Dean doesn't know how to celebrate without Robert Plant. "Pick a motel before we get there," Sam says back, "I don't want to sleep in the car tonight." This version of Bring It On Home is off of How the West was Won, Sam's pretty sure. Sounds about right.

Sam's got a plan, or something like it. His turn to celebrate, too. They pull into St. Cloud around nine that night. Starting to get colder. Dean wants to pick up a game of pool, just for fun, and so Sam follows him to a dive and has two beers sitting with his back to the bar, eyes on Dean's hands on the cue, on his hips, on the quick wide grin. He's not hustling, because hustlers aren't supposed to show off nearly that much. At least the guy's not too upset about losing. Dean pops his eyebrows at Sam, tipping his cue back and forth between his hands, and Sam sighs for show and slides off the stool, brings over two fresh beers and says, "You look like a dork, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one," Dean says, snatching the bottle out of his hand, "and just for that I'm not gonna let you break."

"You never let me break," Sam says, leaning a hip against the hard plastic of the corner pocket, and Dean racks them quick and professional and gives Sam a shit-eating smile. The crack of the break is so clean and perfect that Sam feels it in his chest. The nine drops into the other corner. "You're stripes," he says, bringing his bottle to his mouth, and Dean looks at him with the tip of his tongue between his teeth and nods, smile tipping somehow, turning into some other thing.

Country playing, here, but at least it's old country, twangy and unpolished. Dean's going in order, just to be an asshole, but he's not calling his shots because it's not like Sam doesn't know what he's going to go for. Sam crosses his arm over his chest. Ten a tricky angle into the side pocket, eleven a bankshot that slams into the far corner so hard the guy at the closest table looks over, startled. Twelve's lined up easy for a smooth kiss into the corner opposite Sam, and Dean comes around the table, looks from the cue up into Sam's face. Sam raises his eyebrows and doesn't budge, and Dean huffs, shakes his head, and comes in close, leans his hip on the table and angles the cue across his chest, sights down the wood to pop the cue with just a touch of English and it—yeah, the twelve drops in like a dream… and the cue ball follows, right after.

"Shit," Dean mutters. Sam knocks him with his hip, steals the cue out of his hand. He's glaring at the pocket, like the scratch was its fault. "Made me do that."

"Keep telling yourself that," Sam says, just behind Dean's ear. Dean gives him a quick glance, startled, and Sam rounds the table to reset the cue. Maybe a little much, for being in public. They don't, usually. He just can't help it. First time in ages everything's felt like it was going right. He picks his spot and lines up to knock the one into the left-side pocket. "Tell you what," he says, leaning in to check the angles. "Loser buys the next round."

"Sure you got the cash on you?" Dean says, propping his elbow on the nearest stool. He's watching Sam, now, careful. Sam takes a breath, and smiles, and takes the shot without looking. At the smooth click of the ball dropping Dean shakes his head. "You're on, sucker."

Little curl of warm pools in Sam's belly. "I'd like an IPA, I think," he says, thoughtful, and Dean rolls his eyes and comes in closer to lean over the table and mock Sam's skills, and—yeah. Yeah, this is going to happen.

Motel's a hole, like most of them are, and that's familiar too. Two beds, because that's what they always get, what they've always gotten whether things between them were good or bad, and Dean's complaining about Sam cheating again while he drops his jacket on the bed closer to the door, the six-pack they stopped off for clinking down onto the mattress. Sam keeps chewing the inside of his lip. God, it's been a long time. Since before—what? Before Mom came back, definitely. But even before that, when Chuck—God—Chuck, whatever, when he (He?) was in the bunker with them, too. No privacy, no space, and then after. Lucifer and Amara and everything.

Dean's dumping his pockets on the bedside table and gives Sam a look where he's just leaned into the entryway. "What, are you part of the architecture now? Come in already."

Sam comes in. There's a radio on the little kitchenette counter—why?—and he flicks it on, tunes it to the first oldies station he finds. The Stones, okay. "You want to shower?" he says, and Dean pauses and rubs the back of his neck before he says, "No, you go ahead."

Easing in slow. Okay. Sam takes his time, cleans everything, stands there with his arms wrapped around himself to stretch his back and lets the shower pound into the center of his shoulderblades. A little higher than most showers. It's nice. He shaves and tucks his hair behind his ears and thinks about that day, in the cemetery. When he thought—when Dean looked at him, and in front of Castiel and everyone they couldn't say a thing. What would there be to say, when it came to the end. Somehow he'd never thought about it. What he remembers is Dean's breath, warm on his shoulder through his coat. He touches that spot, leaning hard for a second against the sink, and he just—wants him. All his stupid life, no matter when he tried to ignore it, when it had to be set aside. Blood on white cloth. Undeniable.

When Sam comes out, Dean's sitting on the bed with a beer at his left hand, his boots off, Sam's laptop on his knees. The radio's turned off. Just as well, a screechy car commercial during sex isn't exactly a turn-on. "You better not be looking at porn," Sam says, leaning into the doorway, and Dean's eyes jump from the screen to skitter startled up Sam's bare legs, over the towel to his bare chest. The light's not great in here but it's enough to see his throat bob. That's enough for Sam.

"Not, uh," Dean tries, stumbles, and puts the laptop on the bedside table. He sits up more, one foot dropping down to the floor, and when Sam sits down on the edge of the bed by him he takes a deep breath, like he's gearing up for something. Skittish, somehow, and Sam goes slow, puts careful fingers to Dean's knee and then slides up, to his thigh, wrapping his fingers around to the back of the solid muscle. Dean's lips part and Sam plants his hand on the bed, leans in. Dean's smell, day's-end strong, the fine lines beside his eyes that he frowns at in the mirror when he thinks Sam can't see. His jaw, his mouth. Sam licks his lips, leans in and presses his mouth to Dean's—finally, god, so soft and careful it feels like—well, not the first time, that was so rough both of them bled. It feels like something else new, something that curls its hand around Sam's heart, and Dean puts both hands to Sam's bare chest and kisses him back, once, and then pulls away and says, soft and uncertain, "You don't have to, Sammy."

It doesn't make sense for a second. "Hm?" Sam hangs there, close, and when he blinks Dean's eyes are pinned firmly down at his own lap, and Sam does pull back an inch or two, then, his brain catching up. He's already at half-staff just being this close. "What do you mean?"

His back's already to the headboard, but Dean scoots back toward it anyway. "I just—" His jaw clenches, in that way where he's frustrated and trying not to show it. "You just, you don't have to—to do this. Come on, we're having a few brews, we can catch a movie or something, it's a good night."

He still isn't looking up, something fascinating apparently happening in that grease-spot on his jeans. Sam frowns, straightening up. "It's a good night," he repeats. He lets his hand fall away from Dean's leg and he does get a glance, for that, embarrassed almost—or worried? Some variable's missing from this equation, some detail he doesn't know. In their lives, Dean has actually rejected him twice, and once Sam deserved because he was being jealous and an idiot—same thing, basically—and the other—"Are you hurt?" he says, pulling his knee up on the bed, looking Dean over more carefully. He didn't think anything had happened, certainly not anything like that, but Dean's managed to hide things from him before.

"No, I'm not—" Dean rolls his eyes, swivels around on the bed so he's got two socked feet on the carpet, his elbows on his knees. "I'm just—I'm just, you know, I'm trying to say. You don't have to, okay, I'm not—we don't have to."

He's all tension. Sam wishes now that he were wearing a shirt. Towel seduction works a lot better with a receptive audience. He knots his hand in the towel, makes sure it stays in place, scoots a few inches further away on the bedspread. The air's cold on his damp shoulders, a drip of water coursing down from his hair leaving a trail of ice. "Are we—done?" he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. Hard, when it feels like the bottom's falling out of the world.

Sex isn't everything. Sex isn't even in the top five things, though Dean would—he thought—berate him for saying so. Ever since their dad died, though, that's been part of them, part of how they talked to each other, and no matter how bad it got that was something they always understood, with each other. Even if it hurt. Even if it sometimes was miserable, after. Dean shakes his head, rubs his hands over his face, and this isn't I'm tired or I've got a headache. Dean insists that sex is good for headaches, anyway. Sam would get up, would move away and let him have space, except that for a few seconds he's not sure his legs will work. He doesn't know how to lose this, too.

"I don't want you do anything you don't want to do," Dean says, deliberate, like he's been practicing it, and Sam's so turned around now he doesn't even know what's going on. Dean's shoulders lift, a huge breath taken in, and then he sits up and looks Sam square-on. Facing something he can't stand, but doing it anyway. Sam never wanted that look turned on him, ever again. "Cas told me, when he healed you. I didn't want to say anything, not with Mom there and everything—"

Sam cuts a hand through the air. "Cas told you what?"

Dean blinks, jaw working again. "That Brit bitch," he says, after a second. "He saw, somehow. That she made you—that she—god, Sammy, don't make me say it."

The last month shifts, tilting so hard on its axis in Sam's memory that he literally can't speak. Dean, worried and furious. Ready to burn down the British Men of Letters, angrier even than Sam was, and distant, focused on their mom, and then focused on the loss of her. "I thought it was because Mom was here," Sam says, finally. "Not because Toni fucked me."

Dean closes his eyes and the blank confusion locking Sam into himself disappears in an instant. "Are you kidding?" he says. "Are you—what? Are you holding that against me?"

He stands up, a surge of something rocketing into his chest. Disbelief, mainly, and he really goddamn wishes he weren't just wearing a towel.

"No," Dean says, and whatever's in Sam's face must broadcast that it's pretty hard to believe because Dean stands up, then, running his hands over his head to hook behind his neck. "No. God, Sam! Give me more credit than—I just, I remembered that time in Ridgefield and I just…" He trails off, closes his eyes like something's paining him. "Not this time."

Ridgefield. Sam takes a step back, has to look away from Dean's face, giving himself space to think. Ridgefield. What happened? They were there—years ago, and a lifetime crammed between then and now, and he doesn't remember whatever could be putting that so-sorry expression on Dean. That's for later, though, or never, because the injustice of right this second is still bubbling up his throat. "What happened with Toni didn't even happen," he gets out. "It was all in my head, or—or in her head, some vision. Not real. When I woke up I still had my damn jeans on, Dean. I don't deserve to get punished for that."

Under his breath, Dean says, "Shit," and Sam looks up to find him still half-curled over himself, hands braced behind his bed. Posing for the police. He's staring at the floor, looking miserable. "Just because it didn't happen doesn't mean it didn't happen."

The pool of come slipping down his thigh where it was trapped inside his cold wet jeans. Sam's well aware. "I get to decide that," he says, and it comes out a lot sharper than he means it to. Dean's eyes jump up to his face. "So. You're trying to, what? Spare my feelings?" Dean's jaw clenches so hard it looks like it hurts. No wonder he's bad at poker. So many fucking tells. Sam folds his arms over his chest. "Time out, for my own good? I'm not a kid anymore, Dean."

His eyebrows swoop together, his eyes going tight. "I know, Sam," he says, hands dropping down. "I just didn't want to fuck up this time, okay, sue me."

Frustrated—well, fine, Sam is too. Dean's shoulders square up like he's ready for a fight, and Sam feels some retort leaping up to his tongue before he bites it down, physically, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. His heart's beating hard, suddenly, the annoyance too strong, and this wasn't supposed to go this way, damn it. "Damn it," he says, on an explosion of breath, and then he takes the two long paces across the ugly carpet and gets right in Dean's space, makes him crane his head back to keep meeting Sam's eyes. He's flushed, upset in the tight line of his mouth, but he's standing toe to toe with Sam and he's not backing down. "I want to have sex with you," Sam says, plain, slow like Dean's simple. That always drives Dean nuts and, sure enough, his eyelids flicker like he wants to sock Sam in the jaw. "That good enough? Need me to write out a contract?"

"Fuck off, Sam," Dean says, and Sam grabs him by the jaw and ducks down and kisses him. Hard press of their mouths together, Dean almost snarling for a second before his lips part, easy. They always do. Sam licks in, shoves his tongue in and presses close, his other hand dropping to pull Dean in by the small of his back. Dean's hands land on his waist, digging in, and when Sam scrapes his teeth over Dean's lip he gets a gasp, fingers going tight enough that it hurts, just a little. He's leaning into Dean, leaning over him, and when Dean takes a staggering step back they move together, his thighs pressing right up against Dean's, and there's a jostle when Dean runs into the table between the two beds and they nearly tip over. Sam has to slam his hand against the wall above the lamp, Dean keeping upright by his grip on Sam's waist. The towel drops and Dean yanks back from Sam's mouth, pants up into his face, hot puffs of beery air, his eyes searching Sam's. Still on edge, and Sam is too, and that's fine with Sam if it's fine with—and Dean lifts up and finds his mouth again, plush warm welcome, biting Sam this time, and Sam pulls them upright and gets his hands on Dean's ass, squeezing hard through the denim. Yes, yes—fuck, finally. This is all he wanted.

Not—everything, though. Sam wraps an arm around Dean's waist and spins them around, kisses Dean one more time and then shoves him so he falls back onto the empty bed. "Fuck," Dean gasps out, losing his air, but he starts wrestling his shirts off when Sam goes for his belt. Buckle undone, unzipped, and Sam shoves his hand down under the waistband of his boxer-briefs and finds that familiar hot curve of his dick, trapped and needing, not hard all the way yet but getting there. Dean's slow to rise, now, and Sam's patient most of the time but now he grips him hard and insistent, leans over the bed and meets Dean popped up on his elbows, kisses him filthy, sucks his tongue once with a nasty spit noise that makes Dean's hips flinch up into his grip. Yeah. "Stay right here," Sam says against his mouth, threat under it, and Dean groans when Sam lets him go.

Bag, bag—there, on the other bed, and Sam unzips and dumps it out, shoving away his half-clean shirts and socks until he finds his dopp kit and in there, yes, the lube he'd been carrying hopeful for the last how many hundreds of miles of crisscrossing this fucking country. When he turns around Dean's shoving his jeans and briefs down, his pretty dick laying heavy and hard across his hip while he struggles to get the tangle of fabric down his thighs and Sam's mouth floods so fast with spit that he has to swallow before he can breathe again. No, though, not this time. He knocks Dean's hands away and knees up quick on the bed, sinking deep into the cheap mattress on either side of Dean's hips, and he grabs Dean's wrists and holds him still while he kisses him again. Dean lifts up into his weight, makes a small noise into his mouth. He's always liked being held, being held down, and Sam's never minded taking full advantage of that fact. Sam's dick presses in against Dean's thigh and Dean tries to spread his legs, squirming under Sam. Good plan—great plan, normally. Not tonight, though. Sam's got a point to prove. He drags his mouth over Dean's jaw, Dean breathing fast and heavy while Sam bites under his ear, bites his throat and sucks a harsh kiss against the sudden arch of his collarbone when his shoulders curve in.

It's hard to sit up, to push away and let cold air whoosh between them, but he does it. Dean's open-mouthed, staring up at him. Sam lets go of one wrist to fish on the bed for the lube and Dean's hand finds his chest, pets down until he gets his hand loose around Sam's dick. Light squeeze, familiar, and it feels—god, really good. Sam fucks into the grip and leans down over Dean, presses his dick down into the soft low curve of his belly, pushing over that warm skin. His balls lurch; his gut wants more. Dean's hand comes up to Sam's pec, rubbing, and his eyes are heavy enough now that he looks half-drunk. Perfect. Sam drops another kiss onto his mouth, a suck to his lower lip that drags out a soft moan, and then he fumbles open the lube one handed and lifts up, drizzling it all over Dean's dick, his balls, making a terrible mess and making Dean shiver, too, his skin shuddering up against Sam's. He drops the bottle on the bed and wraps his hand tight, jerking him slow and deliberate, dragging the skin, rubbing under the crown with his thumb, and Dean's wrist twists against his grip, his hips writhe between Sam's thighs. "Shit," he breathes, "god, Sam," and it's slick and hot, perfect. Sam looks down between them, Dean's dick shining in the shadow of his body, gleaming at the tip—mm, leaking already. He sits up higher, lets Dean's other arm go so he can swipe a finger over the wet and take a taste—bitter-salt, his mouth watering for it while Dean groans wildly and grasps at his thigh, his hip.

"Yeah," Sam says, splaying his hand over Dean's belly, and Dean reaches for him but he shakes his head. He lets go of Dean's dick and reaches behind himself, slick fingers finding his asshole and rubbing, pressing, and he watches Dean's face while he does it so he can see the realization dawn. It's slow in coming, Dean dick-stupid and wanting, but it comes—and it's good, Dean's eyes going wide and his hands sliding to Sam's hips, holding tight. Sam pushes inside, quick with two fingers, and oh—oh, it's weird, it always is. The nerves light up and his gut twists, his dick blood-full and still needy. They don't do it this way around, hardly ever, but when Sam wants it Dean's more than willing, and right now Sam's certainly not going to be denied. He pushes the wet inside, his hand so slick with lube he's making a mess. Dean's sopping wet already, so when he knees forward and grabs Dean around the base it's easy, almost, and he rubs the giving head against himself once, twice, just to see Dean's face go slack and wondering and then he—pushes, oh, down, breaking himself open in a not-so-smooth slide, letting his head drop down between his shoulders, feeling the weirdness of it all the way up his spine. God. Dean's hands pet down his thighs, slide back up and take his dick in a two-handed grip, and Sam's legs shudder before he gets used to it.

He gets his mouth wet, rolls his head on his shoulders. "Good?" he says, opening his eyes finally, and Dean huffs, searching his face. Sam covers Dean's hands with his, squeezes them. Inside him it's a strange throb, sticky-parted, and it hurts. He pulls Dean's hands off his dick, laces their fingers together, rocks his hips up and back down, a bare inch of tight drag that makes Dean's hands clench and his eyes flutter, and—ah, yeah. That's why people do this. Not his favorite, never will be, but oh, it's not bad, and he leans forward, carries Dean's hands with him and presses them flat to the bed on either side of Dean's head and starts to move, his dick pressed down into Dean's belly and grinding against the faint trail of hair, his body loosening up bit by bit. A kiss against Dean's jaw, the corner of his mouth, and Dean's breath is coming hard and deliberate, his teeth tug into his lip. "Hey," Sam murmurs, lifting up a little higher and pushing down, circling his hips. The sting's amazing but it feels—yeah. His gut pulses and he's all the way hard again, a smear of wet slicking up Dean's belly. "Tell me. Feel good?"

"Fuck, Sammy." Dean's fingers tighten on his. Sam kisses the toothmarks on his lower lip, nudges his nose against Dean's cheek. Dean's hips lift, a questioning little shove with his heels braced on the floor, but Sam shakes his head and Dean groans, subsides. When Sam picks his head up enough that he can see, Dean's ears are dark red, blush streaked down his throat, his eyes so spread-pupil dark that there's almost no color. "Yeah, feels good. Dick."

Sam grins at him, spreads his knees on the bed more. Better angle, his gut melting into a pool of good intense heat. Still a sting but Dean's moving smooth, now, and he's found a groove now, lifting up just enough to really feel it, his body clinging tight and humming every time he seats himself down again. With their hands occupied there's no way he's getting off just from this but that's not the goal—he clenches, deliberately, and Dean lets out a gut-punch noise, staring up at him shocked, and yeah—yeah, it's working, just fine, and he does it again, lifts up and slams back down, his thighs starting to feel that long-workout ache, Dean starting to shake under him, his eyes tight at the corners and sweat gleaming all over, temples and throat. Beautiful. Sam gulps air, keeps going, lets go of one of Dean's hands to palm over his cheek, his throat, a possession in him that he usually doesn't—and Dean doesn't grab him but just fists his freed hand into the splotchy blue of the comforter, a whining edge to his panting breath. God, Sam wants—he wants to come and he wants to keep this going in equal measure, and he grinds his ass back into the press of Dean's hips and feels it, his gut all wrapped up tight in itself like a tightening knot. He slides his thumb over the lump of Dean's throat and slips it up into the wet parting of his mouth and somehow it's that, it's that. Dean's hips flinch, shove up into his awkwardly, and he breathes oh fuck garbled over Sam's skin and Sam clenches and squeezes his hand and leans down close and Dean unloads up into him, groaning loud, his hips twitching up and the stroke going slick, slicker.

A fist in Sam's stomach. He kisses Dean, shoves in past his panting, and when he drags his hips up, drags off, he eats the strangled noise before it can leave Dean's lips. He feels broken-open, soft and weird, and he clenches on nothing and feels the strange drip start, down the inside of his thigh. "Fuck," he says, pushing up, and Dean blinks at him bleary-eyed and then puts a weak hand on his hip, pulls, and oh—oh, yeah, that'll do it. Sam knees his way up the bed and cups a hand behind Dean's head and feeds his dick straight into that wet perfect heaven, oh—he has to hold Dean's head with both hands and Dean grips his hip, strains up, and Sam fucks forward careful as he can and Dean's still too uncoordinated to work him right but just the slick lovely slide of his tongue is gonna be enough, his lips wrapping around, the heat and the suck in when Sam pushes maybe too deep and Sam's balls lurch and clutch up and he holds Dean in place and his belly shudders and oh—god there it is, finally, finally, and Dean moans and holds still and works his tongue under the head until Sam can barely keep himself upright. He flails one hand down to the mattress, fucks in one more time before he pulls back, lets Dean breathe. He can hardly breathe, himself. He squeezes the back of Dean's neck, looks down, and Dean's mouth is dark red to match his cheeks, his eyelashes a dark smear. He licks his lips and lifts up, catches the heavy hanging head of Sam's dick again and sucks it, soft, tongue flicking against the slit, and Sam's thighs shudder hard, his balls trying to give up more than he's got. Fuck, Dean.

He flops off, once Dean lets him go, and with whatever strength left he pulls Dean up with him, drags them both so they're lying together, no matter that they're on the bed at a completely fucked-up angle. Between them they shove Dean's jeans off the rest of the way and then Sam's free to pull him in close, gets an arm under his head and the other around his back and dips down and licks the taste of himself out of that soft mouth. A hand slides up his side, clutches in his hair. Dean sighs against his lips, satisfied, and Sam pulls back, tips his forehead against Dean's. They breathe against each other. Dean's dick presses sticky against his stomach and Sam's leaking, wet and nasty. This is the best he's felt in… he can't remember how long.

Dean's head tucks down, his shoulder curving in. He slides his hand around, touches Sam's chest. A finger against his tattoo. Sam puts his lips to Dean's hair. Sweat and him. Another thing he missed.

"What was Ridgefield," he says, finally. Dean's hand curls into a fist and Sam draws a circle into the sweaty cooling skin between his shoulderblades, soothing. "Don't want to fight. Just, tell me?"

The fist drags down, the curled edge of Dean's knuckles pressing into Sam's sternum. "Back when your head went through the blender," he says, eventually. "After the wall blew up."

Those days—they're a blur. Lucifer, popping up in every dark corner, and the constant bloody reminder of what was real and what wasn't. Easier then, in some ways. At least then he could know Lucifer was still trapped. His fingers ache and he realizes he's digging them into Dean's back, in a way that has to be painful, only Dean doesn't make a sound. He lays his hand flat, strokes down to the dip above his ass.

Dean sighs. "We were—I was messed up, out of it. You'd had one of your dreams, where you weren't really sure what was real, and you told me something that happened. Something from the cage."

Sam picks his head up, puts his chin on top of Dean's head. Breathes the cooler, cleaner air. Not a lot of good memories, there. He still doesn't remember, whatever night Dean's talking about. They fucked around a lot, in that weird year between his mind staggering toward insanity and before Dean left him again, disappeared to Purgatory. Dean drank too much, and did other things Sam didn't want to look at too closely. Sam just whiteknuckled it to keep it together. Didn't always work. "What was it?" he says, and immediately wishes he hadn't.

Doesn't matter; Dean doesn't say. His knuckles drag down and he slips his hand over Sam's ribs, holding. Long minute of quiet and then Dean takes a deep breath, his thigh shifting against Sam's. "This time," he starts, and shakes his head. "I didn't want to—to fuck it up, this time."

In Sam's memory, they never talked about what happened in the cage, not really. Same way they never really talked about what happened to Dean in hell. It was bad. It was beyond imagining until it, horribly, wasn't. Ridgefield, that was a month before Sam's trip to the mental hospital, and they'd been reunited long before that, and he can only guess at whatever horrible detail stuck in Dean's mind so fiercely. Lady Toni Bevell and her pallid attempts at torture are the barest drop in the bucket. A blip. That Dean took it so seriously, that he worried so much—

"Hang on," Sam mumbles, and drops a kiss on top of Dean's head and then rolls back, off the bed. He's disgusting. He scoops his towel off the floor and goes to the sink in the bathroom, wets a corner and mops up the smears of lube, the slimy trail seeping out of his ass. Ugh. He has no idea how Dean likes this.

When he comes out, Dean's dragged himself around on the bed, sitting up against the headboard with his knee pulled up against his chest. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the wall, and he just slits a look under his eyelashes when Sam plops down right next to him.

"My ass hurts," Sam says. Dean frowns, and Sam leans his elbow on Dean's knee. "And I'm good with that. Because it's you." Dean's eyes open all the way. Sam shrugs. "There's a lot of bad crap that's gone on, man, and some of it—yeah, I haven't dealt with." Dean's face turns away. Truths sometimes hit him like that. Well, too bad, because more are coming. Sam leans back, hooks his hand around Dean's calf. "There's never been anything that's happened to me that got worse because you were there."

"Yeah, I'm a friggin' panacea," Dean mutters.

"Panacea?" Sam says, and Dean shakes his head, but Sam squeezes his calf and then says, "Actually—yeah. Yeah, that's not far off. You and me, that's what works. And when you're not here nothing gets better, so. I need you to be here."

Dean swallows. "Yeah, okay," he manages, and if it's a little thick, well, Sam's not going to say anything about it.

"Okay," Sam says. Dean stretches out his leg and Sam leans in, takes the kiss even if Dean's reluctant to give it up. A redo of half an hour ago. This time, he gets a taste of bitter tongue, Dean's hands finding his hair and curling in. "Better," Sam mumbles, and Dean huffs, tugs at his double-handful. "One more thing."

"What," Dean says, soft.

"Don't try to go all Dudley Do-right on me," Sam says. "It's not your look."

He gets a shove to the shoulder for that one and he sways back, doesn't care if Dean sees his grin. "Okay, that's the last time I ever try to spare your feelings, bitch," Dean says, and rolls his eyes, and he doesn't fight too hard when Sam yanks him flat on the bed again, looms over him. Dean folds his arms over his chest, trying for surly and not quite making it. "What happened to all that I need you talk, huh?"

Sam shrugs again, shoulders popped high. His chest feels light, a decade fallen away. "Right now I just need you to order me a pizza," he says. "I just want you for your fake credit cards. Sorry."

"Typical," Dean says, and his expression's so fond that Sam has to touch it, traces his fingers from the corner of Dean's eye to his jaw, to his mouth. Dean lets him, of course. Between them, they let each other get away with a lot. Dean tucks his hand behind his head, stretching out. "No way this town's pizza is gonna live up to what we had for lunch, though. Chinese?"

Sam hums, ducks in and kisses Dean him, because he can. "Yeah, okay," he says, Dean's taste under his tongue. "Anyway. Big damn hero. I guess you get to pick."

The corners of Dean's eyes crinkle up. "Damn straight," he says, delight creeping back into his voice. "I killed Hitler."

One more kiss, Dean's taste under his tongue. Sam drags his thumb over Dean's cheek. "Yeah," he says, settling in. "You did."

#spn fic #sam/dean #bottom!sam #written for the smpc #and also for those people who need a tag #i wonder if that'll work for you #my writing

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