#I KNOW BENDY HAS A NECK BUT I LIKE DRAWING HIM THIS WAY

[jupejumble]

i meant to finish this in time for the 7 year anniversary last month lolz

[fizzigigsimmer]

Dragon!Shifter AU

I wrote a little in the tags on the OG post but I am still thinking about this so...

The way Billy arrived at the academy, swooping over the castle and roaring loud enough to shake the walls before he flew up towards the Grandmaster’s tower and disappeared into the clouds, there’s no way for anyone not to know who he is and what he is.

Steve’s very used to the way the student body can latch onto a person and OBSESS. You’d think, with their powers and their lineages that the students wouldn’t be effected by things like fan mania, but no, they’re just as impressed by pretty faces and showboating as ordinary humans are. Steve can’t go anywhere without his classmates stuffing the poems and ballads they’ve composed - praising his pale elfin good looks and comparing him to snowdrops, stars, and moonlight - under his pillow or in his satchel when he isn’t looking. And at least once a week someone actually gets up the courage to stand in the courtyard and sing. He’s been crowned King of Midsummer every year that he’s been old enough to attend the end of term festival reserved for the higher level students.

But from the minute Billy Hargrove saunters out of the Grandmaster’s quarters he’s all anyone can talk about. It’s so fucking annoying. His golden skin and sun streaked hair, his glittering blue eyes and the flames that (apparently) dance in them when he’s wielding magic (Steve wouldn’t know because he can’t stand the prick and the less time spent in his company the better) and the inked markings that decorate his back and shoulders that glow gold just before he shifts his shape.

Steve knows Billy’s markings intimately because he sees them three times a week during Champions practice, usually right after Hargrove strips naked and dives from the banks of Emerald Lake, changing shape in a burst of golden magic just so he can knock Steve and the rest of his teammates off their feet with a ten foot wave. And Billy does that shit on purpose, because he doesn’t have to be big as a house when he shifts.

Billy has a demi form, effectively no bigger than a kitten. Steve can hold most of his bendy lizard like body in the palm of his hand while Billy’s long serpentine tail coils around his wrist, warm despite the cool scales that line his body. No one knew dragons could go small like this. Well, correction, Steve supposes it makes a lot of sense now why humans call so many lizards dragons. Wingless, one scaly lizard thing scuttling around looks like another, and it turns out Dragons have been coming to the human world far more often than people think.

Steve discovers that Billy can go small after Flight Studies one day, which he’s endlessly thankful is not one of the classes he has to share with Hargrove. While some elves have strong enough magic and a sturdy enough connection to the fae realm that they can achieve winged flight, Steve remains as grounded and talentless in this area as they come. It’s enough of a sore spot as it is because his dad and all of his cousins fly. The last thing he wants to put up with is Hargrove giving him shit about it.

Steve comes back from class still wingless, but sweaty from all that straining to connect with Gia, and immediately heads to the room he shares with Tommy in the Blue Hall to change before supper. He doesn’t expect to find anything but shirts and tunics in his drawer, so he nearly shrieks the house down when he opens it to find a big lizard thing coiled up in a nest of his shirts.

Patrick, one of the selkies who shares the room next door, comes running in to see what the commotion is about just as the scaly creature raises its long neck, blue green scales glinting in the late afternoon sunlight and yellow eyes fixed on Steve as it opens its mouth and hisses. It has a small row of very sharp looking teeth and a very pink tongue.

Steve slams the drawer shut.

“Whoa! What was that?!“ Patrick demands, drawing closer, only to scurry back along with Steve as the drawer with the creature inside rattles violently.

“I have no idea. Probably another one of Munson’s freaky little pets.” Steve seethes, speaking of the boy from Black Hall who is infamous for his love of dark magical creatures, the more dangerous the better. The drawer rattles hard before suddenly popping open, and one very pissed lizard crawls its way out onto the top of the dresser. it twists its upper body until its head faces the two gaping boys. For a moment Steve admires the elegance of its long body and the dramatic spiny fins that raise from its back as it elongates itself, thinking that the strangely human expression of absolute grump that it wears on a decidedly lizard like face is unexpectedly funny... and then the creature opens its mouth and Steve and Patrick bolt with a yelp, scrambling for the door as a stream of electric blue flame erupts from the creature’s mouth.

The House Head thinks they are pulling a prank when they bring him back to deal with the beast, only to find the room completely creature free and no sign of anything burning. But Steve knows what he saw, and Patrick isn’t known for being a prankster so the Head promises to go over to Black Hall and have a talk with Munson. He advises the boys to keep their windows shut going forward, so nothing has an opportunity to crawl in.

It doesn’t work, because Steve doesn’t know it but the creature was actually a dragon shifter who also happens to live in Blue Hall, just one floor below. Steve doesn’t notice either that first time that one of his shirts is missing.

Long before Billy was ready to admit he liked Steve as a person, he liked the smell of his soap and his magic. Dragons are creatures of indulgence, so the things they like they take to horde. Steve never gets that shirt back or any of the other things Billy ends up claiming from Steve’s room. Not until Steve starts sleeping in his bed. But anything he brings back with him from Billy’s room, Billy just replaces with something else.

It’s expensive dating a dragon, is what he’s saying. The only solution is to cohabbitate.

 The First Part

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #23: with autumn closing in: Mirio Togata

You’re leaving for college in the morning. Tonight, you want to give Mirio something to remember you by.

i. ii. 

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), Quirkless AU, first-time sex, car sex, pre-college angst, lots and lots and lOTS of fumbling and fluff

Notes: Both characters in this story are eighteen years of age. I don’t write underage characters in nsfw situations!!! That being said, this is not proofread. It’s so soft and so messy and all over the place but then again, so is losing your virginity. Today’s (yesterday’s) prompt was “First Time.” 

EDIT: nobody asked but the title is inspired by Bob Seger bc I’m a walking m e m e 

Kinktober Masterlist

Mirio’s beat-up little Subaru kicks up a cloud of dust as you race around the winding turns of a bendy country road.

You’ve been in this passenger seat a thousand times. Tonight, it feels different.

It’s just before eight, but the late summer sun is already sinking rapidly toward the trees. The days are growing shorter already- it feels like you’ve been chasing the evening sunlight since the Civic Holiday. The first time you noticed the sun setting before nine P.M., you burst into tears.

You’re not ready for the changes that Labour Day will bring.

You’ve had Mirio beside you for as long as you can remember. Since before you ever knew who you were, you had him. Even when the line between friend and more was blurred, you’d transitioned so smoothly into romance. It was like you’d always known that you were it for each other.

Perfection is never permanent.

You’re both quiet, navigating the road that you’d normally cruise with all the happiness in the world. You’ve felt light as a feather, driving up to the point with Mirio before. Even though the windows are down tonight, with all the sweet summer grass wafting heady smells into the car, you’re not blaring the radio or laughing at your latest inside joke.

You’re scared.

This entire year feels like it’s been full of lasts. They started out big-you celebrated your eighteenth birthday together back in the winter. This summer was the last time you both worked at the ice cream parlour down by the water. And slowly the lasts whittled their way down to tonight. One last shred of summer and you and the life you’d once known.

Your very last date.

Mirio has been hasty to remind you that it’s not your last date forever, just for a little while. Just until Thanksgiving, he promises, or maybe even earlier, if he can come out to see you before the semester gets too busy. But neither of you know what to expect from college. And perhaps that’s what makes tonight all the scarier.

Among other things.

The point is completely deserted tonight, the late summer chill a likely culprit. It’s not much more than a little clearing in some trees off the bend of this dark road, but it kind of looks over the illuminated part of town and it’s generally where people with cars go to make out.

It’s the only privacy you could think of.

Mirio pulls carefully off the road, rolling along the gravel path until your neat little town opens up beneath you. He shifts the car into park and shuts off the rattling engine. He unfastens his seatbelt and, finally, he looks at you.

It’s too dark to appreciate the shade of his eyes. But they shine dark in the dim of a waxing moon, steady and strong despite the nerves that tremble beneath them.

“You sure about this?” One big, warm hand covers yours and if you weren’t sure before, it’s enough to comfort you.

“Yes,” you promise, leaning in close. You brush the tip of your nose against his, letting your eyes flutter shut. “I’m so sure.”

You’re unbuckling your own seatbelt when he leans across the center console and cups your chin in one rough palm.

“God,” he whispers, licking his lips. “I love you.”

He kisses you before you can let the words bring you to tears.

Tonight you’ve promised to take one last first together. It’s something both of you have wanted for a long time- but neither of you quite felt ready for. Not until now, with the deep fog of autumn and your inevitable separation closing in.

You plant a palm on his thigh, stroking the rough denim with your thumb as you lean closer to him. Your kissing deepens naturally. He knows exactly how to kiss you to get your head spinning. And when he breaks from your mouth with a little pant of warm breath, your head’s in the clouds.

“Wanna…” He trails off, flushing in the dark. “Wanna get in the back?”

His little car is almost comically small for a guy of Mirio’s size, but the dented hatchback is all the space he’s ever needed. Tonight, the back seats are folded down, and there’s a stack of pillows and blankets awaiting you.

You kiss his forehead and nod, pulse spiking.

“Okay.”

You climb back first, navigating carefully over the center console and bracing a hand on Mirio’s shoulder. The roof is lower than you expected, but there’s enough room for you to prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him climb clumsily back to meet you.

His foot slips just as he’s transferring his weight forward and he has to catch himself on the passenger’s seat, erupting nervous laughter from both of you.

“Man,” he sighs, crawling over the microfiber seat back and settling down next to you. “I knew I was gonna be a big ole klutz tonight.”

“You’re always a big ole klutz,” you hum. You bring one hand to the back of his neck, threading your fingers into his blonde hair. This time, when you kiss him, it’s slow and lingering. And when you draw back, you keep your forehead pushed against his.

“’S why I love you so much.”

“Here,” he croons, stroking your cheek again with a tender thumb. “Lemme look at you again.” He does, pausing for a moment as his eyes cast over your face. “I wanna remember every piece of this when you’re gone.”

At some point, you’re ready to stop stalling. He kisses you with fresh intent, crawling gently over you in the tight space that surrounds you. He’s careful to keep his weight off of you, letting one hand trail idly to the front of your sweatshirt, toying with its hem.

“Here,” you sigh, sitting up a little. “Let me just…”

Mirio pulls back, ducking and still nearly hitting his head on the gently-padded ceiling of the car. You wiggle out of your sweatshirt as best you can, wedged between him and the pillows beneath you. Your t-shirt sticks to your hoodie as you worm out of it, but you get impatient and pull the whole mess over your head.

Beats having to sit up all over again in a few seconds.

Mirio’s seen you like this before. In bikinis at the beach, in your sports bras when you work out together, for brief flashes if you change your shirt in front of him before heading out the door.

But tonight, all your exposed skin is for him. Tonight it’s with intent. Tonight, he gets to touch you.

He mumbles your name, timid as a mouse as he buries his face in the swell of your bare shoulder. He peppers loving kisses along the flesh, and you can feel, when the weight of his hips bears down on you, that he’s already getting excited.

It sends a thrill racing down your spine. Not the first time you’ve felt a twinge at the apex of his thighs. But it is the first time you’ll be chasing that high to its completion.

“Can… can I…” He trails off, and his fingertips brush against the band at the bottom of your bra.

“Can I touch you here?”

“Yeah,” you gasp, but you’re still not ready for the way it feels when his fingers slip beneath the cup and brush over your tender skin. He distracts you, kissing attentively at your collarbone, while he arches your back and unsnaps your bra. Lowering your bare back to the blanket is a foreign feeling but you welcome it, lifting your arms and letting him pull the whole affair away from your body.

“God,” he gasps, sitting up a little. “Look at you. You’re so gorgeous, princess.” He slides both palms up your ribcage, following a trail of goosebumps to the swell of your breasts. He thumbs both of your nipples, palming the flesh eagerly and getting a feel for the way that you fill his hands.

“Are you sure about this?” Conflict crosses his expression and your eyes pop up to his in shock.

“What?”

“With me,” he expands. “You’re so perfect, I-I just… wanted to make sure.”

“Baby,” you gasp. You sit up and wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him harshly down against your body so you can hug him close. He lets out little more than a yelp of surprise before he relents, chest deflating against yours.

“I’ve loved you…” you start to say, tearing up rapidly, “since before I even knew what love was, Mirio. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted this with.”

“Aw, sweetheart…” He mutters into your skin, kissing you one more time as he sits up to find your eyes. “Don’t cry, princess, please don’t start crying.” He swipes away the trail of a tear that leaks from the corner of your eye.

“I’m not, I’m not,” you promise, clinging tightly to him. “I just don’t want this to end.”

The two of you undress the rest of the way as swiftly as you can. He peels you tenderly out of your leggings, and your exposed flesh feels vulnerable, even under his adoring gaze. But when he shucks off his undershorts, the dark flush that’s working its way down his chest proves that you’re not the only one who’s feeling a little shy.

He’s fully hard and ready for you, cock standing straight out from between his kneeling thighs. You’re definitely feeling a twinge, but it’s with a twist of self-consciousness in your gut. You’re going to need a little more preparation.

“Here,” he whispers, breaking the silence. He gets slowly onto his belly between your thighs, and you try not to lick your lips as you watch the way his cock presses up between the blanket and his firm body.

Mirio settles one hand on your thigh and the other on the mound of your pussy. He’s not touching you anywhere sensitive yet, but he lifts his head one more time to make sure you’re still with him.

“Can…” he starts to say, but you interrupt him.

“Please.”

With slow circles of his thumb, he begins to explore you. He strokes every inch of your folds, up and down the length of your slit. He finds the little nub at its apex and bites his lip, giving it an experimental little rub.

“Is this it?” He prompts.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. Already you’re starting to clench your fists in the blanket underneath you. “Ah, a little higher. That’s it.”

You gasp as he follows your instructions, swiping his thumb a little higher and making you bristle. He dips a finger down towards your slit, swallowing hard when the skin comes away shiny.

“You’re wet, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you ready for me?”

“Almost,” you promise. You know the anticipation must be killing him. But you’ve always been able to ask for what you need with him. He promised you a million times that this wouldn’t be any different. And he’s holding that promise close, it’s obvious.

“I need…” You take a deep breath and center yourself. “Inside. A little, first. Just so it doesn’t… hurt so much.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Okay. Like this?”

He flips his hand over and probes the tip of his middle finger against your folds, then wiggles it carefully and slides it inside you. Your back arches a little at the feeling- you curl your toes, and you both gasp.

“Whoa,” he murmurs into your skin. “You’re so tight, Princess. I can’t wait to feel all of you. God, you’re even wetter in here.”

He starts to slide his finger slowly in and out of you, pumping with a smooth and steady rhythm. You’re letting yourself get used to the sensation, but it’s not long before your accustomed and squirming against his knuckles.

“Another one,” you prompt.

“Are you sure?” He’s mesmerized by your body’s reaction, but he doesn’t want to hurt you.

You nod. He listens, pulling away. When he slides his finger back into you it’s accompanied by his ring finger, and that’s a stretch you’re not quite so used to. You let a little whimper loose and spread your legs further, trying your best to consciously relax your muscles.

“That’s it,” he soothes, smoothing his free hand over your belly. “Tell me when you’re ready, baby. Tell me when to stop.”

He eases his fingers in and out of you a few times. You gently roll your hips forward, encouraging him into that same rhythm as before. Finally, after a few dozen heartbeats that pass like eons, you put a hand on his wrist. You’re not sure if there’s a threshold you’re supposed to wait for or not, but his fingers feel comfortable and you’re getting wetter by the second.

You don’t want to wait any longer.

“Okay,” you brush. “I’m ready.”

“Alright.” He draws back, getting up onto his knees again. “Oh- hang on, I’ve got…”

He trails off, reaching past you for his jacket. He grabs it and dives into the buttoned inside pocket, pulling out a wrapped condom. You’d bought them together a few nights ago in preparation for this. Taking advantage of the big drugstore in the next town over, with workers that are strangers to you. And a self-checkout kiosk.

“Here.” You pluck the condom from his fingers, shooting him a quiet little smile. “Let me.”

You unwrap it carefully, handling the slick, flimsy ring as little as possible. He scoots forward, and his cock bobs obscenely in your face. It sends a throb of ready want through the pit of your stomach. You’ve always kind of assumed that he isn’t small, but here’s your proof.

You pinch the reservoir tip in the center of the condom and push it against the tip of his penis. He twitches a little but holds himself still, and you do your best to roll the rest of the condom all the way down to the base. When you get there, you give the shaft a gentle squeeze, smooth and hard and warm and Mirio.

He sits back on his heels once the condom’s secure. Lets out a deep, decompressing sigh. You do the same. He looks at you with the moon in his eyes, and you fall more profoundly in love with him than ever before.

“Ready?” He’s quiet.

“Yeah.”

Carefully, Mirio lines himself up. He leans forward over you, trapping one of your hands beneath his and twining your fingers together. You think about hitching your legs over his hips, but keep them spread for now, instead. Just the mere position you’ve taken feels incredibly vulnerable.

Then he slips a hand between the two of you and brings the tip of his cock to your body.

Oh.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispers to you. “I love you.” You inhale, and as the air leaves your chest he edges slowly inside.

“Oh,” he groans. “Oh wow.”

The stretch is not as bad as you anticipated. He’s big, but he prepared you diligently and carefully, and he’s taking things slowly. He eases his hips forward a little more with every breath until he’s bottomed out, as far inside as he can get.

He peppers kisses all over your face, brushing your nose with an eyelash on the way back up.

“How do you feel?” He mumbles. “’m I hurting you, princess?”

“No,” you sigh. “No, you can move.”

He draws himself slowly out of your body, then anchors himself and sinks eagerly back in. He keeps the gentle back-and-forth motion up for a couple of beats, and when he begins to speed up it’s slowly, checking in with you again and again to make sure you’re still enjoying yourself.

Finally, his rhythm breaks. He finds a steady pace, letting the muted clap clap clap of your bodies syncopate with the heady huh huh huh that escapes his chest with every thrust. You let your head fall back against the pillows, holding him tight and doing your best to lose yourself in the pleasure.

“Oh, man, oh god, p-princess, I’m not gonna last very long,” he warns carefully. Already his expression is starting to draw with ecstasy. And you’re ready to let him go.

“It’s okay,” you promise quietly, staring in wonder up at him. “Just let it happen, Mirio. Come for me, baby, I wanna see it.”

“Okay,” he babbles, “okay, okay, aw… s-shit, I-I can’t… shit!”

He slips a hand under your thigh and tugs it upward as his thrusts lose rhythm and his body breaks into shivers. You can’t feel the warm burst inside you, but you know it’s there as he twitches atop you, stalling and trembling hard over your skin as he loses himself.

When it’s over, he sits back on his heels, looking down at his softening cock and the filled condom. He looks…

Disappointed.

“Mirio?” You sit up. Your heartbeat spikes. You’re trying not to panic. “Mirio? What’s wrong? You didn’t like it?”

“What? No.” He cups your face between his still-shaking hands. “No, no, no, I just… I didn’t make you…”

“Oh.” Your cheeks warm. You’re not going to pretend like you didn’t see it coming. “Well… it’s okay, Mirio, it’s not that easy for me to come just from that. I didn’t think you were going to…”

“No,” he insists, sounding more determined than you’ve heard him in a long time. “No. I’m gonna make you. I gotta try. Please let me try. Please.”

You swallow hard. You give a terse little nod, and he lays you back against the pillows. When he reaches for you, you stop him.

“Just… get rid of the condom first.”

He goes maroon.

“Right.”

As soon as the condom’s been disposed of, he comes back to you. He gets down on his belly again, just like before. With his diligent fingers and careful perception, you coach him through giving you his first orgasm. It’s not earth-shattering. It’s not the best orgasm you’ve ever had. But it’s a peak, and he’s so proud when he kisses you back to the surface again and pulls the blankets up around your bare bodies.

When you’re finished, the car’s windows are garishly fogged. It’s warm and stuffy and cramped, but you couldn’t care less.

You know how this goes. You’ve had enough aunts and uncles teasing you about the turkey dump already. Not you, though. Not Mirio. Tonight’s first only solidifies that to you.

You’re more than distance can take away from you.  

[internalsealpanic]

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form. 

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

 

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention.  He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse. 

 

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you. 

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’.  Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion).  Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two- 

 

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin. 

 

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

 

“It isn’t bullshit!”

 

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

 

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth. 

 

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

 

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face. 

 

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz. 

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week. 

 

Cosmo

 

Space Case

 

Space Nuts

 

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

 

ET

 

Marvin (the Martian)

 

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

 

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

 

 He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

 

 Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long.  Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

 

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to. 

 

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you. 

 

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

 

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

 

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you. 

 

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid. 

 

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them. 

 

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said. 

 

Him?

 

Out of your league? 

 

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around? 

 

What the hell? 

 

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence.  You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape. 

 

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise. 

 

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.  

 

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

 

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,” 

 

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

 

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

 

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

 

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table. 

 

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in. 

 

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year. 

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining? 

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

 

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

 

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

 

 Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

 

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

 

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,”  Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.   

 

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive. 

 

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

 

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him. 

 

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

 

“What?”

 

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode. 

 

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim. 

 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination. 

 

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-” 

“Preach!” Steph jokes. 

 

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

 

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears. 

 

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response.  You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank. 

 

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse. 

 

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.  

 

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy. 

 

Now’s your chance.  

 

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

 

“No,”

 

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.  

 

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

 

“Oh, I-”

 

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

 

“9 AM?”

 

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

 

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity. 

 

-------------------------------------------------

Bonus: 

 

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown. 

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

---------------

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

[tiny-smallest]

day one - pride

Rating: G Characters: Henry and Bendy Warnings: none Description: Henry reflects on the definition of labels and belonging in certain spaces.

Also on AO3!

---

WHO'S READY FOR THE INK DEMONTH 2021 I SURE ONCE AGAIN TOTALLY WAS YEP DEFINITELY NO LAST MINUTE ANYTHING HERE LET'S GO

Doing writing prompts again because this year has been A Lifetime and I just don't possess the ability to draw this time so let's go let's get stupid get weird enjoy the misadventures of a specific au of of Bendy and the Ink Machine where the toons are their own people in a world they still don't entirely understand and the people who love them who try to help them navigate it.

---

Henry was used to a surprising amount of things to interrupt his day first thing in the morning. Easily numbered in the hundreds. His children were toons; there was no end to the amount of crazy nonsense that they could get into when he was asleep, and that was disregarding the fact that Bendy usually slept until noon.

Sure, he was the Troublemaker In Chief. That did not mean the other two were paragons of holiness, no matter how much Alice tried glowing her halo at him while she and her brother gave him the saddest, biggest, shiniest puppy eyes. And that didn't even take into account how much trouble they could find, no mischief intended.

He'd seen smoldering breakfasts, pancakes on the ceiling, saran wrap around the kitchen archway, demonic rubber chicken noises from a saxophone that had a part replaced with the noisemaker from the novelty prank toy...

(He still didn't regret letting Boris chase Bendy for that one without intervening.)

With all that, being immediately accosted by three toons hanging off his legs the second he came down the stairs and all trying to talk to him at the same time did not magically get any easier to withstand.

"Whatever it is, it's a no until I get my coffee," he drawled as he attempted to walk with them hanging off him, the three of them dragged along with him. It was with quite some difficulty that he got to the kitchen counter.

"But Henry!" Bendy whined, "we only got a few hours to get ready if ya say yes! We need every second!"

"For what?" he yawned, pouring a cup from the machine.

"You don't know what day it is?" Alice was surprised enough to actually let go, and she dusted herself off like the lady she was before standing up.

Instantly something cold grabbed Henry's heart and squeezed. "Uh- no I...?"

Had he forgotten someone's birthday? No, it was summertime; Bendy was a winter 'birth' and Boris and Alice were spring and fall. An anniversary of some kind? Quick think what are you forgetting you useless-

"How!?" Bendy gaped at him from down below. "It's been all over the news fer weeks!"

Well okay now he was just thoroughly confused. "I um-"

"The parade, Henry!" Boris's tail was thumping gently against the floor; he was not trying one tiny ounce to hide his eagerness. "The parade that's today!"

"Parade-?" It took just one more nanosecond of thought before it clicked.

"Oh you mean the-!" And they wanted to go to it.

Well, he shouldn't be surprised. This would be the first parade they'd get to see, wouldn't it? And it was nice weather out. And it would be bursting with color, which the toons were darn near obsessed with.

He took a contemplative sip. They weren't human; god even knew if they had any sort of sexuality at all. Could they even feel that stuff? The urge to- do anything like that? Wouldn't that technically make them asexual? That was the word, right?

Well, human or not, that would solidly mean they belonged there. Queer was queer, regardless of species, right? Hell, even if they'd just started asking themselves those questions, or wanted to support the fans of theirs who fell under that giant umbrella, they were valid for being there.

"Sure, I can take you."

Both boys cheered, lifting their arms to do so and releasing his legs. He quickly took a step away from them, but their joy had them leaping to their feet anyway and he watched as they bounced around the kitchen, slowly draining his coffee and trying to curb his smile when he was actively drinking.

It was a hard task.

Their excited chatter melted pleasantly into the background as he took the time to drink and try to shake his brain awake the rest of the way awake like shaking out an old blanket to coax out the wrinkles. Their enthusiasm always made for the perfect background noise.

"What colors do you want?"

"I dunno! There's so many! I don' even know what label I fit in-"

"I saw you checkin' out that guy the other day don't think I didn't!" The wink and nudge from Bendy sent Boris blushing so hard the poor wolf's face turned nearly as black as his fur.

"I was hopin' you hadn't-"

They were all quick to consume breakfast, and Henry retreated upstairs after telling the toons to come get him when they wanted to leave.

He settled comfortably in the limitless, timeless space of art before reality came knocking with Bendy's distinctive tapping at the door, pulling Henry from the space inbetween something and nothing as he set his pen aside. "Come in, kiddo."

When Bendy stepped in with what was unmistakably a rainbow flag on his cheek and extra face paint he knew he was in for a time.

"Oh uh- what's that for-"

"For you!" Bendy said with a giant grin. "Who'd ya think?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah well- I uh-"

Bendy didn't slow down. "Anyway the others are about ready to go but they sent me up here to get your flag on while they finish up- now why they trusted me with the paint I got about as much an idea as you but hey I'm not gonna complain-"

"Aw that's- that's sweet kiddo but I sorta figured I'd just be-" How to say this. "Dropping you off...?"

Immediate confusion. "What? Why?"

"Uh well- I mean-" He fiddled with the pen- when had that ended up back in his hands? "You guys- you have a space there, you know? I'm not sure if I-"

There was now a puckered frown on the little devil's face. "Not sure if you what?"

"Well I mean- I don't exactly- belong, now do I?"

The frown multiplied its intensity by about five. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Aw jeez. He really did not want to discuss this with his kid, as much of an adult as Bendy was. For many reasons. "Uh well- you know-" He gestured, as if hoping that would somehow pluck the answer from the air and implant it in Bendy's brain without having to give voice to it, setting the pen down in the process so he’d stop playing with it. "I'm not exactly- I mean-"

"You like guys." Bendy's voice was so sure that Henry knew making any sort of denial was futile. And also kind of stupid. Why would he deny that to his own son? No of course he wouldn't.

"Well I mean- I married a woman, didn't I?" he finally blurted out.

Unimpressed blinking as he drew closer to stand beside the desk. "Yeah they got a word for that. Several actually. Most popular ones are bi and pan, so which colors is it gonna be?"

"No no I mean-" God he was probably blushing. His face definitely felt way too hot. "I uh- I mean I- I like guys, yes-" great brain thanks a ton totally needed that heart rate spiking why are you acting like that's scary this is our kid- "but I- I married a woman- I like women- more often?"

The blinking was now confused.

"Uh-" How to phrase this. "If- if we split it into a pie chart- it's probably like... thirty-seventy in favor of women?" He ran his fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck again. "I'm- not that I'm any great catch but like, if I was in any way qualified to be in the dating pool again, I'd be way more likely to end up with a lady."

The unimpressed look was back. "And?"

It was Henry's look to be surprised. "And- and that means that, you know- I'm not really-"

"You like guys."

"I- yeah?"

"And you're a guy."

"Kind of a given at this point."

"So you're a guy, and you like guys, and just also happen to like girls too. We got names for that." He gave Henry's shirt an appraising look. "Gotta say the bi colors would complement your clothes best. If you want pan colors I'm gonna have to ask you to change. As your official fashion consultant."

Henry snorted. "My what?"

"Listen Dad I love you but I ain't about to let you walk into that parade wearing like, a pineapple hawaiian shirt or nothin'."

Henry banged a fist lightly on the table and pointed at him. "Liar! You wore the exact same thing just the other day!"

"Yeah but that was to the beach, not a parade."

"Literally when have you ever cared about not being a fashion disaster."

"This time, when Alice'll actually kill me otherwise."

"... Okay you got me there."

Bendy grinned. "So, bi colors or pan colors! Or somethin' else? I think there's other ones too."

He opened his mouth, closed it again and then opened it. What the hell. "... Bi colors, I guess."

"Yesssssss I was hopin' you'd say that." He hopped over onto the table like he'd suddenly become a bunny.

"Oh you were, huh?"

"Listen, the pan folks got pretty colors, but I'm always a sucker for a sunset," he said as he pulled out the pallet he needed. Henry sighed and shook his head, the smile ruining his effort to look exasperated.

"Well. Sunset me then, I guess."

"You got it boss!" Bendy said in maybe the worst mafia minion accent known to mankind.

It was barely five minutes of Bendy painting lines carefully on his cheek before he whipped out a mirror.

"Tah-dah!"

Henry blinked at himself in the mirror. He tilted his head, something shifting inside his heart that he had no name for, no way to voice.

The once proud look on Bendy's face was swiftly dropping. "... I didn't mess it up, did I...?"

"No- no, no." Henry tilted his head. "I uh..."

Bendy's worried browlines screamed anxiety to him.

"... I guess I just look good in a sunset," he said quietly, seeing the little corner of his reflection's mouth turn up as if in some sort of hazy dream.

Better than I thought.

[swaps55]

Little Spoon

Requested by @mallaidhsomo, inspired by @shotce‘s adorable artwork. 

~

Even when they try to celebrate something these days, it turns into something closer to desperate drinking before the end of the night. Most of the time the desperate drinking goes well into the early morning, and not, Garrus thinks, because everyone is that hell bent on getting drunk. More like they don’t want to let go of each other’s company and go to sleep, where the only company is the nightmare scenarios in everyone’s heads.

Tonight is no different, even though it’s supposed to be. Shepard didn’t want to celebrate his birthday in the first place, but once someone – Garrus’ money is on Traynor – let it slip, the entire ship latched onto it.

Which is why the lounge is currently the busiest place on the ship. Kaidan manhandles Garrus, Joker, James, Dr. Chakwas and Cortez at a rousing game of poker. Liara and Tali giggle – Garrus now has recorded proof that Liara can giggle – on the couch as they explain an Earth romance novel series to Traynor and EDI. Shepard, on the other hand, sits at the bar with hunched shoulders, swirling a shot of whiskey with a scowl. It would be more intimidating if a half-eaten slice of cake wasn’t sitting next to him and a party hat Traynor had fabricated from an omnitool wasn’t hanging around his neck.  

Garrus knows when to quit at poker, so when the hand ends he slides into the seat next to Shepard and pours himself a turian brandy.

“Did Kaidan clean you out?” Shepard asks.

“And then some,” Garrus concurs. His brow plates shift. “You’re not drunk enough yet.”

“No kidding.” He holds up the shot and clinks it against Garrus’ carapace, then kicks it back. Garrus drinks his, pours them both another one, then grabs a napkin and dabs the whiskey that’s now on his carapace.

“So why are you anti-birthday? I thought humans loved commemorating their ages.”

Shepard grimaces. “How fucking old am I, Garrus?”

Garrus blinks. “Shepard, I have no idea. I don’t have your file memorized. Ok, I may have your blood pressure memorized. And your typical heart rate, both in and out of combat. Oh, and after that incident on Korlus I got to learn all about human blood sugar. Specifically yours. But not your age.”

Shepard tilts his head. “What’s my blood pressure?”

“Now, or usually?”

“Usually.”

“One fourteen over seventy-six.”

“Well, shit.”

“Drink your whiskey.”

Shepard does, so Garrus does, and then pours them both another. Shepard’s Cerberus metabolism makes the actual ‘drunk’ part a lot harder than it used to be. Through a lot of trial and error, Garrus learned the key is rapid-fire shots and a can-do attitude. Sometimes the can-do attitude has to come from Garrus.

“Ok, so back to your weird hang up with age,” Garrus says.

Shepard finds an empty bottle of beer and starts picking at the label. From the couch, Traynor utters the phrase “that’s not how a strap on works if you’re going for realism,” and Garrus regrets having ears.

“I should be turning 30,” Shepard says, so quietly Garrus almost misses it trying to tune out Traynor. “Thirty’s a big deal for humans. I guess.” He goes back to swirling his whiskey, holding the shot glass up to his eyeline and examining it closely before kicking it back.  

“Ah,” Garrus says wisely. It isn’t hard for him to get drunk, something he always forgets when he starts matching shots with Shepard. “But then you died.”

“Yeah. So how old am I? Am I thirty? Or am I thirty-two? I missed two fucking years of my life, Garrus. Those years were mine. I wanted them.” He turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the poker game going on behind them. Or more likely, the biotic major who is kicking everyone’s ass at the poker game.

“Two years of birthday sex would be a shitty thing to miss out on,” Garrus says with a solemn nod.

That earns him a snicker. “Something like that. I’ll be honest, I feel more robbed of the cuddling than the sex. I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s—”

“Shepard, I am gonna stop you right there, because I am not drunk enough to hear about the intimate details of your sex life and I am positive that all of your crewmates on the couch are now listening to every word you say.”

“We are not,” Tali huffs.

Garrus flicks a mandible.

Shepard shrugs, unconcerned.  “The cuddling is fucking stellar.” He shoots the whiskey, slamming the empty glass back on the table.

“I know. So you’ve said.”

Shepard probably doesn’t realize just how much he’s talked about Alenko’s snuggling superpowers. It took Garrus awhile to figure out how spoons factored into it, but eventually he got there. It was a lot less…weird than he’d been picturing. Humans are so endlessly bendy.

“I just…don’t particularly enjoy celebrating the reminder that I’m never getting those two years back.”

Garrus’ mandibles quiver. “Well, you weren’t supposed to come back at all. Dying is pretty permanent for everyone who’s not you. Why not celebrate the fact that when you stop brooding and Alenko gets tired of taking Vega’s money, you’re going to go back up to your cabin and be the little spoon you were born to be?”

Shepard tilts his head. “You might have a point there.”

“Hang on, the universe just provided me with some rather cosmic timing.” Garrus gets unsteadily to his feet, walks unsteadily to the couch and unsteadily leans Tali forward so he can grab a small parcel he’d stuffed behind the cushion.

“Hey,” Tali protests.

“You’re beautiful and I’ll make that up to you,” he informs her before shuffling back to the bar with the package. He clears his throat loud enough for the poker table to hear. He and Alenko had created a code word for this, but fuck if he remembers what it is. Thankfully, Alenko isn’t nearly as dense as Shepard, and figures it out. He lays his cards on the table, gets to his feet, and heads to the bar, pausing to grab another hidden parcel.

“Happy birthday,” Garrus says, handing him the gift. The packaging is just a zipped duffle bag. Garrus figured that having the idea was more important than figuring out how to make taped paper look special.  

Shepard narrows his eyes. “You got me a birthday present.”

Alenko leans a nonchalant elbow on the bar, beer in hand. Shepard, as predicted, hasn’t noticed his costume change.

“Yeah,” Garrus says. “Because I don’t give a damn how old you are. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

Shepard unzips the bag and pulls out a hoodie. It’s a pullover, just like the one Kaidan now wears, with the word “little” emblazoned on the front, over the silhouette of a spoon.

Shepard blinks at it, brow knitting in confusion, until he looks up and notices Kaidan wearing its twin. Only his says “Big” over the spoon.

The confusion melts into a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He laughs, and looks back at Garrus. “You are such an asshole.”

Garrus holds up his glass. “I learn from the best.”

Kaidan slips the birthday hat still dangling from Shepard’s neck off so he can put the hoodie on. Garrus half expects both of them to bail for the privacy of Shepard’s cabin to practice what their hoodies preach, but the desire for shared company affects Shepard as much as it affects the rest of them. He abandons the bar and switches to the couch, bringing Kaidan with him. Liara moves over to give them room. When they sit, Kaidan draws Shepard into his arms and traps him close.

“To spooning,” Traynor declares, holding up a glass of wine.

“We should add that to our Forbidden Ops story,” Liara says, sipping her martini.

“Way ahead of you,” Tali says.

Shepard smiles, settling deeper into Kaidan’s arms.

Savior of the Galaxy, and Kaidan Alenko’s little spoon. Garrus shakes his head. He has the weirdest fucking friends.

[yes-i-have-thoughts]

Veteran AU

Basis: BATIM/RDR2 Inspiration: I played RDR2 again, from the beginning Did anyone ask for this: No Are they getting it anyway: Yes Hotel: Trivago (TW for mentions of cults, war and religion)

So. Our main cast. We’ve got Henry, the soft-spoken war veteran who tried to stay under everyone’s radar; Bendy the midgit child whom Henry saved from some demonic activity but apparently wasn’t fast enough, as there’s something a little off about the kid that only gets worse the longer you look at him; Alice the slightly-less-of-a-midgit girl who was also saved by Henry due to some religious nuts thinking she was the second or third coming of god (and she later proved they weren’t wrong but they weren’t exactly right either); and Boris the wolf. He’s a wolf. End of.

This little found family found each other in...Interesting ways. Aside from Bendy and Alice’s rescues (which wound up soaking Henry’s hands in blood and as such got him on a wanted poster), Boris was saved by Bendy after the poor woofer got caught in a trap and he followed him all the way back to their little campsite before collapsing from his wounds. Henry didn’t have the heart to let the poor bugger suffer but Bendy was already attached to him so he put him back together as well as he could, nursed him back to health, tried to release him and wound up finally relenting and adopting him when he followed him back to camp three times. Where Bendy goes, Boris goes.

There’s a horse in the equation too. Two of them. Henry’s horse is a fuckin’ massive black Shire named Großer Typ (pronounced “groser two”, German for Big Guy) and the red roan Tennessee Walker Alice and Bendy share (much to the little guy’s chagrin) has two names from both her riders: Alice calls her Jacqueline (may God protect) and Bendy calls her Empusa (named after the demon that supposedly eats travelers and has a brass leg and the leg of a donkey). She responds to neither. (Bendy wants his own horse, or even a donkey, but they have neither the money nor the space. Besides, he’s got a pet. Alice doesn’t. He has no place to bitch, let her have the horse leeway)

The trio don’t really go anywhere special, they mostly seem to just kind of muck around. Henry hunts animals for their fur to get money for them to move fuckin’ anywhere but where they are now, Alice helps out by keeping an eye on Bendy and looking after the chores, Bendy’s in charge of the resident wolf and Boris does what Boris does best: eat food. Thank god he can hunt for himself, at least.

They’ll end up with the main gang eventually, but I haven’t figured out how, why or when and I don’t know if I’ll ever touch this again so work that little detail out yourself if you’d like Anyway! Random tidbits!

- Bendy and Alice’s ages are somewhat ambiguous. Bendy’s about 6-7 years old, Alice is 10 or 12. As for Henry and Boris, they’re 57 and 2 respectively. - Henry draws. Every day. Pretty well, too, even if the drawings are a little cartoony. Alice keeps bringing up that he could sell some for money but it would also draw attention to him which is the last thing he needs right now - Bendy’s desperate to make friends his own age, but the kids never seem to like him. Poor little snot’s lonely. Boris and Alice are good company but they can only do so much, y’know? - Alice also wants friends her own age but she’s owned up to the fact she’s probably stuck maturing faster to look after her adoptive brother and the horses. - (Henry really wants to give these kids a break and let them be kids again, at least for one day) - Henry’s a war vet (hence the AU name) and hasn’t walked away from it too well, which kind of makes shooting guns a living Hell but they can’t really live off nothing but berries and herbs - Bendy wants to learn how to hunt with him. He’s probably gonna get his wish, he already knows how to handle a gun - Bendy and Alice may give Henry a bit of grief at times but they do see him as their father-more so Bendy, who was taken from his birth parents as a baby and grew up in a cult so he has no idea who they are or were. Alice remembers her birth parents but despises them since they sold her into her background’s cult - As said before, there’s something...Weird about Bendy. It’s hard to tell what at first glance, he just looks like a normal kid that just so happens to have big black eyes. Very big black eyes. His eyes are way too big. Does he have sclera, or is it just black? Does he have fangs? Is that a cowlick in his hair or does he have horns? Did his hands always look so sharp? - Bendy named himself with the first word that popped into his head. He noticed that Typ’s neck was pretty “bendy” and Henry asked for his name at the same second so that’s what he blurted out. It doesn’t stop Henry from calling him Ben or Benjamin, but he introduces himself as Bendy and corrects others if they call him anything else. - Alice came with her last name (Angel) but named herself much the same way Bendy did--line of sight naming. Whatever her name was in the past, she prefers Alice or even Allison. (Also the name Susie makes her flinch. Who knows why...) - Bendy also named Boris after a character in a book he was learning to read. He’s the nicknamer, that one, Henry’s started letting him name everything since all the names he comes up with suck - Henry was born and raised in Germany before moving to the US as a young adult. Now it seems he’s taking the reverse path; he’s aiming to get Bendy and Alice (hopefully Boris too) to Germany so they can live a more normal life. - Bendy LOVES learning German and constantly nags Henry to teach him new words. He roped Alice into it as well and after about half a year the main language in the camp was German, English only being used for Boris’ and the horses’ sake - When push comes to shove, Bendy will run to either Alice or Henry. If it goes beyond shove they both run to Henry. He’s their surrogate dad and they seem him as a kind of protector, a role he takes very seriously - Alice accidentally found out that Henry was married once and had two kids. She asked him what happened and he dodged the question, asking her how the Hell she found out in the first place. He wasn’t angry, but he was a little intense and seemed to be in a bad mood for a while after that. Alice made a mental note to find out anyway-but avoid asking him about it, since it was clearly a touchy subject...

[ghostpeblewrite]

Paradoxical - Chapter 11

~~~~~~

Toast doesn’t remember getting into bed, but he wakes up and finds himself there. He lays awake for a bit, unsure of what woke him. Could’ve just been his own mind. It feels so foggy and heavy.

He’s made aware of what woke him when it sounds again. A small shuffle out in the hallway. Weird…

By the looks of it, it’s late at night, so neither Spooker or Colon should be awake. He sighs, forcing himself to get out of bed. He tries his best to ignore how empty the bed feels, forcing himself to not think about… It.

He grabs a flashlight from his bedside table, not aware enough to grab a weapon too. He shuffles to the door, opening it lazily. He doesn’t wanna be doing this, but he feels he has to. He shuffles down the hallway quietly.

He gets to the end, where it opens up into the living room, before things start happening. To his left he hears something hit the ground, causing him to jump. He swings the flashlight beam that way, seeing a picture frame on the ground. He shuffles over to it quietly, bending over to pick it up before hearing a creak behind him. He turns around, swinging his flashlight beam over the room. He doesn’t see anything.

He’s a bit on edge, but pushes on. It’s… It’s probably just some stray or something… Yeah…

He moves towards where he heard the creak, only to feel something brush his back. He spins around.

There’s nothing there. He relaxes a bit. Probably just… imagining things.

A figure shifts at the edge of his light. Toast moves it onto the figure, only for the figure to dart out of view. He tenses.

There’s definitely something in the house with him. He starts backing down the hallway, only to run into something. Something that reaches around with a pale, scarred arm to snatch his flashlight. Toast tries to grab it back but it’s too late. It’s flicked off, and thrown somewhere.

Toast tries to lunge forward and grab the figure, but they back out of range. They scamper away, towards the room with the control panel in it. Toast scrambles after them.

He has no idea who it is, but he can’t let them turn the barrier off.

When he gets in the room, however, something hits him in the side of the face. He falls to the ground, pain exploding through his jaw. He sees the next moments through blurry vision, so at first he doesn’t even believe it.

In an instant, a new figure appears. A very familiar figure.

The new figure delivers a hard blow to the first one’s face, causing him to fall to the floor, limp. Then, the second figure rushes to Toast. As they get closer, they get clearer, dimly illuminated by the control panel.

Toast can make out the smile first, cut on one side by a scar. Light stubble. The scar across the nose bridge comes next.

Then the eyes. So warm, and full of love, yet also frustration. The dark, furrowed brows, the shaggy reddish brown hair-

“Ghost,” Toast says softly, barely letting himself believe it.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says quietly, then does something Toast was not expecting. He places his hands on either side of Toast’s face, pulling him into a gentle kiss.

Toast can feel so many things. Other than Ghost’s warm hands on his face. Mostly, his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

He pulls away too soon, beginning to talk way too fast for Toast, who is still processing what just happened.

“This is the last time, I swear to god,” Ghost says quickly, “If I have to go through this one more time I’m gonna lose it. I can’t do this again. This is the last time.”

“Wh- Sir-” Toast says, grabbing his hands, sitting up straighter. “Slow down- Did you just kiss me-?”

Ghost stares a moment before laughing, his face breaking into that wonderful, if rare, smile again. Toast wishes it weren’t so dark, so he could see it better.

“Right- Yes, I did, but I don’t have time to explain all that right now-” Ghost says.

“Sir!” Toast says, feeling a smile on his own face. “You… Kissed me!”

Ghost chuckles, though it sounds a bit strained, leaning in and planting a soft kiss on Toast’s nose, “Alright, Johnny, alright.” He stands, holding a hand out for Toast, who takes it with a stupid smile on his face.

“I need you to do something for me, okay? And then I promise I’ll explain,” Ghost says.

“I thought you were dead… And then you kissed me-” Toast says, sort of in a daze.

“Oh- Okay, Johnny,” Ghost grabs his arms, “Hey, listen to me, I need you to wake up Spooker and Colon, okay? Bring them to the living room.”

Toast nods, the smile not leaving. Ghost nods back, letting go of him. Toast heads off to where Spooker and Colon sleep.

Ghost looks down at the limp body on the floor. He hates what he has to do, but he knows by now what he has to do. He’s tired of restarting when he messes up. He’s doing it right this time, even if it kills him.

Soon enough, Toast has the other two in the living room, half awake. Toast’s still buzzing from what happened, but he’s a bit more in the moment.

Ghost rushes in, adjusting his gloves a bit, “Alright, team, listen up-”

“GHOST??!!” Spooker yells, jumping to his feet. Ghost’s eyes widen, and then he lets out a grunt as Spooker barrels into him, hugging him a bit too tight.

“Heyyyyyy, Spooks,” Ghost says, patting Spooker’s back a bit. Toast is shocked by that, usually Ghost would’ve shoved him off by now.

“You were gone for so long!!” Spooker says, pulling away, “We were worried!!”

“Yeah, what was with that?” Colon asks.

Seeing as the conversation has derailed so much, Toast expects Ghost to yell, but not for the first time that night he’s surprised.

“I uhm… It's a long story, you guys,” Ghost says, “One I don’t have time to tell.” He glances at the clock quietly.

“But you will later, right?” Spooker says.

“Yeah, of course,” Ghost says, reaching out to ruffle Spooker’s hair using that as a chance to shove him away a bit. “Sit back down.”

Spooker sits.

“Right, so, in about,” he glances at the clock, “A few minutes, the opposing side will attack. We have very little chance of surviving this, but as a team we can get through this, alright?”

“But- Sir, who even are they?” Toast pipes up.

Ghost eyes him, “You already know two- Gavin and Jimmy.”

“But- Jimmy’s dead,” Colon says.

Ghost cracks a small smile. He suddenly pulls a gun from his pocket- Isn’t that the gun Toast keeps in his bedside table??- pointing it at the hallway behind him, not even looking. “No he isn’t.”

There, at the edge of the hallway, is Jimmy, posed like he was about to lunge at Ghost. Ghost looks back at him. He takes a second to just… look at him, before nodding his head at the door. Jimmy stares at him. Ghost motions for him to move towards the door with the gun, and Jimmy starts moving slowly.

“Sir-!” Toast protests, “We can’t just let him go-!”

“We have to,” Ghost says through gritted teeth, watching Jimmy scamper out the front door. He pockets the gun again, staring at the door. He takes a deep breath.

“Right,” he turns back to them. “Now-”

“Wait, but I snapped his neck,” Colon says. “How was he alive???”

“He’s very bendy,” Ghost says simply, “Now, we need a gameplan. Toast??” He looks at Toast before he’s even moved.

“Oh- Uhm, I was thinking of one, yes,” Toast nods.

“What is it?” Ghost asks.

“I mean, we could surprise them, sir. They probably don’t know you’re… Alive, so if we could draw them out and then surprise attack them, that… Could work?” He shrugs.

Ghost smiles, grabbing his arm to pull him closer, pulling him into another quick kiss. “That’s exactly what you needed to say, Johnny!”

Toast stares at him, red faced. Yet another time he was not expecting that.

“Hey-!” Spooker jumps up again, “You can’t do that!”

Ghost looks at him, “And why is that, Spooker?” He sounds like he knows exactly what’s going to happen.

“Because Toast is married!!” Spooker cries, “To- To a child slave!!”

“Yeah!!” Colon says, standing as well.

Toast stares at them for a moment before Ghost nudges him in the ribs.

“I- Y- What-?” Toast sputters. “Child slave??”

“Yeah! We saw the marriage papers!” Spooker says, “‘Gregory Casket’, he was a missing child!!”

“Oh- You saw that and didn’t think to come ask me-??” Toast sighs, “Guys, no. Gregory Casket is Ghost’s legal name.”

“Wait-” Spooker looks between the two, “But- Ghost isn’t wearing a ring-!”

Before he’s even finished the sentence Ghost has started taking his glove off, holding his hand up. There’s a silver wedding band on his ring finger.

Spooker stares.

“So- What, you two just got married and didn’t tell us???” Colon asks.

“Tax benefits,” Ghost says quickly, glancing at the clock as he puts his glove back on. Toast nods, smiling a little.

“Right, now that that’s out of the way- Spooker, why don’t you come into the kitchen with me?” Ghost starts backing towards the kitchen.

“Okay!” Spooker smiles, following.

Toast watches the two go, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Ghost is… something, that’s for sure.

“Right, Spooker,” Ghost turns to them once they’re in the kitchen, out of earshot of the other two. “I have a super secret mission for you, okay?”

Spooker gasps, “Really?!”

“Yes, really!” Ghost nods. “I need you to come up with a super secret backup plan, in case Toast and I need help, okay?”

Spooker nods, “Okay!! Can I tell Colon though?”

“Yes, you can tell Colon,” Ghost says, “Just… remember what ghosts are weak to.”

Spooker looks away from him to think. Ghost nods, heading out of the kitchen.

Another thing checked off. Nearly halfway.

Ghost feels so tired. He’s been through this so many times, and he’s so tired of watching the people he loves die. He’s doing it right this time, no matter how much he hates it.

He’s learned his lesson.

~~~

O.O

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 1. The Boy Meets the King

Chapter 1.

In a normal unsuspecting kitchen, a former adventurer stands before a stove, stirring the contents of a pot and humming to herself. In her early forties, she’s a warm, pleasant looking woman with pony-tailed reddish brown hair and soft brown eyes. She might have been the hero of this story about two decades ago, but her adventures are long since passed. The only adventures for her today are those of being a devoted wife and mother, and that means preparing dinner.

It’s just after lunch and suddenly, the younger of the woman’s two children bursts into the kitchen. She is a slender pretty girl with strawberry blond pigtails and vibrant green eyes. She is Annie, a teenager, but also, not the hero of this story. In fact, she has very little interest outside of keeping herself popular amongst the teenagers of Tenel village and finding a satisfactory boyfriend.

“Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Oh Annie,” Mom starts while casting a smile over her shoulder, “you just had lunch not too long ago and you’re already thinking about dinner?”

Annie twists a dainty finger into the strands of one pigtail. “I was just asking. It smells so good. Tell me, Mom. I wanna know.”

At this moment, the woman’s eldest child enters the kitchen, but it takes her and Annie a too long moment to notice him.

“Well, I’ll say that- Oh! Ari!”

“See? Ari’s come to find out too.”

The boy called Ari is 16 years old. He has a sapling like frame - slender, scrawny, almost seeming bendy. Shaggy red hair falls in long locks around his face and across his forehead, and his large eyes are emerald green. He’s wearing a blue striped sleeveless shirt, a black vest with gold clasps and a skull patch on the chest, and long khaki trousers. He doesn’t speak up much for himself and the whole town of Tenel agrees that his most notable quality is how unremarkable he is.

That being said, this quiet ordinary boy is the hero for this peculiar tale.

“Come on, Mom! What is it? It smells like stew … or steak?” Annie carries on.

“Well, what do you think it might be, Ari?”

Ari courteously sniffs the air, shrugs, and answers. “I don’t know.”

Mom looks slightly disappointed that her son gave no guess, but she smiles anyway and says, “well, tonight’s dinner is … a secret!”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Mom! That’s so unfair.”

“Oh! That reminds me, Ari. Your dad found a funny bottle on his way home last night. It’s right there on the table.”

She gestures towards the kitchen table where, seeming very out of place upon the normal white table cloth and next to the three branched candelabra, there indeed sits a strange looking bottle. It is a gaudy purple with an intricate green pattern necklacing the thinly tapering opening. Two handles spring out and curve down to the bottom to make for easy carrying. Four large, candy like turquoise gemstones are embedded into the bottle’s curves.

“We can’t get the cap off,” his mother admits, “don’t you think it’s strange?”

Observing more closely, Ari notices the cork very firmly shoved into the opening.

He reaches out a finger and pokes it.

A low muffled moan sounds from deep within the bottle.

Ari leans in and sniffs at the cork.

All he catches is an overwhelming waft of mold.

Finally, he firmly grasps the neck of the bottle and pulls at the cork.

But it won’t budge, not even a wiggle.

“See?” says his mother, abandoning the stove to draw closer to the bottle, “I wonder what’s in there.”

There’s a sparkle in her eyes, a far off wandering look, a hint of the curious adventurer she used to be.

“Mom!” Annie breaks her mother’s reverie, “it’s pointless to keep a bottle we can’t open. Throw it away.”

To strike her point, Annie flips a pigtail on the last word.

“Ah! Well, let’s see … What should we do?”

Their mother hesitates a moment in thought. And then, she lights up with realization.

“Oh! That reminds me! I forgot to pick up bread! But I can’t leave the stove. What should I do?”

Before Ari can make any sort of suggestion, his sister steps over him.

“Oh darn, I wish I could help you out, Mom, but I have a test tomorrow and I really need to study. My future is on the line!”

With that, Annie turns around and makes a dash out of the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Ari notices the sounds of her footsteps are heading out the front door instead of up the stairs to her room where her school books lay waiting.

“Well then, Ari,” says his mother, “go down to the bakery in the village and pick up a loaf of bread for me. They’ll just put it on our tab, so you can just run in and grab it. Thank you, dear.”

His mother turns back to her stove and her humming. Ari is about to leave the kitchen when she whips around again.

“Oh! While you’re out, why don’t you stop by Town Hall and see your father.” She turns back to her cooking, wistfully, “ah, my love, hard at work. If only I could see your father in action. Such rapture …” she trails off to herself.

Feeling repulsed and uncomfortable with his mother’s personal musings, as teenagers ordinarily do, Ari finally leaves the kitchen.

The family home is a mansion that lays like a sprawled out reptile just south-east of the village of Tenel. It sits fatly in a clearing of pine trees, just a stone’s throw from the village road. It wears jagged stones in various states of grey, reaches tall, dizzying pointed towers up to mingle with the tree tops, and caps itself with crooked blue shingles. It keeps itself company with a dried up fountain in the front courtyard, a tiny, but ancient ancestral graveyard, and a huge, thick, wooden gate at the entrance to keep all of it in.

Ari steps out into the courtyard, shielding his eyes from the sunlight already beginning to sharpen through the trees as afternoon slips into evening. He notices Annie waiting for him at the top of the stone steps that snake down to the front gate.

“So, did she tell you what’s for dinner?” she asks, blocking his path, “come on, tell me.”

“What happened to your homework?”

Annie starts to tease her pigtail with a wiggling finger.

“Well! I’m going out on a twilight date with Morris before dinner. To polish my feminine airs, I have to build up experience while I’m young. My book says so too …”

“What kind of book says that?”

“It’s one of Mom’s old books. What was the name again? … Oh! ‘Controlling Guys Made Easy.’”

Before Ari can protest, Annie spins around and skips on down the stairs.

“Anyway, enjoy your errand, Ari!” she calls before disappearing through the wooden gate.

Ari sighs, figuring there was little he could have said or done to make things play out differently.

With hands in pockets, he lazily makes his way over to the small graveyard by the pathway. He likes to say hello upon passing the three residents. The stones are so old that most of the lettering has been worn away, but Ari makes out what he can and makes up the rest:

‘RIP Nameless Hero - Well, we think he must have a name, but nobody asked him.’

‘Man who drank, gambled, and died from poisonous fish - just as he planned. RIP’

‘Person who touched the knowledge of the Library.’

After 16 years, Ari still knows nothing beyond these half-deciphered inscriptions, but he gives his regards all the same. When satisfied, he heads on through the big wooden gate that leads him to a meandering dirt path. It winds through the grass, between rotted logs and small rocky hills, untangling Ari from the clusters of trees until it finds the main road. A nearby sign helpfully points out to any casually passing tourist:

‘North: Tenel Village/Church

West: Tenel Field & Madril

East: Nameless Dwelling’

Ari wonders if his family will ever decide to name their house so the sign could be a bit more specific.

“Hmmm, Nancy? Or Connie?”

At the crossroads stand two boys about Ari’s age, Levi and Nathan. Dark haired Nathan is the pudgier fellow, while Levi is lanky and alight with flaming orange hair.

“Huh?”

“Whoa!” Nathan exclaims, his fat frame jumping, “Oh! It’s you. You scared me, Ari! When did you get here? I didn’t even notice.”

“Ari, you look real gloomy,” says Levi, “hey, you know what? The circus is coming to the field over there tomorrow night!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Tenel Field.

“Really?” Ari replies noncommittally.

“I, I, I’m definitely gonna ask Julia out this time! I, I, I will do it! And me and Julia are gonna go out on a romantic date!”

“I wonder who I should ask out,” Nathan muses in the face of his friend’s determination, “Ari, why don’t you ask somebody out too? It’s the circus!”

Ari chuckles and shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes is a ‘cool, but not caring too much’ display. “Sure, I’ll just narrow down my list a bit and ask one out.”

It doesn’t come off as cool as he hoped.

“Ha!” Levi bursts, “I bet he doesn’t have the guts to ask a girl out! Ha ha ha! Chicken!”

The skinny boy goes the extra mile and begins flapping his arms and clucking.

“Anyway, I better get on over to the village,” says Ari before the soul crushing embarrassment can descend, “got an errand to run.”

“You’d better go quick then,” says Nathan, “they’re closing the town gates earlier and earlier. The ghosts and monsters from Tenel field have been wandering closer to town, I heard.”

The hauntings and prowlings of Tenel Field are nothing new to Ari’s ears. All his life, he’s heard the townspeople complaining about the beasts and deadly things that roam wild and how it’s getting worse every year. Ari hears most people, especially the older ones, blaming it on something evil going on out West in Madril that’s driving the wild things nutty. It’s gotten to the point where Tenel’s posted a sentry on the path between Tenel and the field to keep kids and the like in town and to warn everyone if something should wander in. Ari never gives the matter much thought, reasoning that interesting things like monster encounters only happen to interesting people. And it’s so rare to see ghosts come floating in out of the field.

But the sun does seem ever so slightly lower than it was when he first stepped out of the house.

“Right, I’ll be quick.”

With that, Ari leaves them to their great girl debate and heads toward the main gates of Tenel. For now, the entrance is wide open, yawning its welcome to any passerby bored enough to visit the little town. But later, as it gets darker, the gates will eventually be shut and locked, as Tenel residents cling to the illogical belief that doors and locks can keep out ghosts.

As he enters, he notices a pretty blond girl in a white dress standing by the inn and looking absentmindedly off into the distance. Further putting his errand on hold, Ari walks up to her.

“Hey Julia.”

She doesn’t respond.

Ari waits patiently.

It’s alright. I’m used to being ignored.

Julia looks on for another moment or two. Ari continues waiting.

Any day now …

“Huh? Oh, Ari!” she says, her gaze finally shifting onto him, “I was daydreaming. Sorry about that. Hey, did you know the circus is coming tomorrow night?”

Julia and Ari have been friends since childhood, and though time and puberty have pulled them in different directions, they still consider themselves at the very least good friends. Typically, Julia isn’t so spacey - it’s just an ‘Ari thing.’

“Yeah, Nathan and Levi mentioned it.”

“Isn’t it great? It’s the circus!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”

She looks at him, blue eyes wide and expectant.

“I mean,” he continues, “really great. Very exciting.”

She still says nothing. He waves a hand in front of her eyes, wondering if she’s sunk into another daydream. He does have that effect on people sometimes.

“So, aren’t you gonna ask me to go to the circus with you?” she says suddenly.

“Oh! Well, yeah,” Ari stumbles, “um, I mean, I need to check in with my folks, but … would you … would you like to …”

Before Ari can finish his bare minimum of a question, Julia takes a step back and giggles.

“Sorry, Ari.”

Without even knowing the rest of the sentence, Ari can tell she doesn’t seem very sorry.

“Somebody else already asked me. If you’d have asked me earlier …”

Ari thinks about maybe saying something in protest or in his own defense, but decides it’s not worth it as she makes her way past him.

“Um,” she says, pausing before she walks away completely, “Some time soon, Ari, I … I need to tell you something important … so … see you.”

She takes off running, disappearing fast into the town - an impressive feat given its small size and even smaller populace. Ari isn’t sure what to make of Julia. Teenagerdom is difficult enough to navigate for himself without the complex enigma of teenage girls thrown into the mix. As with most problems, puzzles, and peculiarities, Ari shrugs and carries on with his business.

As he passes it, Ari notices the sign on the Parm Inn door:

‘CLOSED due to water shortage - not that we get any guests anyway. Ha! - Parm Inn Landlord.’

The posting has been there for several weeks. Similar notices decorate the doors of ‘Tinkers,’ the blacksmith and ‘Gulp,’ the bar:

‘Can’t do business without water. I’ll be sleeping. - Tinkers Owner’

‘Closed due to shortage! And for those who owe me money, PAY UP QUICK! - Gulp Hostess.’

Ari can only wonder how much longer before these places will have to close for good. Tenel is already pretty small. Any smaller and they’d have to start calling themselves ‘a small cluster of houses and shops’ instead of a town.

“Ah! Ari!” someone suddenly exclaims.

Ari turns to see the butcher standing outside his shop, just across from the inn. A man with an egg like figure and neatly parted brown hair, the butcher breathes out a heavy sigh as he clutches at his chest.

“You gave me a fright, Ari. I didn’t notice ya standing there at first.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kellogg.”

“Shame about the water shortage, isn’t it? Thankfully, we’ve got some stored up for emergencies like this, but we’re getting mighty low. Can’t say how much longer we’ll be able to stay open.”

“Yeah, I wonder what’s caus-”

“You like beef, Ari?”

He is a little startled by the question.

“Oh, well, I don’t dislike it, sir.”

“I’ve got a great deal on ground beef. One pound, 20 sukel. Figure you might not be able to get any tomorrow - if we can’t open, I mean.”

A few minutes later, Ari walks out of the butcher shop with a wrapped up pound of ground beef under his arm and his wallet 20 sukel lighter.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” calls Mr. Kellogg as he locks the door to his shop to leave for the day, “get home safe.”

Ari waves as the butcher turns to make his way home. He doubts he’ll have business there, but Ari hopes the butcher is open tomorrow. As he makes his way towards the bakery, he passes by two men deep in conversation and nervousness.

“Oh dear, this just won’t do. The water supply has stopped and almost all the stores are closed. It’s under investigation now … do you think it might be related to ghosts?”

“All I know is they’re saying there are tons of ghost problems in Madril. And they’re a big, machine town. Totally different class than Tenel. If they can’t handle the ghosts and monsters, we don’t stand a chance.”

The other man nods weakly, looking very pale. “We’ll be in big trouble.”

Ari remembers his mother’s suggestion couched in wifely affection and decides to go visit his father. He passes Gulp, Tinkers, the miscellaneous shop known as ‘The Other One’, and several homes. All the way in the back of town, atop a small hill, is the church and right beside it the Tenel Village Office. The church sits quietly and patiently, having been unused and unvisited for several weeks now. Ari thinks the cream color of the tall rounded church towers is starting to look like spoiled milk. Green stains are creeping up the sides and the forest surrounding Tenel is starting to reclaim it.

A sign before the tightly shut door reads:

‘Until further notice, please do not enter the church. - Tenel Village Office’

Feeling helpless in the face of such a polite, pathetic notice, Ari walks over to the Tenel Village Office.

Inside, the village office is busy and hectic. Immediately, Ari spots his father sitting behind his usual desk at the front, but all around him, people rush and run and flitter about like a swarm of frustrated, inconvenienced bees. Even their talk sounds like buzzing.

Ari carefully navigates his way towards that front desk. Ari’s father is a short, stringy sort of man. He parts his dark brown hair straight and neat down the middle, and he looks at the world through thick, soda bottle glasses. He has the look of a man who believes in aliens and psychic phenomenon. If one were to ask him about such things, he could easily go on for hours. Ari can attest to it. His father stares intently into a stack of pages in the middle of his desk. He stares as if staring hard enough will burst the pages into flames or cast them into an alternate dimension where he doesn’t have to look at them anymore. Ari is sorry to see these efforts aren’t working.

“Oh! Hello there, Ari. Here to see your cool father at work?”

Ari rolls his eyes, but still smiles.

“What d’ya think? Too cool for words, huh? I redefine ‘cool.’ Ha!”

Now the smile is starting to fade. Ari’s father has perfected the art of being too corny.

“Sorry, sorry,” his father chuckles, “as you can see, the office is in a bit of a panic over the water shortage. We’re doing everything we can to find the cause, but …”

As his father trails off, Ari sees his shoulders slump and behind the happy-go-luck dork that is his father, Ari can see the exhausted Assistant Manager.

“On top of that, the Classification Tables will be arriving soon from the Royal City. That always puts the office on edge.”

Ari knows vaguely about the Classification Tables. His father has cursed it multiple times throughout the year. Supposedly, the village office sends a character report of each Tenel resident to the Royal City and then the city sends back a huge packet of tables that identify and categorize each and every citizen. Ari frequently asks his father how he is ‘classified,’ but his father usually responds with some corny joke.

‘The Assistant Manager’s son.’ ‘The eldest child at the Nameless Dwelling.’ ‘Some Shady Guy.’

So, Ari doesn’t really ask about it anymore. He just accepts that the Classification Table causes his father a lot of headache and woe. Once, Ari tried asking one of his father’s coworkers what the purpose was of the Classification Tables. Her response was unsatisfactory.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there! You’re the assistant manager’s son, aren’t you? Well, the Classification Tables, they … well, they … they maintain order of course! They help the town run smoothly. Why else would the Royal City have us do all this? Now, please leave me alone. I’m quite busy.”

So, Ari understands the weight when, on top of the water shortage problem, his father says he also has to deal with the Royal City’s Classification Tables.

“Anyway, what’s for dinner?” his father asks suddenly, the joy lifting his shoulders back up from their slump, “Ah, I wanna go home. I miss your mom.”

Ari chuckles. “No idea. She wouldn’t tell me. Says it’s a surprise.”

“Ha, yeah, that sounds like your mother.”

“She asked me to pick up bread.”

“Oh! Well, you better get moving, son. It’s getting dark out. The town will be closing soon.”

“Great seeing you, Dad,” says Ari as he turns to leave, nearly crashing into a speeding intern.

Ari steps back outside and, just as his dad said, the dark is noticeably beginning to descend on the town. He rushes down the hill to the Bakery, hoping the owner hasn’t decided to close doors early due to the dark looming in. The bell above the door clangs to life as he rushes in. Despite that, the husband and wife who run the Bakery carry on with their personal business, not seeming to notice Ari standing in the doorway. He steps up to the main counter where the wife stands, her back to Ari as she sorts through the baked goods on the back shelf.

The smell of freshly baked bread is intoxicating, filling Ari with warmth until the harsh pang of hunger in his stomach drives it away.

“Excuse me,” he says.

The portly Mrs. Bakster is singing to herself as she counts and pokes at the remaining pastries. It’s not a very good song and Mrs. Bakster isn’t very good at singing it.

“Hello? Mrs. Bakster?”

“Huh?” Finally, she whips around. “Oh! It’s you, Ari! Don’t I always tell you? A boy should speak up!”

These types of reprimands are nothing new. Mrs. Bakster has many opinions and is very keen on sharing them.

“Now, now, don’t harangue the boy, dear,” calls Mr. Bakster from across the shop, “don’t mind her too much, Ari. She’s got a sharp tongue, but a soft heart really.”

Ari smiles good humoredly, simply wanting to get the bread and get home for dinner.

“You’ve come to pick up bread for your mother, right?” says Mrs. Bakster as she reaches over to a shelf and pulls off a fine, golden colored loaf. With speed and finesse, she neatly wraps the loaf in paper and then, gently hands it to Ari. “Here you are. Don’t squeeze it too much. Don’t want to crush it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bakster, thank you.”

“By the way, Ari, before you go, I wanted to ask - anything bothering you?”

“Now, dear!” chides Mr. Bakster.

“Come on! Keep your chin up, boy!” Mrs. Bakster carries on, ignoring her husband, “girls like the assertive ones, you know? And I know you’ve got a lot of potential, Ari. You can be anything you want. You just got to assert yourself, and girls will be all over you.”

Ari smiles and nods, backing away slowly.

“Alright, alright. Get on home and get that to your mother. I’ve got a dinner to get ready and a husband to feed, you know.”

“Yes … thank you, Mrs. Bakster. You too, Mr. Bakster. Have a good evening.”

Ari turns and whips out the door before the baker can be inspired with another round of opinions. Once outside, Ari is surprised to find Annie waiting.

“Ari, you done with your errands? You’ve been gone forever.”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m done.”

“What’s the matter?” she asks, and then eyes the bakery, “oh, did she lecture you again?”

Yeah, sure, make me relive it, why don’t ya?

The thought translates into a shrug.

“Let me guess,” says Annie playfully, “Oh, Ari, you’ve got to speak up for yourself more. You practically blend into someone else’s shadow.”

Ari gives her a brotherly glare.

“Oh well, at least there are some people around here who see some good in you … Julie, for instance.” Annie giggles mercilessly. “You lucky guy.”

All the way home, Annie teases her brother about the baker woman’s “advice” and Julie’s “affections.” But Ari takes it all without a word, wondering to himself about lots of different topics from that busy afternoon. He thinks about the water shortage and about his classification from the Royal City and about Julie picking someone else over him and about what it actually means to ‘blend into someone else’s shadow.’

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

[twokinkybeans]

The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [Starker] - Chapter 2: ROADIE RUSH

READ “CHAPTER 2 ROADIE RUSH” ON AO3

Other Chapters: Prologue Chapter 1: Soundcheck Setback (To Be Continued)

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth​ & @staticwhispersinthedark​

Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!!! <3 - Kim

Find the fic’s masterpost here!

-

Chapter 2: Roadie Rush

Peter sips from his hot cocoa and sighs happily. It’s so good. With sweet, maple-syrup-covered whipped cream on top of the warm and tasty liquid. He knows he might get a bad case of sugar-rush after this, but god, it tastes too good. He’s glad that there’d been enough time to perform their own soundcheck after all. When The Avengers were done, Tony had disappeared as suddenly as he’d arrived. It still gnaws at Peter. Something… Something about all of it doesn’t seem right. It’s off-ish. As if some of the pieces don’t quite fit the bigger picture. Yet. Of course, even if something is wrong, it doesn’t give the rock star an excuse to be such a pain in the ass to everyone around him.

“I know...” MJ starts and her brows furrow together worriedly, “-that I don’t say this often. But jeez, I’m such a nervous wreck right now.” “Not just you,” Ned adds with a sigh. “My hands are sweating so badly I might lose my sticks one minute into the show.” He chuckles to himself. “Imagine - one of ‘em catapulting right at Stark’s face.” “Ha! Will do him good,” MJ says with a grin. She sits upright and shakes her head. “The man’s an ass. But I won’t let him sour my mood.” “Exactly,” Ned agrees. “Everyone else seems nice. Peter, don’t you think Harley’s nice?”

Peter blushes a bright red and he instantly shakes his head. Of course, he hadn’t missed Harley’s charming smile. Or his nice, lean body. Or- “Just ‘cause I’m gay doesn’t mean I want to date just any dude I meet.” “But, Harley’s nice tho. You know I don’t tend to like folks easily, but Harley sure hits the right vibe.” “Ugh,” Peter groans, but he can’t help the smile on his lips. “Alright, alright, he seems okay enough.” “Just okay?” MJ exclaims and lets herself drop on the couch. She cranes her neck so she can look at him again. “Just you wait- Peter Parker. Just you wait.”

Peter cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he sips on his drink again, enjoying the chocolate taste staining on his tongue. Sure thing, Harley does seem nice. Peter has to admit he’d been too preoccupied with Tony Stark to actually notice the roadie. Actually notice him.

And let’s be real, it’s not like Peter will ever see him again after this.

-

An hour later, they’re all getting ready for the show. They’re squeezed together in the little trailer bathroom- Peter smudges the black eyeliner under his eyes, while Ned brushes his teeth and MJ applies silver beads onto her cheekbones. Slowly, she’s turning into Venus; her stage persona. A small reference to the planet where actual arachnoids are found.  “Pete- Can you draw the spider web on my face?” Ned asks and hands him the small bottle of liquid eyeliner. Peter nods and mumbles a quick ‘sorry’ as he switches places with MJ. He grabs the bottle. “Turn your head,” he instructs and Ned obliges. Peter sticks his tongue out when he concentrates on drawing the lines. First, a few straight lines that cross, then the small bendy lines to make it look like an actual web. When he’s finished, he gives the eyeliner back to Ned and grins. “Go ahead. It’s my tu-”

There’s a soft knock on the trailer door and Peter frowns. “I’ll get it!” MJ rushes and struggles her way out of the bathroom. “-Oh, hey! Harley. Come in!” Peter doesn’t miss the smug expression on Ned’s face. “Nice.” Ned mouths and Peter groans exasperated.  “Nope. Nope. Ned! It’s not happening!” Peter shakes his head at the small eyebrow wiggle his friend sends him.

“Hey boys!” Harley peeks into the bathroom from behind the corner and he smiles broadly. “You ready for the show?” “Almost,” MJ laughs. “The boys always take their time transforming into lil’ spiders.” “It looks great,” Harley says with a wink, and Peter - thanks to all the comments from his bandmates - blushes. “But,” the roadie continues, “-Tony requested extra time to change the stage settings in between sets. The Avengers have to end at midnight, so we have to bring your set forward. Do you think you can be backstage in five?” 

Peter frowns. Again, Tony Stark is the center of the conversation and he doesn’t like it. He nods at Harley, though. “Yeah, we’re nearly done here.”  “Good. I’m sorry for not informing you earlier but we just came to this decision like, a minute ago.” “It’s alright.” MJ grabs her silver strapped heels. “Isn’t it, uhm, a runner’s job to, well, run everything? You’re kinda doing everything today?” She asks curiously. Peter hadn’t even noticed and he looks at Harley. The boy shrugs. “Usually, yeah. But no one wants to work for the Big Boss anymore. So I’m an upgraded allround roadie I guess- doing all the tasks I’m not supposed to do,” he jokes. Peter can tell Harley feels bitter about it, so he decides not to dig deeper.

“We’ll be there,” Peter smiles. “And if we can help you after we play our set, please let us know.” “That’s very kind of you, thanks, dude. I think I got it, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Harley cocks his head and gives Peter a playful bump against his shoulder. “See ya in five, then!” And with that, Harley’s gone again.

Peter can’t quite describe what he’s feeling right now. Tonight’s a huge night for them. The biggest show they’ve ever played, by far. Peter doesn’t feel as excited anymore, though. He hates it. He should be worried about slippery hands, or a string breaking, or stumbling over his feet… Not about how the blond roadie will manage his job tonight. 

-

It isn’t until Peter grabs his midnight blue guitar and tightens the strap, that he realizes Ned never got to draw the spider web on his face. Ah well, no one will notice. He hopes. He stares at Harley, the boy running around and hastily making sure that everything works properly. Not even a second later, Harley runs towards them and bounces on the balls of his feet with excitement. “We’re ready, everything’s set up! Once you’re good to go on, the stage is yours.” Harley bites down his lip and smiles at MJ so intently that Peter has to hold himself back from nudging Ned. “After you, Venus.”

MJ’s eyes widen slightly, clearly taken aback by the charming smile and the sweet tone in Harley’s voice. Her lips curl into a smirk though, and she cocks her head to smile back at him. “Ready for take-off?” “Always.” MJ’s eyes sparkle in the dimmed backstage lights and she shakes her head slightly. Harley chuckles, low in his throat, and waves in the direction of the stage. MJ nods firmly and eyes both Ned and Peter. No other words are needed from there. Peter grabs the fretboard tightly and takes a deep breath. Ned twirls the drumsticks between his fingers and huffs, only now realizing what they’re about to do. 

Faking confidence, the young band walks into the stage lights. The audience cheers and Peter gasps when he sees just how immensely huge the open-air area looks from up here. It’s… Almost unbelievable. Almost.

“Welcome…” MJ whispers into her microphone once the cheers of the audience die down. She grins. The small silver gems stuck underneath her eyes glimmer in the stage lights. “We are the inner concentric, the outer radial lineament, the spider-like volcano-tectonic structures from Venus. We have come to Earth to give you a hint of the whirling desire that is found on our planet. We are… The Arachnoids!”

Peter’s lips curl into a passionate smile as his grip tightens around the fretboard of his guitar. MJ’s voice starts out soft. So soft, it’s barely audible. Ned lets his drumsticks rain down on his ride cymbal to create a space-like sound; as if stars come raining down from the vastness of space. MJ’s voice goes stronger, jumping up two octaves only to break into a sweet, captivating melody. The audience doesn’t make a single sound. And then, after a small pause in the song that doesn’t even last a second, Peter’s fingers naturally find their way onto the strings and he strums fast. Ned goes wild on the drums and MJ howls into her mic. The crowd goes absolutely nuts and Peter has to take a deep breath to control his emotions. They like him! They like their band!

“Yes, New York!!” MJ screams during the small instrumental part. She’s bouncing on the stage, dancing and laughing and her enthusiasm sends Peter into a buzzy haze. “Who’s ready to party on New Year’s Eve?!”

-

Next Chapter 3: World Tour Wishes >>

[artnerd1123]

Chapter One

All Moving Pictures End

——————————————

Chapter one is always quiet. Until the end, that is. Henry knows this better than most. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier. 

DTRH!AU masterpost AU askblog

——————————————

This is my first fic for BATIM, and my first fic i’m posting anywhere! I’m a lil nervous, but mostly excited! Hope y’all enjoy!!!

                                                   ————

Chapter one was always quick. Sure, he could drag his feet if he wanted. The breathing room did him good some days. But there was only so much to do. Only so much to explore. The only other “person” up here was a wolf’s corpse. Not exactly the most welcoming environment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it all a hundred times, anyways. He could do the whole thing blindfolded if he wanted. Not that it mattered. Everything in this place ground to a halt eventually. Every movie has its credits. Every book has its final page. And every chapter has its ending twist. It was as inevitable as his next loop around this godforsaken studio. Might as well get it over with.

                                                  ————

Henry Ross strolled slowly down the halls, gaze flicking around him. He knew it was safe. Old habits die hard, though, and so would he if he didn’t keep an eye out. And he was pretty sure there’d be a cutout jumping out somewhere soon. He eyed the end of the hall suspiciously. “Last thing I need is to get startled into fight or flight early,” he mumbled to himself. One more step. Nothing yet. Another. Still nothing. Huh, he thought, brows furrowed. Maybe it was down the other hall? His mind was drawing a blank. Always an encouraging sign. Or not. The toon shrugged. Whatever. He had a valve to turn. He took one last step, and the sharp trill of a violin sent a violent chill up his spine. His hand flew to his chest as his body shivered comically. A hollow grin peeked out at him from around the corner, ducking back around before he could do anything more than gasp. “Oh- oh c’mon, that wasn’t even fair,” Henry complained. “Cutouts don’t even do anything. Sheesh.” He rubbed his temples as he caught his breath. It’s still chapter one. The scriptwriter just wanted to throw him off his rhythm. As per usual. Once he quit his toonish shivering, he resumed his stroll down the hall. The cardboard cutout earned itself a slightly stern look as he rounded the corner. “You best behave yourself,” he told it simply. At least he still remembered the projector room’s tricks. Henry strode right in. He didn’t even blink as the projector suddenly sputtered to life. Its light spilled onto the wall, ready for an audience long gone. The animation was simple. Just a cheery demon doing a jaunty dance. Unseen speakers crackled along with it, an old recording whistling over the sound of film spinning. Henry couldn’t help but smile. There he was. The little devil darling. “Right on cue, bud.” The demon kept right on dancing as Henry ducked under the projector. Sure, he could’ve walked through the light. But it’d been a long while since he’d seen bendy dance. He wasn’t about to stop that, even if it was just a fleeting ghost of the past. Henry whistled softly along with the recording, straightening back up on the other side. The valve was right where it should be, next to where he’d grabbed the plushie earlier. Not for the first- or last- time, he wondered why he couldn’t have turned it earlier. Why Joey has me running all over kingdom come is beyond me, he thought. Gripping the sides of the valve wheel, Henry gave it a strong yank to one side. It loudly protested the movement, the grating groan of old metal ringing out. He grimaced at the sound. “C’mon, you can’t be stuck now,” he huffed. Though the racket made his ears want to bleed, Henry pulled harder. The groan resounded again, rusty joints straining as much as the toon, before they finally gave up. He let out a satisfied grunt as it spun a few slow turns. “There she goes.” The valve ground to a stop after a moment or two, clanging as the pipes above it started to rumble and creak. They might have been old, but they held the pressure of rushing ink well enough. Henry gave it a nod of satisfaction. Good. Ducking back under the projection, he gave it a thumbs up. “Step one done, bud,” he told it. “I’ll see you in a b-” What more he had to say was cut off by a very loud pop. A mini monsoon of ink burst out of a pipe directly overhead, gushing onto the toon below it. Henry gasped and sputtered like an angry cat as he scrambled out from the ink. He tripped over the step on his way out, flopping onto the floor with a wet splat. He was utterly drenched. Soaked gloves slapping against the floorboards, the poor toon tried to prop himself up. “Augh- that stuff’s spoiled- uck-” he choked, hacking up some ink. It burned on the way out. As if it was trying to stick to him. The sensation made his muscles tense as he struggled to get his feet under him. No. Not now. Not ever. His breaths wheezed as he swiped ink off of his arms, shaking out his legs and hair. Ink flew everywhere in a haphazard fashion- as if a dog was shaking itself off instead of a man. It was all gone in moments. He was clean again. Never had Henry been more grateful to have a trope at his disposal. “Eugh… talk about a bad time to be short a shower…” Henry said shakily. Looking over his shoulder, he could still make out little bits of light through the spurting ink. The cheerful whistling still reached his ears over the little waterfall roar. The sound eased some tension from him. Even under all the ink, Bendy was still there. Let’s hope that stays true, he thought grimly. Henry’s footsteps quickened as he traversed the halls again. The noise of the machine grumbled along behind the walls. Just one switch to flip, then he could really get this nightmare started. And he was gonna do his damn best to make this loop count for something.

The relic room was the same as he left it. Well, almost the same. Everything sat silently on its pillar. Dust still sprinkled over the floorboards. The screen next to the lever, however, flashed with a single word- READY- in big, bright letters. The rumbling of the pipes confirmed as much. Henry stared grimly at the screen from the doorway. Sure, the machine was ready. And him? “... ready as I’ll ever be,” he said softly. Time to start the show. He crossed the room without another thought, setting a hand on the lever. Despite the state of the studio around it, the metal was warm to the touch. As if someone- or something- had put it to recent use. He didn’t care to think on it further. Henry tugged it down with a grunt. The screen darkened for a moment before the letters changed. “RUNNING,” they declared. At once, the machinery along the wall sputtered to life. Slow at first, but getting faster as ink oiled the worn gears. Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when the lights suddenly dimmed. The only light left in the room was a bright circle- illuminating the machine’s life-giving power source. And, of course, the toon standing before it. He turned to the door as the clanking, rumbling, and groaning of old mechanics and ink ticked up louder. Step two was over. Now, he had a meeting to keep. The halls- once lit brightly- were now as dark as a tomb. More fitting, he mused, than the false mirth the old lights had given off. All that was left now were candles and emergency lamps. He passed by them quickly, trying to ignore the way they flickered and dimmed. Just one foot in front of the other. Another turn to the right, and a sign greeted him. It proclaimed itself as the “ink output schedule.” As he neared it, a couple other signs came into view. “EXIT,” one said. “DANGER, KEEP OUT,” cautioned another. He slowed to a stop before them. The ink machine was close. One more turn. “... this thing’s gonna need some serious updating,” Henry muttered, giving the output sign a tap. “As for the rest of these…” He snorted, shaking his head. If I could actually follow them, I’d be set, now wouldn’t I? But no, he’d ignore them. Again. He peeked around the corner instead. The way to the machine was boarded up already. How the boards got there, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed a little protection from what was in there didn’t hurt. The fact that he needed it, though, did. Could the demon see him? Did he know he was here? Was he already out of the machine, lurking just out of sight? Was he just a whisper of script? Words yet to be written? Or rather, words yet to come to fruition? He didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. Answers or not, the toon still knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Fists clenched at his sides, he stepped over the pipe before him. The floorboards creaked lightly as he closed the gap between himself and the boarded up doorway. He raised a hand, forcing his fingers to flatten out. Though the determined look on his face couldn’t hide how he shook. Behind the boards, the room was quiet and calm. Deceptive as the rest of the studio. Just touch the boards, Ross, he thought to himself. Get it over with. You’ve done harder. It’s not like you can go back now. His hand wavered. Moved forward, pausing again. Trembled. And quickly, before a moment more passed, he pushed his hand against the old wood. The studio around him instantly burst into inky chaos, a devilish grin erupting before him. Clawed gloves swiped out from the gap between the boards, a loud shriek accompanying their deadly strike. Demonic talons dug themselves into Henry’s chest before he could so much as flinch. The movement knocked him off his feet, the toon crashing backwards into the floor. He let out a strangled wheeze, stars bursting across his vision. All the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He couldn’t get in any air- he couldn’t breathe- oh g- fuck- c-c’mon- By the time he managed to suck down a breath, the demon was long gone. The remnants of its appearance, however, were still very much in effect. Henry’s chest heaved as he lurched to his feet, clutching his torn shirt. Morphing stains laced over the walls as ink poured from the ceiling. There was so much- too much- that it was flooding the halls. Move move mOVE MOVE, his mind screamed, nothing more than wheezing coming from his mouth. The ink was already lapping at his feet while he struggled to get over the blasted pipe in the hall. Dark liquid clung to his legs, splashing up against the walls the more he struggled through it. He just did what he could to keep moving. Each new crash of ink rupturing old planks made him flinch. But he didn’t need the herding of inky waterfalls to get to his destination. The toon pressed on towards the door he knew was waiting for him. Henry caught a glimpse of a scrawled message on the wall- DREAMS COME TRUE- before another cascade of obsidian sludge obscured it. The irony wasn’t lost on him at all. The only dreams that come true here are fucking nightmares. He let out a strangled chuckle, grabbing onto the corner to pull himself through the rising ink. It was up to his waist now. A slow burning sensation on his legs spurred him on, the toon now throwing himself around the next corner. His hands scrabbled desperately against a chest of drawers against the wall, breaths hitching in his throat. He could see the main room to his left. The exit would be right around the corner- right there! He was close! Just a little farther, Ross! Chest leaking ink, ceiling overflowing with sludge, and spoiled liquid eating at his form, Henry splashed his way around the last corner. The sliver of light shone enticingly in the darkness. Once again, he couldn’t help but wish he could reach it. So he tried. Lurching forward, Henry all but jumped towards the light- -only for his foot to pass through nothingness. His outstretched hand was illuminated for only a moment before the rest of him pitched downwards. He let out a cry- both of fear and of rage- as he tumbled, once more, into the depths of the studio.

                                                  ————

A loud splash and a stream of curses announced Henry’s arrival at the bottom of the pit. He sat up with a groan. Ink still leaked down from above, pattering against his dark stained clothes. He swatted at it halfheartedly. Frankly, he’d already had enough of it. His free hand reached to gingerly rub his back, the other keeping him from flopping backwards. He got up as carefully as he could. How in the world he didn’t break his spine from that fall was beyond him. But, he thought ruefully, it wouldn’t be much of a story if the protagonist died right away, would it? At least the pain and injury would fade quickly. The trope of animation errors at its finest. “Alright… alright,” he grumbled to himself. “I better get a move on. Where’s those blasted valves…?” A glance around the room didn’t reveal much. It was a simple space. What wasn’t cut off by a small ink waterfall was still half flooded with the foul sludge. A metal shelving rack sat against one wall. A pipe with a valve was against another. Easy enough. Henry was about to wade to the pipe when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head towards it, not caring that his neck protested painfully. What looked like a thin box glowed softly on one of the shelves. Henry’s brows furrowed. If it glowed, it had to be important. He paused a moment to see if he could recall… “… Oh!” he snapped his fingers eagerly. “Right! Tapes!” He splashed clumsily over to the shelf, giving the “box” a look over. It was an audio log. He could see that clearly now. A little beat up and stained, but unmistakable. A small smile twitched at his lips as he ran a hand over it. He couldn’t quite remember who this one was… but he didn’t think it mattered. Any trace of his old friends was good enough for him. The voices made him feel less alone. He could do with a little less loneliness. Henry gently pressed the play button, watching the little machine come to life. The tape clicked softly into place. There was a moment of quiet whirring before a grumbling voice rang from the speaker. “It’s dark and it’s cold, and it’s stuck behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure that I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot,” a man barked gruffly. Henry recognized it instantly, his smile widening into a grin. “Tom!” he said brightly. “Good to hear from you, old friend.” Ah, yes. Thomas Connor. The studio’s repairman. Henry shook his head as the tape continued, the memories of Thomas complaining about pipes drifting up in his mind. … of course, a few choice phrases in the recording made the toon’s smile slip. “Like a dying dog on its last legs,” Thomas said about the pipes’ noise. He wasn’t wrong, but the mention of a dying dog… “This whole darn thing… just isn’t natural,” Thomas grumbled uneasily. “You could say that again,” Henry muttered darkly. Of course, it was the last phrase that really sobered him up. “You can bet, I won’t be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.” The final click of the recording echoed in the silence. Henry gave the log a long, hard look. “... well, you weren’t wrong, Tom,” he finally sighed. “You certainly weren’t wrong.” Reaching for the log, he flipped it onto its back. If he remembered right, he could probably get the tape out of there… a muffled click let a smile flit across his face. “There you are. C’mere, you.” He slid off a panel in the back to reveal an old tape. It had a labelled transcript taped to it, thankfully. That’d help keep track of names. He carefully slipped the tape into his pocket, setting the empty audio log back on the shelf. With the tape listened to and taken care of, Henry turned his focus to the task at hand. Draining all this awful ink. He slogged through the black sludge that stuck to his knees, making his way to the first valve. It turned easier than the one upstairs, but still made the same godawful groaning noise. “Geez Louise, you were right about the noise, Tom,” he winced. The ink level was falling, though, so he didn’t complain more. He was just glad the valves worked. “One down, two to go.” Glancing around, he spotted the door to the stairwell through the waterfall of ink. Because… of course it would be back there. Where else would the door be but behind more ink? Henry put his arms over his head as he jogged through the inkfall, shuddering at the feeling of old ooze on his limbs. He continued his jog down the steps, grumbling as yet another waterfall blocked his path. Stepping through this one gained him more than a shudder, though. It was a downright uncomfortable grimace. His foot had splashed right down into another deep puddle of ink. “Aw, c’mon now,” he sighed, wading down once again. “Can’t ever leave things simple and easy, can we?” At least this valve’s right in front of the stairs…

Another two rounds of groaning pipes, descending ink, and running down steps deposited the now soaked-and-grumpy toon in a rather cramped room. Calling the space a “room” was almost too generous. It was more like a glorified broom closet. A very drippy, very busted up one at that. “We’re gonna need a dozen teams of restoration architects in here,” Henry said flatly. “And that’s at a minimum.” Ink dripped slowly down from his hair before he flicked it away. A quick shake off had him relatively clean, minus some staining on his shoes. Once he was satisfied, the toon turned to the one other defining feature of the room. A closed door. It didn’t remain that way for long, the knob turning easily in his hand. He knew his way clearly from here. The door swung in to reveal an old workshop. Henry strolled right in, gaze sliding over the sparsely furnished area. All that was of note were a few stacked barrels, and an old workbench, and a boarded up doorway along the far wall. The bit of graffiti spattered around- a venomous declaration that “THE CREATOR LIED TO US-” drew a soft snort from the toon. Yeah, you could say that. Overall? The room was nothing of interest. No, what he was really looking for sat on top of the workbench. An axe lay out on top of it, its blade glinting dully in the dim light. Henry picked it up, testing its weight thoughtfully. It looked pretty sharp. Pretty durable, too. An axe had always served him well… “Hmm… yeah, I could go for a new one,” he said decisively. Swapping the axe into one hand, he shoved the other into one of his side pockets. He pulled out another axe a moment later. This one was slick with damp ink, its blade blunt and its handle full of hairline cracks. It had certainly been through the ringer. He gazed at it fondly as he set it on the bench. “So long, bud,” he sighed softly. “We had a good run.” Henry took a minute to swing the new axe around. This room was as good as any to test it out. It was a little different than he was used to- no doubt because it was newer- but it swung and balanced well. He gave it a pat of approval. Approaching the doorway, he glanced it over, sizing it up. “Now-” grunting, he hefted the axe over his shoulder- “new friend of mine-” tightened his grip- “let’s get-” and swung hard at the boards before him- “to work-!” The splintering of wood made a wonderful soundtrack as Henry chopped his way through the final hall. The work went quicker than he liked, but it still felt good to swing a proper axe again. Breaking boards was easy. Breaking boards was kinda fun. And, most importantly, breaking boards meant progress. At the end of the short hall, he leaned on the wall to catch his breath. The new axe really was nicer. Hopefully it’d last a few loops. One last door was before him, three boards holding it shut. He eyed it somberly. At long last, there it was. His entrance into chapter two. The toon straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The axe dragged against the floor as he walked purposefully over. One more door. One more room. And one more unfortunate headache. Flipping the axe up, he promptly slammed it into the old wood. All three boards gave away like butter to a hot knife. Satisfied, Henry tucked the weapon behind his back. It was better to save things in his hammerspace than to trust that a certain scriptwriter would provide him another axe later. The door opened with a slow creak after he turned the knob. Before him was a small room, lit only by candlelight. Some sort of large ritual circle was drawn in the center of the floorboards. Candles sat flickering at six points around its edge. Edging in, Henry kept an eye on his feet and the circle. That thing might be his ticket to chapter two, but he didn’t want to jump on the train early. The location didn’t feel fuzzy as he looked around, but… well. You never know what could pop up next in this studio. At the wall across from the entrance, two coffins leaned side by side. A boarded up door was to their left. On the right side of the room, three chairs were set up. On the left side, there was an empty shelf. Whom the chairs or coffins were for, Henry couldn’t say. The sight of the door, at least, was reassuring. All that was left now was to step into the circle. “... you better make this quick, Joey,” he muttered.

Without further ado, he planted a foot squarely in the inky circle.

The pain he felt was immediate, surging up through his leg and into his head like a lightning strike. He couldn’t help but gasp, hands flying to his head as he doubled over. An image of the ink machine flashed before his eyes. By the time he squeezed them open and shut to dispel it, the pain had lurched him sideways. An image of a wheelchair greeted his newly opened eyes, and he groaned desperately. The pain was cranking higher- higher- so much he could barely see straight. He fumbled around, vision clouding up as he tried to turn back to the door. All that greeted him, though, was one last horrifying image. The ink demon was standing there. Illuminated by the light of an open door behind him. Reaching for him. Some distant part of Henry felt his body stumble backwards. His mind finally fell into darkness. And then… Then… … Nothing.

Nothing but the dark of the ink.

E̶̷̸̮͍̮̤̪̠͔͚̬̻̼̰̤͉̱͔̝̰͠Ņ͈͉̙̣͙̜̣͖͔͍͍̯̟̬̭͢͠ͅD̷̨̼͇̖̮̙ ̶̴͎̪͓̯̮̲̼͠O͏̶̸̸̞̣̦̟̫̦̞̪̳̤͎͚̯̦̝̳F̶̵̥͚̘̣̮͔ ̣̫̞̰̬͚͞͞C̭͎̥̠͔̩͕͕̯͉͍̤̬̩̙̟͎̱͉̕͠͠͠͞Ḩ̢͜͠҉̲̥̮̫A̴҉͕͚̬̳̲͙̮͙̝͡͝P̵̩͎̩͓̲̬̕͟Ţ̯̱̠͍̝̲̠̗̼͜͜E͏̷̮̬̪̬̠̙R̷̡̹̖̥̖͘͜ ̧̪͈̥̝̞̘̰̬̻̺̞̠͎͟͟͞Ó̠͙̲̞̰͔͕͡N̵̬̜̣̜̬̻̖͈̙͍͍̻̰̤͎̙̜͜͝ͅĘ̰͎̩̺̙̱̯͈̭̬͙͇͔̕.̸̸̧̳̱̣̠̺̭̖̦̹̳͙̼̳̠͠͡ͅ

.

[prettyboypeterparker]

Peter’s laying on the grass out front with a glass of lemonade when a U-haul pulls into the house next door. There’s a pickup truck following behind that’s connected to a flat car carrier and strapped up on top is a hot rod, Peter’s attention wanes easily. Peter goes back to reading his book and sucking on the bendy straw in his drink, he hears bustling and a few male voices and decides to look over at the house.

“C’mon Barnes, lift with your knees not your back.” Peter hears someone yell.

The voice seems to come from a man standing by the pickup, he’s wearing tight blue denim jeans with a black shirt and he seems to be holding a box in his hands.

“I’d like to see you try and lift this Stark, you’d crumble within the second.” The man, Barnes, calls back.

Barnes is gorgeous, he’s got long brown hair that’s tucked up in a bun and he’s wearing black khakis and a red Henley that bulges around toned muscles, he’s standing by another man who’s tall, blond and handsome. He’s smiling at Barnes and is holding two boxes in each beefed up arm. Peter likes everything he sees. Blondie makes eyes at Barnes and walks with him inside the house leaving Stark by his pickup. Peter’s going to assume that Stark is his new neighbor and thinks it’s fitting to go say hello.

“Hi Mister.” Peter calls out as he abandons his book.

He walks over to the man and takes a pull at his straw.

“Oh, hi.” Stark says as he adjusts the box in his arm to free a hand.

Peter shakes it and snickers softly when Stark draws his hand back and wipes it on his jeans, Peter had purposely used his wet hand.

“I’m Peter, I live next door with my Aunt.” Peter points a thumb over his shoulder at his house.

“Right. Well I’m Tony, it was nice to meet you kid.” Tony, huh, Peter likes the way it rolls on his tongue.

“You too Mr Stark, be sure to come around and meet my Aunt when you got time.” Peter smiles cotton candy sweet before waving goodbye, he walks back over to his spot on the grass and resumes reading.

Over the rest of the afternoon Peter catches Tony staring at him when he thinks Peter isn’t looking, Peter puts on a little show of stretching and not fixing his shirt when it slides up his belly, he even arch’s his back at one point and moans softly like the idea of stretching like this brings him pleasure. Tony drops a box when Peter does this, he stands at the hedge staring at him until Barnes asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Tony murmurs back.

*

It’s mid summer and Peter hates the heat, he’s more of winter kind of guy, loves wearing big sweaters and fluffy socks but it seems this summer brings two good things. First May works nearly every day from early morning to late at night and Peter gets to slut around in tiny cotton shorts and shirts that he hacked the sleeves off of and second Tony Stark works on his hot rod with the garage door rolled open and Peter figures the heat must get to him as well because he ditches his shirt and walks around in tight jeans and wife beaters covered in grease.

Peter lays on his porch swing with more homemade lemonade and watches as Tony works on his car, Peter knows he’s openly staring, he doesn’t actually care if he’s caught. Best case is that Tony fucks him for being rude and he gets the best hate sex of his young virgin life and worse case is that Tony tells him to stop. Not that Peter would listen. Peter lays in the warmth until he runs out of lemonade, he walks inside to the kitchen and grabs the pitcher when suddenly a great idea comes to mind, Peter grabs a glass cup from the dishwashing rack and takes that and the pitcher outside he walks down his lawn and into Tony’s. Tony is still working on his car, music blasting at an acceptable volume so as not to disturb Mrs Bell one house over who is getting terribly crabbier with each passing day. Peter heads up to the garage and waltz’s on in without any care and pours lemonade into the cup, he places the pitcher on a work bench and as he walks to Tony he rubs the chilled glass along his neck and up his cheeks to his temples.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.” Peter says words heavy and thick with heat.

“Shit kid, you shouldn’t sneak up on people.” Tony startles, hand coming to his chest.

“Sorry Mr Stark, I thought you might like some lemonade to fend off the heat. I made it myself.” Peter sloshes the cup and some of the lemonade tips over the rim.

“That’s, uh, that’s real nice of you. Thanks.” Tony stands from his stool and grabs the glass.

He steadily drinks all of the lemonade and takes a big gulp of air afterwards, he wipes at his mouth with his arm and smears a bit of oil across his cheek.

“Would you like some more?” Peter turns to pick up the jug when his plan comes in to play.

As Peter takes a step closer to fill the cup up he pretends to stumble and pours the sticky drink all over his shirt.

“Oh man, I’m so clumsy.” Peter looks up at Tony and notices that his grip on the cup has tightened.

“You should probably take that shirt off before it sticks to your skin.” Tony swallows and his pupils fatten.

“Yeah I should.” Peter places the pitcher down and grabs the hem of his shirt and shimmies it up his tummy and chest before pulling it off his head where sweat drenched curl stick to his temples.

Tony watches his every move and Peter works on mopping up some of the lemonade from in between his chest.

“Man it’s so messy and stick.” Peter whines.

“You should have a shower.” Tony says gently.

Peter goes to ask if he could just shower here when Tony seems to get a hold of himself, sadly.

“You should go home and shower... yeah.” Tony hands over the glass and pitcher before shuffling Peter out of his garage.

“Mr Stark.” Tony shakes his head.

“Go home Peter.” Peter huffs but walks away.

He’ll seduce Mr Stark, he’ll do whatever it takes to have him.

*

It seems that Peter isn’t the only one who has eyes for Tony. May invites him over for a homemade dinner and dessert and Tony accepts happily, Peter puts up a fuss the entire time that May cooks dinner and even tries to burn the roast but May manages to salvage it and at exactly seven thirty the doorbell chimes and May is sending Peter to fetch the door.

“Hi Peter.” Tony says politely as the door opens.

“Hey.” Peter crosses his arms across his chest and stares Tony down.

“Uh, I bought these for your Aunt.” Tony holds forward a bouquet of river lilies, they’re absolutely gorgeous.

“May’s allergic to lilies.” Peter lies.

“Oh, shit.” Peter smiles sweetly and takes them.

“I can take them, just if you’ve touched them you probably shouldn’t touch May. Just incase.” Tony nods and wipes his hands on his jeans.

Peter tries not to laugh but shuts the door and leads Tony into the dining room where three plates are set up.

“You just wait here, I’ll get rid of these.” Tony sits at the head of the table and Peter walks into the kitchen, May is standing by the stove steaming vegetables.

Peter finds a vase and fills it with water, he cuts a little bit of the stems off and arranges them nicely before walking up to his bedroom and placing them on his bedside table. May calls him back down and he runs downstairs to the kitchen.

“Can you take these out please?” May hands over a bowl of mash and gravy.

“Sure can.” May smiles at him and kisses his cheek.

“Such a good boy.” Peter takes the bowl into the dining room and places it on the table.

Tony’s on his phone and looks up when Peter places the bowl down a little too hard.

“Hey it’ll be best if you didn’t mention the flowers, May’ll feel bad that you spent money on her.” Tony nods and Peter leaves him to grab more food.

When the tables covered in food everyone sits down together, Peter fills his plate up and eats angrily as the two adults chatter on about stupid adult stuff.

“I think I’m going to go back up to my room, I have homework and all. You two should keep talking though, don’t let my absence get in the way.” Peter snaps, he grabs his plate and flounces into the kitchen.

This evening has been one of the worst he’s had.

*

Two weeks later Peter has the perfect opportunity to seduce Tony. May has left for the day and Peter goes into his Aunts room to snoop for some of her delicates. He finds what he’s looking for in the back of her closet tucked away under Peter’s box of baby photos which, gross. He pulls the black back out and dumps the contents on the carpet, a receipt flutters out and Peter checks the date, May’s only bought these recently so she must think she’s going to get lucky with Tony. Not on his watch. Peter picks up the lingerie and takes it into his own room where he lays it out all pretty on his bedspread, Peter goes for a quick shower and cleans himself of sticky sweat and washes himself with his newly bought strawberry scented body wash. When he walks ass naked out into his room he flicks on some music and starts to figure out how the lingerie works as he air dries.

“How the shit do women do this?” Peter complains out loud.

After a while he manages to figure it out, he slips on the green and black panties that are embroidered with roses, next is the bra which he clips it on at the front of his chest then swivels it around, he slides the straps over his shoulders and adjusts them as necessary the lace rubs against his nipples until they pebble and Peter likes the feeling. The last item is a garter but he skips it and throws on clothes over the top, he switches off his music and heads downstairs and outside. Tony isn’t working in his garage and he isn’t outside so Peter walks up his lawn and porch and knocks three times on the front door, it swings open and Tony stands behind the screen door.

“Peter?” Peter musters the best innocent smile and nods.

“Hi Mr Stark, I was wondering if you were busy?” Tony opens the screen door and stares down at Peter.

“Not at all, what can I do for you?” Peter fiddles with the hem of his short shorts.

“Well Mr Stark, my Aunts not home and I was wondering if you could come fix the sink in the bathroom? You look pretty handy so I thought maybe you could help?” Tony takes a moment before nodding.

“Sure, just let me get my toolbox.” Peter thanks the older man and waits patiently for him to get what he needs.

The plan is going accordingly and now all Peter has to do is somehow get Tony in a position where he can’t refuse him.

Tony comes back with a black and yellow toolbox and follows Peter back to his house asking questions about the sink, Peter lies through his teeth and when they get inside Peter leads him upstairs into the bathroom.

“Huh, the sink looks fine Peter.” Tony says as he turns the tap on.

“I guess it must of fixed itself while I was gone?” Peter tries but Tony doesn’t look so convinced.

“I’m starting to think the sink wasn’t broken. Was it?” Peter rolls his eyes and cocks his hip.

“Okay fine the sink wasn’t broken, I lied but I just wanted to talk to you Mr Stark.” Tony picks up his toolbox and starts to walk away.

“You shouldn’t lie Peter, have you heard of the boy who cried wolf?”

“I’m sorry.” Peter whines.

“Sorry doesn’t always cut it kid.” Tony is leaving and Peter is getting desperate.

Peter runs ahead of Tony and stops him in his tracks.

“Look, I like you Mr Stark and I’m pretty sure you like me too so why don’t we skip the whole, pretending that nothing’s happening thing?” Peter says seductively, fingers curling creases into Tony’s wifebeater.

“Like? What are we in, grade school? Jesus Peter I don’t like you, you’re my neighbors kid nephew who might I add shouldn’t dress like he’s a two cent hooker.” Peter smiles.

“You think I look like a two cent hooker? How sweet, you haven’t even seen what’s underneath.” Tony’s jaw tense.

“And I plan to keep it that way, you’re literal jailbait. This isn’t happening Peter.” Peters smile turns into a frown.

“Why are pretending like there isn’t something between us?” Tony sighs.

“If there was anything between us and I’m saying a very big if, you’re too young anyways. Plus your Aunt’s a very lovely lady and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” Peter snorts.

“Tony, this isn’t some power imbalance or some stupid tactic to have sex with you and get you into trouble. I like you and if we had sex that wouldn’t be so bad either. Look I’ll let this go if you can kiss me and not feel anything.” Peter says as he steps closer to Tony.

“Fine, one kiss and if I don’t feel anything I’m leaving and we don’t talk about it and you leave me alone.” Peter smiles.

“Deal.” Tony drops his toolbox and grabs Peter’s face, pulling his face up until his neck strains.

Tony kisses him hard and Peter gets tingles in his toes. Peter definitely feels something and by the way Tony hasn’t pulled away he guesses Tony feels the same way. They part for breath and without saying anything they start kissing again, Peter walks them back and Tony falls back when his shoe hits a snag in the rug Peter goes down with him and ends up on Tony’s lap. The make out until Peter’s lips go numb and Tony paws are his waist, pulling his shirt out of his shorts his hands push the shirt up until it uncovers the bra underneath.

“Oh fuck.” Tony leans up and places his lips in the small crevice between his pecs, the tightness of the bra pushes them together nicely making small mounds.

“Pretty right?” Tony nods and sucks on the lace until it dampens and Peter’s nipple hardens.

Tony treats the other nipple the same and before Peter realises it his shirt is being flung somewhere and Tony’s unclipping the bra expertly.

“Pants.” Peter huffs as he wiggles over Tony’s stiffening prick.

Peter straightens his legs and Tony pulls the cotton shorts down and Peter is pretty sure Tony’s pupils thicken.

“Panties baby?” Peter likes the pet name.

“Yeah, I feel so pretty in them.” Tony’s fingers work over the lace and Peter gets hard steadily at each rub.

“You look pretty baby, so goddamn gorgeous.” Peter flushes and leans down to kiss Tony.

Tony works over Peter until Peter whines and threatens to spill.

“Not yet sweetheart, wanna eat your pussy.” Peter sobs wantonly at Tony’s words and helps the older man pull the panties off.

He kneels over Tony’s head, creamy thighs coming to straddle his face. Tony settles Peter down and gets to work on eating him out, Peter loves every moment and cums quickly though that doesn’t stop Tony he keeps going until Peter spills again.

“Such a good boy.” Peter shakes his head.

“I’m your good girl sir.” Tony pushes Peter on his chest and smiles.

“You my little girl Pete? My pretty princess?” Peter nods gently, he might as well keep playing with this fantasy.

“Yeah I’m yours.” They kiss and Peter can’t help but grin.

“What are you smiling about?” Tony asks as he rakes his fingers through Peter’s knotted curls.

“I’m totally your Lo.” Tony chuckles and licks at the sweat on his neck.

“Yeah baby, you’re undeniably the Lo to my Humbert.”

[pinknerdpanda]

Merry Christmas, Asshole

Word Count: 1,172 Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam and Cas mentioned Warnings: Dean being a pain in the ass, the fuck word, fluff Requested by: @feelmyroarrrr​ Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul​ - thank you my love! xoxo

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles. 

Gif credit x

Merry Christmas, Asshole

“Too bendy.”

Of all the absurd objections he’s made over the last 30 minutes, this one takes the cake.

“What does that mean, Dean? Too bendy?” You sigh, exasperated.

Dean shrugs before flapping his hands around the tree in some semblance of a gesture.

“I don’t know. Will it even hold any ornaments?” He flicks a branch and frowns. 

You groan, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to suppress a snarky retort.

“Ok, too big, too fluffy, too skinny, too tall, too pointy, too sad, too bendy,” you place your hands on your hips and kick at the dirt at your feet. “This is getting a little ridiculous.”

Dean simply shrugs again, the nonchalance of the gesture grating on your nerves. You roll your eyes and stomp off, in search of a tree that’s not too whatever. The trudge of Dean’s boots behind you is soft but steady. He knows better than to crowd you when you’re upset, but he doesn’t want to leave you by yourself, either. It’s irritatingly endearing.

Looking through the rows and rows of pine trees you finally spot it. It's absolutely perfect. Not too tall or fluffy, but not skinny or bendy either. It made all the other trees you’d thought perfect before look like garish cartoons. This is the tree. 

You turn to Dean triumphantly, only to have your joyous bubble burst when you find him scowling at the conifer. As hard as you’d tried to grit your teeth and endure his piss poor attitude toward your little outing, you’ve had it. That little crease between his brows and frown pulling down the corners of his lips - that’s the proverbial straw that breaks your proverbial back.

“What?!” You roar at him. He jerks his gaze to you, clearly startled. 

“Y/n,” he coos, confused.

“No, Dean! What the hell is wrong with this one?” You shout. A young family down the row shuffles along, clearly wanting to avoid the tense scene. “What are you going to say next - it’s too green?!”

Dean’s gaze flicks to the tree before he meets your eyes again.

“Well now that you mention it…”

You’re stomping off before he can even finish his thought. The anger is radiating off you in pulsating waves so strong it feels like crowds of people yards away from you are already beginning to part as you approach. 

“Y/n! Wait!” 

Dean grabs your arm and you stop, jerking yourself free and whirling on him.

“All I wanted was a Christmas tree, Dean. I didn’t ask for presents or a fuckin’ sleigh ride or a single glass of eggnog. All I wanted was a tree with some lights and a few little ornaments. And you,” you jam a finger in his chest, “have been such a pain in the ass today, now I don’t even want that. Thank you, Dean. Thank you for ruining Christmas for me this year. I hope you’re fuckin’ happy, you asshole.”

You’re halfway across the parking lot before remembering that asshole or not, he’s still your ride back to the bunker. Finding the Impala, you pace back and forth, stewing in your aggravation as you wait for him to catch up.

On your third lap of pacing, Dean appears, his head down and his shoulders slumped. Without saying a word, he unlocks the car and starts it before leaning over to unlock the passenger side door. You slide in the seat and slam the door closed, angling your body away from him as he backs out of the parking lot and steers you both home.

The ride to the bunker is silent, except for the sound of tires on pavement and the steady hum of the heater keeping the cold air at bay. You’ve got the door open and slammed shut behind you before he’s even turned the engine off.

A small part of you knows you’re overreacting. That, in the grand scheme of things, this is really not that big of a deal. But it doesn’t seem to quell the frustration and disappointment running rampant throughout your mind. 

The familiar scent of old books and coffee hits your nose as you step inside the bunker and begin to descend the metal stairs. The whirring of 50 year old machines you’ve grown accustomed to is accompanied by the faint sound of music. You’re too focused on marching straight to your room to take note of the song.

Just as you pass by the library, however, the soft twinkle of lights stops you in your tracks. Stepping inside, you find the room has been transformed as if by magic. Strings of white Christmas lights line the walls, casting a warm glow on the rich wood tables and floor. Four woven stockings are hung on the far wall, each painted with a name. Sam. Cas. Dean. Y/n.

Just to the right of the stockings is the most beautiful fir tree you’ve ever seen. Its lush, green needles are wrapped carefully, branch by branch, with white lights, making it seem to glow from the inside out. Red, green and white ornaments hang in meticulously spaced intervals and a lovely golden star crowns the very top of the tree. The music you’d heard earlier, you now recognize as The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. Your favorite.

 It looked like something from a magazine and the sight steals the breath from your lungs.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

Dean’s breath against your ear startles you, but when you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, you melt into him. He hums, holding you a little tighter as the tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

He loosens his grip as you turn in his arms, facing him. He lifts a hand to your cheek, brushing away the tears, first from one side and then the other.

“When did...how..” you stutter, drawing in a shaky breath, trying to calm the overwhelming emotions inside you.

“I had Sam and Cas set this up while we went out and then had them make themselves scarce for the evening,” he smiles. “I was trying to surprise you, but I think I might’ve gone about it the wrong way.”

You sniffle, pressing your forehead against his. 

“Thank you so much. I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dean. You didn't ruin Christmas. This is...this is perfect.”

He pulls back. “No. You’re perfect.”

“I called you an asshole,” You snort, sniffing again. “Scratch that, I screamed that you were an asshole in public.”

Dean grins. “I know. That’s why I love you.”

He kisses you slow, his lips soft and firm against yours and you hum approvingly when he parts them. You can taste the salt of your tears on his tongue as he kisses you breathless.

Dean pulls away, but presses two more quick kisses to your lips before smiling down at you again.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.”

You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him again, chastely. 

“Merry Christmas. Asshole.”

---

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :) 

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all:

@wheresthekillswitch​​ @pretty-fortune​​ @arryn-nyxx​​ @emlostinwonderland​​ @becs-bunker​​ @cookie-dough-lova​​ @impandagrl​​ @maddieburcham1​​ @trexrambling​​ @beachballsizeladyballs​​ @hannahindie​​ @rosie-winchester​​ @winchesterprincessbride​​ @that-writer-one​​ @fandomismyspirit​​ @angelsandwinchesters​​ @cfordwrites​​ @charliebradbury1104​​ @mogaruke​​ @luulaachops​​ @supernaturaldean67​​  @barbedwireandbubblegum​​ @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son​​ @muliermalefici​​ @galaxy-jellyfish-queen​​ @canadianjelly​​ @kathaswings​​ @feelmyroarrrr​​ @lorilane33​​ @bethbabybaby​​ @myfanficlibrarium​​ @akshi8278​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @boxywrites​​ @atc74​​ @anticipate1003​​ @super100012​​ @lovesj2m​​ @masksandtruths​​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​​ @growningupgeek​​ @there-must-be-a-lock​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @amanda-teaches​​ @cassieraider​​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​ @its-my-perky-nipples​​ @squirrel-moose-winchester​​ @sandlee44​​ @paintrider13-blog​​ @arses21434​​ @petra-arkanian-1497​​ @sasbb23​​ @princessmisery666​​

[do-ya-hear-that-sound]

Surf and Turf

...it’s finally happenin’ folks

I got A LOT to write for y’all, but I promised this a hot minute ago, and it’s finally time I made good on that. (Granted, I was on anon, but S T I L L)

@beetlejuicebeadoll this one’s for you and your Salty Sweet AU

Rock on 🎸🎸🎸 

EDIT: Okay, made some edits on this bad boy since I posted it. Added the “Read More” thing and a few other spelling and format stuff that bothered me. 

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Dewey has spent many hours of the day daydreaming what it would be like to walk on the dry sand. Now, wobbling and stumbling across the beach, trying to find a way to move his new legs, he can’t help but think the sand is so much rougher than he thought it would be. Smooth and corse at the same time. It’s nothing like how it is underwater: the grains swishing and yielding to his tale when he moved across the ocean floor. His heels dig into the surface with each step. He has to practically pull his feet out from the beach beneath him, only to put it back down and is met with resistance, only to be inevitably sunk back in. The squishy sand slipping beneath his toes, the salty wind blowing across his skin, and making the hair on his legs stand on end, the growing heat on his face from the morning sun— it’s nothing at all like Dewey’s dreamed it would be.

It’s even better. 

Clutching the towel wrapped around his waist, (he’s never been so thankful for careless beachgoers before... and so annoyed at a certain Sea Witch for not conjuring clothes for him after the transformation happened) Dewey goes to the diner that should(?) be a few streets away from the pier he emerged underneath in. He’s grateful he had the foresight to ask his little guppy about this small beach city: their places to go, eat, what they do during the day when he’s not there with them. He smiles at the memory. He lived for the everyday, mundane things you described to him; it completely fulled his imagination. Recently, Dewey developed the habit of getting up early to watch the town wake up. He would get behind the closest rock to the shore he could manage and watch as the humans would leave their homes and start their days, dreaming all the while that he was with you as you began your own.  

His pace quickens. He's found a pair of discarded sandals on the sidewalk in front of someone's house and slipped them on before going out onto the streets. (Is it common for humans to leave stuff around like this? He wonders.) The bendy shoes slap against the harsh surface as he zooms past stores. Dewey lights up like pier at night when he finally spots it: Diana's Diner— your favorite breakfast spot and current place of work.

He can't help himself. He burst through the front doors with so much enthusiasm that he bumps into the group of people standing a few steps away. They all glared at him, a site Dewey is more than familiar with, if he's honest. He smiles apologetically and helps the humans he managed to knock over back on to their feet, shrugging sheepishly and mouthing "sorry!" before he goes back to his original goal. 

His eyes search wildly for you... only to find that the diner is overflowing with people. Choosing to ignore the voices talking around him, Dewey stands on a chair nearby to try to see you. Panic is starting to flood his system. Were you working today? Was it a Monday? (What even was a Monday??) This isn't good at ALL. Dewey needs to find you. He can't win if he doesn't-

His growing whirlpool of thoughts was cut off by a tug on his towel. He looks down to find an angry looking trout of glaring human back at him. 

"Listen, Magic Mike, I'm gonna have to ask you to get down from there and stop giving all these people a show. Either come back with a shirt and a long towel or not at all. Kuh-peesh?"

Dewey furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but he got down from the chair nonetheless. He didn't understand a majority of the stuff that came out of the human's mouth. How in all the seven seas was Dewey giving these people a show? He can't speak, let alone sing— the Sea Witch made sure of that. Dewey looks down at his towel: it looks alright to him. It was covering his lower body perfectly well. Sure, the knot he tied at the side of his hip created a slit that showed his side leg and some of his bottom, but that couldn't be the issue, could it? He saw humans of his own gender show even less skin than Dewey was right now at the beach multiple times! No, that couldn't be the reason: what would make now any different than then?

What in dear Neptune was that weird sound made at the end?!?

Dewey stands there, motionless as these thoughts swim through his mind. It all comes to a halt when the angry human grabs onto his wrists and starts to pull him towards the doors. Dewey tugs back, not so willing to give up that easily. He's come so far! He can't let that Sea Witch win so easily! The human puts up more force into their pull, but Dewey pulls back just as quickly, digging his feet into the floor as much as his sandals will let him. He's so caught up in this battle, he doesn't even realize that a new human has come up right behind him. 

"Harvey, what drama are you causing n- DEWEY?!"

He whips his head around to finally, FINALLY find you, mouth hanging wide open in shock. He rips himself out of the person- Harvey's- grip and launches himself in your direction. It's a sweet relief to Dewey when he brings you close and holds you in his arms. He nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck and breathes as slowly as he possibly can. He hears your breath hitch but keeps going when he feels you sink into his arms. Dewey’s heart soars when you wrap your arms around him, relishing the coolness of his palms against his back, made hot from the rising sun outside. 

“Is it really, you Dew?” you whisper in his ear.

He smiles against your skin, unwilling to put space between the two of you just yet. Dewey nods and strokes the back of your head, taking in how different it feels before the sea salt has touched it. 

You smell sweet, sweeter than usual, he realizes. Everything about you is so much more different than what he's used to when he sees you at night in his home of the ocean. Dewey wants to know that difference, bask in it, and learn so much about it, about you, that it's hurting him that he doesn't yet. He lines little kisses at the base of your neck and moves upward to the back of your ear, your skin so smooth and wonderful it's all he can do to not melt into you. 

Dewey can't believe he second-guessed himself about the deal. He's just found you, and it's already worth the price and more.

You're so incredible. It's astounding to him how there isn't a constellation named after you already. 

Dewey's bubble is burst when you tear yourself out of his grip.

He blinks himself out of his stupor, and that's when he realizes: your face has changed color dramatically. Your face is so red it's enough to rival some of the coral reefs he's seen down below. Your face to the side and looking anywhere but him right now. He blinks rapidly, trying to think of the reason for whatever made you so upset with him. It can't be the what he was doing just now, you clearly enjoyed- 

Whistles and cheers erupt from all around the both of you. Dewey turns and sees that people are smiling at them; one person even shouting, "get it, honey!" that seems to be directed at you. You groan and bury your face in your hands. 

"Well, someone went out and got themselves a boyfriend without telling us!"

And just like that, everything clicks inside Dewey's head. He let the excitement of the transformation and the urgency of the deal get the better of him— Dewey completely forgot everything you told him about human courtship until now. He had an entire plan for how he wanted to show up, woo you, and sweep you off your feet. While Dewey wishes he was a bit slower in his approach, he can't bring himself to be entirely mad with how things turned out... especially when he recognizes that you're flustered with his actions more than anything. Dewey straightens his back and brings you closer with one arm, happily confirming to everyone that he was yours and you were his. His grin stretches even further when you move your face from your hands and into his chest. 

"You're not helping, Dewey." You mutter into his chest. He can't help but chuckle at your reaction. He rubs circles against your back in comfort.

"AH-HEM."

He jumps slightly at the noise made behind him and pulls away from you to see who it is. Dewey's hand moving from your back and sliding down your arm and landing into your hand.

 It's Harvey, the trout-man, looking just as mad as he was even before Dewey showed up and put on "a show."

Dewey looks down at his attire and finally takes a good look around him. Everyone else is significantly more covered than he is, right now. Dewey looks back at you, face still red and still refusing to make eye contact with him. He thinks of the reaction of the diner when he separated from you after his public displays of affection.

Perhaps "show" is the right term, after all. 

"Listen, just cuz one of my employees is sweet on you does not mean you get to waltz in here like you were Aphrodite that just emerged from the sea, Kuh-peesh?"

Trout Man turns to you, "Go get your boy-toy some clothes and whatever kinks you two are into do not bring them back to this diner if you still want a job, Kuh-peesh?"

Trout Man is met with only silence. Dewey turns back to you. Your eyes aren't on Trout Man's face, but they aren't on Dewey's face either. Instead of your gaze locked onto the floor or your hands, your eyes are zeroed in on Dewey's chest. Your eyes wide and teeth peeking out as you chew your bottom lip, chest rising slowly as your gaze remains focused on Dewey's chest. 

Dewey tests the waters and stretches his back, even more, drawing his shoulder blades in to touch each other, expanding the view of his chest for you. His smiles smugly when he sees your eyes widen in response, and take a deep inhale the almost the same time as he does. 

Trout Man, of course, has to ruin this moment too. He shouts, "KUH-PEESH?!" and it snaps you out of your Dewey-Daze (unfortunately). 

"Yeah, sure thing, Harvey! Sorry, it won't happen again!" You grip onto Dewey's hand and lead him out of the diner.

"Come on, Dewey." You smile at him, "let's go buy you some clothes, then I can treat you to breakfast."

Dewey beams and interlaces his fingers with yours. He doesn't miss the few times your eyes dart towards his bare chest as you walk out the diner and onto the sidewalk. He doesn't miss any of the sneaked glances when he stretches his hands above his head and interlaces them behind his head. (He had to take his hands off of you, but it's a worthy sacrifice to have your eyes glued to his arms instead.) Dewey half-listens to you speak about your friend at the pier when he decides to kiss your knuckles, and he takes the utmost pleasure in listening to you to trail off as Dewey trails his lips down to your palm and leaves a trail of light kisses from there to your wrist.

You two get to the clothing store, and Dewey makes it his mission to try on as many clothes as possible that show off his upper body.

Dewey finds himself, of all things, thankful to the Sea Witch, for not conjuring up clothes when he first hit the surface. That comment about not "underestimating the importance of body language" seems much more useful advice now than just a snide remark made in the heat of the deal. Dewey considers, for the first time, that the Sea Witch probably wants him to succeed in his endeavor. The Sea Witch seemed, at the very least, to understand what it was like to be in love with someone and not being able to express it back... Or maybe the evil Witch just wants to see him build up hope for himself only to make him fail in the end. Regardless of whatever caused the Sea Witch compelled to make a deal with him, Dewey is grateful, nonetheless, and decides not to try and make heads or tails of the Sea Witch's reasoning. 

Beetlejuice is a hard being to comprehend, after all. 

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, For Dummies p10

a/n: ta dahhhhhhh. i want to thank my hormones and sacha’s ass for this one. enjoy!

You moved back in and went on adventures again. The careful ownership he took of you was heartwarming. He’d obviously didn’t want a repeat of the last cycle of your relationship. The Master also was oddly always at the back or forefront of your mind, like he rented real estate there. Or rather a permanent residence. You didn’t know if it was him playing mind tricks or you being a bit more soft and submissive to his actions. 

Today, after a particularly close call involving a tiny race of people on a high gravity planet he wanted to publicly humiliate then take the resources from, you got a few minor cuts and scrapes and a shallow head wound, so he had you sat on the kitchenette counter, applying bactine and a thin layer neosporin to your forehead, it was yet again so tender. His emotive eyes glittering with rage and triumph after having to eradicate them for trying to harm you, but yet so filled with angst as he swabbed a Q-tip over you, a grimace passed over his entire face when you shrunk back from the sting of the spray. 

“Pet…” he uttered, washing his hands and tucking a strand of hair behind your ears and cupping your face. “You have to be more careful.” You leaned onto his hand and closed your eyes. You let out a small but heavy breath. His hand on you and touching you in such a tender way turning you into all-too-willing putty. He took you gingerly in both hands and stroked your chin before taking your jaw and pulling you forward for a forehead kiss. 

It was a scold, but not like the usual. And you were all too willing to obey.

Obedience was getting easier. 

The further you went as a threat to the universe and a bigger bitch you were, the more tender and soft you became towards Him. Give and take, maybe, you figured. 

You enjoyed it. 

You were either feared and respected for the Threat of You, or beloved as a liberating ruler. One or the other. The Master let you choose. 

The sex was getting more avante-gard. He was playing with all the secret fetishes that you hadn’t even told him about yet- you guessed he’d deeply read your mind and made sure you had no corners he hadn’t infiltrated. 

Not that you minded.

He slightly twirled your hair and looked at you again with those eyes. Those beautiful, hypnotic eyes. 

He was really designed by some wild fertility god to turn you into a pile of mush. Everything from those feet you kneeled at, to that wild hair that tousled so effortlessly in his face. His ass was a treat to oggle as he sauntered to kill someone that pissed him off. His thighs were enough to make you want to punch a wall. He was just so damn beautiful.

You had it bad. 

“I think tonight I’ll cook you something…” He said, “Why don’t you work on your Gallifreyan work I’ve given you.” He pulled you off the counter and smacked you bottom. You smirked then conceded, “Yes, Master.” You went to the table and picked up a pencil and started drawing the circles and lines and writing what they said in your “human-ish” as the Master put it. You were learning quickly, and it was always a blast because he’d hide cheeky little slutty notes to you in between the real life knowledge. 

You shook your head and blushed as you saw, “I belong to the Master, I suck his massive horse cock.” A sardonic giggle came out of you once you finally wrote the message down.

The scent of pici cacio e pepe started to fill the room as well as an uncorked wine starting to breathe. Other scents you couldn’t name started to fill your nose. 

Like his recent dabbling into your fantasies and anything, he was an avante-garde chef as well. He liked mixing the alien with the Earthy and training your tastebuds to accept more. 

Life was always about some sort of training or learning, he told you once as you begged him to go ice skating with you at Rockefeller Center. He’d never ice skated before and you taught him. It was hilarious, the usually effervescently graceful Master flailing on ice, a scarf choking him as you pulled him off the sides of the ramp. He was so scared and when he fell, he ended up thwacking the back of his skull hard enough that a supervisor came and was extremely worried about a concussion. After a check that he definitely wasn’t, but the back of his eyes were oddly reflective in the penlight’s light. 

Just another reminder that he wasn’t human in the slightest. Despite his looks.

Soon your work was done and you moved your way over to the stove and hugged him from behind, pressing your weight as he stirred a pot. “Smells good.” You admitted and inhaled both the dish and the scent of him.

“You’ll really enjoy this!” He lifted a wooden spoon into your mouth and you eagerly took it. You didn’t know how to describe the taste besides “Yes, I need more!” You wiped a bit off your lip and sucked on it. It was great.

“Stir this, I’ll go check your work…” He ordered and went over and produced a red pen to grade you. You weren’t lying to yourself when you admitted it. Kind of like a hot professor/Daddy thing. He was so serious and he sucked on the pen and it just drove you so crazy.

You observed the sauce and worried about it for a second. 

Then he came and pressed his body onto you and breathed, “Good girl, you got it mostly correct. Maybe I’ll teach you paragraph structure next.” He took the spoon and stirred it and added a glowing pink spice into the pot. He snaked a finger down your panthem and worked a finger into your cunt as he stirred it in and blended. You moaned as he somehow managed to finger fuck you and keep tempo with the stirring. He bit into you as the timer on the stove buzzed and he shoved you aside and pulled off the pot and started to get dinner ready. 

You were put out because you didn’t cum, but soon a delicious meal was in front of you.

The food and you edging, plus the heady wine paired with both made you both languid and about ready to have an aneurysm. 

He knew what to do to get you especially needy. Your abdomen was flooded with warmth and you were sopping wet, glad you just were wearing a simple jogger set and crop top today. You kept crossing your legs and trying to focus on what you were talking about.

Dinner dragged on too long, almost like he knew what a needy greedy little whore you were becoming by the second. 

You decided to roll for initiative and make a move…

You straddled him and lightly kissed his neck and worked the way up to his lip, lightly licking and biting after each kiss. You felt him stiffen as you made it finally to said lips and pressed hard enough to feel his front teeth through your lips. Wrapping your arms around him, you kissed harder until he opened his mouth to say something, you silenced him with your tongue down and licked the top of his mouth. You let yourself scrape your lips across the firm beard hairs and prickle up your sensitivity. 

With one hand bracing on the back of the chair, you worked his clothes off slowly, grabbing and wrapping your fingers around the Master’s chest hair. His eyes were closed and the lavender of his veins in his eyes fluttered erratically. You let him pull forward and take the lead for a little bit as you grind your ass over the fabrics of both your pants. You gently tried hiking down your pants and unbuttoning his. 

His cock was rock hard and very easy to squirm your way onto. He was very accommodating as he thrust into you as you rocked gently back and forth, still pressing your lips onto the hollow of his throat as he traced a pattern on the back of your neck. You squoze your legs gently on his hips and sped up the rocking motions and started to bite him and suck on his neck, tracing your own little pattern with teeth and tongue. 

He grabbed the nape of your neck and a bit of your hair and forced you onto the table, disregarding the lovely setting he made sure was nice beforehand. He then fully took over. He forced his way deeper into you and smacked your face gently a few times before fully enclosing his lips onto yours. He was not playing lightly with the thrusts and moving slightly side to side. 

You were looking him directly in the eyes and goaded him, “Hit me again! Harder!” You laughed. 

He dipped down midway through a thrust and kissed your forehead. “As you wish, my little whore…” You shuddered as his hand stung your face. You felt a tiny corner of a nail cut your cheek, you were oddly into it. “Again!” You goaded harder, and he was an obedient Master and hit you, “My little pet…” He shook his head and pressed his weight upon you and thrusted, hitting your cervix, you felt yourself getting more turned on by the pain given. 

You were really becoming a pain loving slut, weren’t you?

“Again!” 

He grabbed your cheeks, “Ask me, ask your Master…” 

“Please...please…” You begged even though your cheeks were squished together. “Please, Master! Hit me harder!” 

“Good girl!” He purred and smacked you completely silly then kissed the oncoming bruise gently before wrapping a hand around your neck, speeding up his thrusts until he came, cock twitching inside your now throbbing hole. 

He worked on playing with your clit, flicking and rubbing gently and bringing you to a delicate, but well deserved orgasm. 

“Has my little pet enjoyed her time?” He picked you off the table and placed you onto the seat, divesting himself of what remained of his clothes as he went and got a bendy ice pack and applying it gently to your cheeks. 

“You already got hit in the face enough today.” He chided and smiled sadistically. 

“Nah, never enough, I’m tough. I can take it.” You defended yourself crossing your arms and pouting. 

He rolled his eyes and followed up, “Duly noted.” He let you have your momentary invincibility. 

“And on that note, I think it’s time for me to go to bed.” You stuck out a petulant tongue.

“Go ahead...I’ve been planning on some things for soon. Might be tomorrow if you go to bed now…” He cryptically waved you off. 

You laughed and shoved him, kissing his forehead and waltzing away.

Laying in bed that night, you wondered what the surprise was. You wracked your brain and blinked yourself asleep. 

What was that man up to?

[william-ba]

The Ink Demonth Day 8: Soup

Briar Label Bacon Soup. That's all this twisted studio has to eat. The Lost One doubts anyone can actually die of starvation while trapped in their inky prisons they call a body, but it somehow removes all pain from the body, whether it be a headache or losing a limb.

That's why it's always important to have some nearby. Unfortunately, this Lost One ran out a few days back, and is now stuck desperately searching for more.

However, as he is soon to discover, almost every floor of this studio has something, or someone, roaming around.

The Lost One ducked behind a few crates. More Searchers. Why does it always have to be Searchers? It had been weeks since he left the Lost Harbor and went off to fend for himself, and ever since there has been a large influx of Searchers roaming around. Not all of them were after him, at least he assumed, but he couldn't risk getting seen and being followed.

The Tasty Eats Machine was in a different room, but he couldn't get to it with that many Searchers on site. The Lost One needed a distraction. But what could he use? He needed majority of the supplies he was carrying around, and there was nothing on the crates he could throw.

Just then, a ding echoed through the entire level. The Searchers jumped down into the floor and disappeared. When he was sure the cost was clear, he got up and ran to investigate the noise.

A Boris? Why, he hadn't seen one in ages! At least, not alive. The Lost One couldn't remember when, but one day Boris started to become less and less common. Eventually, Sammy went on a search to discover were they went. Although he never gave an answer as to who killed them, everyone knew instantly when he declared Alice Angel a threat and all mention of her existence shall be banned a few days later.

The Boris walked off and picked up a wrench, which he pocketed. The Lost One headed toward the Tasty Eats Machine. He pressed the button a couple of times and collected the cans. He ate one, his hand still aching from the encounter he had earlier with a Piper. It was the first time he ever killed something, and he still couldn't get over how suddenly it died. He didn't think it would have died so easily from a hit like that.

The Lost One didn't think he was that strong either. Maybe these Bacon Soups are strengthening him?

A loud, defiant screech shot through the rooms of the level and brought his thoughts to a halt. He looked back at the elevator and saw the Boris quickly dash inside of it, press a button and go up. Alice Angel jumped out of the shadows just as it made its way up. She stamped her feet on the ground and vented her frustration before drawing her attention to the Lost One frozen in fear.

“Are you one of Sammy's little pests?” She asked the inky figure. This was the first time he had actually seen Alice. She was a young woman with straight, medium-length black hair, thin eyebrows, and black lipstick. Her halo was melted into the left side of her head, and was semi-broken, and her horns were short and realistic. Her black flapper dress had a bow tie like Bendy's.

Ink covered her arms and legs. Unlike the Alice Angel in the cartoons, this one was lacking her white gloves and has a white bow on her back. The left side of her face looked liked a melted candle. Her teeth were exposed and her eye was gone. A few ink-like tears were at the bottom of the eye socket. Her other eye was a bright yellow color.

“Well?!” The Lost One was so busy examining the angel that he forgot to answer her question.

“Uh, no. Nobody down there is going to be set free, so why continue to work for him?” He answered.

“He was always a good liar.” Alice made her way into the room with him. Her gaze didn't leave the Lost One, who was now picking up a few cans of Bacon Soup he had dropped. She picked one up and examined it. “I don't know what you think this is going to do for you. We don't starve.”

“It helps restore energy and cures any type of pain you're feeling.”

“Huh.” The angel tossed the can to the Lost One, who put it in his bag. “So, what's your plan? There isn't much for a Lost One to do down here.”

“I don't know, and if this is leading up to an errand boy deal then I'm going to tell you right now, I'm not doing it.”

“Actually, an errand boy would be nice, but I wouldn't want you to be one. I mean, look at you.”

The Lost One knew one thing about Alice prior to their encounter, and that is her personality. Manipulative, demanding, persistent, vain, and obsessed with beauty and perfection. That's probably why she seemed to favor Sammy over the other Lost Ones, and hated Searchers. That's also why he nearly ran away when he responded to her insult with, “Look in a mirror.”

The Lost One could tell that she did not like the remark, but something else happened before she could do anything about it.

A light filled the room. Both knew about the Projectionist and that he would turn feral and violent when literally anything living in the inky abyss came into his sight, but they also knew he emitted an ear-piercing, roar-like screech whenever he turns aggressive, so they both look over at the source of the light. A Searcher crawled into the room wearing a mining helmet. This discovery only made things worse for the both of them.

Alice was obviously attacked by something, and her melted face was most likely much worse prior to what it currently looked like. He knew that being attacked by an ink creature hurts like hell and he got lucky, but he also knew that Searchers don't have that affect on other creatures. However, the final speech he was a part of has been stuck in his head ever since. He know what a mining helmet on this guy meant.

And he wasn't going back.

The Lost One grabbed the nearest thing he could find, which happened to be a spoon, and charged at the Searcher. He swung at its head, and all that was left of it was its mining helmet The rest on the body splattered a few seconds later.

The Lost One picked up the mining helmet and put it on. He looked over at Alice, who was frozen in shock. He noticed ink dripping down her neck. She had her throat cut instead of having the ink take over her body. Her body was in a coffin somewhere in the studio. She would die if set free. Maybe she deserved it.

“How did a skinny little twerp like you completely destroy the head of that slimy, ghoulish freak?!” Alice asked, somewhat startled.

“I honestly don't know. If I had to guess, I say it's the soup.” The Lost One grabbed a few more items and left.