#this chapter is clumsy af

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

For Your Love

Banner made by @toointojoelmiller

[As Long as You Follow] [People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse]

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Words: 3,227

Summary: She liked him like this, craved it; him pinned beneath her thighs, a vessel steered by her desires. Intoxicating, when she deepened their kiss and then pulled away from him and he tried to follow her, head lifting off the pillow, lips seeking hers even when she was out of reach, his abdomen taut with strain. There was something thrilling about it; about someone so much bigger than herself, built like a storm with muscles that could overtake her in a moment, choosing restraint; something satisfying about those large, rough hands sliding along her skin, so gentle when they didn’t have to be.

Warnings: +18, MDNI, smut, oral sex, face-riding, unprotected PIV. Minor angst referenced. Age gap (Joel is 62, OC is in her mid-forties), my Joel is soft AF and loves his wife.

This is my first time posting something like this as a standalone. This is actually a scene from chapter 18 of As Long as You Follow, but also works as its own piece (in that you don't have to read the whole fic to understand this scene). Enjoy!

◦ ❖ ◦

Dawn was barely a whisper when she crept back upstairs, her skin flushed with warmth, her head swimming from even the miniscule amount of liquor she’d been encouraged to drink. She shed her sweatpants with a clumsy grace, using the wall as an anchoring point, and then poured herself onto the mattress with a sigh, burrowing until she sank into the cool embrace of the bedding.

Unsurprisingly, Joel was awake, his eyes steady and observant as she claimed her pillow. “Hi,” she said quietly, and he quirked an eyebrow. She wondered how long he’d laid here just like this, waiting for her to return; wondered if he’d gone looking for her, or had been patient enough to assume she would come back on her own. But he didn’t resist her when she slid over to him, the cool sheet parting like water around her, pressing her warm skin against his. If he was surprised, he didn’t let on; he fell into her embrace easily, fingers sliding under her shirt to trace the delicate architecture of her ribs, his breath, a warm current, brushing against her cheek.

"Would you do something for me?" she breathed into the hollow of his neck.

“Name it,” was his immediate reply, though she let herself linger in the space between them for a little while longer; let him nuzzle into her hair, his hand gliding across her skin, gripping and cupping softly – let herself feel it, his love and affection. In the end, words were unnecessary. She tangled her fingers in his patchy beard, tilting his chin down so he could meet her lips. He responded instantly, his body tensing for a moment before relaxing completely against hers.

In the cocoon of his embrace, the night's unease unfurled and floated away, dissipating into the shadows. It seemed impossible to find anything to be scared of when they were just like this – because nothing terrible had ever happened to her when she was wrapped in his arms, and she knew with a sudden clarity that nothing ever would. “I love you,” she whispered, and then was filled with frustration because even this didn’t seem like enough to convey the immensity of what he meant to her, and all the ways he had reshaped her life for the better. He kissed her again, a gentle press of lips against hers, and then drew her close, his chin resting on the crown of her head.

“I love you,” he echoed. “Go to sleep, baby.”

And just like that, her mind stilled.

But she didn’t sleep. Whether intentional or not, she’d already given up on it. Joel slept, and she didn’t begrudge this of him, this man who gave so much of himself to everyone and everything – to her, to their family, to his community, nevermind the strain of his aging body. She closed her eyes, but sleep never found her, and when the sky began to lighten along its edges, cool and gray, and the birdsong began to trill through their open window, swept in with the breeze that stirred their curtains, she found herself still wide awake. The room was dim, the branches of the old oak outside casting a slow, hypnotic dance of shadows across the bedroom walls. She watched them shift and change, restlessness pulsing through her veins.

Joel stirred in his sleep, breaking their embrace when he rolled onto his back. She shifted onto her side when he did, taking him in as he lay bathed in the soft glow of the approaching day. He looked so peaceful, his features relaxed, his breath even and deep. She remembered doing this during their very first night together; remembered being so full of nervous energy that she hadn’t slept at all, all at once thrilled and terrified of this man that lay sleeping next to her, uncertain of where he would end up fitting into her life but so eager to find out.

For some reason, she could only hear Ellie’s voice in her head, her recollection of her own early days in Jackson; ‘I just didn’t understand why it was so easy for him – how, after everything we’d been through, he could just turn around and be okay. But I figured…he was pretending, you know? For me.’ And she wondered if he was doing the same thing for her, and had been since they got back to town – pretending, for her sake, holding them both together while she crumbled, replaying the familiar dance they'd performed again and again over the years. It unnerved her just as much as it flooded her with gratitude, and she found her vision blurring, his sleeping face glowing and fracturing before she blinked away these unexpected tears, and suddenly it wasn’t enough just to be close to him.

“Joel,” she murmured, a whisper drifting across their pillows. Her movements were deliberately quiet, slow as molasses as she rolled herself over, her hand reaching for him beneath the sheets until her fingers could trace a languid path across his ribs and the expanse of his bare chest. She watched his face as she moved, searching for any flicker of disturbance. “Joel,” she breathed again, his name stretched taut across her tongue.

Finally, he shifted; his features, pale and sculpted in the muted light that speared through their flimsy curtains, pulling tight, his mustache twitching above parted lips. Eyes that glittered like gemstones blinked open, a small, confused grunt leaving his throat.

“What –” The soothing cadence of her voice, the softness of her hand feathering back and forth across his ribs – none of it mattered; he lurched for an upright position, eyes darting around the room.

“Easy,” she whispered, gently pushing him back down; and he hesitated, but seemed to trust her enough to allow this, settling his head back on his pillow with a groan. “Sorry, just…was seeing if you were awake.”

“Am now,” he rasped, voice thick and gritty with sleep, though his grip on her hand was soft after he fumbled for it, squeezing it as it lay across his chest. “What is it?”

She answered him in movement; a soft, measured shift when she swung a leg over his hips, the sheets whispering against her skin until she settled astride him. There was an exhale of surprise, a breathed oh – that was immediately silenced when she captured his mouth with her own, a gentle conquest, her lips velvet against his. She didn’t linger in preambles, deepening her movements with quiet need, her tongue flicking past his teeth – and he hesitated, just for a moment, his hand adrift until it found its home on the curve of her hip.

She liked him like this, craved it; him pinned beneath her thighs, a vessel steered by her desires. Intoxicating, when she deepened their kiss and then pulled away from him and he tried to follow her, head lifting off the pillow, lips seeking hers even when she was out of reach, his abdomen taut with strain. There was something thrilling about it; about someone so much bigger than herself, built like a storm with muscles that could overtake her in a moment, choosing restraint; something satisfying about those large, rough hands sliding along her skin, so gentle when they didn’t have to be.

“Darlin’ –” She sensed his shift immediately; felt his hands migrate to the small of her back, urging her forward, but she shook her head – though she went to him, offering a rather chaste kiss, a fleeting touch of their lips that only seemed to frustrate him. He groaned softly as she continued an upward journey, peppering light kisses across the bridge of his nose, his brow, his forehead while her hands steadied themselves on his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Just lay back,” she said softly, pressing her lips against his again just to stifle any response he might have had. And there was something there; a puff of air that met her lips, a slight sigh that she felt echo through his throat, because her mouth went there next, nipping and licking as that sigh deepened to a groan. “Quiet,” she chided against his collarbone, and that groan turned into an amused scoff – but he did quiet himself, his hands following her, winding through her hair, twirling the golden strands between his knuckles. She felt the response of his body as her touch grew bolder, the stiffening of his chest and the clenching of his stomach when she softly, so softly kissed the half-moon scar above his hip, but his hands remained gentle, careful not to pull too tightly –

– until she descended too low, finding him already straining against his boxer briefs, and she kissed that, too; felt the twitch of his cock through the fabric right before he reflexively jerked his hips. His fingers tightened in her hair and then let go, and suddenly there were hands on her shoulders, gently trying to pull her back up, and she heard his voice rumble through the darkness, “Sweetness – you don’t gotta do that–"

And she knew, with a mix of tenderness and frustration, what he was doing – shielding her, protecting her in that endearing, infuriating way that was so innately him. But she had no use for his protection – not tonight, anyway. She shook her head, grasped his wrists firmly, and pried his hands away from her shoulders. She didn't release him immediately, savoring the moment, placing a lingering kiss on his knuckles before letting go. He responded with a sigh, his head sagging back against his pillow, his chest rising and falling visibly in the dim light; she saw the rhythmic expansion and contraction of his ribs sliding beneath his skin, felt the nervous jolt of his leg when she straddled it, her own heart pounding in her chest.

“I don’t have to do anything,” she murmured, her fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers, “but I’m not doing anything I don’t want to. Okay?”

She watched him carefully, moved slowly, pulling down the fabric until he sprung free, ready and willing despite the rest of his body’s hesitance. She knew that he was watching her, too; saw his eyes as two pinpricks of light glittering through the darkness, heard the sharp intake of his breath as her hand encircled him, warm and inviting – but she waited for him, waited for those eyes to flutter shut, for the quiet, gasped, ‘fuck’ that signaled his surrender –

– and there was something about it that was so familiar, so nostalgic. She thought about when they were first brought together; remembered that look on his face the first time she straddled him on that couch, mouth parted in surprise, eyes sparkling with shock and yearning – remembered the first time she took him in her mouth, the way he’d bucked his hips so harshly, overwhelmed by a sensation so new, so intense. He'd looked at her on her knees with an awe-struck reverence, as if she were the most precious treasure in the world, and that same adoration shone in his eyes now; his hand guiding the bobbing of her head while her lips sank lower, lower, every movement of her tongue causing a wonderful little gasp to push from his lungs.

There was an intoxicating power in witnessing this strong, capable man become something far more pliant in her hand, a profound pleasure in knowing she was the only one who could unravel him in this way. She enjoyed bringing him right to the edge, his strong legs quivering beneath her; knew that he was so close to bliss, because there was a steady stream of whispered Spanish cutting through the darkness – and she smiled around his cock, swirled her tongue along his salty tip, turning those words into an unintelligible groan.

He was beautiful, she thought; plush lips parted, trembling amidst the salt-and-pepper stubble of his jaw. His head tilted back, pressing into the pillow, the morning light tracing the contours of his strong jawline and glinting off the silver in his hair. She watched his tongue dart out to wet his teeth before a grimace of pleasure contorted his face, felt his fingers tangle in her hair while his other hand clenched the sheets, wrinkling the fabric beneath his desperate grip.

“Baby – hey, hey –” His hands were already in motion, before she could react; gentle but commanding, hinging under her arms and lifting her effortlessly – his arms guided her over his body, and though she longed to stay where she was she yielded to his touch, rising to meet his kiss.

And this, too, was beautiful; his lips eager to reclaim the taste of himself on her tongue, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her tight against him as his chest heaved, his words slurred against her lips, ‘god damn, woman – god damn –’ and she barely had time to feel pleased with herself, to savor her satisfaction before she was being moved again, and she was powerless to stop it, those same strong hands gripping her ribcage, lifting her with ease, then seizing her thighs. Her body responded instinctively to his urgent pull, a gasp escaping her lips followed by a startled shriek –

She was unprepared for the onslaught of sensation that engulfed her, his strong arms wrapping around the backs of her trembling thighs as he buried his face between them. She struggled to stay upright, fingers clawing until she finally managed to grip the edge of the bed’s headboard for support.

He was a man determined, her underwear nothing but a flimsy inconvenience, easily yanked aside so that his tongue could seek out her sensitive flesh, roving and licking and swirling and fuck, it was as though that tongue was made for exactly this; she was already unraveling, delicious waves of heat and pleasure rolling between her legs. When he constricted his arms around her and pulled her flush to his eager mouth, she gasped in blissful agony, his nose gliding along her sensitive bundle of nerves.

It took her a moment to find the rhythm in it; in the way he firmed and loosened his grip on her thighs, the press of his tongue at the crest of every wave created by the way he manipulated her hips - but she found it, she fell in line with it, and then she took control of it just as quickly, hastening her own movements, grinding herself against his mouth as she braced her arms against the headboard, every desperate press of his tongue like an electric shock that ignited every nerve ending in her body.

It was blinding, this release; washing over her like a cool wave as he feasted on her with unbridled hunger, unfaltering even as her hips stuttered, then stilled, until she had nothing else to give him; her entire body pulled tight as a guitar string, stretched to its limit and ready to snap –

She hadn’t even realized that she’d stopped breathing until the air came slamming back into her lungs; she gasped, chest filled with fire, pulse pounding in her throat, forking into her limbs – and before she could even begin to come down, he managed to wrap his arm around her back, hefting her away from him and rolling her onto her back as though she weighed absolutely nothing – he moved with her, crawling over her, a comforting, heavy weight pressing her into the mattress – and she didn’t fit, exactly; their limbs tangled, her head lolling over the edge, but it didn’t matter because there was his hand cradling her neck, holding her up; there were his lips meeting hers, slick with her own taste, and there was him, all of him, filling her senses, his muscles pressed against her –

He rooted himself inside of her in fiery stretch, and she welcomed it, brief as it was; sank her teeth into muscle of his shoulder and cried out with each thrust, unconcerned with the noise of it all because she wanted him to hear her, wanted him to understand exactly what he was doing to her – and when he unspools inside of her, it’s with a cry that was almost primal, that last stuttered thrust pinning her against their sheets, his legs taut, his breath hot on her neck.

He was stifling, when he finally settled; his skin scorching against hers, sweat pooling where their stomachs pressed together, dripping from his neck – and she didn’t care, dragging her fingers lightly along his glistening flesh and tangling them in his stringy hair, holding him close to her trembling body. He panted against her chest, one hand still gripping the back of her neck, the other searching for her unencumbered arm as it rested across the sheets.

“That was – supposed to be –” She drew his arm closer, their fingers interlacing. Her lips traced a path of reverence along his thumb, his knuckles, down to his wrist, punctuating each word with a tender kiss, “– about you – and just you –”

He groaned softly, shifting his head to rest his chin on her chest. “Christ, darlin’ – when’re you gonna learn?” Those dark eyes glittering at her through the sun's first tentative rays that filtered weakly through the curtains. His hand abandoned her neck, slipping under the curve of her lower back, and with a slight grunt, he pulled her towards the center of the bed, rescuing her head from its precarious position near the edge. It was a safe place, she decided; tucked against the hard plane of his chest, his fingers weaving through her hair, his lips a whisper against any exposed skin he could find: brushing her nose, pressing a lingering kiss against the pulse point of her neck. “It’s never just about me.”

She had known the illusion of love well before meeting Joel Miller – she was pretty sure of it, anyway. She’d been held before, just like this; felt the comforting embrace of a man’s arms around her, heard the assurances being made from lips loosened by their intimacy, their bodies slack and spent. She'd tasted the fleeting sensation of safety, and even believed it when it was promised to her – because she’d chosen to, because in the harshness of the QZs she’d called home for so many years, delusion was a wonderful refuge from reality. It was strange, maybe, that there was no choice in this now; no pretense, no manufactured hope while sirens blared outside and neighbors' screams pierced through thin, flaking walls.

In Jackson, the world was distilled to its simplest elements: there was only sunlight that streamed through her curtains, only birdsong that flowed through the open window. Only her husband, the man who put a ring on her finger and brought her back from hell again and again, who took her shattered body and rebuilt it with pleasure and showered her in the kind of love that she’d only encountered in the pages of books.

And when he kissed her again, and again in their sun-dappled bedroom, when he held her face in his hands and promised her that she was always going to be safe with him, it was the easiest truth she'd ever embraced.

[wickedsick]

Truly an excellent opening to this chapter. Latla deserves this

Depre-sean has returned

What sort of reveal is Tozuka cooking

Sean 🤝 Okuyasu🤝Penny

Oh my God she's literally just clumsy af

These twos relationship is going to be one for the ages

But they just said that the paradox laws wouldn't apply.

This isn't a back to the future thing...

It's Fade.

Feng is coming back for the idol arc.

HORNY LATLA WILL BE REAL IN T MINUS ONE CHAPTER

[artfightdramaconfessions]

Pouring out a bit of tea I am very excited for AF, can't wait to whammy the homies and lovely strangers with art - but I am also super excited for especially day 1 of Artfight. Mainly bc my first move will be to delete some artworks I made for a toxic person i went no contact with a long time ago that still tries to start shit and cannot wrap their head around the fact that someone who goes no contact with you does not owe you an explanation or exit interview about why they are running over that burning bridge and straight for the hills.

Technically I stay far away from them and do neither engage nor seek out their socials for my own piece of mind got them blocked everywhere and all that good shit but I heard through the grapevine plenty of stuff about the one sided online drama they tried to start to smear my name (which did not work. Pro-tip: not engaging not speaking up online about a private issue that should've stayed between two people works like a charm. If you say nothing to blow that drama up even further than the other person tries to provoke, you win. You win bc people get tired of their apparently one-sided drama and hate crusade real quick and do not even need your side to understand why you might've chosen to go no contact in the first place. Toxic people tell on themselves real fast) But why delete the artwork then, you might wonder. Well, turns out this person left some petty messages in the private comment section of their attacks for other people who did not entertain their bs aka "choosing their side", therefore, obviously that means they are on my side and thus enemies. So I got tempted. I checked. They unblocked me on AF specifically so I would be able to see the petty lil messages they left beneath the attacks they made for me. Apparently they did this in other places too but the AF one stands out by the act of unblocking my account so I would be able to see it. This is some teenager/early twenties drama behaviour that I am simply too old for. I have a life and a job and no time for this. I assume they hope to bait me into blowing up on my socials or something or reach out to them. It is bait, clumsy bait. Had better by worse people in the past. The idea that I've been living rentfree in their head for such a long time, that they still try to get my attention and a response is so wild to me. If they invested that kinda energy they use in stalking my shit and trying to get me to respond into, oh, I don't know, maybe getting better and dealing with their issues, who knows where they could be in this moment in time. Wild concept. But yeah long story short. I wanna get rid of these artworks firstly for my own peace of mind. Close that chapter one more time with feeling. But a petty part of me that is tired and exhausted with their shit hopes it makes em blow up a bit. Just a little fuck you for the road. (do not post publicly if not anon)

.

[nczaversnick]

Project Gemini Chapter 1

This is just a draft so far but it is somewhat polished. Enough to share anyway. This is kinda long so it’s below the cut. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

April 12th - 13:32

Bourne, Titania District

“And with these results that we’ve calculated, we’re able to connect the final piece in better understanding, diagnosing and healing our patients,” a masked woman dressed in charcoal gray-colored scrubs underneath a black lab coat turned and faced a frazzled, deer in headlights look in his eyes man, “Any questions?”

Caspian fiddled with his Holographic Screen Projector tablet. Despite the schoolboard’s constant bragging about the advantages of providing ‘highly sophisticated technology’ to their students, having them be the size of magazines was one of their downfalls. On one hand, they were a clumsy, rectangular shape that weren’t user-friendly enough to be held in one hand and type efficiently with the other. On the other hand, proven time and time again, the lined carbon fiber plates were the superior material to withstand any tumbles from any height. Not that he would know anything about that, but if he did, he knew he could safely count his blessings because the replacements of any AF series of the HSPs would have cost him a month’s rent, including an arm and a leg. He glanced up from his notes and noticed the waning patience on the woman’s face. He quickly looked back down and hurriedly scrolled through his curriculum.

“Sorry,” he stuttered, his cheeks reddening. He finally found what he was searching for and took a moment to peer at the list.

“What do you usually do with the outliers, the ‘critical values’?”

“Oh, yes! We have a strong fail safe system to ensure our results are as accurate as possible. We check the calibration,” she continued to prattle on as he rolled his sore shoulders around. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and his empty stomach churned and growled as another day of dense learning piled on top of him.

“So, obviously, a carbon dioxide level of 35 millimoles per liter would raise concern in doctors, and a level of 21 thousand would raise concern in police,” it was hard enough to decipher exactly what she was saying due to the thick material of her mask, but the way she quickly skimmed and bounced back and forth between topics made it near impossible. Her eyes glanced up towards the flashing digital clock illuminating the door.

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much more of your time,” the sudden change in the pitch of her voice snapped him back to reality, “I know you students have a lot to cover in your other areas, and it’s almost time for lunch anyway. I hope you took a little something out of this rotation.”

“I did, thank you so much,” he quickly shoved his tablet into his school bag and readjusted the strap on his shoulder. The masked woman’s eyes crinkled in a way that he could only guess was from a smile as she escorted him away from the laboratory and towards the elevators.

“Take care of yourself, young man.”

The doors closed and, after a few moments of silence, save for the soft whirring of the elevator at work, opened to a scene of minor chaos. Not like it was anything he wasn’t used to at this point. He carefully made his way across the room, cautious of the other medical personnel and ensuring not to run into any of them in their hustle and bustle between patient rooms.

Blip.

He tiredly swiped his badge in front of a small, wall-mounted monitor. A large glass screen above the monitor flickered to life, and a robotic voice called out:

Screen: “Greetings, Caspian Álvarez. How can I assist you?”

“Clock out for break.”

Screen: “You have chosen to clock out for break on April 12th at 13:48. Your expected clock-in is 14:33 on April 12th. Please present PIN to confirm or say ‘cancel’ to cancel.”

He held out his right wrist towards the small monitor and a faint chime soon followed:

Screen: “PIN accepted. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

“No, thank you.”

Screen: “Goodbye.”

The screen flickered off, leaving behind the reflection of his tired face. He sighed and dropped his arm dramatically as if going through the extra security of clocking out for lunch would be the most grueling task he would have to face for the rest of the day.

“I feel that, but you know, I think I would prefer just giving a PIN than having to go through the extra security clearances like the hospitals in Eltrax or the Aurora District in general,” a man’s deep voice suddenly spoke, “I get that it’s the capital, but having to present your PIN, registered fingerprints and an ocular scan? Could you imagine how backed up it could get? No thanks.”

A man dressed in light blue scrubs underneath a blinding, white coat approached him. Despite the intimidating appearance of his large, sculpted muscles hidden poorly beneath his uniform and his towering six foot five to Caspian’s five foot eight, he was a gentle giant with a bright smile.

“Oh, hey, Doctor Bruno.”

“How are you surviving out here?”

“Well, trying to find the balance between the rotations and your classes is a little challenging, but I made it this far.”

Bruno chuckled and gently patted his shoulder, “From what I’ve seen, I think you’re doing pretty well for yourself. Finals are just around the corner. Take advantage of the break afterward. Get some sleep.”

Caspian internally groaned as he rubbed his hands over his face as if to wipe away the permanent raccoon rings around his eyes, causing Bruno to chuckle again as the PA system above crackled to life:

PA System: Paging Doctor Bruno to room 12.

Doctor Bruno to room 12.

Bruno picked up a small device clipped to his hip, and pressed it, “Page confirmed.”

He turned to him and gave a sympathetic smile, “That’s my cue. Hang in there, Álvarez.”

Caspian waved goodbye to his professor as a faint jingle rang out from his uniform pocket. He fished out a palm-sized HSP, and fiddled with the screen. He sighed and waited patiently for his messages to load. He often considered getting his personal tablet replaced, but knowing how much it initially cost him, he figured he would milk as much as he could from it before it officially died. His messages finally pulled up, and he quickly skimmed over them. There was only one that caught his attention, and it was from one of his classmates:

Audrey: Hey, I found us a table in the

cafeteria. Hurry, though, I’m starvin’

(4/12 13:51)

He chuckled softly, slipping his tablet back into his pocket as he headed towards the doors. On his way, he couldn’t help, but take a few, fleeting glances inside the patient rooms. The rooms were pristine, although a bit on the boring side: white walls with gray baseboards with lone, hardly worn chairs pushed into the corners. Each room had a different number of machines crowding the patient, depending on the severity of their conditions, yet, despite how many there were, none of them made a peep above a soft hum. It almost felt lonesome seeing as there really was no need for physical visitors since each room had large screens bolted to the wall opposite of the patients, the surface plastered by faint, glitching images of doctors or presumably loved ones. The only other living thing in those rooms were the dusty, single photograph portraits of nature that hung on the wall. He didn’t realize he had come to a standstill until he heard another faint jingle from his tablet:

Audrey: Dude, where are you???

(4/12 13:55)

He shook his head at her impatience, and quickly exited the ward. After a few turns and more hallways, he soon approached a pair of glass doors that slid open in his presence. The vibe of the cafeteria was eerily similar to the ward: neutral facial expressions, quiet conversations with an occasional soft laughter surrounded by blank walls and dust covered portraits. His eyes quickly scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces.

“Hey, over here,” a loud voice bellowed, breaking the calm setting.

He didn’t even have to glance in the direction the voice was coming from to know who it belonged to. He soon caught sight of his eccentric classmate, standing up and waving her arms around. He internally groaned, heat rising to his cheeks as he quickly cut through the cafeteria and past the other hospital members who perked their heads up at the sudden commotion.

“Did they not teach you anything about being a ‘good representative of Utristan’ zombie while you were in basic, Private,” he smirked, keeping his voice low.

“Oh. My. God. You have no right to be pulling rank since we’re both Privates, Álvarez,” Audrey scoffed, rolling her eyes, “And right in front of my lunch, nonetheless. Those were the worst two years of my life.”

“I don’t know, I found it a little comforting, especially since I had no idea what I wanted to do after high school.”

“I thought my ASAPT scores would have been lower.”

“You’re smart, Audrey, give yourself some credit.”

“If I did, then where would I get my sympathy points from,” she grinned, sliding over two trays filled to the brim with warm, delicious-smelling food. He rolled his eyes, chuckling. His stomach growled and his mouth watered as he eyed the tray.

“I owe you one.”

“Just pay for my dinner.”

Not a moment later, he was already scarfing down his food as she calmly enjoyed hers.

“No breakfast this morning?”

“Didn’t have time. I went to bed late, so I got up late,” his words were barely audible through his full mouth.

She sighed, “Up late studying again? You’re smart, Cas. I bet you could not study for a week and still be able to pass.”

“Hah.”

“I’m serious! At this rate, you’ll burn yourself out before we even get a chance to start working. We should take a trip somewhere together after finals.”

“We only have a couple of weeks off before the summer semester.”

“Huh, but I’m not taking summer classes unless,” she trailed off.

He paused for a moment, gingerly scratching at his cheek.

“Caspian Álvarez, don’t tell me you’re taking extra classes over the summer!”

“I just want to get them out of the way.”

“You’re literally the worst,” she threw her hands in the air as she slumped down in her seat.

He hushed her and looked around at the now-staring faces of the other cafeteria patrons.

“Listen, I know I’m the worst, but you’re probably just going to be with Bruno for most of the time anyway.”

Her face slowly erupted into a crimson shade of red as she straightened up in her chair and leaned forward, keeping her voice low, “Low blow, dude.”

“With the number of times you tease me about Isaac, who is literally only a friend, might I add, I would say this is fair enough.”

“Okay, okay, but that still doesn’t excuse you from taking extra classes. You’re only in your early twenties, Cas! Enjoy your life a little. I would kill to be your age again.”

“You are literally only 28.”

“And,” she gave him a stern look as if she made a good point. The both of them knew it wasn’t a good point at all, and they erupted in loud laughter because of it, once again shattering the quiet atmosphere. The two classmates finally settled down, and used what little time they had left of their break to try and enjoy their meals and each other’s company. After their food was gone, Audrey immediately pulled her tablet from her pocket and began fidgeting with the screen as Caspian sat there and enjoyed his coffee. He pulled his tablet from his pocket to check on the time when he noticed her dissatisfied expression.

“What’s that face for,” he chuckled.

“How long have you had your tablet?”

“About three years? Give or take.”

“You ever think about upgrading?”

“Hell no. A BF-2S would cost me 20 more seols a month. That, in total, would cost me half a month’s worth of groceries. I’ll stick to the older models. I’m even thinking about returning the school’s AF-5 if that means I get my security deposit back.”

“Cas, that’s just being a cheapskate at this point.”

“Life’s worth more than pretty phones,” he shrugged, eyeing her new BF-3S. He could have sworn she just got the BF-3 last month. He shook his head, “Besides, I’m sure I can find some paper in the black market somewhere.”

She rolled her eyes, “Who knows? I heard they pay pretty well in this area. Maybe the extra money will get you to loosen up a bit.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “Maybe for you. You have a better shot at being hired here than me.”

“Are you kidding? My grades suck so much compared to yours. You’ll definitely have a better shot.”

“If they looked past my records.”

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, “That was one misdemeanor, and it wasn’t even your fault. You’re great at what you do. You’re compassionate; you’re kind. You work so hard! Those are all good qualities you need in this field.”

Her kindness was always with good intentions, but he knew deep down that those ‘qualities’ wouldn’t cut it for him. Even after scoring high on the ASAPT exam and being a perfect personality match for his career path, it still took numerous recommendations from teachers and summer volunteer mentors for the school to even consider his application. Hell, he was even going to go as far as apply for out of district programs, or worse, consider continuing working for the military. He shuddered. Nonetheless, seeing her gentle smile and looking back at all the times she had been there for him, he could at least give her a slight, crooked smile and echo a hollow thanks. His tablet pinged softly, signaling that it was time to go back. He sighed and pulled his tray towards him, making a move to leave.

“Hey, Cas. Just give me a call whenever you feel like it, okay? We can get food and drinks, and have a good time, you know? I’ll even forget about the whole ‘you owing me dinner’ thing.”

He nodded, his smile brightening up slightly, “Yeah, sure.”

The rest of the day came and went in a blur. The evening shift shuffled in, and shift-to-shift handoff was exchanged. Another successful day of helpful knowledge was stuffed into his school bag as he approached the entrance.

“See you tomorrow,” a nurse called out from behind the front desk.

He gave a small wave as he and the rest of the shift’s crew shambled out of the building in zombie-like states. With each passing day, it was getting harder and harder for him to muster up the strength to make it to the transit stop. His body always threatened to crash, eyelids heavy and movements becoming more and more sluggish with each step. However, every now and then, the occasional bumping of other people’s shoulders brushing against him would jolt him awake just enough to keep going. With school taking up his weekdays and his weekends eaten up by his part-time job to keep his head above water, all he longed for was a nap.

Even a short nap would do, he yawned until something suddenly slammed into him, almost knocking him to the ground. His eyes shot open, bewildered.

“What the Hell, man,” his annoyed voice trailed off as he spotted a pair of gray eyes. Dark, stormy. They were hardened by a type of determination he had never seen before. When he finally came to and opened his mouth to say something, they vanished. He blinked and spun around, but not a single trace of them was left. All that remained were the crowds of faceless heads that bobbed along the sidewalks and a faint stench of ash. What was equally as jarring was that no one in the crowd seemed to have noticed, which made him question the authenticity of what just transpired. He craned his neck to try and peer over the group, but the increasing number of pushing pedestrians prompted him to give up on his search and keep moving forward. He sighed and readjusted his school bag, pulling out his tablet to glance at the time. He could feel his eyelids start to get heavy as he peeked at the coffee shop just across the street. The train station was only a few more minutes down the block. He was sure he could make it:

Biing-bong.

PA: “May I have your attention, please? The MPA-0312 Antiquitrain for the 17:09 CrossCountry service to Dreake will arrive shortly. For the safety of yourself and our other guests, please remain behind the turnstile until the antiquarian has come to a complete stop.”

He took a few minutes to catch his breath as the speakers continued listing off other destinations and times of departure in the background. That was the last time he messed around with time. He glanced up at one of the digital clock towers.

16:53.

Just enough time for him and several other patrons to start filing themselves in the queues. A gentle breeze fluttered past, wafting in a very faint, honey-like scent. The misplaced smell piqued his interest as he picked his head up and looked around. Nothing was too out of the ordinary, and no one in particular struck him as the type to wear such a fragrant perfume. He began to lose interest in the mysterious scent as the PA crackled to life:

Biing-bong.

PA: “May I have your attention, please? The MPA-0312 Antiquitrain for the 17:09 CrossCountry service to Dreake has arrived. Please have your PIN readily accessible to make for a smoother process for our guests.”

A silver, nine-car monorail soon came into view. The metal was clean and still new, free of any scratches or dings, and the windows were tinted nearly black, making it impossible to see inside the cars. It was faster than the previous year’s antiquitrains, and certainly more pleasant to look at than the ones closer to where he was staying. The monorail slowly came to a stop, and the doors soon opened, letting out large groups of people. Once a majority of the crowd had cleared, a loud ding chimed out, followed by a buzzer, signaling that the platform was now active. Everyone shuffled through the rotating bars one by one after pressing their wrists against the sensor on the turnstile's column. The monorail dipped ever so slightly with each passenger that boarded as it hovered above the metal rail. He set one foot onto the monorail as the scent came back. It was more potent with each passing moment as if the perfumed stranger was steadily creeping up on him. Naturally, he whipped his head up and around to scan the crowd, but to no avail. No one was advancing toward him except for a disgruntled older man who glared at him through his thick glasses.

“Hurry it up, will ya? Some of us are trying to get home.”

He frowned slightly, but quickly sniffed in the stranger’s direction just to be sure. The scent still lingered, but it was faint now. And just as it had come, it soon dissipated:

PA: “The MPA-0312 Antiquitrain for Dreake will be departing soon. Please ensure all your belongings are safely secured as the antiquitrain accelerates and decelerates at a rapid speed.”

He lazily reached up to grasp the hanging handrail as the doors slid closed, but barely missed as the monorail suddenly lurched forward. He stumbled and almost collapsed into a young woman that was sitting beside him. He quickly regained his composure and apologized profusely, his face burning red. After several more apologies, he slumped into his seat, trying to bury himself in his scrubs as a few passengers near him softly chuckled. After the embarrassment finally wore off, he decided to busy himself by scrolling through his school tablet. A few assignments weren’t due for another few days, but he figured if he got a headstart on them now, he might have more time to compose himself before his weekend shift. However, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the document displayed before him, he couldn’t get his brain to refocus on his assignments. His thoughts constantly drifted between school, clinical rotations, and his future before finally settling on who that stranger who ran into him was. Why was he in such a hurry? How come no one else noticed him?

“Attention, passengers of MPA-0312,” the PA softly announced in the background as he pondered his thoughts. He didn’t pay any mind to the announcement that warned the passengers of their arrival, which he would soon regret as the monorail suddenly came to a halt and launched him into the back of a now very disgruntled passenger.

Tags for general Project Gemini content(comment to be +/-):

@the-ellia-west @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives @the-golden-comet @athenadire @yourpenpaldee

[rosyandraw]

oh my god you have no idea how good it is to come to tumblr and discover that you, besides still posting, also still talk about capri 😭 I finished reading the posted chapters of "(not) meant for you" (And I was obviously OBSESSED because well… THIS STORY IS INCREDIBLE??? LIKE TF COULDN'T I SLEEP I WAS SO OBSESSED) and I worried about the story being unfinished forever, the fact that you're still involved in the fandom gives me a little hope that that won't happen! I'm so excited to read more of your capri stories. do you plan to continue posting fics after you finish NMFY? (especially Modern/Modern Nobility aus these are my particular favorites lol).

Anyway, sorry for the clumsy message lol, I just loved your story and thought I needed to come and check if everything was ok. You are a very good writer <3

Hey my lovely,

That's so kind, I'm really glad you enjoyed it (even if it made you lose sleep)

It isn't abandoned I am just useless and life has been hectic AF. It is nearly done, I cannot stress enough how close I am, I'm just lazy atm and renovating my house which is stressful ngl

I do have a few fics to come after NMFY yes, most of them are good to go already, I just want to finish NMFY first before I post them.

Modern AU- Very dark long fic the main themes are infidelity, hypersexuality, abuse, and mental illness (this is the one I’ve mentioned previously that currently has 2 full word pages of triggers and warnings LMAO so it really won’t be for everyone)

Modern Nobility AU - Veretian Masquerade coming of age party

Modern AU Cam boys/Only Fans

AU 1920s Gangsters

AU Roman-esque Gladiator fic

Canon Divergent - Marlas peace treaty-esque that’s a little bit D/L and a little bit D/A

Canon AU – Challis scene/post assassination attempt sexy times because why not.

So hopefully there will be something you like in those and if not, I say it all the time, but if you have something specific I love a good prompt, you never know what’s gonna spark a little bit of creative magic, you know?

So thank you my love and don't apologise, it isn't clumsy at all and I appreciate you dropping me a message, I hope you're having a fabulous day/night 💕

[mrscorcoran]

One more secret won't hurt / Bunny x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Notes:

I imagine Cam as Anya Taylor Joy with her deep voice and big eyes

And Bunny as Dane Dehaan because he's hot af

________________________________________________________

Chapter 7: Potato foxes and new friends

A few days pass after I saw the Greek class at the library, and no calls or texts come from any of them. It was silly thinking that after one short interaction I’d make an impression, enough for them to actually reach out to me.

I talked to Judy after the encounter, but she clearly isn’t very thrilled about my interest in the strange group, so I kept most of it to myself, only giving her a few details that prompted her to tease me once again about Bunny. I’m getting used to it and now I can almost get through it without blushing.

It’s not until the fifth day after the library that I finally give up hope and stop checking my phone every hour. I start to feel normal again, as the initial obsession starts to leave my body, so I grab a notepad and pen, and head out to the big tree by the fountain, intending to do some writing.

I settle down on a cozy blanket, my back resting on the trunk of the big tree, and take my stuff out my bag. I observe the people passing by, all dressed in warm, puffy clothes, chatting away, arm in arm with their friends. I feel a pang of loneliness deep in my tummy, and shake it off, opening my notepad on my lap.

I manage to write a few paragraphs that look semi coherent, when a loud shriek makes my skeleton jump out of my body. It takes me a second to realize the shriek was actually someone yelling my name. I look around and immediately spot the blonde girl rushing towards me.

- “Hey! It is Y/K, right? Hope I didn’t get your name wrong,” she says, sitting down next to me.

- “Camilla, hi! That’s right, no worries,” I smile at her, a bit startled by her sudden presence.

- “I was hoping I’d run into you! Well, I’ve been looking around for you the past few days, to be honest. I have no idea where you live and Bunny sort of lost your number, the big idiot, so I had no way to reach out to you,” she rambles, taking a few things out of her bag. A pair of weird, long, metal prongs, a big ball of orange yarn, and a tiny, deformed potato looking thing. “Is it cool if I sit with you while I crochet?” she asks, already moving the hooks before I’ve even answered her.

- “Of course! I was actually kind of sad none of you had reached out. I know it looked like an offer to help with homework, but that was me trying to make friends,” I laugh, feeling relief that I hadn’t made a complete ass of myself before, and at least Camilla was interested in being friends. I wonder how Bunny lost my number, though.

- “I was hoping that’s what it was, I don’t have many friends either. Being a classics major is a lonely path…” she looks away, lost in her thoughts, but before I can think of something to say, she speaks again. “Anyways, do you crochet?” she asks while skillfully moving her needles over the potato figure, and I realize it’s actually a small face with a small snout, probably a fox, judging by the color.

- “Oh, hell no, I’d probably stab myself with one of the needles while learning. I’m not very skilled with my hands,” I chuckle.

She laughs but brushes off my self-deprecating comment before pulling a second set of needles and a ball of brown yarn out of her bag, and in half an hour I’ve already completed a line of stitches in the easy pattern she taught me. Her hair brushes against my arm when she comes close to check on my progress. The sound of her husky voice as she tells me stories about her childhood with her brother, about dinners with the Greek class, keeps me mesmerized. Her laugh is a very curious sound. I like making her laugh.

Hours pass. My notebook is discarded to the side, incoherent paragraphs still incomplete. A tiny, ugly as fuck little fox looks up at me. I followed her instructions, but my clumsy hands still managed to mess up a few stitches so one side of the snout looked smaller than the other.

- “See? Now you have a little friend, and nobody got stabbed,” she smiles, holding her perfect little orange fox. I look down at my brown fox and smile. Hell yea, I have a new friend.

We exchange numbers and immediately save them to our phones to avoid another incident. And thus started one of the great friendships of my life.

_________________________________________________________

Camilla is a much more complicated person than I initially thought. She’s awfully smart, as was clear from the very start, but she’s also so creative and curious. Anything new she can learn, she will try to. And so I found myself often dragged to various classes and workshops in the following weeks. ‘Knowledge can be a very lonely road, it is better travelled in pairs,’ she said one afternoon, holding my hand as we were getting ready for a taxidermy class. So, I became her knowledge partner. There were no complaints on my part, I love all the weird stuff we were learning. Soon I had a shelf full of small trinkets. Two taxidermied little mice, posed like they’re dancing on stripper poles, a couple ceramic mugs with little ceramic mushrooms sprouting out of the sides, a bunch of ugly amigurumis, a stained-glass window panel with a bee in the middle.

Spending time with Camilla was like a breath of fresh air after feeling lonely in my new life here at Hampden. We fit together so easily, our sense of humor broken in the same ways, filling each other in on the many years before we met, our childhood joys and traumas, successes and failures, fears and hopes. Life definitely got a lot brighter with Cam in it.

We’d drink until late in my bedroom while binging old X-files episodes and reading fanfiction out loud to each other, struggling to make everyone’s voices and accents, trying to make each other laugh.

We’d go hiking together and compete on who could find the most dick shaped things out in nature, be it rocks, mushrooms, branches, birds… (yes, at certain angles, birds can look like dicks.)

We’d have little coffee dates where we’d discuss the chapters we read of a book we started together.

It was during one of these coffee dates at a little café just on the edge of campus, just a few weeks after she found me writing by the big tree, that I saw Bunny again.

We were sitting at the back of the café, almost hidden by the stairs to the second story, the quietest spot in the place, quietly laughing about the book, when I saw him come in. His hair looked ruffled from the wind outside, his eyes looked a bit tired, he had bags under them. He was dressed in autumn colors, a dark green sweater, orangey corduroy pants and converse. Despite looking tired he still managed to look put together, even handsome. He hadn’t seen us and went up to the register to order his coffee.

- “Hey, stranger!” I waved at him when he looked in our direction, his face immediately brightened, and when the barista handed him the coffee he came over to our table.

- “Hi, ladies” he said, leaning down and giving us each a quick kiss on the cheek. “What’s up? What are you up to?” he asked, looking between us, his eyes lingering on Camilla for a moment.

- “Just having coffee and discussing books,” I smiled at him, holding up the book.

- “I see…” he looked shifty, like something was making him uncomfortable. “Uh, so, I’m sorry I never texted, I just-”

- “It’s okay, Camilla told me what happened, no worries,” I interrupted. He looked over at Camilla, an alarmed look on his face.

- “Oh. So, she told you that I-”

- “Yeah, I told her that you lost it. Always misplacing stuff. You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to you,” she laughed, and they held eye contact for a fraction of a second. I could feel the tension, but I was unsure why. It was no big deal, Camilla and I still managed to connect.

- “Wanna join us?” I asked, pointing at the empty chair between us, trying to lighten the mood a little.

- “Oh, I would love to, but I’ve gotta run, I’m meeting Henry in 10 minutes. Raincheck though?” he asked, as he casually unlocked his phone and handed it to me. I quickly typed my number and gave the phone back after double checking the number was right.

- “Raincheck,” I smiled at him, and he ran out of the café, back to the windy autumn afternoon. Camilla and I went back to discussing the book and our little coffee date/impromptu book club meeting resumed. It was the first and last one we had by ourselves.

[ellieluvr420]

Well your chapter 23's teaser first reminded me of when I had been in hospital for over a week, and i told my mom i wanted to go home. I cried and i guess she cried too. But that's not the mystery.

I never know what i was down with. That evening i felt really dizzy, and i was rushed to hospital at 4am when my mom woke up and saw red spots all over my body. I was sleepy af and didnt feel hurt or itchy or anything. I just knew that everyone in the hall was staring and pointing at me. I couldnt care more i just wanted to sleep. They took me in and did everything while i was asleep already. I got an IV on my fore arm and the back of my hand. I dont remember much, but the princess treatment was great so I lied to my parents that i had headaches and stomachaches for another 2 weeks before getting back to tons of elementary schoolwork. I asked my mom about that event once but she just said it was an allergy. No i definitely dont have any allergies🤷

It's nice that you're back posting ❤️ you're really good at writing, and i hope you're doing well. Love you mwah mwah 😘

omg I’m so sorry, i didn’t get any notifs about my asks so I missed this but omg you are a medical mystery, the doctors were confused about me because i had broken like six bones by the time i was twelve but turns out im just clumsy soooo

i love u more for interacting like this, ty ur a sweetheart, i hope you’re doing okay!

also btw people, friends? never new chap out tonight!!! finally finished and edited it i just wanna do the last few adjustments and then we’re good, ty for your patience as always love y’all <3

[liaromancewriter]

I was disappointed by the first 2 chapters of Dirty Little Secrets. I wish they hadn’t done the 0-60 sexual relationship between MC and LI. It was clumsy AF.

[aoki553]

ch. 41

i dont have much to say about this chapter bc besides kusuo being clumsy af without his powers.... THERE'S MY BOY!!!

these siblings ruined my brain because whenever i see them i get so emotional they make me so happy. i am paying for their therapy as we speak.

but also... question.

why is makoto's outfit here THE EXACT SAME as Ruchi's in 7 change, and... WHERE DID THE RINGS AND THE COOLER BRACELETS GO. GIVE THEM BACK??

ruchi stole them back between panels. new headcanon.

[riewiggles]

I shall cosntruct another Fanfiction scene picture because Maggie (my American OC) is mood. She is #1 American best friend and will make steamed rice, will watch Neo Featherman with you, and will give you an English lesson by singing All Star by Smash Mouth, but be careful because she’s clumsy af and will destroy your shoe rack by looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb in the shape of an L on her forehead (well, it’s not yours... it’s actually Mitsuru Kirijo’s apartment... just blame Akechi for it later, he’s unstable anyways).

(Out of context) Kanjiplier: “BUT THE SHOES! THE DAMN SHOES!”

Part 2, chapter 38 (Ouroboros)

EDIT: Had to draw another one today from chapter 29 when Kanji has the giggle fits (which are contagious).

[the-hype-dragon]

thoughts on Uprooted, part 2

chapter 3 was uhhhhhhhh

idk I've never been a huge fan of stories where the main girl's dignity gets shoved in the garbage without any proper narrative payoff lmao and Agnieszka literally has no choice but to go along with everything like. you can't even count her beating Marek half to death here because Mr. Dragon goes ahead and (allegedly) gives the guy memories that he had sex with Agnieszka anyway... sorry hun you just NEED to be embarrassed as long as you're living with this man

okay another pet peeve: sometimes the characters say something and then the narrative goes ahead and explains it all over again. there's a huge info-dump about the Wood in the middle of a conversation that doesn't feel like it needed to go there. idk. it's just a little. cluttered and not fun to reread the same shit twice in a row, and it's not fun to get yanked out of the story by the author going "look at all this relevant information!!!!" like just draw arrows pointing at it next time and it will be less obnoxious. I mean exposition is necessary but come on. come on. I know Novik isn't an amateur but this is so clumsy and amateurish

I also just. don't like the Dragon. unlikable characters can be fun as long as they're interesting. he's just unlikable and every piece of dialogue he says just makes me dislike him more. like 99% of the 1-star reviews on GR cited him specifically for their low ratings lmao which I find oh so interesting

I also hate the way the dialogue is written but that's a me problem. I'm beginning to hate the word 'cantrip.' the magic words are still silly af and I die a little inside every time I see them

Agnieszka still feels very generic and doesn't even have a real reaction to the Dragon verbally abusing her all the damn time, I mean I guess by chapter 3 she's used to it but still. about the "oh I'll just have to make Marek think he had really bad sex with u Agnieszka" specifically I just feel like there should have been. perhaps. some outrage of some sort lmao but no it's nothing and we cut to the next day where Marek is leaving and Agnieszka is kind of generically mad and it's written about in such a lighthearted kind of way. this book is sending mixed messages and I'm not sure I like it

anyway :v I kind of had a feeling it wasn't that great when I saw the woman who wrote Serpent and Dove liked this book. that was the biggest red flag I've ever seen in my life

to be continued......

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 33

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling “Wei Ying, you’re so stupid”

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32

HuaiSang is angry.

Wei Ying passes him the jar as often as possible, hoping that the wine may mellow him out. Three jars later however, Jiang Cheng is leaning slightly sideways even while sitting down, Wei Ying is beginning to see two of everything, but HuaiSang’s anger is still present, an unpleasant fourth addition to their drinking circle.

The fire had been put out; the stench of burning lays heavy over the majority of the Immortal Mountain City, and although Wei Ying had washed up and changed his robes twice, it seems to linger at the back of his throat, bitterly mixing with the sweetness of the wine.

Lan QiRen is unharmed. No one else has been hurt. All in all, for an incident that could have claimed dozens of lives, a small palace burned to the ground is the best possible outcome they could have hoped for.

A-Sang swears. Explicitly.

Wei Ying does not think that fucking the arsonist’s ancestors to the eighteenth generation will do anyone any good, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“I should have doubled his guard,” A-Sang says.

Wei Ying says nothing to this either.  

Two separate traps had been set. They had required time, and planning, and full cooperation by the people in the Immortal Mountain that A-Sang actually trusts. Unfortunately, the number of people A-Sang trusts is limited, and nearly half of them had been to sent to YiLing.

They had given the assassin three targets. Two in the Immortal Mountain, and the Emperor himself, seemingly alone and unprotected in YiLing. The assassin had chosen a fourth target, something that no one could have predicted.

Except that A-Sang believes he should have predicted it, and is furious to have been outmaneuvered.

“Let us sum up what we know,” Wei Ying says.

Jiang Cheng groans, “Not again.”

“Yes, again,” A-Sang says, snatching the jar out of his hands, “We should go over the information we have as many times as necessary. We are obviously missing something.”

Jiang Cheng groans again, and keels over, sprawling on the floor. Unlike Wei Ying, he has not had a chance to wash up or change before being pulled into A-Sang’s chambers. Earlier in the day, A-Sang had stuffed him in the Emperor’s robes to play the bait, but now the robes are singed and filthy, and will likely need to be thrown away.

Wei Ying wonders if this is where the lingering scent of stale smoke is coming from.

“Do we agree that nothing suspicious occurred before the Lan Sect arrived?” A-Sang says.

They have gone over this already, but Wei Ying forces himself to think about it again.

“There was nothing,” Jiang Cheng mutters from the floor.

“Nothing,” Wei Ying agrees firmly, “nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good,” A-Sang says, “then we start at the beginning. The Lan Sect arrives the night before the first day of the festival. They are escorted into the Immortal Mountain by da-ge. They settle into the Peach Blossom Pavilion. Wei Ying goes to liberate the Six Fans Pavilion of its hidden stash of the Emperor’s Smile. Lan WangJi sees him running across the rooftops, and tries to stab him. A decision I still respect, by the way.”

Jiang Cheng snorts.

“Day one,” A-Sang goes on, “the Greeting Ceremony, during which Wei Ying blatantly ogles Lan WangJi--“

“Hey!” Wei Ying exclaims.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, invisible on the other side of the table, “You did do that.”

“--then the Sect Leader meeting, during which Wei Ying displays obvious favoritism toward the Lan Sect, ensuring that even those sect leaders who had been ambivalent before, now have an entirely new set of reasons to despise them,” A-Sang says.

Wei Ying buries his head in his hands.

“Then the banquet, where Wei Ying singles out Lan WangJi again.”

“I just wanted to talk to him,” Wei Ying groans through his fingers.

“Do not forget the part where Wei WuXian drinks so much that he tries to piss into a potted plant,” Jiang Cheng adds.

Wei Ying snatches the jar out of A-Sang’s hands, “I thought we were talking about suspicious events.”

“He is right,” A-Sang nudges Jiang Cheng with his foot, “the Emperor getting stumbling drunk and trying to piss in inappropriate places is hardly out of the ordinary.”

A snort drifts up from the floor. 

Wei Ying hates them both.

“Day two,” A-Sang goes on, “The picnic. Someone tries to poison Lan WangJi. The Jin Sect tries to pin the poisoning on Lan XiChen. Two servants are killed, their bodies stuffed in the stairway of the old north-west watchtower. No poison is found in their quarters. The sword fighting competition is postponed. Day three. The Immortal Mountain is searched top to bottom. All the servants are questioned. All the sects willingly submit to the search. Nothing suspicious is found. The Council decides it is safe to resume the competition the following day. The Emperor goes pining across the rooftops until Lan WangJi pays attention to him. He tells Lan WangJi that he means to enter the competition in secret. Lan WangJi tells his uncle and brother. The only other people aware of the ruse are A-Cheng, shijie, Wen Qing, and myself.”

“I did not pine,” Wei Ying grumbles.

“Day four,” A-Sang says, ignoring him, “Every sect and clan is present at the competition. The Lan Sect arrives on time, and is placed at the Nie Sect table. Lan XiChen fights da-ge and wins. The Emperor almost gets himself killed because he is too distracted by Lan WangJi to compete properly. An arrow from the West watchtower nearly costs the Empire its most valued subject. The Jin Sect tries to pin the assassination on the Lan Sect, again.”

“That is hardly suspicious,” Jiang Cheng says, hand reaching up to grab the wine jar, “the Jin Sect is terrible by rule.”

“Wait,” Wei Ying says, “wait. While I was competing in the West Gate courtyard I spoke to the little demon from the Nie Sect, Nie XuanYu. He said that only three of the Jin Sect disciples had signed up to compete with the rest of them, but that none had actually shown up.”

Jiang Cheng sits up suddenly, then sways.

“Gossip,” he says, then thinks for a moment, as if gathering his drunken thoughts, “There was gossip among the smaller sects about the Jin being too proud to compete in the bottom four tiers. Yao MingYu was told by one of the Jin disciples that the Jin Sect does not produce below average cultivators.”

Wei Ying snorts, “Bold of them to say that, when Fan XiaoHu keeps wiping the floor with Jin ZiXuan.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, “that girl is a menace.”

Wei Ying bites his tongue so he would not laugh. He had forgotten that Fan XiaoHu had wiped the floor with Jiang Cheng a few times too.

A-Sang taps the table with his fan, “Focus! Who has the list? A record must be kept of those who signed up to compete, whether they ended up participating or not.”

“Uncle Jiang should have it,” Wei Ying says, his heart immediately sinking.

He still needs to have a very unpleasant conversation with his High Councilor, one he is definitely not looking forward to having.

“Good,” A-Sang says, “We must get our hands on this list. See? We are making progress. Where are we now? Ah, yes. Day four. The day I was almost killed.”

Wei Ying is pretty sure that he is managing to look sufficiently contrite. Jiang Cheng only looks drunk and disgruntled.

“The Jin Sect tries to blame the assassination attempt on the Lan Sect. Lan QiRen reveals a note warning him to remove the Young Masters from the Immortal Mountain. A note that was placed in the Peach Blossom Pavilion before their arrival. Wei Ying cannot seem to keep away from Lan WangJi, even at the cost of ruining his virtue and good name--“ A-Sang points his fan at Wei Ying’s half-opened mouth, “and I am specifically speaking of  Lan WangJi’s virtue and good name, because Heavens know you have none.”

Jiang Cheng chokes on the wine, adding more stains to the already ruined Imperial robes.

“Anyway,” A-Sang says, snatching the jar back, “this brings us to day five. Which is today.”

Jiang Cheng drops his forehead onto the table, “These have been the longest five days of my life.”

“Hey,” A-Sang snaps, whacking him on the back of the head with his fan, “Has anyone tried to kill you? No? Then stop complaining.”

Jiang Cheng half-heartedly pushes the fan away, but does not lift his head.

“Day five,” A-Sang repeats, “This faithful subject bears the agony of a deadly, grievous wound, obtained in the service to the Emperor, to take control of the situation. Two traps are set in motion. The first is set in the Imperial Gardens, the second in the North Watchtower. If the assassin has connections among the major sects, he should have fallen into the first trap. If he has connections among the smaller sects, he should have fallen into the second. If he has eyes and ears among those we explicitly trust, he should have gone after Wei Ying. But instead, the assassin opts to kill Lan QiRen.”

“So the assassin does not belong to any of the sects,” Wei Ying says, “otherwise, he would have walked into one of the traps.”

“Not true,” A-Sang says, his voice hardening, “it is also possible that the assassin saw three targets as clearly as we had presented them, and having no way to discern which one was real, had simply decided on the fourth. We also now know where his priorities lie. I no longer believe that the purpose of the second assassination attempt was to kill the Emperor. I think it was only meant to frame the Lan Sect for his murder, which would have been a death sentence in itself.”

Jiang Cheng lifts his head, “You think all of this is just-- to kill the Lan Sect? Why? Why would someone go through so much trouble to kill them?”

A-Sang does not have an answer to that.

“Any words from the Wen Sect?” he asks instead, and Wei Ying shakes his head.

His own message had gone out to Wen RuoHan only a day ago; it is much too soon for a response.

He takes the jar back from A-Sang, but finds it empty, and fumbles around for the last full one, still stashed underneath the table.

“Lan QiRen probably hates me even more now,” he grumbles, “I will be lucky if he still allows Lan Zhan to marry me after this debacle.”

The wine tastes less bitter now. He cannot tell if the stench of burning has grown less, or if he is finally too drunk to notice. He offers Jiang Cheng the jar, only to find Jiang Cheng staring at him with a wide, incredulous gaze, devoid of the earlier drunkenness.  

“What?” Wei Ying says.

“Repeat what you just said,” A-Sang says slowly, his voice careful.

Wei Ying blinks at him and thinks back. His head is swimming a little bit, but he is not yet so drunk that he should be speaking nonsense.

“What?”

“Before that,” A-Sang says.

“Lan QiRen hates me? He will probably refuse to--“ Wei Ying chokes slightly, “--Oh. Erm. I-- we did not speak of this yet, have we?”

“You intending to marry?” A-Sang says sweetly, snapping his fan open, “No. It seems you had forgotten to mention that little detail. To me. Your Royal Companion.”

“Or me,” Jiang Cheng growls.  

“Uh, this--” Wei Ying fumbles, “there were-- other things? You were nearly killed! I was-- uh-- distracted?”

“But not too distracted to decide to marry.”

“You have known him for five days!” Jiang Cheng bursts out.

“Hey!” Wei Ying snaps back, “These have been-- very long five days! You said so yourself!”

“Who else knows?” A-Sang asks.

Wei Ying wishes that A-Sang would yell at him. At least then, this may actually be a little less awkward, and he may feel a little less guilty.

“No one,” he says quickly, “only Lan QiRen.”

“Lan WangJi does not know? You have not asked him?”

“No, I-- I thought I should speak to his uncle first. It is the proper thing to do.”

“The proper thing to do,” A-Sang repeats.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, feeling defensive, “Lan Zhan loves his uncle. If Lan QiRen disapproved, Lan Zhan would never agree.”

“You cannot just-- go around asking people to marry you!” Jiang Cheng exclaims, “You idiot! There are rules! Traditions! People who must be informed ahead of time! The Council--!“

“I am not going to ask the Council for an approval to marry,” Wei Ying snaps, indignant, “Lan Zan is the Second Young Master of the Gusu Lan Sect, not some farmer I picked up in YiLing.”

“He is the Second Young Master of the Gusu Lan Sect!” Jiang Cheng shouts loud enough to make A-Sang flinch, “The Lan Sect! Do not play stupid about this!”

“I am the Emperor!” Wei Ying thunders, “I make the rules and the traditions! The Council exists because I allow it to exist!”  

The empty wine jar flies across the room and shatters on the door frame, making them both flinch.

A-Sang closes his fan.

“Are you both done?” he asks.

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth, but closes it when A-Sang turns to him with raised eyebrows.  

Wei Ying, who knows better, remains quiet.

There is a short, uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by A-Sang’s fan tapping on the table. Finally he sighs.

“We have leverage to use against the Council. Admittedly, I never thought to use it in this way, but it will certainly not be a waste if you are determined to marry him.”

“I am,” Wei Ying says immediately.

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth again, but A-Sang smacks his knuckles with the fan, silencing him, “Shut up. Use your head. If the Emperor marries a Second Young Master of a traitor sect, this sets a precedent. One that you, in particular, might find useful.”

Jiang Cheng splutters, his face turning red.

“Can this wait until we have caught the assassin?” A-Sang asks.

Wei Ying squirms, “I did try to speak to him in YiLing, but I may not have made myself as clear as I should have, so-- if I do not ask him to marry me, he is likely to assume that I do not have honorable intentions. Towards him. In the future.”

“You are so stupid,” Jiang Cheng mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.

“A-Cheng is right,” A-Sang says, “You have been very stupid about this. You should have come to me first, before talking to Lan QiRen.”

“In my defense,” Wei Ying says, “I did not plan to speak to Lan QiRen when I did, it just-- happened.”

Jiang Cheng groans, turning to A-Sang, “How is he the Emperor? How?”

“The Heavens watch out for the idiots, because the rest of us can watch out for ourselves,” A-Sang says promptly.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, “Okay. Can we, just-- move past this?”

“No,” A-Sang says, “I am fairly certain that we will speak of nothing else but your stupidity for the remainder of the night.”

“Fine,” Wei Ying says, getting up, “I am going to find Lan Zhan. You know, the man I am going to marry. Who does not think I am stupid.”

“Would you like to place a wager on that?” Jiang Cheng mutters, and A-Sang smacks his knuckles again.

“I want the list of the Jin Sect disciples first thing in the morning,” A-Sang reminds him.

Wei Ying flaps his hand in acknowledgment. He is a little unsteady, but manages to find the door without too much fumbling.

Jiang Cheng’s voice follows him out, “Try and not piss in any flower pots!”

[lilybug-02]

Can we see more of the soul being an the elder god seen in the roaring story

My pleasure ;)

((Inspired from this post of mine))

[harmonictechnicality]

a little follow-up to the steddie bookstore meet cute

Steve lets the storyteller finish reading the chapter before further investigation. He does this for three different reasons: 

The chapters aren’t outrageously lengthy.

Kids get extremely cranky if someone disrupts their story time.

Steve also gets extremely cranky if someone disrupts his unapologetic staring-at-cute-boys time.

He’s worked at this bookstore for 378 days. All walks of life come through this place and he’s seen them all.

Until today.

378 days and countless hours of people-watching, but Steve Harrington has never seen someone like him.

Loud clothes to match his loud voice. Knotted hair and one untied combat boot. Inked-up arms that look deceivingly like shirt sleeves.

Steve scans over his face, counting his piercings. One lip. One nose. One eyebrow. Three in each ear.

Nine piercings and that’s just the visible ones.

But before Steve starts visualizing (fantasizing) about how many more he might have, the kids start clapping. Cheering, even. The man gives a theatrical bow and sneaks past the crowd of children - making a beeline towards Steve.

“I can explain,” the man begins sputtering, hands up defensively. “I picked the wrong chair. Perceptibly cozy. Undoubtedly hard-work.”

Steve just smirks, nodding towards the novel in his ring-clad hand. “You gonna buy that?”

“Uh yeah. I mean, yes.”

Oh, Steve is making him nervous. Huh.

“Come, on.” Steve takes the book from his grasp and motions to the cash register. “You can explain further while I check you out over there.”

Which wasn’t meant to be a line, but he’s not exactly sorry that it came out that way.

“Been looking for this specific copy for years.” The man starts fumbling through his jean pockets, while he continues to babble. “Was scouring second-hand bookstore reviews on Yelp one day and saw this place is a goldmine for rare books. Figured I’d venture out here and see for myself.”

“Glad you could find what you’re looking for,” Steve states smoothly.

“In more ways than one, I hope.” He says it under his breath and not directly to Steve, but it doesn’t matter. Steve is keyed in. He hears every word. Senses fully heightened.

“The little bookworms thought you were amazing.” Steve says while simultaneously thinking, I find you pretty amazing too.

“Yeah? Pretty cool to see kids geeking out over Bilbo Baggins.”

Despite his clumsy movements, he manages to thumb open his wallet and slides Steve a credit card. Steve takes the card and inspects the name: Eddie Munson. Lets the name resonate and marinate in his mind for a brief moment.

“So you’re just passing through then?” Which could be too forward. Steve can get away with Too Forward when picking up girls, but it’s definitely more of a gamble with guys.

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?” Steve swipes the card through, then offers it back to Eddie.

Their fingertips meet in the transfer, but Eddie’s coffee brown eyes stay fixed on Steve’s lips. 

“If there’s anything else worth exploring in this town.” 

Totally worth the gamble. 

Steve bites down on his lower lip, the one that’s become Eddie’s focal point of interest, and tosses the book into a paper bag - sliding it over the register counter.

“Thanks, Steve.” Eddie says causally. Like he’s known him personally for years.

Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Name tag! I saw your name tag.” Eddie’s expression is panicky, losing all remnants of his flirtatious tone. “Shit.”

This guy is a walking contradiction. Fully clothed like he’s preparing for an anarchist uprising, but is actually a blabbering mess. Steve Harrington is just some turtleneck wearing, floppy-haired, college dropout - yet somehow he is the one making the big bad wolf skittish.

It’s honestly adorable.

“Come back anytime, Eddie.” Steve says just as casually.

Now Eddie is the one raising his eyebrow.

“Credit card.” Steve responds. “I saw your credit card.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

There’s no reason that the conversation should continue. Steve shouldn’t waste his time pining after someone that’s just traveling through with low probability of sticking around. Hawkins is practically a ghost town at this point. Nobody ever stays, except for washed-up locals like Steve and Robin.

So he knows he shouldn’t pursue this. Steve knows better not to get involved with dead-end streets leading to eventual heartbreak. But he can’t stop himself from sneaking out his phone the second Eddie leaves the store. His thumb is hovering over the Search button when Robin snatches it from his hand.

“No cellphones during store hours.” She says, inspecting the phone screen. “Oh, come on- seriously?”

“What?” He groans.

She holds the screen in front of his face. “You’re googling him?”

“So?” Steve tries to grab the phone back, but Robin dodges his attempts.

“You’re hopeless, Harrington.” She creates a wide enough gap between them to avoid Steve from taking the phone. “But as your best friend, I am legally obligated to cyberstalk any of your potential love interests.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “And what law says that?”

“The law of every rom-com movie ever made, dingus.” 

Robin taps the screen and begins scrolling, examining the search results. After a few seconds, her mouth drops open.

“No way,” Robin squeals, scrolling faster now. “No fucking way.”

“What’d you find?” Steve rushes behind her, peering over Robin’s shoulder to get a better view. 

“Look.” Robin pinches the glass screen to enlarge the article she’s discovered.

Steve slides on his burgundy reading glasses, lets his eyes adjust to the phone’s brightness. 

And he sees it. The bold letters. The key word. “Eddie hosts a podcast?”

Robin nods. “Not just any podcast.” 

She flips to the bottom of the news article and there’s an image of Eddie. He’s standing in front of a Victorian-style mansion, which Steve recognizes immediately. The Winchester Mystery House. Maybe one of the most famous haunted houses in the United States.

“Holy shit,” Steve blurts out as it finally clicks in his brain. “Eddie hosts a ghost-hunting podcast?”

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 3

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, strong language, angst, violence (a slap and some clumsy af fighting), mentions of cheating & homewrecking, Dean and his million vices

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Grab the popcorn, dudes & dudettes! The real shit show is about to begin 🤓🍿

<< 2 || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

3. Separate Ways

Y/N is fucking crushed.

That asshole director decided to kick her while she was down. Why does this always happen? Why does the world keep punishing her? What the hell is she doing wrong?

Well, aside from the obvious mistake of sleeping with a married guy. But things went all wrong for her way before that, you know? It’s never been going right for her, no matter how hard she tries to be fucking perfect in every single aspect of her life. And she has given this city her goddamn everything.

Now, it’s got her pride, too. That’s when she realizes she has absolutely nothing. And it’s fucking freeing.

She’s got nothing left to lose.

It might sound silly and utterly fucking insane, but that stupid wrestling show is everything she’s ever dreamed of. Okay, fine, maybe it’s not exactly her dream role, but she supposes it’s as close as she’ll ever get.

It’s on TV. She’s part of an ensemble cast. She gets lines. She gets screen time. She gets to use her body. She gets to play a strong and badass character. And the whole fucking cast is all women. There’s no goddamn man in sight.

Well, except for that asshole director, of course.

However, Y/N is fucking determined. She will show that cockily-charming son of a bitch with an obvious addiction problem what she’s fucking made of. She’s the girl that will do anything for a role.

And she will have this fucking role.

Welcome to another day in shitty paradise!

Dean’s sleep pattern is still, well, out of order of sorts. This time, though, it wasn’t just the booze, coke, and bitter mistakes that kept him up.

Fucking Strindberg…

That fucking woman drove him nuts the whole night. Partly because he feels really, really, really bad. Maybe he shouldn’t have done what he did. She seems like a perfectly nice girl, you know? He didn’t have to crush her like that. He doesn’t even understand why he did what he did. His best guess is inner demons and such.

Maybe it’s because there’s some truth in the speech he gave her, you know? Maybe he likes her a little too much, and that’s why he pushed her away. He tends to do that when that sort of thing happens. What can he tell you to explain himself? It’s fucking Hollywood’s fault.

Just as he finishes a line of coke on his desk while the girls get ready downstairs, the metal door opens with a loud bang. The unexpected noise makes him leave his office and curiously walk out on the narrow platform deck that leads to the stairs, leaning against the railing.

Fucking Strindberg.

She struts into the gym, confidence oozing from every pore in her body, her perky tits puffed out. But dear fucking God, he doesn’t know how to describe what else he fucking sees as this scene unfolds in front of him. It might be the coke, too. The influence of the white powder makes it a little harder for him to judge if what he’s witnessing is actually real or if he’s just overdosing again.

But here’s what his dilated pupils believe to see: Y/N’s wearing a scarlet leotard and some weird as fuck stretch pants, a giant yellow belt strapped around her waist. There’s a bright cherry sweatband around her forehead and some godawful make-up decorating her face, onyx stripes drawn across her cheeks like a warrior, and red glitter eyeshadow smeared around her orbs.

Oh yeah, the next part is where he gets a little unsure about the overdose again, because she’s also wearing a fucked-up mustard cape (which he’s pretty sure used to be a curtain) and some fingerless, neon yellow gloves (which he’s convinced are some rubber dishwashing gloves with the fingertips cut-off).

Well, points for creativity.

She then halts bravely underneath his little balcony and finds his green eyes, pointing a determined finger at him. “You’re wrong about me.”

Dean smirks broadly, “Nah, pretty sure I’m right.”

Didn’t he tell you she was a fighter? He was fucking right. Look at her!

“You know, I watched wrestling shows all night. I practiced moves… and annoyed my neighbors a little,” she admits with a swallow before she finds her tough voice again with a clear of her throat. “The point is, I come fucking prepared. I’ve done my research.”

Oh boy… Nerd alert. Fucking Strindberg. Of course, she went all fucking method actress. Didn’t he predict that shit, too? What did she do? Jump around her apartment all night, yelling wrestling phrases?

God, he’s trying so fucking hard not to laugh.

“Alright, show me what you got, Strindberg,” he challenges her and watches in amusement when she accepts it with a thumbs up.

She is a little dorky, isn’t she?

But look, if she wants to be in this stupid show so damn bad, then he’s going to let her be in it. It’s not like he actually gives a shit about this fucking thing, you know? Besides, at least he knows she will work hard and fucking do anything, including humiliating herself in a ridiculous costume. That’s really all he needs from her, and it’s more than what he can say about the rest of the women down there.

Dean could tell her the good news straight away – or, you know, he could wait a good five minutes and let her do her little shtick before telling her. He chooses the funnier option. It’s not like he’s got something better to do, anyways.  

Y/N then does her audition. She’s screaming slogans she picked up from those silly wrestling shows, holds a little stool in the air, screams and growls and hisses some more, and then there’s a lot of tumbling and rolling and stomping.

It’s fucking embarrassing, but he also can’t stop smiling – inwardly. Of course, he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing he greatly enjoys this. Thus, he’s staring at her with an intensely grim look on his face as he sucks on a cigarette, pretending to still seriously consider if he actually takes her back or not.

Truthfully, however, he’s so fucking happy she’s back. No smiling, though, remember? It’s just not as fun and way less entertaining without her around. This morning, he tried to tease the other girls, but it just wasn’t the same. They just don’t react to him the way she does. They don’t have ‘please love me’ written all over their fucking foreheads like she does. They’re not as desperate as she is.

And oh God, she’s so fucking desperate for any kind of attention. It’s truly pathetic. This girl is practically love-starved.

Dean fucking loves it.

Just as he is about to whistle and tell her she’s back in, the metal door pops open again. A blonde bombshell angrily charges inside and goes straight for the ring. She’s a flaming golden goddess of fury, perfect curves, big tits, and shiny hair included. It’s fucking poetic. Oh… and she’s also holding a baby in her arms.

Jesus fuck, he needs to ease up on the coke a bit, doesn’t he?

“You fucking bitch! Oh, you fucking cunt! I should fucking kill you!” the hot blonde screams and glares deathly at Strindberg, who completely freezes in the ring, pupils blown wide.

“Joanna, what-, uh, what are you doing here?” Strindberg raises her palms defensively – or in surrender. Dean’s not quite sure about that one yet.

He’s also not quite certain if this is one of her little plays again. Although, he’s not mad about it this time. This is fucking hilarious.

“Don’t play dumb, you stupid bitch! You fucking homewrecking HUSBAND-FUCKER!”

Oh Strindberg...

Dean realizes that it’s not some stupid plot they’re acting out or some vivid coke dream he’s experiencing. This is actually fucking real. Admittedly, he’s impressed. He never would have guessed Strindberg had it in her. Fucking your friend’s husband? That takes some goddamn balls.

“Did you sleep with Sam?”

“Please don’t make me answer that,” Strindberg begs, the desperate tears brimming in her eyes.

The blonde’s fully crying, a waterfall of mascara and tears streaming down her cheeks as her entire body trembles with anger. Legacy girl then offers to take the baby from her, and Dean knows shit is about to go down once the hottie has both hands available.

“I wanna hear you fucking say it,” the blonde demands firmly with a stomp of her foot.

Strindberg pauses for a heartbeat before there’s an underwhelmingly small nod of her head. That’s when the blonde slides under the ropes and enters the ring, furiously charging at porn girl.

“Hold up! Wait… Jo! Ow!” Strindberg ducks, hands defensively held up as the blonde hits her arms repeatedly and chases her around the ring. “I don’t love him!”

The blonde abruptly halts in the middle of the ring, her tits heaving with each fuming breath, and throws her arms up like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, her eyebrows drawing tightly together. “Oh my God… Of course, you don’t! You don’t fucking love anyone!”

“I know! I fucked up, okay? Don’t you think I know that?” Strindberg cries, helplessly shrugging.

“How long have you been fucking him? While I was fucking pregnant, huh?!” The blonde administers more flat-palm hits to Strindberg’s arms and the top of her head.

“What, no! It was a one time thing, okay? I didn’t mean anything!”  

“Wow, and what about the other night? Sam told me fucking everything!”

Dean frowns a little at that. What a fucking weak douchebag. Who sells out the girl you fuck? What a fucking spineless move. But the director is all about giving credit where credit is due. The guy might be a wimpy asshole, but he still managed to fuck both of these hot women. That’s quite an accomplishment.

In all honesty, Dean would’ve fucked them both too, especially desperate Strindberg. That girl just begs to be dominated by someone – give her a little attention and she really will do anything. Don’t get him wrong, though. The blonde is a smoking hot bombshell, but that’s about all there is, you know? There are a million of her in LA. She’s nothing special. Strindberg, on the other hand…

Strindberg is fucking real.

The difference between him and the wimp, though, is that Dean would’ve never told the blonde warrior goddess about the affair, not to mention Strindberg clearly didn’t even get a warning shot.

Seriously, who goes home to his fucking wife and tells her he fucked her best friend? It’s a pathetic man’s move. Dean knows exactly where it came from as well when he squints his eyes at the blonde anew. She’s the kind of woman that treats a man like a fucking doormat, stomping all over that poor bastard until he snaps because he just can’t fucking take it anymore, so he decides to rub the affair into his wife’s face.

Dean’s second ex-wife was the same. These women just take and take and take till there’s nothing left to fucking give.

On the other hand, he also sympathizes with Strindberg’s position, recognizing some relation to his own toxic patterns and defense mechanisms. Sometimes you just get moronically drunk and start feeling fucking sorry for yourself, so you do something insanely stupid, only to make it so much worse. He’s familiar with the itching need to self-sabotage. It’s sadistic in nature to hurt yourself just to feel like you exist. It’s probably unnecessary to mention, but over the years, Dean’s met the occasional enraged husband’s fist, too – and he deserved all of those goddamn punches. Just like Strindberg does right now.

But there’s something in her orbs, a small, constantly-stoked flame burning brightly behind her irises. Dean recognizes the silent fire in her eyes as lifelong resentment. He knows exactly why she did what she did. She’s always felt small. She’s never felt seen. This was a pathetic cry for help.

It’s painful, it’s raw, and it’s real. And Dean’s sure he’s the only one who can truly fucking see it.

“I know. I told you. I fucked up,” Strindberg defends once more. Honestly, there’s not much she can say that’s going to cure this infection. Dean thinks she should just fucking take her punishment and swallow the poison.

And she does.

A deafeningly loud slap echoes through the gymnasium as the blonde’s palm jarringly strikes Y/N’s cheek. The rest of the women, who have gathered around the ring to witness the show as well, gasp audibly and avert their nosy eyes in the very same breath.

The gym falls deadly silent.

The blonde takes a step back and warily looks around the ring, shocked by her own actions. Strindberg is quiet. She doesn’t cry, though. The fighter in her is holding back the tears with everything she’s got.

Good, Dean thinks. So far, he’s not disappointed in his girl yet.

Honestly, his dick is going fucking nuts in his jeans. That slap was the hottest shit he’s seen in years, probably. And he used to make very sexually explicit slasher movies. He’s talking blood and tits everywhere, you know?

“I-, I don’t-… I don’t know what to do,” the bimbo whimpers despondently.

Dean lets out a small sigh. Did the housewife life not work out, huh, sweetheart? What a huge fucking surprise!

Admittedly, he feels for women. Men can do whatever shit they want, and nothing bad is ever going to happen to them. Dean knows that better than anyone because he belongs in that asshole category as well. But once a woman hits rock bottom, well, she’s pretty much stuck there. The blonde’s life is in ruins while her husband is probably already balls-deep inside the next pussy. That’s just the sad fucking reality they’re living in.

Well, hey… back off. Dean didn’t make the rules either, okay? He would change them if he could. He truly would. He fucking knows it’s unfair. Happy now?

“It just happened,” Strindberg meekly shrugs her shoulders, but Dean knows why she screwed the blonde one over. She fucking hates that girl, and that hatred has probably been there since the day the two met.

The blonde scoffs, a humorless chuckle escaping her lips as she wipes the snot from her nose with her sleeve. “Have you learned nothing from that fucking sad scene study class, Y/N? Things just don’t happen. People make choices. They want things. And then they fucking go for them.”

Very true.

But Dean knows that even a hastily made, split-second decision can have devastating consequences sometimes. Like, when you fuck a girl raw and think, ‘Eh. One more push is fine,’ and then, boom, you burst, you know? And afterward, you’re faced with the big AA – abortion or fucking alimony. Dean considers himself fucking lucky he never accidentally knocked someone up. Besides, babies are so fucking boring. He could put up with teenagers, though. At least they’re interesting with all their angst and pain. He could really tap into that shit, you know?

See? It’s a good thing he never became a fucking father.

“Can we just go somewhere and talk about this, please?” Strindberg then pleads, the first tear escaping down her cheek.

Oh Strindberg. Her mistake is that she still has a fucking heart. If she’s doing something as selfish as she’s done, then she needs to fucking pull through and not give a shit. Because there’s no way back from this ledge. Their friendship is fucking over – if it ever really was one, to begin with.  

“I don’t wanna fucking talk to you,” the bimbo grits through her teeth, her eyes darting around the ring and contemplating her options. “I-, I wanna… I wanna kick your ass. And then I never wanna fucking see you again.”

Oh, hell yeah!

Dean excitedly leans forward on the railing as the blonde charges at Strindberg and tries to tackle her to the ground. There’s squealing and clumsy punches thrown as they chase each other around the ring like two panicked chickens. The blonde then manages to cage Strindberg’s body in her arms from behind as she ragingly kicks away at her legs.

“Jo! What the-… Ah! Ow! Stop it!”

“You fucking bitch!”

And then, enter fucking Strindberg. The goddamn vicious fighter finally comes out as her elbow slams back and hits the blonde right in the nose, causing her to let go of Y/N and tumble backward.

Strindberg’s mouth falls open in guilt. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Jo-AH!”

The bimbo leaps at her, but Y/N quickly changes direction and tries to flee the fight, attempting to escape between the ropes. But the blonde grabs her ankles and violently drags her back into the ring until Strindberg’s white knuckles let go of the cord. Using her feet, she kicks Barbie in the stomach and pushes her into the bouncy net of strings.

And that’s when Dean finally fucking sees it. His fucking vision is coming alive right in front of his green eyes as he watches these girls tear each other apart.

He sees the pink ropes of the ring, the massive crowd that’s gathered around going fucking wild – booing, cheering, chanting. He sees the bright lights, the cameras, the glitter leotards and the shimmer tights, the crazy hair and the colorful make-up. Journey is fucking playing Separate Ways as these two women are at one another’s throats, nothing but fucking tits and asses slamming against each other.  

It’s a fucking fever dream he’s experiencing. Dean’s got chills, y’all!

In all seriousness, though, he’s got a great group of women down there. At least they’re all trying, you know? What more can he really expect from them? It’s all humans fucking ever do anyway – try.

Regardless, he hasn’t found his star yet. He needs a leading lady – a heroine. And when he looks at the blonde bombshell with the anger issues, he knows he’s finally found his fucking star. The golden goddess of fury and pain is fucking perfect for the role.

“Boss! Boss! Should we call it? Boss?”

Freeman’s voice breaks his trance as the trainer looks expectantly up at him. “Hm? What?”

“Do you want me to call it? The fight,” Freeman nods clarifyingly to the two women still going at it in the ring, gasps, grunts, and screams bouncing off the gym walls.

“Uh…” Dean’s fascinated green eyes watch as Strindberg is caught between the blonde’s strong thighs, her cheek getting pressed into the hard mat by a forceful palm. “Yeah, uhm, call it,” he mumbles, a smirk slowly forming on his plump lips as he observes the end of the match.

This show is going to be fucking fantastic.

4. Every Rose Has Its Thorn

“Actions have consquences” is probably the best way to describe this series 😂 Dean will get his karma, too...

Plastic Hearts Series: @spnexploration​​ @jessjad​​ @siospins2​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​ @akshi8278​​ @xlynnbbyx​​ @wayward-dreamer​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @smellingofpoetry​​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​​ @ladysparkles78​​ @leigh70​​ @4getfulimaginator2022​​ @globetrotter28​​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​​

[paintedkinzy-88]

Throwing a bunch of TTS doodles your way!

I meant to post these a while ago but y’know, memory and all that jazz.

It’s all mostly stuff from the last chapter that were options for in-chapter drawings before I decided on the one with Killer huehue. Which I’ll put under the cut as well, why not (and I fixed it, Tumblr app wackiness will not hold me down). Only thing that isn’t is my Nightmare Bullying cuz the boi’s clumsy af and I find that hilarious.