#prologue is on ao3

[yeyinde]

PRAIRIE WOLF | masterlist

John tucks his hand over your nape, pulling you into the warm bracket of his neck where his pulse beats steady under your forehead. Firm. Strong. All heat.

"I'll protect you," he rasps, chest rumbling under the swell of your belly. The growl—brassbound, ferric: a promise and a threat—glues to his words. Sinking deep. "Both of you, Coyote. Always."

And despite everything that tries to convince you otherwise, you believe him.

[OR: in an attempt to run from your abusive ex, you find yourself crashing into the arms of John Price, a man determined to keep you, and your unborn baby, safe. at all costs. but you're not the only one with secrets or scars.]

18+. past abuse (emotional, physical, mental). sexual trauma. unplanned pregnancy. childhood abuse. healing. eventual smut. protective John Price. gruff lumberjack Price and the stray he picks up. eventual Dom!Price (more in essence than act). divorced!John Price. implied child death (not reader's baby). age gap. grief. cultural differences. set in the early 90s. nonlinear narrative. Reader has an unconventional nickname (plot-important). Reader has a backstory. tags will be added as the series progresses.

AO3. MOODBOARD.

prologue part one | hinterland part two | moose meat part three | mîscacâkanis part four | salt cure part five | teeth and claws part six | pack epilogue

[prettyboykatsuki]

𖤓 NEXILIS.

☽｡⋆ TAGS : AFAB + Fem!Reader, Slow Burn, Role Reversal, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Tags to Be Added 18+

☽｡⋆ CURRENT WC : 16k/EST 175K+

☽｡⋆ STATUS: INCOMPLETE / COMPLETE

☽｡⋆ SYNOPSIS : After spending your life hidden in the fields of Solara's Western Province - Prince Shouto arrives from the North with a request to make you his lawfully wedded wife.

And to aid him in his quest to overthrow the Emperor before the imperial palace falls into complete tyranny.

You agree on two terms. Becoming your future husbands dedicated Imperial Knight, and returning back to your farm and home when the dust finally settles. It's an easy decision to make for the country you've called home since your escape.

These promises become the ties that bind. May Solamitra grant you her blessing.

PREVIEW.

PROLOGUE (releasing 07.26.2025)

CHAPTER ONE: All That Comes Before You.. (releasing 08.26.2025)

CHAPTER TWO: From Here To Tomorrow (releasing 09.02.2025)

CHAPTER THREE: Trial and Error (releasing 09.09.2025)

CHAPTER FOUR: All Frontiers (releasing 09.16.2025)

CHAPTER FIVE: In Quiet Company (releasing 09.23.2025)

TBA...

[erinwantstowrite]

I LOVEEE how you make sure that Peter has enough of Ales in him!! That's her baby boy w her lack of self preservation <33

it's honestly a crime that i can't write about her properly yet. we're gonna have to wait a minute before peter can focus on her

[scarapanna]

Calm before the storm [Wavering Lies!AU]

After having faced the first half of his sentence, Shadow Milk Cookie reflects on what transpired days prior. Alone with only himself, his confinements, and his thoughts.

This, unfortunately for the beast, is not bound to last for long.

clank…clank…clank

Absentmindedly, the captive beast would play around with his restraints, letting the chains keeping his wrists close to one another clash together repeatedly.

It had been a few days after his capture, he still recalled everything. The fight, the unfair odds against him, the sheer luck those crumbs had been blessed with…and his embarassing defeat.

What happened after? A good chunk of it, he didn't recall. He was down for who knows how long before waking back up in a cell similiar to the one he was currently held in.

The past week? Went by quickly, in all honesty. He remembered his multiple attempts to break out during those council meetings, back when he still had all of his power…

…back when that MAT hadn't convinced everyone to forcefully snatch it away from him.

Now? He had been sentenced to a seal. No, not like that rotten old tree..but somehow just as, if not WORSE that it. Thanks to it, he couldn't accest his power, he couldn't shapeshift NOR summor anything. He couldn't access his other-realm anymore…he just

couldn't

do

ANYTHING.

He HATED it.

The beast would look at his hands, then at his wrists..before violently yanking his whole body forward in frustration.

His magic was like a part of him, something he had since his baking. It felt just as important as lifepowder to a beast, it was part of him. A component now crudely ripped out of his dough.

Without it he felt severely impaired. So…weak. Frail. Defenseless..

He never wanted this, it was the worst kind of dreadful….

HE HATED IT

He'd yerk forward once more, at full force…but to no avail. To ensure his stay, those rotten pests had put him in chains. CHAINS! Around his legs, his neck, his wrists…the last he dreaded he most, considering those restraints served two functions.

That of keeping him here AND prohibiting his access to magic.

He felt like he was some sort of cakehound.

However, before he could thrash a third time in frustration, the beast would be alerted by some chattering outside of his cell door. At this hour? How strange…

The noise seemingly came from two or three cookies conversating…one voice was freakishly familiar.

it was HIM..

"Oh no no, I'd rather be alone this time. Thank you for the offer."

Soon, he'd hear two of the figures leave, signaled by faint footsteps growing farther and farther..

..next, someone would turn the key to his cell door, which would would creak open, bringing with it that dreaded confirmation.

He stiffened, narrowing his eyes at the figure.

That THIEF.

..___________________..

"..Shadow Milk Cookie."

The beast would look up, stiffing his posture at the one before him.

"What do you want?"

He'd bark out, irritated. Pure Vanilla knew the reason why.

"I just wanted to pay you a visit."

The ancient carefully closed the door behind him, snuffing out the noise coming from the outside all over again.

"How are you faring?"

No response.

"..hm, I see."

He'd walk closer, before searching for something inside his cape. Pure Vanilla would then find what he had been looking for after a small struggle, and would pull out something from a small pouch.

The sweet, easily recognizable smell would manage to catch his predecessor's attention. That frown remained…yet his eyes quickly locked on the unexpected "gift".

A small victory for the healer.

"I've brought some jellies with me, would you like any?"

Holding one of his hands out, he'd offer a few to the cookie of deceit…He might have been hungry, he figured.

He only recieved a glare.

"…I suppose not."

The healer would retreat his hand, putting back those few jellies in that pouch.

Tension was only rising the more they stayed inside, just the two of them.

Usually, Shadow Milk was notorious for his chatter. It was an aspect Pure Vanilla's been told about many, many times during the week he'd spent imprisoned in the republic. Outside of council meetings the jester's behaviour would have been reported many, many times as well. Mostly by guards venting out their frustrations with him.

Now, the atmosphere was much much different. Both had fallen silent for a good while until the ancient decided to resume their one sided "discussion"

is there an--"

"Shut up."

Though it seemed Shadow Milk wanted to hear none of it.

"…just answer my question, and scram. I don't want to be interrogated by the likes of you."

The beast bared his teeth, his words oozing pure hatred and venom from each and every letter.

With his magic gone, Pure Vanilla figured anyone wold be upset. But this had to be done to ensure everyone was safe. He didn't want to risk the lives of many by letting a beast loose.

He'd sigh, turning to the ground.

"Well….I was wondering if you'd reconsider my proposal."

No response.

He'd turn to Shadow Milk's face, returning his stare.

"Do you still want to keep this incessant fighting…or would you rather settle this once and for all?"

The beast looked at him, then at his souljam, and then back to the ancient. His eyes widening as he'd repeat his words.

"….once and for all..

you…

…YOU!!!--"

After a beat of silence, Shadow Milk sent him glare. And thightly clenched his fists. Shaking in sheer fury, he'd start stomping his feet to the ground, immediately rejecting his successor's offer…just like he'd done many times prior.

"HOW DARE YOU!!"

He'd spat, violently yanking the chains holding him in place.

"DO YOU REALLY THINK I'D ACCEPT YOUR PATHETIC TRICKS? YOU…YOU TOOK MY EVERYTHING! My other-realm, MY SOULJAM!"

Pure Vanilla frowned, retreating his hand..but not faltering in front of the beast.

Deep down, he doubted Shadow Milk really regretted any of his actions. That was certain. The way he boasted and congratulated himself for his victories, how prideful it made him..deception never really left this cookie, but meaning surely did. This scene before him was…sad, dare he say even pitiful.

However, it wasn't his turn to talk just yet.

That cookie of deceit, depowered and weak, had only paused to catch his breath. In fact, he still had the energy for more crude, unfiltered jabs at his successor.

He grit his teeth, glaring at the ancient in fury.

"And still..you weren't done tormenting me, oh no no no.. You still stole the last bit of freedom I had left! All that was ME ..my POWER, MY STRENGHT!! YOU.. YOU FRAUD!!!"

The sound of his furious yelling and clattering bindings would echo around the room, yet still failed to convey the full extent of the ex-virtue's thrashing. With all of his might, he'd push himself forward twice, as if trying to yank his body right in Pure Vanilla's direction. If he wasn't binded, he'd probably lunge at him.

Pure Vanilla didn't waver, and waited as the beast tried again and again to free himself. To somehow break those chains and get back his seized freedom.

The healer observed as he gradually started to tire out, his wild yanks growing weaker and weaker…until he nearly fell over, fatigued. With his head hanging low, that cookie would tremble and pant in exhaustion. The concept of not having that revoked power, the power to break free with little to no difficulty still appeared alien to the beast. Even from an outsider perspective.

"Once I get it back….you'll wish to have crumbled in my spire."

Despite everything, Shadow Milk still kept stubborn. He forced his head up, to look back at the ancient.

"Mark.

My.

WORDS."

Right after that one final threat, he'd collapse to his knees. In silence, he only kept trembling and breathing heavily. Clearly impaired by the lack of remaining energy to yell at his successor.

The ancient's gaze would soften.

"Stop overexerting yourself, Shadow Milk. You're tired. You'll risk hurting yourself that way."

Without hesitance, Pure Vanilla would step towards the restrained beast. The space between the two of them growing smaller.

He'd glance at him, with a glimpse of sympathy in his eyes..before shaking his head to finally speak the truth. His truth.

"I'm not trying to force you into a friendship, Shadow Milk. We still have our…differences. For the time being, I believe it wouldn't work out. We both, for our own reasons, are not yet ready…. but-"

He'd look away, facing the entrance to that cell. It felt much, much more distant than when he first entered…but he wouldn't care. He was here for a reason, and that reason was to try and talk. To fully understand what caused Shadow Milk's fall. To fully understand why he was so…lost compared to when he'd last seen him.

Just what transpired after he left?

"-- if we could stop this…constant back and forth, even just for a short while then.."

He'd take another step, closing the large gap between them just a little more.

Turning around, Pure Vanilla placed one hand on the bottom of his souljam's brooch. His gaze directed towards the item for a moment…before going back to the chained beast.

"…I could show you a better way. I want to show you a better way. A way that doesn't give short-term glee and satisfaction, or a short-lived escape…but true, long-term fulfillment."

He opened his eyes.

"This is why, back in that spire, I've offered you my friendship."

He'd take another step. Determined.

"We don't have to fight forever, we don't have to clash against eachother. War, revenge…it doesn't bring true happyness."

The beast didn't respond. He didn't, in fact, even try to look at him. And only kept facing the ground troughout his entire speech. His expression? Unreadable..

..until he'd crack a smile..

"…he…ha ha…. hahahaha.. "

Before Pure Vanilla was able to question him, he'd be interrupted by a burst of laughter.

".. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! YOU HYPOCRITE!"

Shadow Milk would lift his head back up, still on his knees, and now with the word amusement plastered on his face. He'd keep giggling uncontrollably, driven to the point of tears by the sheer hilarity of what he'd just heard.

As he'd recollect himself, the jester would manage to wipe a tear with one of his restrained hands. A newfound grin plastered on his face.

"Do you really think anyone would believe you? If revenge brings "nothing but emptiness" …then I wouldn't even BE here! In fact, I wasn't even doing anything wrong!"

Pure Vanilla would narrow his eyes and shake his head. No, he didn't share the same sentiment.

"You've still harmed cookies, and that brings consequences. Even with understanding, those actions aren't justified."

The ancient spoke from his heart..yet the beast didn't seem to care, as per usual.

His smile dropped a little, and he'd glare at the healer.

If anything, all he seemed interested in doing was wearing down his will. And so, he'd make another attempt to do just that.

"Deep down, I know what you are. I can tell how much fear my mere presence instills in you, it is glaringly obvious! I bet you even have.. GASP n-n-n-n-nightmares? Oh you poor, poor thing. Otherwise, why would you sentence me to this?..Justice? Safety? HA! How utterly HILARIOUS."

He'd only keep going, just as his target kept not giving him the reaction he wanted.

"This idea of friendship you have is merely a ploy to get what you want, selfishness masked as selflessness…easy-peasy! Out of everyone, do you really expect me to fall for that? pfft.. HA HA HA HA HA!!

…You truthly are pathetic."

Afterwards, the room would fall in complete and utter silence once more. Both parties stared at eachother, undoubtedly, with no victory or loss. If anything, they'd reached not a conclusion..but rather a stalemate.

Pure Vanilla took the next move.

"…very well then."

Shadow Milk would jerk back, confused.

"what?"

He'd move backwards a bit, giving the weakened beast some space before taking on a more formal demeanor.

"I'm here to tell you something else. Other cookies refused to come…so I've volunteered to do so instead."

He'd move a hand on his mouth, clearing his throat before continuing.

"Tomorrow, you will be allowed outside…that is, without magic and under supervision, to ensure no one is hurt. These are the terms decided by the council."

Having informed that cookie, his duty was done, and Pure Vanilla would turn to start walking back towards the cell door. He'd gently open it, a soft creaking echoing trough the room.

Before leaving, he looked back at Shadow Milk for one last time.

"..if you want to change your mind one day, my offer still stands."

He recieved only a scoff...and a possible warning in response.

"Tch, you're just being delusional."

Of course, he'd expect the beast to still refuse his proposal. It was, arguably, predictable…but he woudn't give up just yet.

He gave him one small smile before closing the door behind him.

"..goodnight."

[miaxwrites]

There Are No Winners With Revenge

000 | Sonic the Hedgehog x OC x Shadow the Hedgehog

┌───────────┐

THERE ARE NO WINNERS WITH REVENGE "the action of harming someone in return for a wrong suffered at their hands"

└───────────┘

“Would you like to hear a story,” Cyril, a village elder, wondered to the snow leopard cub who raced to keep up with him, reaching a hand out to her so she could latch onto it. Instead of receiving a verbal response, Cyril was met with eyes wide and full of wonder. “Of a warrior named Sa’tari?”

A soft gasp escaped the small leopard’s lips as she came to a sudden stop, dragging Cyril back with her. An amused smile began to tug at his lips as he turned to stare down at the cub, excitement and confusion flickering across her face. “But that’s my name?”

“That’s right,” Cyril agreed, bemused at the cub’s reaction before he was bending at the knee to scoop her up into his arms and continue their short walk to the edge of the village. Sa’tari put up no fight, too stunned to do so as she waited for him to continue the story. “You, my little Sa’tari, will be this village’s last hope when the time comes.”

“Does that mean I’m going to be a warrior like Papa?” Sa’tari whispered as if the idea of it was too good to be true.

“Of course, it does,” Cyril said as they finally broke away from the village and wandered on a trail through the snow and thick forest-covered mountains, continuing until they reached what seemed to be an old, overgrown temple. “But that’s many, long years away.” 

“But I want to be a warrior now,” Sa’tari whined, one of her paws digging into Cyril’s shoulder as her claws made contact, the cub not yet used to controlling the pointed weapons.

“Patience, child,” Cyril warned with a chuckle, used to seeing such enthusiasm. His words didn’t do anything to quam Sa’tari’s excitement though, not as she rocked out of his hold and raced towards the temple, as if crashing through its walls would make her the warrior she was destined to be. A sombre expression passed over his features as he watched her go. “Let’s not rush the inevitable.”

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Master List || Prev || Next || Can Also Read Here

[therightatriumoftheheart]

Guess who came crawling back with a sequel no one asked fooorrrrrrr!

Updates will probably be slow (at least comparatively to the hurricane Cool City was-- I will never be able to daily update again ToT) but I have soooo much planned! Stay tuned and stay cool!!

[guesswhoisofftheirmedsagain]

Me: ahaha ima write a spicy TimKon one shot fic hehe

Me, two months later with 10k words written, not a single ‘spicy’ scene in sight:

I even wrote an r/relationship_advice post for it from Kon’s pov. He is very alien, and doesn’t understand human courting rituals. It’s also a Lords AU so he’s lowkey evil (in the eyes of humans at least.) He plays it off as being “cultural differences” which technically isn’t that far off.

[siilverkey]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Vil Schoenheit & Original Male Character(s), Rook Hunt & Original Male Character(s), Epel Felmier & Original Male Character(s), Leona Kingscholar & Original Male Character(s), Ruggie Bucchi & Original Male Character(s), Jack Howl & Original Male Character(s), Ace Trappola & Original Male Character(s), Deuce Spade & Original Male Character(s), Silver (Twisted Wonderland)/Original Male Character(s), Silver (Twisted-Wonderland) & Original Character(s), Sebek Zigvolt & Original Male Character(s), Deuce Spade/Ace Trappola Characters: Original Characters, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier, Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Silver (Twisted-Wonderland), Sebek Zigvolt, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lovesickness, Yandere, Kidnapping, Stalking, Crying, Sexuality Crisis, Internalized Homophobia, Manipulation Summary:

Krhon laid on his bed that night, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. His mind was still struggling to figure out why he felt that way when Ace got so close to Ezmond... Was it normal? Never had he felt something quite like that, it was a feeling he could only describe as a mix of jealousy and hatred. And that was weird, because it was almost impossible to make him mad. He was a ball of sunshine - always smiling, never not smiling.

So why did he feel that way?

---------

@kokii-omii here... (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)

[electrozeistyking]

some goofy lil transparent images of the design I use for N, featuring his design from the Ghost Drone AU (he is tired). These are for future references and things where I just need to casually put one in the corner of something

[seeyouonabluemoon]

So I fell into the TMA fandom. Oops.

I mean, I've listened to the whole thing through before, but never really engaged.

Having said that, my experience has gone like this thus far:

Tim: *appears*

Me: ah yes, the fan favourite

Gerry: *appears*

Me: ah yes, the fan favourite

Michael: *appears*

Me: ah yes, the fan favourite

Agnes or Oliver or any of the Vast avatars: *appears*

Me: ah yes, the

[awardenandacrow]

So, ah… I’ve done a thing.

I hope y’all enjoy ;)

[niemensch]

A love letter to fan fiction

He was sick of them sometimes - published works. Of their carefully edited words.

Marketed, and branded, corrected and reviewed. Polished, over and over, ground on the morsel of society’s expectations and conventions, until they lost all surface for him to grip onto. Turned into a glazed, smooth wall of marble and stone that his hands would only dirty, could not hold onto.

Words – empty, full, beautiful, ugly – none of their texture remaining, not even their empty spaces; nothing left for him to feel.

They left him stranded, drowning on dry land, no space for him to be.

- Perfect words, beautiful universes, completed lives. What was there left for him to cling onto here? What breath could he take in the space between that hadn’t already been drawn?

Words that were too nice to dirty with his presence, the cursed skin of his body, the foul air of his breaths taken. They were shining, gleaming things - polished enough for his tired, drawn face to reflect back to him, for him to meet the hatred in eyes directed at their own self.

He needed less. More.

Broken words, imperfect stories.

Something one hair breadth’s away from completion, so he could exhale in the spaces left as if they were built for him.

Needed mistakes, boring, normal words, ugly and beautiful, the flawed truths of them.

Alternatively, my thoughts about what made Shen Yuan read PIDW

[writtenbyjos]

Starlight and Shadows: Gravity Falls Prologue #1

Prologue 1: Vagabond

((ALL FAN-FICTION RELATED CONTENT AND OC'S BELONG TO ME))

Gravity Falls, oh it is good to be back! I am BEYOND excited to share this with you guys, I've put my absolute heart and soul into writing this story, but I'm going to post chapters 1-5 whenever I can finally get them polished, edited and formatted the way I want. But this is the first prologue out of two that's going to set up the story before the story even begins. It'll introduce Eliza and Matilda, (Matilda's Prologue COMING SOON) and gives some context for where we'll pick up later in the story. It's going to be a full fledged story with all the angst, romance, mystery and adventure your heart can handle. To let you know what you'll be getting yourself into, we have a very charming and mysterious male antagonis with unknown intentions named Trick, changlings, vampires, the darker, more sinister side of Gravity Falls, inter-dimensional travel, heartbreak, a character who can see and communicate with ghosts, flashbacks and delving deep into some angsty Pines Twins content. What the people (AND ME) love to see. I've posted some artwork of my OC's, Eliza and Matilda if you wanna go check it out! I am so hyper-fixated on this fanfiction, its actually insane. Like, Gravity Falls has literally taken my mind and heart hostage and I am a WILLING participant. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little story as much as I have enjoyed writing it! :) <3 Attaching the Spotify playlist I created to read along with the stories. Enjoy!!

(ALL GRAVITY FALLS CONTENT BELONGS TO ALEX HIRSCH AND THAT KING ON EARTH ONLY WE ARE HUMBLE SERVANTS)

Summary:

PROLOGUE PLOT:

The first prologue (Vagabond) revolves around the happenstance meet cute and completely chaotic situation that Stanley and Eliza find themselves in. Eliza is an ex-pageant queen hailing from a wealthy family business, but escaping to big cities to live out her dreams of being on stage while haboring a complex darkness she can't seem to break free of. But right now, performing nightly at a seedy variety club downtown with her two best friends will suffice. After a heist gone very, VERY wrong, Stanley Pines, hunky drifter, takes cover from a cop chase and drug bust into an alley where he stumbles through a back door-- and onto Eliza, in a robe, smoking a cigarette out the door before she goes on for her first set. Their meeting would set off a butterfly effect, and set many events into motion. And the rest, my friends, is history.

MAIN PLOT (IN PROGRESS): After a year of sailing the seven seas and repairing their strained relationship and re-discovering their love and zest for life, Stan and Ford Pines return to Gravity Falls to spend a highly anticipated second summer with Dipper and Mabel, fresh off the track of their first successful year of high school. Dipper and Mabel have been trying to figure out how to be teenagers under the strain of their parent's failing relationship while Ford and Stan have made a fortune from their research. But while still trying to re-adjust to normal life after the traumatic events of defeating Bill and surviving Weirdmageddon, everyone still feels weary of calm waters and still haven't found their footing. But they know as long as they'll have each other, they can make it through anything. After the reunite, it was as if they had never left. The whole gang is back and better than ever. But in Gravity Falls, all is not always as it seems... and when Stan's long time old flame Eliza resurfaces and her estranged, mysteriously charming lover Trick comes looking for her, he brings with him a looming threat that no one could have ever imagined. This would be the summer where everyone's lives changed forever.

It was a hot, soggy-aired late afternoon where the days of august seemed to drag on like a bad movie. In Las Vegas, you needed three things, a tough hide, a sharp mind and a little dumb luck. In 1978, 'Grease' had just been released, and dancing was the capture of everyone's attention, but anew kind. Big cities like these offered the opportunity for young people with big dreams to think they could take the world, where it was almost still possible for people to have hope for the future, everything was so unknown, so mysterious. Stanley Pines was no exception. After a disastrous attempt to pull off a heist that involved certain "illegal" and "counterfeit" goods, exotic animal smuggling and a fake ID ended in being busted by two undercover cops. Stanley was once again evading the arrest and capture as he hurtled himself through the busy streets of one of his favorite cities in the world. He'd become well acquainted with the unpredictability and excitement of las Vegas. In other words, Stan had successfully learned how to be a full time criminal, evading the grasp of the LVPD many times in the past year. But this time… this time he may have taken things just a little too far.

As his heart pounded in his ears, he made sharp turns on street corners, jumped over chain link fences and ducked into a few port-o-poties eventually pushing some sad sack off their tourist bike and making a mad dash for the south side of town, where he knew he could find enough chaos to blend in with or a seedy bar to hide in. He cycled through the sidewalks and lights like a race car on a fast track.

He had become addicted to the feeling of escaping the authorities, it was the same rush he would get when he'd do something to get him sent to detention in high school. There was still no feeling like it. But he was so caught up in the adrenaline of outrunning the police, he nearly crashed into a construction site surrounding a large pot hole gaping in the middle of the sidewalk. He swerved around and barely missed it, laughing as he looked back, pounding a fist proudly into the air.

"Suckers!" He cackled. But what happened next was no laughing matter. He felt a small bump underneath the tires and his heart sank as the wheels began to pedal slower and slower.

"Goddammit, not now, not now! Fuck! Shit!" He cursed to himself, pulling over by a brightly lit club and hopping off into its hidden alleyway. He examined the front wheel: busted. There was a giant nail stuck in the tire, presumably from the construction site he almost fell face first into moments ago. He grabbed his hair in his clutched fists frantically and paced back and forth, in a disheveled suit he had sticky fingered from an old thrift store for this exact occasion. He put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.

"He went that way! We got him now!" He heard voices yelling from the street not too far away and knew he had to think of a plan and fast, if he didn't want to be locked up and sent off to the big house. He looked around frantically for an escape, and spotted a back door that was slightly open, cracked. He didn't think twice, just forward and lunged for the door, opening it and hurting himself inside. He managed to get himself through the door and flattened himself against the wall just as the cop car zoomed past the alleyway in the opposite direction, away from the club. It was one of his more graceful exits. But what wasn't so graceful, was his crash landing. He'd gotten his boot stuck in part of the ply wood that stuck up from the ground and fallen face first onto the dusty floor. Luckily, his giant nose broke his fall. He lay there for a minute, unsure if he could move his anything. He sighed and turned over to lay on his back, grimacing from the pain of falling flat on his forehead.

"Hey, this is a closed smoke session, buddy." A gravely voice startled him almost half to death, and it was coming from a short-torso-ed, long legged, blonde leaning against a door frame with a lit cigarette in her left hand, taking a long drag. Before he could say anything, she stepped over to him where he was sprawled out on the floor like a complete idiot about to make a snow angel with no snow. She was wearing nothing but a pink robe with fluffy cuffs and red platform heels—a specific detail that Stan would remember fondly for years and years to come. With every step closer she got, her heels echoed in the hallway full of metal shafts and a boiler sitting in the corner huffing like a train engine, presumably about to burst open. She seemed to walk in sync with the bursts of hot air, like the world was her stage and it beckoned to her every move.

"I—uh…sorry…" He scrambled to his feet as she towered over him, a look of annoyance plastered on her face as she took another drag and puffed it into the already clouded air. When he got to his feet and brushed his jacket off, he winced at the still open door that spilled into the street that he'd just been chased down. He closed it with two hands and huffed, turning back towards this mysterious stranger. And from this angle, he was almost stricken with how beautiful she was.

"Hey I'm smokin' here! Why'd you close the door?" She whined.

"I think you'll live." Stan muttered, catching his breath, searching around the room for something to barricade the door closed.

"Who the hell are you, anyways?" She asked, more inconvenienced than upset, watching him scramble about.

"No time to explain! Just help me keep this door shut, toots!" She eyed him suspiciously and crossed her arms. He looked at her with a pleading look and sighed, rubbing his eyes together with one fist. "Please?" He asked. The woman groaned and dropped her shoulders.

"Fine, fine." She said huffing. She threw him an old pipe from a pile of metal scraps and broken show signs in the hallway and Stan made a makeshift lock so that no one could barge in without exerting a good amount of effort. She came up right behind him and fastened a small chair and placed it underneath the door handle, making sure it was secure. She took her arm in his and put out her cigarette on a small ash tray by the door and lead him hastily to a small door down the hall. Upon entering, it looked like makeshift dressing room. He ran in and caught his breath, the lady shutting the door abruptly behind her.

"Y'know, most times I don't let strange men into my room until at least the third date." She said putting her hands on her curvy hips. Stan propped his forearm on a beam and wiped the sweat off his forehead panting a little from all the excitement. When his head cleared enough for him to realize she had just back handedly insulted him, he felt his face turn red.

"Hey! I'm not strange! Besides, y-you're the one who pulled me in here!" He said smoothing out his beige leisure suit and shook his head. "Strange men my ass…geez, women are so paranoid." He muttered under his breath, irritably. He'd had just about enough of today.

"How about I throw you back onto the street? Hello? I'm also the one who saved your ass back there!" She said, strutting over to him and poking an accusatory finger into his chest with force. "Where's my thank you?" She said crossing her arms definitely. Stan sighed and decided he needed turn on his charm to smooth his way out of this one, that is, if he wanted to stay hidden from Sergeant Amos and Deputy Jones. He grabbed her chin between his pointer finer and thumb, giving her a warm smile.

"Thank you, princess." He noticed her face flushed with a rose tint.

"I…y-you're welcome." She was trying to act big and tough, but Stan could see a quiver of weakness in her eyes, and he thanked his lucky stars for his natural wit and charm, and that he wasn't his twin nerdy twin brother.

"You got a name, sweetheart?" He asked. She gave him a look and smiled.

"Eliza. Like in 'My Fair Lady'." She held out her hand and Stan took it gently in his, grazing her knuckles with his stubbled lips. "But you can call me Liz." She said, walking her fingers up Stan's torso.

"My fair lady indeed….Liz, I like it. Pretty name for a pretty gal like you. I'm Staley Pines. But…you can call me Stan. Nice to meet ya." He said with an award winning smile.

"So, you man of mystery, I know I'm probably gonna regret asking this and regret letting you into my dressing room but, who or what exactly, did I just save you from?" She took a few steps closer with each word til she was inches away from his face, fiddling with the hem of his coat. He didn't know if she was pickpocketing him or just feeling him up. Either way, he didn't care.

Stan gulped and tugged on his jacket collar.

"See, if I told you, where's the fun in that?" He chuckled nervously.

"Oh look—my dressing room telephone…" She pulled away and grazed her hand over a pink rotary next to her lit up mirror and a few make-up brushes. "Hello? Hello operator? There's a strange man in my dressing room that won't leave me alone…" She pretend to be on the phone and twisted the wire between her little fingers, feigning fright.

"Alright, alright! I'll tell you, just—just put the phone down, shortcake." He held out his hands cautiously, as if he were talking her down from the ledge. "But… how do I know you're not just gonna call the cops for real?" She put her weight on one foot and played with the belt of her robe.

"I guess you'll just have to trust me." She said bopping him on the nose.

"Meh, cut it out!" He chuckled, gently swiping her hand away. "Fine…I was uh, I was sorta being…chased or something." He said sheepishly.

"Or something?" She asked, holding back a chuckle. "Who was chasing you?" She crossed her arms.

"Charley and Hudson Combs, L.V.P.D. Precinct nine." Stan waited for her to make the usual judge-y, freaked out or doped out reaction he'd usually gotten from everyone else, but she never did. She just nodded and raised an eyebrow, pulling a box of cigarettes from the breast pocket on her robe. She lit another cigarette and motioned for him to continue.

"I was… s-supposed to meet a few fellas about getting a few tigers and an alligator down across the boarder. Know what? I shouldn't be telling you this. You need plausible deniability." He winced, but there was still no reaction out of Liz except a slow, exhale of smoke from her drag and a nonchalant shrug of reassurance. Stan sighed. "…But when I met up with the buyers to seal the deal, they turn out to be undercover cops! They tried to arrest me but uh…" He chuckled proudly. "Let's just say these hands can get away from anything, out of any situation. I managed to outsmart 'em and get them off my trail…maybe just long enough to buy me some time to figure out my next move. But twiddle-dee and twiddle dumber put a slash in every one of my tires! Gonna cost an arm and a leg, too.

"So how'd you end up on the floor of my Long story short, I've been trying to outrun these asswipes for half an hour now!" He exclaimed.

"Well, why the hell didn't you just say so?" She asked casually, still holding out her cigarette with a bent wrist.

"What?" He asked, surprised at her accepting nature…or was he skeptical?

"Why didn't you say that earlier? It would've made things a lot easier! There's a secret stairway that goes up to the attic, dummy." She said matter of factly.

"Well, in a city like this, who knows who you can really trust? Or if…if you're a guy like me…" He said shifting uncomfortably. Eliza half smiled, knowingly.

"A hunky drifter with a thrill problem?" She asked giving him a look down. Stan ran his fingers through his hair and shot her a hand gun, winking.

"Haha, yeah!"

"Wait here." She said, turning around briskly and meandering towards the back of her boudoir.

"Look, Eliza… I appreciate you and all of this but I don't exactly have time to wait. I need to figure out what the fuck I'm gonna do! What if they come looking for me here? I left the bike outside, I mean…I'm toast! Christ on a saltine cracker…" He took a flask from his pocket and guzzled down a large swig of whiskey.

"Calm down, mon cher," she had disappeared behind a drape and he heard her fiddling through what sounded like a dresser or drawer of some kind. "You're bumming my good mood. Besides, all you need, is a little wardrobe change!" She sang.

"What the fuck?" Stan muttered to himself. "What the hell does a wardrobe change have to do with getting me off the hook? So I can take a prettier mugshot?"

"God. Men are so lucky to have women. You're all hopeless. Without us, you'd be chasing your tails, itching your fleas and off starting wars." She called. "Oh wait, too late."

"That's debatable." Stan muttered, taking another swig of his drink.

"Hey pal, I have a strict alcohol policy here." She said coming around the corner with a new suit, some make up and a bag of mystery supplies. Stan put his flask away quickly and blushed trying to play it off cool. She set down her haul on her make up table and put her hands on her hips.

"No alcohol allowed." She frowned.

"Damn, you really know how to have fun, don't you?" He asked, putting it away.

"I said, no alcohol…Unless you're willing to share." Eliza extended her hand expectedly and Stan felt a sly grin grip at the corner of his lips. He shook his head and sighed.

"Guess I misjudged you, kid." He said handing her the flask. She twisted one the top.

"Guess you did." She said taking a giant swig, both alarming and impressing Stan at the same time.

"You nervous or something? What's got you so thirsty?" He chuckled, amused as she wiped her mouth with her arm and handed him his flask back.

"Pre-show nerves. And there's a very devilishly handsome stranger in my boudoir." She hummed.

"Devilishly handsome, eh?" Stan tried to appear more confident and put together than he really was and leaned on the side of her mirror, like he'd seen James Dean do many a time in the movies."Hey, what's the plan with those? This devilishly handsome stranger needs to make like a bird and fly out of here, y'know…unseen." He stroked his chin, looking at the pile of stuff on her table.

"Cops can't arrest you if they don't recognize you." She said smiling, holding out the suit for him. It was flashy alright, it was black with electric blue lighting strikes and a silky pant to match. She had picked out a wig with long brown hair, and a fake mustache to tie it all together. It was a stretch, but better than anything he had on hand.

"Huh. You really think this disguise can hide me from the cops? Don't you think it's a little too…sparkly? What if I just draw attention to myself?"

"Thats the point! If you were trying to outrun the law, the last thing you'd be doing is going to a sketchy variety show at a dingy night club. You'll be hidden in plain sight! Besides, I've never met anyone who can grow a mustache in under half an hour, Stanley." She raised her eyebrows and Stan felt his stomach settle for the first time all day. This might actually work.

"I like your style, kid. That's impressive. Crazy, but we might be able to pull this off." He said taking the costume and draping it over one arm.

"Are you crazy? Of course we will. I didn't grow up learning how to make myself eight years older with my pageant make up for the fun of it…" She paused and winked. "I did it to help disguise shady figures and get them into the witness protection program."

"Pageants, huh?" Stan asked, masking a snort. Eliza was amused that he didn't even question her comment about the witness protect program.

"Yes." She gritted her teeth and pushed her hair behind her ears.

"Isn't Miss America supposed to be a role model or something? Like a goody two shoes in an expensive dress?" Eliza rolled her eyes.

"You have no idea." She shivered slightly and rubbed her arms quickly.

"You know doll, I did have this under control. But I appreciate the help anyways."

Eliza smirked.

"Right. Until you came stumbling in here with a broken bike and into the arms of a half naked stranger in a leotard? Yeah. Sounds like you have everything under control." She looked amused and Stan blushed. "It's a good thing you're cute." Stan puffed out his chest and cracked his knuckles.

"What can I say? I'm adorable! People can't get enough of me, even the cops keep ridin' my ass from here to New Jersey." Eliza giggled into her hand and adjusted her robe. Stan couldn't help his wandering eyes as they surveyed this lovely stranger he'd stumbled upon, literally, and the slip in her robe near her chest that was opening up just enough to get a better look. She was a good foot and a half shorter than he, with high cheekbones, long blonde hair and big, blue eyes. She had a small trail of freckles lining her nose, and they way her small waist and big hips swayed with every word she said, beckoned Stan to come closer.

"That's debatable." She smirked, turning around, hair hitting Stan square in the face. But he didn't care—it smelled like vanilla ice cream and babies' laughter.

He watched as she made her way behind a curtain and motioned him to look away. "Do you mind? I have to get ready… And you need to get into that suit, pronto."

"R-right, sorry…" Eliza slipped behind a pink curtain by the velvet couch and disappeared. He instinctively turned around and crossed his arms, hearing a zip and a tug here and there. Stan's face flushed and began to shed his layers and put on the blue suit while Eliza was still getting her dress on.

"Where did you say you were from?" She called.

"Uh…that depends. I've been banned in seven states including my hometown…"

"Seven states? No way." She said impressed "And you're hometown…Which is…?" She asked.

"Glass Shard, New Jersey. Born and raised. But like I said, I'm not exactly…allowed back. Got a lot of angry people with fake pitch forks waiting for me if I ever do." He chuckled.

Eliza peered around the satin drape and looked pleasantly surprised when she got a good look at Stan. And vice versa. Her robe had disappeared and she was now wearing a sparkly a two piece set, with a white, bedazzled, form fitting tank top and matching pants with bell bottoms and platform heels that almost brought her up to Stan's chest. She had on big, circle, blue tinted glasses and her hair was teased.

"Very nice. Very Bowie." She said signing Stan to do a turn around with her twirling finger.

"Not so bad yourself, toots. Damn. You're a sight for sore eyes. What I wouldn't give to be walking around the streets of Vegas with a gal like you on my arm." He took her hand and twirled her around slowly, ending her in a dip, locked in his arms. They stayed like this, locked in time for a minute and Stan's eyes wandered to her pink lips, so soft and so thick.

"I mean…if you play your cards right…" She said, the breath taken away from her by their embrace. There was a moment—just a fleeting moment—where he thought she might want to kiss him back, but before she could there was a knock at the door and Stan nearly dropped her on her head before catching her mid fall. She hit his arm and dusted herself off, scoffing. She put a finger to her lips and motioned for him to be quiet.

"Eliza? Your little girl group is on in fifteen. Sage Green is finishing up her last set." A male voice called from the other side of her door.

"Thanks Julio." She called, turning back to Stan, she sighed and went to get the fake mustache and matching wig. "Now then, after you put this on, you're on your own. I have a show to do." She took the mustache and applied a thin line of glue on its sticky side, and stood of her tip toes to reach Stan's upper lip. She stuck it under his nose and smoothed the edges, her fingertips brushing against his lips every now and then. Next, she fitted the wig over his head. Her hands pulling and tugging at his hair was doing more than he'd care to admit. But the look was pretty convincing…and Stan couldn't deny her obvious expertise.

"One more thing…" She reached for her makeup palette and grabbed a brush readying herself to work on Stan's face.

"Woah, woah, woah…that is not touching my face, doll face." He said defensively. "Guy's don't wear makeup! I'm not some kind of sissy." Eliza raised an eyebrow and snickered to herself, dipping the brush in a red color, then a blue, then a black.

"There is so little you understand about the world, Stan. Get your head out of your ass. Do you want to look convincing for the cops or not?" She asked. Stan looked at her, then the make up brush with powder on the end and sighed.

"Fine. But you better not make me look bad." He said. After a few moments of breathing in Eliza's perfume which was a heavenly blend of amber and childhood wonder, he began to grow tired of the poking and prodding of the prickly brush and wondered how the hell women could sit still and do this for hours when he could barely sit still for five minutes. He had a newfound respect. He liked having Eliza stand so close to him, he could hear all the small catches in her breath as she honed in her focus, their lips barely inches away from each other. "I still don't understand how this is gonna help."

"Of course you don't," she sang. "C'mon, admit it, you secretly love this. I know you do." She found his discomfort quite hilarious but Stan just groaned in annoyance.

"Oh yeah, I love getting stabbed in the eye. Feels like I'm kissin' a porcupine. Hey!" He flinched. "Be careful with that thing—you're—you're getting powder in my cornea!" He blinked, scrunched his face up and tried to rub the make up out. Before he could start messing up all her hard work, Eliza scolded him and slapped his hand away. "Great, just great!"

"You big baby. Hold still…" She hissed. "Aaaaand…all done." She stood back and tilted her head. She looked pleased with herself. "Take a look." She stood behind him as he checked himself out in the mirror. And he had to admit it, she make him look like an entirely different person. The wig and mustache combo made him look like a young and hip club goer, and the suit didn't look half bad. What really threw him was the fake black eye she had given him, he assumed with the red and blue make up.

Somehow, she had managed to re-sculpt his face with what little make up she used and he was amazed. He put his hands on his hips and beamed. "And thus, Stanwick Pinestone was born." She winked at him through her reflection.

"You can really do all this with make up?" He looked intrigued, admiring his newly sculpted jaw line.

"Duh! I told you! Make up is the most magical tool in the world. It can turn you into anyone you want to be; on stage and off. Now that's my kind of thrill. It probably doesn't beat illegally smuggling exotic across the Mexican border or being on the FBI's most wanted list, though." She eyed Stan who was rubbing the back of his neck."One thing I do know, is that those guys aren't looking for someone with a black eye and a mustache." She crossed her arms and cocked her hip to one side with pride.

"Lizzy, you're a genius! But the good kind!" He picked her up by her waist without thinking and spun her around in the air. She laughed and gripped tightly onto his forearms, throwing her head back with pride. The thin, blue veiled skirt attached to her was it billowed around and twirled as she did. When he put her down they both took a beat and chuckled uncomfortably.

"I just meant—you—well…thanks. For this." Stan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You really are somethin' else." This time, he found it in himself to give her a real, genuine smile.

"Just don't get arrested, I will need that disguise back." She laughed. "And you know what? The mustache combo isn't a bad look for you, in fact, I think it's kind of sexy."

"Yeah, not bad, huh? Let's just hope its enough to keep me out of trouble…for now." He checked himself out in the mirror a few more times, smoothing his fake hair back and stroking his brand new stache.

"Not that I'm not enjoying our little pow-wow, but I do have to get to stage before they cut our act altogether. Are you good from here?" She asked, grabbing a little tiara from a shelf by the door and placing it on her head.

"I'm good from here…" Stan paused when he turned around and noticed the glimmering crown placed carefully on her head. "…Princess." He flashed her a smile.

"You can stay and watch y'know…if you want…" She said.

"Hey, I gotta act the part anyways, right? Can't give it away too soon." Stan said cooly. "Might as well stick around and pretend like I'm having fun. Y'know, sell the look."

"I swear to god, if my girls don't show up soon, I'm going to throw up." She said adjusting her hair and costume.

"Your girls?" Stan air quoted, squinting.

"Ellie and Betty…they're my partners. We sing together? In the variety show."

"What's your act?" Stan asked.

"We're all named Elizabeth…does that count?" She shrugged making Stan chuckle. "The Three El's…it's—it's a work in progress." He could see her blush in the mirror as she powdered her face.

"Oh joy. There's three of you?"

"Hey, I'll have you know we're very popular! Any day now and we'll have a real residency here in the city. Just you wait." She squinted and pointed, getting right up in his face.

"I have no doubt about that. Who wouldn't love you?" He said, coming off as way more confident than he felt, and it was secretly making Eliza's knees weak. She blinked and shrunk off her tip toes.

"If they show up…I hope they're okay. They know how important this show is for us! It's exposure!"

"Hey doll, cheer up! Even if they don't…who need's em? You've got that crowd in the palm of your hands. Knock 'em dead! Break an ankle! Isn't—isn't that what they say in theatre or whatever?" He asked, rolling his wrist.

"Something like that…You're not totally wrong." She said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Course I'm not! I'm always right!" He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

"And hey…" He lifted her chin. "If you need someone to play off of, I'm already dressed for the part, huh?" He stretched out his arms and did a turn around.

"You know, you're pretty alright. For a criminal." She winked.

"You're not so bad yourself, y'know… for a pageant queen." He replied. She looked side to side, taken a back slightly.

"How did you…my title?" She shook her head, scanning his face.

"I used to live in Jersey! A.k.a, pageant capital of the East. I know a first place tiara when I see one, kid." He looked up at the little, silver crown on her shelf right above them, picked it up and fitted it on the top of her head gently and she blushed furiously, stunted for words. He mustered all of the courage he didn't have and bent down to kiss her quickly on the cheek. Her face was completely red now, she absent mindedly touched the place he had kissed with her fingertips and smiled, immediately snapping out of it and the color from her face draining at the reminder that she had to go on without her two counter perfomrers.

"Well—partners or no partners! The show must go on! I've gotta get going! Shoo!" She ushered him out the door and she waved as she fled through the hall, but not before turning around, running up to Stan and giving him a quick, hesitant peck on the lips, returning the favor and leaving him stunned and frozen in place. It was…electric. It made him wonder what her lips might've really tasted like.

"Thanks for the drink, Stanwick. See you out there! At least try to act like you're having fun." She saluted him and disappeared into throw two big, double doors, leaving Stan to his own agenda. He already missed her, and wondered how could so much change in the span of half an hour, after having lived without her his entire life.

He entered the main stage area complete with a piano, a bar, a microphone and sea of weirdos clinking glasses and dancing with the disco music blaring from the speakers. He did exactly as him and Eliza had planned, he grabbed a drink, mixed and mingled and tried to stay as calm as he could. He was actually starting to feel like things were going to be okay, until he saw the two cops that were chasing him, slip through the back way and spill into the room. All sense of confidence abandoned him and he began to worry that their entire idea was a bad one that would put him directly in arms reach of the people he was running from. Stan anxiously began to shuffle through the crowd, dodging investigative eyes.

He started to panic, to fear, to imagine himself locked behind bars with no family that cared enough to come and find him. His thoughts were racing, till he felt pressure on his wrist. For a split second, he wondered if his time had finally come. But when he turned his head, he saw Eliza, practically glowing underneath the disco lights, grabbing a hold of his wrist.

"Eliza?" He pulled her in close, sure she could hear the pounding of his heart. She pulled away with a panicked look as well—had she seen something she didn't want to?

"Stanwick, I need your help!" She looked at him with pleading eyes, and Stan melted under the veil of sweet relief that he hadn't been caught yet. Her disguise was working. She pulled him to a back room behind the stage and caught her breath, fanning herself. "I'm going to kill them, I'm going to kill them!" She said frantically.

"Careful, sweet thing. You're still in ear shot of the cops, they came through the front like fifteen minutes ago!"

"Well, they haven't found you yet!" She said dismissively. "Look. You gotta help me. El and Betty—my scene partners, bailed on me! They were supposed to be in costume with their heinies on stage fifteen minutes ago, and no one has seen them! And I need someone to fill in for them and make this a duet. And that someone is gonna be you!" She took his shoulders and shook him.

"Woah, woah, woah there is no way that I'm getting up there with this—"

"You said you'd help me!" She frowned and it was adorable. "Consider it pay back for saving you life!" She put emphasis on the end expectedly.

"Doll, I can promise you, nobody, and I mean nobody—including you—wants to hear me get on that stage and sing. It ain't happenin'. Being a silent stage prop, now that's more up my alley." He said defiantly. Eliza huffed and looked around, as if to find an answer to her situation. "Besides, I thought you said you could handle it by yourself?" Stan said.

"Thinking about doing it yourself is a hell of a lot different than actually doing it by yourself, you know! I didn't think they'd really bail on me!"

"Not…happenin'." He said firmly.

"Look, if you help me with this, I—I'll get you a ride. Anywhere you need to go. I know a guy that works here at the club with a limo we can borrow." She said. Stan looked apprehensively at the stage doors, and then back to Eliza's pleading face. He must've been absolutely out of his damn mind. "Seriously, he can get you anywhere you need to go, but I can't go up there alone and sing a song meant for two or three people by myself!" She pleaded, clasping her hands together. Stan sighed and his shoulders dropped.

"Fine. Since you're practically humping my leg…I'll…I'll do it." He said begrudgingly. Eliza squealed, throwing her arms in the air and then wrapping them around Stan's neck happily.

"Thank you, Stan! I'll make it up to you, I promise!" She hung around his neck like a necktie.

"Kid, this ain't gonna be pretty. I'm warning you now." Eliza dropped down to her feet and grabbed his wrist, pulling him through the bustling dancers and to backstage.

"Just follow me, I'll lead. And…don't worry about those cop guys. They won't bother you." She said slowly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, kid."

The next few minutes were spent getting the stage equipment ready for singing, and touching up their hair and costumes. It was a smaller club, but everyone involved seemed to be eager to put on a quality show for their patrons. The stage lights shifted and Eliza and Stan stood with hand held microphones with anticipation, his bad and her's good. She took his hand in hers and gave it a little squeeze as the club owner, a tall man with about fifty gold chains around his neck and a mouth full of silver grills announced them.

"Give our little girl a round of applause. To continue our night of nostalgia variety show, Eliza and her—friend will lure us into a night of romance with their rendition of a timeless classic." He said, turning around to face them. He whispered to both them within ear shot:

"If I see those two, it's their heads and your ass. Don't fuck this up." They both nodded.

As the curtains pulled back, the heat and harsh light from the stage lights nearly blinded him, throwing a hand over to shade his eyes out of instinct. Eliza was already posing, holding the microphone like she'd rehearsed what spot to be in. She was absolutely beautiful under the glow of the overheads. But it didn't distract Stan from the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. The last time he'd gotten up on stage was when he was faced with the decision to be in a high school production for community service hours or face suspension because he had busted into the gym and stolen equipment and left a half smoked joint behind. He was usually prepared for anything, but this wasn't something he was ready to jump head first into.

Stan immediately recognized the song being played on the piano as 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough'. This was gonna be rich.

Stan put on his ultimate con-man facade, to pull off one of the greatest scams ever, tricking this crowd into thinking he could sing. He followed Eliza's lead clumsily but kept up pace. He noticed the uproar in the crowed when Eliza's verse came on and her smooth as silk voice echoed through the microphone. She had the audience completely captivated, and as they came together in harmony, they soon both had them eating out of the palms of their hands, cheering and moving to the rhythm blindly. Eliza's stage presence was unlike anything Stan had ever seen in his life, she was graceful, smooth, confident and…shining. Literally, she was glowing like a star in the night sky. The way her hips moved, and how to crowd moved with her, was intoxicating. It almost made Stan enter late on the second chorus.

As they sang, Stan noticed the two cops swaying in the audience too, as if they had been dismissed from duty like nothing had happened. They even made eye contact once or twice and…nothing. It was like they'd been caught into a trance of some kind…weird. It got him excited enough to really let loose on stage and get caught up in the rhythm of his singing partner and of the song. He and Eliza made a very convincing duet, their chemistry was electrifying the whole room, wether they intended for it to happen or not. Without the fear of being caught, Stan finally let his fun side run wild. He busted a move and tangled Eliza into his arms at every chance he got, conjuring a few excited screams from the ladies in the crowd. After shedding his jacket and letting his gold medallion shimmer in the disco ball's reflection, a pair of underwear was thrown at him and he smiled egregiously. He hadn't had this much fun in years.

Then just as the song ended, the crowd went wild and cheered for the new not-so-power couple. He saw the two cops high five and leave through the front entrance. He had never felt so alive. It was a rush like he had cheated death or gotten away with murder. He and Eliza joined hands and took a bow together, exiting stage left to make room for the other performers. As soon as they were back stage, they burst out into laughter and embraced passionately.

"That was so fucking awesome!" Stan let out a belly laugh, spinning Eliza around in his big arms. "Did you see those moves? I was on fire!" He cheered.

"And to think you tried to tell me that you couldn't sing! You lair! That was amazing!" She pushed a pointer finger into his chest. "I don't think I've ever seen someone throw underwear at a variety show!"

"I've never done anything like that before…I felt so alive. Being there with you—kid—that was…thanks. And…the way you saved me from jail tonight, nobody's ever stuck out their neck like that for me before."

She gave him a warm smile and looked at her feet.

"Don't mention it. You saw them leave too, right?"

"Walked right out that door after looking right at me right in the face! Idiots! Don't know how the hell that happened but who am I to argue with fate?" He ran his hand through his hair, still shaken up by that entire performance.

"Do you…still need that ride?" She looked up at him, a twinge of sadness in her big, pale, blue eyes.

"Well, I mean…if I got those guys off my back, maybe I could…stick around town a little longer. Y'know if the mood strikes me. I've got places to be and suckers to scam. Y'know how it goes." He tried to play it off as aloof, but wished he could just take her in his arms and never let her go again. Because the thought of walking away from someone like her was almost unbearable to think about. Funny how fast things can change on a dime.

"Well, you're always welcome on my dressing room couch. I could use a partner like you…maybe I'd actually be able to get out of this city, make a name for myself." She glanced over to the stage doors.

"Look, I know I con people for a living, so take what I say with a grain of salt but kid. I'm being honest when I tell you I've never heard a voice like yours before. And I've even been to Minnesota!" He barked.

"Thank you, I think?" She half smiled, unsure wether to take it as a compliment or not, considering who she was talking to. Nevertheless, she couldn't ignore the feeling in her chest, that felt like the warm glow of a sunset on an august evening like this one, where everything seemed absolutely perfect. They paused, unsure of what to say but very sure that neither of them wanted to part ways yet.

"Do you…I was supposed to get dinner with the girls but…they aren't here so…" She said twirling her hair anxiously.

"Girls shmirls…They didn't even bother to show up! I mean, you'd have to be pretty dumb to pass up an opportunity like that." He said.

"I just hope they're alright…It's not like them to miss a performance." She rubbed her arms, shivering slightly. Stan realized how cold it was back stage now that they were out from under the heat of the moment and of the crowded, musty stage room. He paused, then draped his suit jacket around her arms.

"I'm sure they just just got caught up in traffic or they're doing lines somewhere. Isn't everyone these days?" Stan smiled at her. "But hey, I gotta admit…kinda glad they didn't show up." Eliza blushed and pushed a strand of loose hair out of her face, almost completely engulfed in how big the jacket was, and how small she was.

"Yeah, who needs 'em anyway?" She said. It was then that Stan noticed a little dimple in the left corner of her mouth and a small gap between her front teeth. She was about as adorable as they come.

"So, you were inviting me to dinner?" Stan chuckled.

"It's funny…I seem to remember you offering to pay." She said sneakily.

"Hey, hey, woah…Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, what kind of man would I be if I enforced those toxic stereotypes? This ain't the nineteen-fifties anymore, baby. But if you're nice to me, maybe I'll buy you a shake."

"What a gentlemen." She said sarcastically.

"Come on, let's get out of these clothes. The sequins on this damn top are making my tits itch." She pouted.

"What happened to the 'third date' rule?" Stan put his arm around her and pinched her cheek. "Did'ya finally find your exception?" He grinned from ear to ear.

"Not a chance." She said putting her head on his shoulder as they walked to her dressing room. "I just don't wanna be worried about getting burger grease on this outfit."

They got back to her room, just as they had left it. Stan felt as though his life was now divided into two parts, before he met Eliza…and then everything that comes after. She freed herself of his grip, and disappeared again behind her changing curtain. Stan looked long and hard in the mirror before he took off his disguise. Was this some divine intervention to get him off the streets for good? Was Eliza some kind of heaven sent protector? He glanced over to a pair of arms that were held up and visible above the curtain rod. Her top was coming off and she stretched, letting out an adorable little grunt.

He changed back into his old clothes, that felt sweaty and smelled like cigarettes. His reflection turned from hunky drifter back to a lost, disheveled, low-life, con-man. Far from the world of glitz and glamour that he'd just been exposed to. He slumped his shoulders and sighed. Where had everything gone so wrong?

"Stan?" Eliza appeared in the mirror next to him, brushing his arm. She had removed her make up and her hair was now up in a messy ponytail, her small stature being devoured under the fabric of a baggy hoodie. The dark circles under her eyes were more evident now, she looked tired. Normal. Angelic.

"Nice to know you're still there under all that make up." Stan teased. She shoved him lightly in the arm and gazed at herself, standing next to him. Maybe she wouldn't let him in on it yet, but seeing them stand side by side brought her a great deal of comfort to her.

"Nice to know you're still an asshole under that wig." She reciprocated.

"Touche." He muttered. "So this is you? The girl behind the pop star?"

"I can be both…" She fixed her hair slightly and sighed.

"I don't know about you, but you better be careful, baby. I could get used to this." He chuckled and turned to face her, running a hand through her hair. She let her face rest in his giant palm and before either of them could think, they both leaned in, their lips touching at last. It was the perfect kiss, tender with purpose and meaning. Stan cupped her small face into his hand and ran his thumb along her ear. After what felt like an eternity of bliss, they pulled apart and looked at one another. Neither of them would admit it, but this was the first time in either of their lives that they felt they had been truly seen by someone else.

"Well, I could get used to that." Eliza said smiling. She was about to lean in for another kiss when she purposefully missed his mouth and whispered something in his ear instead. "Shakes first, kissing later." Stan shivered at her voice in his ear.

"You're making this so hard." He teased. Eliza looked down at his pants and then back up at him with a raised eyebrow and a smug look.

"No… just you." She bopped his nose and took his arm, leading him out the back door into the alleyway where he had entered from. He followed up with a loud, 'HA' and pointed a finger gun at her quick-witted remark.

"You're trouble alright…I like trouble….Maybe if you're sweet to me who knows where the night'll take us?" He escorted her down the street and into the bustling Vegas street.

"Who knows? If you buy me dinner, I might be nice to you." Stan stopped in his tracks and gave her a long knowing look. She was the one. He was done searching, but he'd never admit it to her, not till he was sure she felt the same way.

"What?" She asked, still holding his hand.

"Nothin'. Just thinking about how good that shake is gonna be when you pay for it." He chuckled and tickled her waist, bringing her back into a warm, tight embrace. They walked together, side by side, hand in hand to a greasy old diner underneath a train track that looked like the toilet water would give you sepsis, but as far as they were concerned, it was absolutely magical.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch, she laughed at all his jokes at the right time, and he listened when she told him about her dark and twisted past with American beauty pageants, her strained relationship with her mother and step father and how she planned to take over broadway one day. It was the best of times, and it was the worst of times. It was no secret both of them had had it hard the past few years trying to make it on their own, but they agreed that finding other people to sit in the shit-storm with you, made it considerably less horrible. It was the start to the beginning of a new chapter for both of them and they could feel it. It couldn't have been a more perfect night, and Stan even paid for the shakes.

[rat-spit-village]

servant of mythal

When Solas rescues a young Felassan from Falon’Din’s brutality, he tries, and fails, to protect him from becoming embroiled in the machinations of Elvhenan’s masters. As the line between devotion and bondage becomes so blurred, he searches for a way to free his friend, and in-so-doing, finds a way to free himself.

an ancient arlathan solythal fic that explores the period after the war with the titans and the events that lead solas to begin his rebellion

rating: M tags: prequel, toxic relationship, power imbalance, family dynamics link to ao3

[poltergeistbeetle]

SeVIIn Deadly St☆rs

DCA Treasure Planet AU

Prologue

Legend tells of a Planet of Fortune, where rubies grow from trees like fruits, mountains made of the purest gold in the universe. Rumours even say that the water in the rivers run with the freshest, cleanest water known to every species throughout the galaxy.

The map to the planet lost billions of years ago, now known only as fiction, but the story tells of the map, torn apart and scattered across seven different solar systems.

Adventurers all over the universe set out in groups known as “Star Crews”, following the vague clues left in the legend, but only the first verse of the riddle has ever been deciphered, though the fragment itself has yet to be uncovered.

“The scroll, Momma. The scroll.” A small child bounces excitedly in their bed, the mattress making a soft squeak every time they land. Sitting in a chair at the edge of the bed, sat the child’s mother, an open book in her lap. She responds to her child’s excitement with a soft chuckle, gently closing the book in her lap.

“I think you’ve been awake long enough, Little Supernova. You’ve got school in the morning. I’ll read the scroll for you tomorrow night.”

The youngen pouted, but listened to their mother and tucked themself under the blanket.

“Remember at the end of the week is your excursion to the astronomy museum. If you don’t listen, I’ll tell your teacher you can’t go.” The woman playfully threatened as she put the book back on the shelf. Leaving her child with a kiss to the forehead, and a reassuring Mama-bear squeeze that she wouldn’t pull them from the excursion.

First planet from the star, surrounded by Moons. Buried on the beach that never sleeps.

Two stars, ten planets, five trees.

Three moons orbiting a micro-planet. The mirco-planet holding the major trading Kingdoms.

Four planets experience the same Blood Moon, from the tallest point.

Fifth world behind the stars. Hidden behind history.

Six hours of exploration. A maze of rock and coal.

Seven day festival, worship the scrolls, receive the answer.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We've all heard the riddle, Galaxy Geek.” A man in the audience blurted out in the otherwise silent room, interrupting the introduction to your final assignment before graduation.

It's the last month of your final year in university, studying Celestial Cartography. Your obsession with the age old legend of the Planet of Fortune never dulled, fueling the career you’re aiming for in your future adulthood. As soon as you've earned your degree and official Galaxy-Guide Licence, you're aiming to join a Star Crew and follow the words of the scroll, like so many before you.

With a sigh, you ignore the rude interruption continuing with your presentation of your interpretation of the scroll’s verses, and the potential locations that have been speculated by previous Celestial Cartographers, as well as your own speculations of where the verses elude the location of the map pieces. Your classmates seemed uninterested throughout the entire thing. As you stare out at a sea of bored looks, or people off in their own conversations.

At the end of the day, you can't help but feel your explanations fell on deaf ears. With a small sigh, you pack away your belongings into your bag and slip it over your shoulder. Lifting your eyes from your desk to the empty centre of the room, where you stood a few minutes ago, preaching about your dreams of searching for the Planet of Fortune, the presentation’s final slide still projecting onto the wall. However, your eyes fall upon your professor, his official title is, Professor Vari, but he respects your dedication to the class and allows you to call him Mr. V, plus, you’re just his favourite student.

Mr. V beckons you over with a small wave of his hand and you make your way across the classroom. The walk was rather short, as you preferred to sit at the front of the class, closer to the whiteboard, you suppose he is going to give you some feedback on the presentation today. He always likes to give early feedback if he can, just another quirk that makes him your favourite teacher.

As you approach him, you notice there is a small slip of paper in his hand, must be the notes he plans to hand you.

“Another stellar assignment from my Star Student.” He gives you a soft clap, reciting the same joke he’s always made since your first semester. You offer the same thankful smile as always.

“Your class never fails to spark my interest, sir.” You give the same response you’ve given time and time again. Even as your time in his class is coming to its conclusion, he doesn’t treat you any differently, a freshness that keeps you a float among the sea of exam studies. He chuckles at your response.

“I see from your final presentation, you’ve never been deterred from your goal to become a Star Crew Navigator.” He compliments your unwavering determination.

“You know me, sir. Any early words of feedback?” You ask, speeding up past the small talk, afterall you have studying to get to before your exams.

“Well, actually no. I have an offer for you.” You are surprised by this, blinking a few times in confusion. He takes your silence as a signal to continue.

“As I’m sure you remember, during your third semester you made a submission to the Celestial Navigation Committee, which earned you an advantage in receiving your Galaxy-Guide License early. Which the Committee should be sending to you in the coming days.”

You nod along with his words, remembering the early submission request you made for a Galaxy-Guide License, usually an additional year of on-ship training with the committee officials earns someone the experience required to gain a licence. However, with your early submission and the recommendation from your teacher, you were put into an off campus program that gained you the required experience, while still balancing your studies.

“Well.” Mr.V continues. “Along with your submission, your Galaxy-Guide profile was created by the committee, putting you on the market to be snatched up by Star Crew’s looking for guides. Additionally, I took the first draft of your presentation that you submitted to me, and uploaded it to your Galaxy-Guide Portfolio. Just to show a bit about your knowledge and ambition. As luck would have it, a few Crews put in a request to have you on board.”

He hands you the small piece of paper you had eyed earlier, scanning your eyes over it, you notice it is a list.

“I compiled the most trustworthy Crews into a small list for you. Always research a Crew before agreeing to join, shady people take advantage of the system. Every Star Crew must be registered, so never be afraid to look through the registry for known criminal activity.”

That’s your professor, always looking out for you.

“If I may make a suggestion, I know you have trouble interacting with other humanoid creatures. If your time with your classmates is anything to judge by.” He taps the page, next to one of the Crew names, a small red dot already drawn there. “This Crew is wholly Automations, or “Animatronics”. They have a small reputation, but it’s on the positive rise. It’s only a suggestion, but I think you’ll be best suited for them.”

You give your professor an over-excited hug. To think, even before properly earning your licence, you’ve been requested by multiple Star Crews. He returns with a small pat on your back.

“This will be the last time I help you. It’s all you from here.” He pulls back from the hug with a smile. His statement weighed on your heart a little, this probably was the last time he would ever help you, and once you’d graduated, you’d likely never see him again either. You go back in for another hug, this one more sincere. This time he properly returns the hug.

“I’d hold onto that presentation script of yours. You may just be right about some of those riddle verse theories.”

You leave the classroom with a smile. Three weeks, two exams, and one letter from the Celestial Navigation Committee, then you’ll officially be a Galaxy-Guide. As you walk through the hallways of the school pondering how to go about choosing if you will accept any of these Star Crews offers, you look up from the paper in your hand as a flash of unfamiliar orange passes the corner of your eye. You whip your head back to try and catch a glimpse of whatever it was, but all you see is the tail end of a long black coat disappear into one of the doors further behind you. Maybe one of the teachers forgot something, you shrug it off and continue on your way home.

The door to Professor Vari’s classroom swings shut. Vari looks up from his desk, his eyes landing on the face of a familiar bot.

“Pyre. Old friend, so glad you got my letter. I apologise for the summons on such short notice.”

The tall figure removes his large, brimmed hat, placing the item on Vari’s desk, the orange feather slipped in its side, flaps softly as the hat is set down. Revealed underneath, the thick, circular faceplate, adorned around the rim, like an ungroomed lion’s mane is a thick metal piece, mimicking that of a Sun’s rays. The bot meets Vari’s smile with his own, a wide crescent of a smile that stretches from one side of his face to the other.

“Vari. It’s never a long trip to visit a friend like you.”

The bot leans down to meet Vari's hand and the two share a firm handshake.

“Do tell, Vari. What occasion did you call me for this time?” The Sun bot inquires, eyeing the projection left on the board. A mapping of the Sterlin Star System, a red circle drawing attention to one planet in particular.

Vari chuckles.

“Well, this is less of an occasion and more of an offer.” The bot returns his attention to Vari, tilting his head to mimic quirking an eyebrow.

“I know you’ve been looking for a Galaxy-Guide for a few years now.” Vari continues. The bot clicks his tongue at the mention of his lacklustre attempts at finding a suitable Galaxy-Guide. “Don’t remind me.” He groans.

“Well, I have a student in my Celestial Cartography class-.” The professor starts, but Pyre stops him with a wave of his hand.

“Oh please, Vari. Last time you recommended one of your students to me, he didn’t last a month with my crew.” Pyre says, dismissing the idea. Vari frowns, picking up the remote that controls the projector, clicking back a few frames. Pyre’s eyes are once again averted to the wall where the images are being projected. Vari stops on an image, it is one of the predictions of the third verse of The Fortune’s Riddle, a prediction made by the famed Celestial Cartographer, Byte Herrk, and is currently the most researched prediction in the universe.

“What does this have to do with anything?” Pyre asks sceptically.

“This is a presentation from my best student, who I’ve given your crew information to already. Debunking the falsities behind Herrk’s prediction, and making a prediction of their own. One that places the third piece in a different galaxy entirely. I know how much you love picking up strays, your crew is a testament to that. So, take another chance on my student, they may just surprise you. Captain.”

Pyre looks over the frame for a while.

“This student of yours must be pretty confident in themself, if they’d do something as outlandish as making a prediction without building off any historical cartographer’s past predictions.”

He picks his hat back up, placing it back on his head, adjusting the rim to fit around his ray piece. “Fine Vari. I’ll consider your student as a candidate, but if you’ve given me another passionless “adventurer”. I’m not doing trade runs for you anymore.” Pyre threatens, but Vari only smiles in return.

“Oh, trust me Captain. This one will be worth your troubles.” Pyre smirks, making his way to the door.

“They better be.”

[dogpawsswapgod]

WARWICK PROTOCOL

When a routine mission to defend Piltover and its bridge from an incoming Kaiju goes sideways, Cherno Alpha's pilots, Vander and Silco, struggle to save Felicia and Connol, whose unit, Horizon Brave, has gone completely cold.

A oneshot prologue kicking off You’re Gonna Die: Blood In Your Eyes, Blood Out Your Nose: A CaitVi Arcane/Pacific Rim crossover fic.

Part 3: Any Day Now: The Arcane/Pacific Rim mashup you didn't know you needed.

written by me w the support of an anonymous brain-trust