#Pool Management DC

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 6 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: the third year of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly concerning staying

warnings (TW): swearing, alcohol consumption, nicotine use (gross! but perhaps…sexy?), illegal activities, piercings, gore, panic attack/panic-inducing situation, slight sexual themes

tags: fluff, affection, mutual-pining, miscommunication but like with body language?

notes: the end of an era rip stan’s mullet circa 1985 (according to me and me alone). also like i 100% believe Stan plays in the pool mmk, like def rough housing when yall go swimming i just didn’t wanna write it. But in the back of your mind okay- just know deep down that yall had fun

thanks again for the notes and the comments and the reblogs omg i love reading anything yall leave fr lol- ahhh thanks again <3

word count: 6.8k (yo what howd i manage this)

| masterlist | part vii |

February, 1985 

They had decided to go out that night, making excuses about missing the new year. 

They hadn’t noticed the clock ticking by from December into January, consumed with new wiring in the basement connected to the user panel for the portal. 

She had been ranting and raving again, like he had hated in the beginning of it all, but slowly began to crave in the end of it. He had begun to slowly understand those rants in the coming months too, thanks to her hurried chalkboard drawings of random continuous circuits. He closed his eyes now and could identify different AC and DC currents in the lines of the darkness in his dreams. 

Work would consume them at random, and he had begun to find her downstairs late into the night after having dragged her to bed. She’d creep out into the hallway, lingering in his bedroom doorway. Tucking blankets around his broad shoulders, only to find her way downstairs to the last remnants of Stanford. 

He saw his brother in her at every turn as of late, found his last visage in her shaking hands and deep-seated eyes. He’d tie her to the bed if he had to, no matter how the image shook something deep in him. She’d sleep tonight, and he knew of a way to do it. 

Distract her.

So he took her out to the bar singing to her about the new year that had already come and gone, dragged her up the stairs to change into something that wasn’t covered in oil and dirt, and got her out the door within an hour. 

She looked better now, her eyes less clouded and her smile more radiant than he’d seen in days. She had felt cold for months, and he believed it his own fault because he had pushed her away. 

He had had another dream, more vivid than the previous, and it had shocked him awake so fast in the dead of the night that he actually stumbled to her open doorway, making sure she was where he had left her in his dream. The dream where he had touched her where she had never actually allowed, where he had begged her for words and for more and she permitted it. Allowed him to creep into her bed and make her his, but it had been sickening this time, the sweetness he felt for her, and he woke believing it to be an absolution. He didn’t deserve to think of her like that, because she had never allowed it. So he would never allow it. 

That sickening ache he has felt refused to let up though. And it only twisted into something deeper when he thought of her, thought of her as his wife. The only allowance he had of her, in only words. 

The shake of his hands when he reaches for her now is hard to hide, as hard to hide as his racing heart from himself. His subconscious screamed something anxious when he looked at her now, screamed something of promise and something sickeningly sweet like adoration. 

He wouldn’t use the bigger more unexplainable word. She didn’t feel the same, he reasoned, so it couldn’t be that. 

So he ignored his heart, his shaking hands, and the ache in his chest. How his stomach twisted when she laughed and how he forgot about it all when he had a drink in his hand. 

He had been cold to her recently, and she had retraced all the steps in her mind on how it consequently was all her fault. All her fault that he pulled his hand from the back of the couch now, how he twisted weirdly in his car seat when she sang on the way home. How he wouldn’t look at her anymore, peering through her when she talked to him now across the kitchen table. 

It was all her fault, she reasoned, that he was no longer warm.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it whispered dark things sometimes. Her lack of intelligence weighed on her. She wanted to prove she could do what they had both set out to do together. Wanted to prove she could bring his brother home, in hopes his warmth would return. So she had slaved away these past months, in hopes he could look at her again. 

But she had forgotten that for now, drink in her hand and eyes already blurry. Laughing at his usual gag of making fun of people around them, creating fake stories about passerbyers, and twisting tall tales about their mundane lives. He hadn’t dragged his eyes from her all night. 

She had interrupted their usual cadence, a sudden drunk contemplative look in her eyes. 

“Ya know.” She sloshed her drink around, the ice almost being the only thing left. “I still sometimes feel as young as I did when I first left home. When I left for college.” She hums, turning her eyes to him. “Do you ever feel like that?” 

“Ah sometimes.” He answers, finishing off his drink and looking to the bar to get them both another, straying his eyes from her for the first time in hours. “But then I remember how my back feels in the morning.” She laughs. 

“No! I mean like, do you feel just as stupid as you did when you were eighteen?” Taking her eyes off of him, a blush bloomed across her face. 

He feels stupid around her, mostly. But a different weird kind of stupid. So he agrees. “Ya, doll. I get what you mean.” 

“Hey…” she’s giggling now, a smirk creeping around the corners of her mouth. “You can still have my bed, Stan.” She said, referring to his stiff back courtesy of Sixer. 

His dream flashes behind his eyes again, of creeping into her bed at her insistence. How she had peeled the covers back and waved him into her. The swell of her hips and the quirk of her brow. He flees, suddenly feeling sober in the face of her. She didn’t mean it like that anyway. 

“How about another drink, hun?” She perks at that, at the name. But nods her head, moving her glass back to his waiting hand as he makes for the bar. 

Tonight had been good, more peaceful. And the most she’s been able to talk to him in a while without the abrupt interruption of guilt that came with living above his brother's graveyard now. Three years, each one more daunting than the last. That and the usual tirade of her self-conscious mind was dimmed in the wake of her numerous mixed drinks. 

But his company was distracting, was always distracting. So she fell into it with ease tonight. The easy cadence between them, his carefree affection he gave when he was hazy, even the rhythm of the music in the bar was enchanting tonight. She was drunk, she knew that for sure. It made her lips loose and her shoes shuffle weird. 

She wanted to dance, to move across the floor. But she only wanted to if he followed in her shadow. Something she usually wouldn’t ask of him, but the drink had absolved her of her usual anxieties. It made the aching heartfelt feelings for him intensified, the thought of him so close to her. She liked that, that feeling. Craved it most days now, especially in his continued absence. 

He came back to her, bar lights lit the back of his head much like they had when she first laid eyes on him that December day more than three years ago. He had a rugged handsomeness to him, sporting new short hair. Something she had teased him about, fake crying at the loss of his long grown-out mullet. She didn’t linger on the feeling of having missed out on running her fingers through his long tousled curls. 

He was his usual charming self, achingly so. His smirk lit his face as he passed back over her drink to her, but she reached across for it in his haste to give it to her. Meeting him on the rim of the cup as her fingers curled around his big ones. 

“Staaannnnnnnn!” She said, a smile blooming across her face. “We should dance!” Perking up in her seat, twisting her fingers around his own. Tracing her thumb across his large palm. 

He flushes like he always does when she touches him. He's much like her though, buzzed off the atmosphere and her presence. It isn’t completely out of the ordinary that he would say yes to anything she suggests, especially when she looks at him like that. 

Her smile tilted, they leave their new drinks behind. Something that normally would concern him if he didn’t know almost everyone in the room at the moment, having seen almost every local come through his tour in the following years. That and he had evenly glared at every man in town in passing, specifically when he was following in her wake. 

The lights in this part of the bar were different. Dimmer in this corner in particular, only lit up by the continuously changing old jukebox in the corner. The lights reflected off her face made him stumble forward. 

The song was nothing recognizable to him, but she seemed to enjoy the rhythm anyway. Twirling her hands up and unconsciously moving her hips. She laughed at his stiff posture, reaching for his hand and pulling him into her. 

“You gotta move Stan.” She had said between them. “Like this.” Picking up his arm, and curling it around her. 

She’d admit to herself later that she isn’t the best dancer, but she had dreamed of his touch for months since he had pulled away this past October. And she was too much of a craven to do it sober. 

So she placed his hands on her waist without much thought, and she dug her hands into his broad shoulders- just because it felt right. He hadn’t hugged her for a while, the memory of their first embrace, down in the basement rang around her head. He had hummed a certain way that day, her ear in the junction of his shoulder as he tried to soothe her for the first time. 

She would be the death of him. He had swore it up and down. The way she looked in the changing jukebox light was riveting, made him stutter over words, and made his hands wander. She was warm and laughing against him, the song drowned out by the entirety of her. 

Suddenly the song shifts, and her smile gets impossibly brighter. She swings out of his embrace, still holding onto his large hand. Moving with the beat of a familiar song. 

She’s utterly hypnotizing like this, the beat of the song drowning out the sound of his racing heart. He couldn’t tell if it was the song that convinced him of this or her, but she captures a small part of his mind as she drags him around giggling on the dance floor. He doesn’t care much for what his limbs do anymore, pulling her back to his chest and letting her muffle her laughter into his shoulder again. He finds himself laughing with her, eyes drifting up and down her form in his arms now. 

She revels in the proximity. She had longed for his warmth in the past months, aching to have him look at her like he is right now. He was finally looking at her, not through her. It didn’t feel like the normal disjointed affections tonight, he felt whole against her for the first time in months. And she couldn’t help but laugh at how much she pitied her past self for having thought she had to beg for his presence. He gave his attention readily tonight, and it was a balm on her anxious mind and made her drowsy in comfort. 

The song came to an end, but his hold did not waver. His hand reaching from her back to her loose hair, moving it away from her flushed exerted face to see the crook of her smile. Her eyes drooping now, her heart steady against his own. 

“Ready to go, doll?” 

She nods, but stops, dizzy at the movement, and giggles to herself. Burrowing into the palm that rests near her face now. She points to the back of the bar, in the far corner. 

“Restroom, doll?” 

She nods pulling away from his warmth and his palm. She would be back. 

“Mmmk, I’m gonna close the tab and I’ll meet you outside alright?” 

She nods again, moving to the much-needed restroom. He wanted to go outside, she figured so he could have a smoke. Something she had chastised in the very beginning all those years ago, but he had a good habit of at least wondering outside to do it on the porch. Sometimes she would follow him out when they were holding those kind of conversations that would follow you from room to room. It had made her stop and stare that first time, finding the way the smoke curled and left his mouth to be captivating. The way he would talk around it, cigarette resting in the corner of his mouth. Something so life-altering shouldn't be alluring, but he had a habit of doing that to her. 

She makes her way back out of the bathroom, their booth empty except for his winter jacket he had left behind for her. Their drinks were long gone and cleared from the table despite them never having touched them. He didn’t even give her shit about not finishing a drink tonight. 

She slips his big red coat on, running her hands along the corner patch like she always does. The coat smells more like him in the colder months for some reason.

She turns back to the bar, an older woman waving her over and vying for her attention. She swears she has seen her before, her red hair catching in the barlight. Probably in the giftshop at some point, looking for cheap merchandise for the holidays to give to family. 

“You both are just so cute!” The older woman remarks as she gets closer to her, her smile inviting.

“Ah, why thank you.” She smiles, thinking of Stan waiting for her outside.

“How long have you been married?” 

“Just had a two-year anniversary.” She hums, thinking about their usual December diner date that had come and gone. He hadn’t drawn with her that year, though. Something that had become a bit of a tradition between them both. 

It struck her then. That they hadn’t been acting much different in regards to the revelation they had just two years ago when she spilled that she had tied herself to him indefinitely. That they had never accommodated themselves to act more “married” for the sake of illusions. That everything they did had come naturally to them both. This woman in front of her proved it, they hadn’t acted any differently than they usually would have tonight.

For a split guilty second, she wonders if it’s a lie for Stanley if he's just that good of a conman and she’s too achingly sweet on him to notice it all. She shakes the visage off like a bad dream, remembering his glassy eyes that December day all those years ago when he had leaned into her side swearing up and down that he wasn’t any good for her. Stanley never lies about anything that could hurt her. He’d never hurt her. 

She sighs, but he's been so cold. Wrapping his red jacket around her, feeling the warmth and smelling the scent he had left behind in it. They’d be okay though, with time. 

“Basically newlyweds then, dear.” The nice older woman comments. The woman looks her up and down, a contemplative smile on her face. She knew she looked weary. “Bit of advice dear?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“Having you around is enough.” She hums. “Just gotta be there for him, stay close dear. Always stay.” The woman reached forward, wrapping her hand around her shoulder. 

Contemplative she nods at the woman, thanking her. Making her way outside and taking the statement to heart. Perhaps she didn’t need to overthink what was wanted and act on what was needed. He must need her, must need her close. She had thought to work herself to the bone to bring back his warmth, but maybe all that was needed was her constant. To be a constant for him. 

She thinks about the way he used to melt into her side on the couch, how he would lean into her palm on his cheek. How he had just reached for her, moments ago. Encasing her in his arms. She didn’t need to find words to soothe him. She never did. 

He was leaning on her passenger side door. A lit cigarette lighting his face. Handsome as all hell like that, his big hand dragging through his stubbly cheek. Dark eyes followed her from the door to the car. Wouldn’t be hard to be a constant for a man like that. And he stole all her words anyway, looking like that. 

He nods, bending to open her door with a quick flourish of his hand, dramatically bowing to her as she ducks into the passenger seat, giggling at his antics. 

He follows suit, bending and folding into the drivers side. Cranking his window down so the cigarette smoke wouldn’t linger in the car. 

His legs bent and parted, his hand nursing his smoke. She moves to him almost unconsciously, still at a loss for words in his simple presence. Thinking about what the older woman had said to her in the bar, jumbled up in her mind. Stay close, right?

She settles into the middle part of the long bench, reaching for the radio and ignoring his imploring gaze. 

“Hun?” He implores. “You gonna move?” 

She shakes her head, moving her eyes back to his again before straying her gaze to the cigarette stuck between his lips now. 

“No baby.” She slurs, giggling at him as she plucks his smoke from his mouth, moving it to hers. 

She had never called him that before, and it makes him need to readjust in his seat, suddenly hot in the cool February air. She’d be the death of him, he swears. Especially with her eyes tilted like that, and the way the smoke curls up around her face and hair. It’d be burnt into his mind for a while, this image of her. It’d be enough to sate him for months he figures. 

He does not correct her, nor make her move. Just reaches past her, buckling her securely into the middle spot without leaving her tilted gaze. His heart in his throat. His hands begin to shake again. 

That damn song rings out from the radio, pulling her eyes from his as she giggles at the contraption. The song's rhythm almost seems to match his heart, stuttering at her form folded into the middle of the front seat. The cigarette balanced in her mouth.

She leans over him, hand finding his chest as she reaches out the open window. Flicking their now shared cigarette into the winter snow. Her palm is warm on his chest, and she drags it to his shoulder as she returns to her seat in the middle of the long bench. A long searing path it leaves across him, she’s warm beside him in his fucking jacket. She’s gonna kill him. 

Something deep in him can’t reason with his stupid logic anymore though, not when she’s like this. So much more carefree than she’s been in months, and something rings around the back of his mind reminding him that it is his own goddamn fault that he can’t control himself. Never hers. Nothing really was ever her fault in his eyes. So if this is what she needed tonight, to feel some semblance like herself for the first time in months, then he wouldn’t flinch away from it. Because it’s all his fault anyway, that rotten part of himselfs fault. That bad part of him, that wanted her for more than this. He wanted to use her, he reasoned. That bad part of him wanted to use her, but she needed him like this. But she had allowed it, so he would do as she needed.

So he lets her curl up into his side in the car on the way home. His hand runs through her hair as she hums the lyrics to that goddamn song into his ear. It’s hypnotizing he thinks, but not the song no, it’s all her. She was that hypnotizing thing, and he had fallen back into her with an ease that would be embarrassing if he gave a shit tonight. But he only has one thing on his mind, and that’s getting her back home. She’d sleep well tonight, he thought. 

July, 1985

“Stan, why didn’t we think of this years ago?” 

“Why didn’t I think of this years ago you mean,” he hums, one arm hung out the open window of the car. “And it’s because I am stupid.” 

She scoffs, reaching across the middle of the front seat to shove his broad shoulder. He laughs, his head thrown back as she grumbles next to him. She hates when he says that shit. She had made a note on the fridge, etched out in her scrawling handwriting that the word “stupid” was forbidden in their house. Mainly because she had found it appalling how used to calling himself sstupid he was. He had joked, reaching for the note on the fridge on occasion. Tearing it down just to say the word, and laughing as she would chase him in and out of the living room to the kitchen. It wasn't allowed, he would joke, but only because it was on the fridge. She’d fume, making a new note, and hanging it up where the old one had resided. He just did it to get a reaction really, when she was annoyed at him it was adorable.

Which was why she was huffing in the passenger seat, and it only made it better when he pulled the note he had plucked off the fridge when they left, from the back pocket of his swimming trunks. 

“Stan!” She whined, reaching across to him again, unbuckling herself to get at him. 

“Ah Ah!” He waved the sign. “It doesn’t count!” Mocking her rule, and watching her squirm over to him to reach across his chest to grab at the sheet of paper she had remade for the fourth time not even a week ago. 

“Stop it!” She said, leaning over him now, her chest to his as she begged him. Was she pouting? 

He can smell her now, so he relents. Kind of all he wanted, he reasoned in his mind, that sickeningly aching part of him that is. 

“Okay okay!” He almost hands her back the sign, but quickly swipes it from her almost-grasp just to tease her. “But only if you get us some ice cream.” 

She hums, nodding along and reaching for the paper again. “Ah ah!” He protests. “You gotta say it.” 

“Yes, I will get us some ice cream, Stan.” She rolls her eyes, hands out and waiting. 

He gives it back, and she successfully puts it back into her beach bag to later hang it back up on the fridge. 

They had both become exhausted by the summer July heat. The AC window unit they had put up to alleviate some of the swelling heat only operated on the second floor of the house. They had been lying around, miserable together, when he had remembered that this tiny town actually had public accommodations in the form of a pool. She had jumped up from the living room ground in joy and had raced upstairs to change so fast he had barely finished explaining how he’d subsequently had forgotten about said pool. 

It was a smaller pool for sure, but this was a small town to begin with. They just needed to be in the water, stat. 

They made their way inside the enclosed pool, finding a seat by the poolside to share that day as the pool was obviously busy in the heat of July. He had grumbled about the lack of shade and trees, thinking about the usual sunburn he and Ford would get when on Glass Shard beach. 

She had found a spot though, setting her bag and towel down, and beginning to take off her shorts and shirt cover. 

He didn’t look, thinking the act to be too intimate to witness anyway. He sat on the edge of the seat, slipping off his shoes and beginning to take off his own shirt, his back to her. 

Of course, she was wearing a bikini. 

The color complimented her well, and although he couldn’t name details on the suit he’d have the image forever encapsulated in his mind. Especially her bent over like that, as she reached down to remove her shoes. 

She made her way in front of him and his slack jaw, her hands on her hips and her head tilted in question. 

“Are you coming?” 

“No.” He said automatically, sounding defensive. Rethinking, he shakes his head. “I mean, yes.” 

He moves his eyes down, noticing something catching the July sun on her swimsuit. No not her swimsuit, on her. 

He squints, reaching forward to grab at her hips, bringing her closer to him so he can see what he thinks he sees in the shade she now provides. 

“Is that… is that a piercing?” 

He had never seen her belly button before. Something that may have shaken a normal husband, but considering she wasn’t actually his he tried to reel in his subconscious insistence that he should have known about this. 

“Yes?” She says, laughing down at him. 

He removes a hand from her hip, moving to touch the belly button piercing himself. It was completely healed, not in any way brand new. Ignoring how soft her skin was, he looked back up at her. 

“When you get this doll?” 

She shrugs. “When I was in college. Someone dared me $50 I wouldn’t do it.” 

Fuck. He leans his head forward, unintentionally nestling into her soft stomach. She did it for money. 

She was almost too much, too good to be true. She fit into him like a puzzle piece sometimes, and he was still continuously amazed by her for some reason. 

Trying to tame some odd part of him he looks back up at her. She’s gorgeous, the sun framing her smiling face. She’s laughing at his reaction, a flush to her cheeks at his casual affection for her. 

She leans forward, putting her hands on his shoulders and tilting his head back. She moves to put her hand under his scruffy chin, asking him again if he was coming along into the pool with her. 

He nods, following in her wake. They eat their ice cream in shared amusement all the way home after a hectic day in the pool. 

*******, ****

“I can’t believe he had it this whole time.” He says, leaning back into the rolling chair stationed in the front of the portal's control panel. 

She hums, peering over his shoulder as he moves back and forth over controls. Flipping and turning things she nudges him in indication to move. The two journals rested on the workbench, the third picture they had taken from the third journal most recently, which had rather unsurprisingly been in the young boy’s possession. 

“You know Dipper. He’s too curious for his own good.” She hums, looking back over his broad shoulder to the portal beyond the protection glass. They had successfully gotten a reaction out of it just the following night, and it had shocked to life, throwing gravity off normal equilibrium for a few moments. She had taken that into consideration, floating around potential reasons for the anomaly in gravity and the correspondence to the potential space-time hole they had punched into their basement wall. 

He leans back in the chair, turning to look at her fully now. Weathered and handsome now, gray hair curling around his ears and his glasses. Just as whole and broad and goofy as he usually was. His wedding band glints on his finger as he reaches for her, a smile growing on his face. 

“You knew didn’t ya?” He says, laughing at it all. “You knew he’d find the stupid thing?” 

“I had an inkling that he may have found it.” She sighs, leaning forward, exhausted, as he runs his large hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. 

He huffs. She’s always one step ahead of everyone. Not that she would tell anyone but him, her husband. He found it amusing when everyone was surprised by her intelligence. It wasn’t a secret to him in the slightest, that she overthought and rewrote a hundred different ways to handle situations in her head. She was weirdly graceful like that, but subsequently also filled with an edge of constant anxiety. 

She had been anxious about the little things today, he could tell. She woke up earlier than normal today but hadn’t moved from his arms. Eyes open and staring at him endearingly in the early morning sun. Usually, it was the other way around. But she had been like that since the kids, really. 

She was also worried about the party, and the townsfolk visiting so close to an active portal. But she had quickly become distracted by making snacks for the celebration tonight, and coloring posters with the girl about their “karaoke family group”. Something with a stupid name he couldn’t remember, but something he figured she helped the girl come up with. 

“You’re too soft on him.” He says, pulling her closer to him, lifting his head to rest on her chest as she stands in front of him. Her brow twists, a contemplative frown on her face. The argument they’ve been having silently for the past few weeks arising once again between them. 

“No.” She sighs, running her hand over his scruffy warm cheek. “You’re too hard on him.” 

He hums. “You know why though.” 

She nods. “I know, dear.” 

Her hands fall to his shoulders, pulling him away from his usual place along the front of her. Pulling his scruffy chin up with the tip of her finger, all the while smiling at him. Tonight had been good, she thought. The kids were happy, and the girl was excited to entertain the town and her friends. The boy had been upset at the reprimand he had received earlier, but she doubted that really deterred him from his mission to uncover the oddities in that journal he carried around religiously now. He’d be over the reprimand by tomorrow, she figured. She worried he may get himself into trouble one day though. 

But her husband had been right in his assessment. Between the two of them, they had agreed there was too much Ford in the young boy than they could manage between the two of them. She was constantly worried about him, worried his curiosity may lead him to unexplainable and more dangerous situations than they could pull him out of him. But his twin, the girl, just as easily wrangled him in. The young girl was a balm on her conscious, constantly reminding her that being so young had been a true pleasure. She just hoped the girl could also remind her brother of this too. There was a lot of her husband in the young girl, she was just as charming. 

Stan was looking at her though, his typical flirtatious smirk on his face. It had been a good night. The portal whirled behind them both, and the music upstairs spoke of the fun the kids were having. She leaned into him, wanting to meet his lips halfway. 

An alarm blared throughout the basement. The security alarm breach that they had put on the upstairs shack door in case of burglary, but more for the warning in case the government came knocking. 

Their faces turn to the giftshop's security camera, the image of the boarded-up front door settling unevenly in her stomach. The kids. 

Something was bursting, punching in and rattling the front door. The children were moving furniture and chairs in front of the entrance. Speaking and screaming between themselves as they made a barricade. 

She runs, removing herself from his warmth. They both make for the elevator, hastily hitting the button to go up a story so they could go from the sub-basement to their actual basement. He was breathing heavily next to her, his large hand folded into her own smaller one. His hair a mess from pulling at it in anxiety. 

The stairs came to view in dim light, and she raced ahead without a thought. Taking the stairs two at a time as she dragged him up to the back of the vending machine that led to the stairwell. 

She let go of his hand, making to move the vending machine out of place to enter the gift shop. To get to the scrambling, scared kids. But it wouldn’t budge under the weight of what lay in front of it. What had amassed in front of the front entrance, they hadn’t caught a glimpse of. But she could smell it, the stench of rotten flesh and the mellowing bellow of the whining undead. Fear ripped through her, but she kept shoving because the fucking kids were in there. 

She yells at him, frightened as she advances her shoulders away and back into the door. Shoving her whole body to move the entrance. “Stanley!” She yells, anxiety running through her. 

But he’s already shoving too. Already has his arms flush to the door, digging his feet into the step for traction as he pushes his whole weight against it. He’s almost caged her in, dwarfing her in his effort to put his own momentum to the door too. His eyes frantic and his breathing hasty. The kids were all alone in there. 

Desperate, she beats her hands against the door, calling for the children in hopes they would seek them out in safety. “Mabel!” She gasps, fists bloody against the wood. “Mason!” 

He drags her back, taking her fists in his hands as he begs her to stop. He takes a lunging step back, pushing her against the stairwell railing. He shoves his whole body against the door, his broad shoulder first, and his suit ripped due to the movement and the force. His own hands and fists bloody from the abrasive door and his haste to get to the twins. 

The door breaks under his weight, and he uses the leverage of the new material to work against the amount of dead bodies that had amassed in front of the vending machine. She follows him out, not thinking twice about the undead surrounding them. Her heart in her throat, her hand wrapped around his bicep as he reached for the bat they kept near the entrance to the Mystery Shack from their home. She screams their names again, clawing to get through the crowd of undead.

“Babies!” 

She gasps, spotting them in the sea of bodies. The young girl's sweater ripped and torn under the hands of all the undead. The boy’s hat missing, his usual jacket she had tucked over his shoulders that morning also torn to shreds, covered in inky black blood. Their eye’s lifeless. 

Stanley turns to her, his eyes hasty and clouded, and his breaths loud. He looks down at her, his shoulders shaking from pent-up tears. His hands meet the sides of her face, and he chokes out something that could be a question. 

“Honey?” 

“Honey!” 

He leaned over her, his hands still on the sides of her damp face.  

He had rushed from Stanford’s room to her open doorway. The cool October air leaking in from his open window, leading him to her room. She had called for him, called for Stanley, and it had shaken him awake so suddenly he had tripped in the hallway to make it to her side. 

She had been dead asleep, and sweating heavily despite the crisp air. Curled into her multiple blankets and tucked into a sweatshirt he had sworn he had misplaced, but she had laughed at in secret. Tucking away the sweatshirt that held his imprint to wear to bed and fold herself into. 

It was drenched now, and her eyes were blurry when she woke to his call. She was breathing erratically, heart stuttering in her chest and mouth dry from her calls. Her eyes searched his for what felt like hours, as he reassured her that it had all been a dream. 

“Hun? Hun, it was a dream. It was just a dream.” He reasoned, his large hands running through her tangled messy hair. Finding their way to the back of her neck so he could hold the entirety of her upper half in his palms. Breathing easy in her presence to show her how to slow her heart. 

She didn’t say anything until he moved from her, beginning to reach around to her dresser to pull out a new shirt for her to wear. 

“No.” She mumbled. “No.” 

“I ain’t leaving, just getting you something new hun.” He reassures but doesn’t let his hand leave hers as he steps towards the dresser in her small room. Pulling open the top drawer, as she sat up in bed behind him. His hand still clutched in hers. Her eyes were still far away, searching dark corners of the room for children. 

He turns back to her, handing her another one of his large shirts. She had all but stolen his wardrobe in the past three years. Sometimes he would wander to her dresser to find some of his clothes that had made a home in her dresser. Something he wishes he could have done himself, by choice. Put his clothes next to hers. 

She takes the shirt, releasing his hand to undress herself from the sweatshirt. He turns around, thinking to step back through the doorway to go back to Stanford’s bed. 

“No.” She says again, pulling at his own loose shirt, stopping him in his move. So he stops, back still turned as he listens to her change. She tugs the end of his shirt again, and he turns to look at her in the dark room. 

She pulls his forearm, her small hand grasping at his large arm as she tries to strongarm him closer. He moves to her, sitting on the edge of her bed, searching her far-away eyes for something. She brings his large palm to her face, resting her now cooling cheek in his grasp. 

“Stay.” She commands. 

He would do anything she asked. He had been so rattled by the call of his name, the rip of her voice, how scared she sounded. He doubted he’d leave her side for a while, until she asked him to go. Then he would leave again. So he crawls into bed with her, shuffling her to the other side, to the wall. He takes the side she used to reside in, her warmth leaking into him. The imprint she left behind encased him. He’s closest to the door, reasoning in his mind that the dark shadows of the hallway would just frighten her more. 

She shuffles over, still sitting up as she rearranges blankets up to his shoulders, tucking him in, in an odd way. He doesn’t say anything but chuckles at the sentiment. She then lays next to him, facing him in the middle. Her blankets shuffled up to her own shoulders. 

She sighs deeply, soothed by his presence after waking up in shock. It had been so real. Like she couldn’t tell the difference between them, between wakefulness and dream state. Like she had dipped her toes into another reality entirely. 

Her heart races again, and she reaches for his hand, bringing it back to her face. His heavy presence was a balm on her weary heart. He smiles slightly at her, humming under his breath as he scoots a little closer to her. Whispering between them as he fades back into a dream, hoping his company brings her enough peace to let her rest for a little while longer until the sun rises. 

“Goodnight hun.” Grumbling in his deep voice, she hums against his hand, burrowing deeper into his palm against her cheek. Her eyes can’t help but drift to corners in her room, again subconsciously looking for scared children in crowds of bodies.

She turns from the darkness in her room, triangles of shadows creeping in from the dark doorway into the hallway. She looks back to him, slumbering next to her now. His head dug deep into her pillow, his breaths shallow and his brow unfurred. 

The dream. In the dream, were they her’s? She can’t remember, looking at him now, it’s like it’s fading into the background. The vivid dream seeping from her mind. 

“Were they ours?” She whispers between them. Asking it out loud, just so she could remember that one part of the nightmare. The one part that made her ache, and wish for something far off that she’d never really had. Were the children ours?

[dreamofjoys]

DAY 4 KINKTOBER 2023

7 min in heaven? More like 7 days inside you!

Main Masterlist + Rules / Next Day of kinktober (5)

A/N: Please read the rules on my kinktober 2023 main masterlist before proceeding. Rule breakers will be blocked.

Characters involved (separated): Malleus draconia(TWST), Wriothlesly(Genshin), Ayato(Genshin), Nanook(HSR), Luo Cha(HSR)

Sypnosis: After getting officially married, you and your husband decided to finally go to your long awaited 7 days honeymoon in a resort at private island specially reserved by your husband! Those 7 days were meant to be fun and relaxing, but why are you so tired by the end of it?

C/W: Thigh riding in public area(library), needy and horny reader but they just encourage you more lel, praising

BY OPENING THE TAB BELOW, YOU CONSENT TO READ DC/SMUT WRITING + HAVE READ THE RULES

Day 4 Scenario

It came as a shock to you and your husband that there happens to be a library in the middle of a private island, at a resort. It was the 4th day of your honeymoon and the both of you had decided to explore around the island. "Wife, is my eyes playing tricks on me, or is that a library that I see?" Your husband gestures to the small cottage in front at the side of the pathway. Upon walking closer to the cottage, the both of you realised that it was indeed a library. There was a wooden sign beside the cottage engraved with the words "Library". For the first time in the honeymoon, your husband was the one genuinely looking excited. He intertwines his fingers with yours before pulling you in to cottage. Knowing your husband's fondness with books, you giggled at his excitement, squeezing his hand to let him know that you were okay with going to the library. To your husband's delight, the library was indeed filled with a variety of local books that could not be found back home. He picks up an old book before swiftly plopping down on a nearby couch. "Wife, come here." He pats on his man spread thigh, urging you to sit on his lap. You pout at his clinginess, hand reaching up to the bookshelves and picking a random book before getting yourself comfortable on his lap. "This much more better mhm." Your husband rest his chin on top of your head while both of his arm were encircled around you, holding onto the book and reading it like a bookworm that he is. You knew that the both of you were probably gonna stay here for a few hours, so you went ahead to flip open the book that you had randomly picked out, hoping to pass time. The book that you were reading was rather...... interesting. It was a typical romance story between 2 high school students, except they were doing the deed in an empty classroom. Your face flushed in red when you read through the whole paragraph. The author had managed to write the scene in such a detailed and erotic manner, to the point where you can feel your wetness seeping through your folds, staining onto your panties and eventually wetting on your husband's pants. "Oh dear," your husband looks down at your book, reading the very same paragraph that had made you horny and needy on him. "That's quite a book there, wife."

𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗨𝗦 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗔

He is quick to set his (and yours) book aside, hands planting onto your waist as he guides your body to grind your pussy on his thigh. "Don't be shy, just let out your inner desire, love." Malleus encourages, and his lips curls out into a smirk when your hips starts moving faster and faster.

A quiet moan slips out of your lips when the material of Malleus's pants rub against your sloppy folds. Malleus could feel his cock throbbing hard in his pants but he focuses on pleasing you instead, groping onto your breast and pinching on your nipples to give your extra stimulation.

"Oh dear," He mumbles, feeling a pool of wet stain soaking through his leather pants on the area that you are riding on. "Did you just came without telling me? No no, let's do it again."

𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗬

He pretends to not notice the pool of arousal that has been staining onto his pants for awhile. You would have thought that Wriothlesly wasn't aware of it, not until the arm that was wrapped around your waist purposefully dragging you closer to his body.

You blushed in embarassment when you saw your slick on Wriothlesly's pants, which was evident by a "dark stain". "Wife, you just made a mess on my pants." Wriothlesly chuckles, his hand switches to grab onto your hips, guiding it backwards and forward on his thigh.

The stains on his pants had grown in size, with a white blooch of cum on it. The obvious evident of your cum was painted on him. Despite your embarassment, Wriothlesly only laughed at you, hands still rocking you back and forth on his thigh.

𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗬𝗔𝗧𝗢

"This feels like something we had done back home, isn't it?" Ayato smirks when you gradually starts on grind your cunt on him, small moans spilling out of your lips when the rough material of his pants rubs deliciously against your sex, sending waves of pleasures down your spine.

Grinding on Ayato's thigh was something that the both of you had been frequently doing whenever Ayato was busy with his work. It was something that allows him to get intimate with you while getting his work done on time. Like always, he would coo at you and praise you for being his good wife, knowing how to satisfy the sexual needs of your husband and yourself.

And now, even when you are both on vacation, he encourages you to grind your slutty sex on him more, rubbing on your clit so that you can chase onto your high faster.

𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗢𝗞

He can smell your arousal before it even starts staining onto your panties.

"Are you getting turned on by this book? Should we recreate this scene?" Nanook grunts when the smell of your arousal gets stronger and stronger, indicating that his suggestion was something that you indeed wanted.

However, he was an Aeon of Destruction for a reason. What's the use of upholding such a prestige title if he doesn't destroy first?

"Baby, grind on me and I will give you my cock." Nanook's lips curls up into a sinister smirk when you start rocking your hips back and forth on his thigh, whining about how mean he is to you. "Why can't you just give it to me first?" You pout, trying to act cute and hoping that Nanook would falter at your antics but he doesn't.

"You won't get it until you cum on my thigh."

𝗟𝗨𝗢 𝗖𝗛𝗔

Luo cha enjoys teasing you a little too much. He knows that you are horny, and yet he pretends to not know about it. His attention "returns" back to his book, letting you sit on his thigh flushed, needy and embarassed.

However, he would occasionally jerk up his thigh, letting the fabric of his pants brushed onto your clothed sex. Luo cha would apologise for the inconvenience, saying that he needed to stretch his leg muscle.

He can feel your sex throbbing in need, your slick already making a mess on his pants. Maybe if you tell him that you need him, then he will indulge you a little?

[gallusrostromegalus]

How does trash pickup, Recycling centers, &/or Hazardous Material Disposal work for Soul Society in AEIWAM? Is there a Kido-based ritual to break things down into Reishi? Are there Tech Repair Shops?

Sewage in Soul Society works really well but very dangerously because those fucking idiots built the city directly on top of an active supervolcano.

Let me back up:

There isn't a good consensus on how big the Seireitei is (Yoruichi says it takes 10 days to walk 1/4th of the way around the circumference, but whether that's her speed, the average person's or how long a patrol group takes is unclear), Or any real maps of the place, but it's generally agreed that

the city is LARGE. Yoruichi says it would take her and the kids ten days to walk to the next gate 1/4th of the way around the city. Maybe that's 8 hours average human walking speed minus 'trying to herd a bunch of teenagers' but that's still a long trip!

Even before the Seki-Seki stone wall was put up, the city was pretty much circular.

Unlike pretty much every real city, there's no river running through it. Where are they getting their water?

There is a Small but substantial and TOTALLY ISOLATED mountain in the middle of the city made of apparently hard-to-mine rock. A Lonely Mountain, one might even say.

The only visible natural sources of water I've seen evidence of are hot springs in both the Yoruichi/Urahara Super Secret Training Ground/Love Nest and the first division grounds.

Soul Society is run by jackasses and if there's a stupid way to do things, that's the way they're doing them.

In fact, the Soul Society as a whole is almost suspiciously Amestris-shaped, but instead of nefarious alchemy, it's negligent civil engineering

...all this leads me to believe that Seireitei is built DIRECTLY ON TOP OF the caldera of an enormous supervolcano. The city gets it's water from the aquifer of rainwater that's collected in the underground cracks and fissures of the Caldera, and the seki-seki stone wall is set up around the really convenient geographic barrier made by the rim of the caldera.

"Hey!" I hear some of you nerds objecting "Aren't calderas usually concave? Seireitei is convex, if anything!"

You're right! Most Calderas are concave! But they will absolutely fill in with sand and dirt over the true floor of the caldera over time and develop Mounts like the thing at the central part of the city and start to rise WHEN THEY'RE ON THE VERGE OF A CATASTROPHIC ERUPTION.

So yeah! The Gotei-13 has an almost infinite supply of hot water, and probably less than a century to figure out what to do before The Big Kaboom.

Anyway, back at sewage:

There's been a city where the Seireitei is since time immemorial, and even though it's done the istanbul-not-constantinopple shuffle a few times, very little of the actual infrastructure has changed. Empires rise and fall but the desire paths stay the same.

This is especially true in Seireitei, because unlike very nearly every major IRL Municipality, it doesn't have a river running through it, something that usually necessitates Sewer updates By Force. But compared to a river which is constantly moving around in it's bed, a volcanic aquifer doesn't move much until it moves a whole fucking lot real fast, so the undercity of the Seireitei has really had time to... Develop isn't quite the right word.

"Ferment" is closer.

Above-ground waste management is the provenance of the actual local city government- yes, there is a Mayor of the Seireitei that the Gotei-13 has to pay property taxes to. Yamamoto maintains a lot of goodwill with the Mayor by dint of sentencing ill-behaved shinigami to shore up the municipal labor pool, and by knowing the mayor's family for the last millennium. So you'll see Shinigami doing things like trash collection and street-sweeping, but they're just there on probation.

-But nobody wanted to deal with the undercity. It's got a soul of it's own. Washington DC, which is less than 500 years old as a city and on top of a swamp, has an undercity that goes down over half a mile. Imagine how deep the sunken buildings, abandoned secret tunnels, and sewer system of a city that's millenia old, not sitting on actual mud and constantly subjected to high levels of magical background radiation might develop.

An Appetite, for one thing.

The 11th likes to talk a big game, but the reason the 4th is in charge of sewer maintenance is because the only people with the guts for it were people who got degrees rummaging in the guts of living people. Sewer maintenance really is a lot like abdominal surgery, if you were able to walk around inside the patient.

It was Retsu Unohana's idea, actually. Chigiri was a battle medic and aged rapidly for a shinigami. She was old when the court guard finally went from "Yamamoto and his gang of assholes" to "A for-real governing body". Her successor, Kirinji was more interested in traumatic injury recovery than preventative medicine, for obvious reasons- his triage was constantly full of combat casualties and early kido experiment victims Blood Loss was still his #1 Killer.

But Retsu had been reincarnated in and spent her youth in South 80, in the utterly undeveloped conditions there, and held deep, personal grudges with Dysentery and Cholera. For all his talk of healing waters, Kirinji had no sense of the importance of water sanitation, and it was a continuous point of contention between them for her apprenticeship.

"FINE!" He shouted one day after a particularly nasty row. "IF IT'S SO GODDAMN IMPORTANT TO YOU, YOU HANDLE IT! FORM NOW ON, YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF SEWAGE, SLUDGE QUEEN!"

She made her first descent the next morning.

She did not return for six weeks, and Kirinji almost thought he'd resloved that particular problem when she reappeared from the depths, a changed woman. That long in the darkness, alongside the buried secrets and skeletons of the city, with the horrors that did not dare brave the sunlight- it would change anyone, and most would come up looking at least mildly haunted.

Retsu Unohana is not most.

She looks radiant, almost like The Kenpachi again, covered in the horrors of the underground as she used to be covered in blood. She thrives on a challenge, and excels at the art of purification, and now, she has been given the single greatest challenge of purification in history. There is something beautiful and terrible in her eyes as she explains that it does down at least five miles, look at this, she thinks it's from the neolithic era, and there are incredible boneyards of thousands of skeletons, and fungi the likes of which she's never seen before- She is ecstatic- a creature kept in captivity, finally released into it's natural habitat.

It's hardly a surprise, if you consider Minazuki. Stingrays are benthic creatures, right at the bottom of the river, deep in the muck and decay.

It's been a little over eight hundred years into her tenure as a medic, and she has tamed much of the beast. The upper levels are well-mapped and have been made clean and well-lit, enough that even the civilian sanitation forces of the city can regularly enter and work in them without any particular unease. Infant and preventable disease mortality has dropped astronomically. Nobody's had cholera since the 1800's . While they have other jobs, all members of the 4th division are required to take at least one tour in the depths of the undercity.

Horrors still lurk in the depths.

They're pretty sure they lost Tokagero Kenpachi chasing one of those, shortly before Unohana became captain, and she's been reluctant to let other divisions assist since then. The Fourth Division's Fourth Seat, rumored to be the unluckiest post in the entire Gotei-13, is permanently stationed underground, and she loves it that way.

It's only recently that the 11th has been allowed to come along on descents, after Zaraki vanished for two days and then emerged victorious from a manhole in the 5th division with a tentacled horror she'd been tracking for decades that lived at least three miles down. He apologized- he had meant to come up in the 4th to present it's corpse to her directly, but well, you know what his sense of direction is like. Anyway, I saw it scuttling around in the rain aquifers and we don't need it tracking literal shit into the water supply so I went after is and d'ya think maybe I can take the lads down sometime? They' get lazy between deployments and you have a triage up here to manage.

Charmed, she agreed.

---

Hm. I just re-read that ask and it's actually about dry waste managment.

Sorry. I got very excited about the sewers.

I am now about to get worse about trash.

I don't think they have plastic in soul society- given how bug-themed the 12th division is, I'm pretty sure the casing on Rukia's soul pager is made of Chitin, and if you break it, it bleeds. Also it makes people with shellfish allergies break out in hives.

Since pretty much all the waste in Soul Society is either recyclable or organic matter, I think those trash pits Yumichika and Ganju were fooling around with are really more like Kido-enhanced composting centers. All waste goes into them and the bottom of the pit is pulled out in a tray, like with a vermiculture tower, if the worms were eighteen and a half feet long and hungry enough to swallow anything that falls in the pit, because Mayuri is incapable of making anything that is not at least slightly awful.

The compost is then shaken out for any spare glass or metal that made it into the compost and that's sent off to the 12th division forges to be recycled. it's baked to kill any dangerous pathogens and Giant Garbage Worm Eggs so they don't breach containment, and measured for nitrogen, phosphorus and other important plant nutrient content. Based on it's composition, it's then shipped out to farmers in the upper districts of the rukongai because "Free, A+ grade fertilizer if y'all don't start revolutions, pay your taxes and give us first dibs on crops" is an amazing incentive for rural farmers to not start backing the local warlords.

It was 12th division founder Uhin Zenjohji who came up wth the scheme- he remembered the lengths upper-district farmers were willing to go through to make sure their land remained fertile, what kind of demand Nitrogen was in, and the ravages of phosphorous runnoff, so he could kill two birds with one clod of shit by supplying farmers with 'free' fertilizer that kept them loyal to the court and was tailored to that area's nutritional needs and watershed capacity.

The fact that it kept a lot of swamp and waterway areas pristine so he could indulge his birdwatching hobby was a nice benefit too :).

NORMALLY, those pits are covered, clearly marked, and usually the site of a major traffic jam because that's the local collection point, but when Ichigo and friends arrived, Aizen had whipped everyone into believing they were being invaded by an elite force of super-assassins and not like. 4 high schoolers and a furry. All the street signs and markings came down, civilians shuttered themselves inside, and generally made the Seireitei as difficult to navigate as possible.

I wonder how much Zaraki's rotten sense of direction was exacerbated by that.

ANYWAY! That's my thoughts on trash! Deep undercity horrors and giant compost worms over an active volcano!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Drafting the Adventure: To the dungeon!

Recently I worked out a framework for running exploration based adventures , and while a lot of people seemed to like it, a few folks wrote in asking how it might work in practice. I’m only too happy to provide an example, as it will likewise give me the chance to demonstrate how to combine a wilderness adventure with a dungeon adventure, which is something I wanted to do anyway. 

Background: the party is sent off to seek an arcane mcguffin contained in an ancient ruin, with the caveat that no one really remembers where the ruin might be. As such they’ll have to explore a stretch of wilderness looking for signs of old habitation before getting to delve the dungeon itself.

Setup: In addition to gearing up The party might want to talk with some locals to get information about where they're going, which will allow you to drop clues about further places they cam explore. Any Entry marked with a (G) can be hinted at in gossip and research, providing them a hint about where to go.

FIRST ZONE : The Ancient Plains

"Cool winds steal the warmth from your cheeks as your party steps into the wilderness, your goal and the mountains far in the distance and a vast rolling grassland before you. This place was the site of a great battle that nearly destroyed your home, but is now quiet save for the murmur of the tallgrass and your own footfalls.

Design Note: The party can either choose to head to one of the locations they've already heard about/discovered, or spend time trying to find a new location with a perception or survival check, with you rolling a die to decide which one to point them at first. Once the random encounter is unlocked, add one die to the pool every time they travel to an area, and two die if their searching for a new area falls below a reasonable dc.

SECOND ZONE: The Forgotten Foothills

"Like the fingers of a grasping titan, the roots of the mountain-range pull at the earth giving rise to steep ascents and sudden valleys. The trickle of pure glacial melt runs in small streams over this uneven landscape, giving you a refreshing if bonechilling respite from your long travels."

Design Note: Now rather than making simple progress, the party needs to actively hunt for the location of the ruins, with the understanding that taking a surface look at different locations is going to bring a random encounter or two down on their heads REAL fast.

Also shoutout to Yithini, my homebrew goddess of ascension in all its forms.

THIRD ZONE: The Cascading Ruins

"It was no wonder it was so hard to find this old fortress, as the waters pouring down from the cliffs above seem intent on wiping it from the mountainside. The noise and the crush of endless water rumbles in your bones as you make your approach, up a slick half eroded stair that might've been part of the structure's battlements. Most of the structure is lost in the pool of rushing white water below, but a few stretches of old fortification still manage to withstand the siege of time. "

Art

[storiesofsvu]

Solace in Solitude Ch 13

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, usual CM style violence/storylines talked about. A very minimal bit of dialogue taken from an episode. One more chapter to go besties!

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t totally on edge for the next two days, picking at your nails whenever you found yourself distracted, lost in thought as you wondered what exactly was going on across the Atlantic. You did your best to keep occupied with cleaning and packing up the apartment, getting ready for your own move while making sure things were looking like they did the first night you set foot in the building. 

You were on the balcony watching the darkening sky, a leftover cigarette between your lips when your phone finally buzzed, and you were quick to pick it up.

‘He’s dead. Declan’s safe. Team’s not off scot free though, there’s gonna be this whole hearing bullshit.’

‘Good luck.’

It felt weird moving to London, not because of the change of scenery or language, but simply because you were back on your own. You’d found your own apartment this time, but it still felt strange to be alone in it, to not have the warm light pooling from Emily’s room when you got home late at night. To not wake up to the smell of fresh coffee being brewed or find her on the couch up in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. You’d become so accustomed to having another person around all the time that being solo felt almost wrong.

Your phone buzzed less than a week into your time there, a number with a 202-area code.

‘Hey, it’s Em. Figured I should pass along the new number, unless you’ve already changed yours.’

Your lips curved up into a soft smile when you read the text, putting down your wine glass so you could reply.

‘I’ve had an international plan since DWB’s. I assume this means that trial thing went well? You’re staying in DC?’

‘Ha. As good as it could, but we proved everything we did was for the right reasons. And yeah… it just feels like the right place to be. How’s London?’

‘Dreary. I forgot how much rain we get this time of year.’

Emily let out a small huff of a laugh, she was about to type up another reply when Derek’s voice broke through her bubble.

“Who’re you texting with that smile?” He asked with a wicked grin, and she immediately locked her phone, rolling her eyes.

“A friend.”

“Yeah right.” He laughed, “girl, you’ve been back less than a month and you’re already playing the field? Sin to win never dies, does it?”

“Looks like we have that in common.” She shot back with a smirk and an appalled look took over Derek’s features.

**

Emily knew things were going to be different, that they were going to feel strange and after her original reunion with the team, she knew it was likely she was going to feel a bit like an outsider in a place she once felt like family. Part of her had expected to slip right back into where she was, that her role would be the same, that life would pick up exactly where it left off when she left. She’d been so separated that Paris was starting to feel like a fever dream and she nearly forgot that while she’d been recovering and recuperating, life had gone on for the rest of the BAU team, they had kept moving while she was standing still.

She was incredibly thankful JJ had managed to pull some strings and keep her apartment, even if it had been sublet in the meantime, she still got to come home to something familiar and didn’t have to start from nothing for personal belongings. And while the place had been her home for so long, even with Sergio back, there was something missing, an emptiness that hung heavily in the air. She knew it couldn’t help that there was a lingering thought in the back of her head that Ian knew where this apartment was, even if he was six feet under. She missed the companionship that had come with Paris, suddenly having to do it all on her own was annoying, at least she wasn’t home as much as she had been while recovering. 

‘Do things feel weird in London, or is it just DC and the whole coming back from the dead thing that’s throwing everything off?’

A small laugh broke through your lips as you picked up your coffee mug to take another sip.

‘I’m sure that has something to do with it. Why are you awake? Isn’t it the middle of the night over there?’

Emily sheepishly glanced to the clock on the nightstand, realizing just how late it really was and she let out a sigh, nestling deeper into the wall of pillows.

‘Couldn’t sleep. I’ve been weaning off most of the meds, plus my mind won’t stop. What time is it there?’

‘Just past seven, coffee time. You wanna call? Talk through it?’

‘Nah. If I call, I’m sure someone will wake up and start screaming cause he thinks its breakfast time.’

‘Uh.. what?’

‘Sergio.’

‘Are you telling me you’ve been back less than two months and you’ve already rescued another child in need or did you rename the other kid?’

Emily couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth to keep quiet. There was no doubt you hadn’t woken up that long ago, the caffeine not quiet hitting your brain stream yet.

‘Sergio’s the cat.’

‘Oh! Right. I’m surprised Penelope gave him up.’

‘Well she has custody on weekends and whenever a case takes me out of town longer than a couple of days.’

‘Oof. Co-parenting, hope that doesn’t get messy.’

She found herself quietly chuckling again, a sense of comfort and calm flowing through her as her body began to relax further into the bed.

‘Only when one of us buys fancier treats.’

‘Good. And for what its worth things are a little off here, but I mean, it’s starting a new life for me, it’s just like riding a bike, I’ll get the rhythm back soon. You went back to something old, but that something has changed completely for everyone involved too. I’m sure constantly jetting around the country doesn’t help your sense of stability either.’

‘Last time I checked you weren’t a shrink.’

‘I’ve been sitting in to a few lectures here and there.’ You replied with a grin, practically able to hear her deadpan through the words on the screen.

‘Any suggestions?’

‘Don’t try to force things too quickly, know that it’s going to take some time for things to feel normal again. As important as it is for you to try to repair the relationships you had, you might want to start looking to make new friends, sprinkle in a bit of freshness to an old lifestyle. Change up your routine, hit up different grocery stores, get your coffee from somewhere new, change your commute, things like that.’

‘Already swapped coffee shops. Pretty sure I terrified the poor girl working the counter the first time I walked back in. Felt too bad to go back.’

‘Well that’s a start, lol. And… if you think you’re gonna stay in DC, that you want to belong there, think about putting down some roots, reasons for you to make it your forever home.’

‘Good thought’

The clock chimed beside you and you glanced up from your phone, letting out a soft sigh,

‘I’ve gotta run, but feel free to text anytime.’

‘Go save some lives. I’ll be fine.’  She signed it off with a smiley face, finally dropping her phone onto the nightstand as she curled around herself, pulling the blankets around her. For the first time since being back she was asleep within minutes.

**

Your phone began to buzz on the kitchen counter, you glanced toward it at first, thinking it was just a text, but when it nearly vibrated off the edge you realized it was a call, and from Emily, nonetheless.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey,” she replied, her voice somewhat strained and your brow furrowed, “what was that whole thing about the spleen? Like, when it comes to getting sick or recovery, that part.”

“Should I be concerned about the sirens in the background?”

“I’m a fed, sirens are a pretty regular occurrence.”

“Yeah?” You raised a brow, leaning against the counter, “what about that out of control beeping from the heart rate monitor?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine, just ow!”

“Emily...” you warned.

“It’s nothing.” She protested before a louder male voice shouted from the background.

“She got shot!”

“Jesus christ.” You muttered, “you’ve been back less than six months and you’ve already gotten yourself shot? What are you, a walking liability?”

The replies came instantaneously from Emily and Derek respectively, “no!” “YES!”

“I’m gonna be fine!”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? Aren’t you supposed to have vests for these kinda things?”

“I was wearing it! I took the hit to the upper shoulder and this lovely EMT says I’m going to be fine. I just can’t remember what you said about the spleen thing.”

Biting your lip, you let out a sigh, “If you get sick or injured it can and will take longer to heal, recovery’s a bitch, you know that.”

“Uh.. Agent Prentiss?” Another voice cut in and you assumed it was one of the EMT’s, “why can’t we find any medical history past March of last year?”

“That would be the other reason I’m calling.” Emily winced and you chuckled.

“I have your full history listed under Valerie Stewart, I’ll send it over, what hospital?” The EMT rattled off the location that you were quick to scribble down onto a scrap of paper, “I know this isn’t ideal timing, but have you gone to that shrink I set you up with?”

“Yes.” She half grumbled back before you heard another outburst from her co agent.

“She went to one mandatory appointment.” 

“Morgan!”

“Ask her about how great her boyfriend Sergio is.”

“Last time I checked, Sergio was the cat.” You replied and Emily groaned, rolling her eyes, “Em, you really need to go a couple of times, especially now.”

“Why does this change things?”

“It’s your first time back in a hospital as a patient since Paris, it’s bound to bring up some stuff.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you.” You pushed off from the counter, “I’ll send your file over, call me when you’re all bandaged up.”

“Yeah.” She replied and you could hear the exhaustion in her voice before the line clicked.

Much later that night your phone buzzed with a text, a picture of Emily back on the jet with her arm in a sling. As tired as she looked, at least she was safe and, on a quick path to recovery from this one.

**

‘Come on, that house is gorgeous!’ 

You shook your head at Emily’s hesitancy through your text chain. She’d spent the last couple of weeks sending you housing listings, asking your opinions and thoughts on just about everything and she found some kind of flaw in every single one of them.

‘There’s cracks in the foundation.’

‘So? Cracks can be fixed.’

‘No, they can be hidden. They’re still there.’

‘It passed inspection. You’re acting like you’re afraid the place is gonna fall down.’

‘I’m afraid it’s never gone be as strong as it was.’

You paused, a frown taking over your face as you read back the last piece of your conversation, you practically felt your shoulders sagging as you dropped into the couch. You wished there was more that you could do for her right now, but you knew being a world away meant this was it.

‘I have a feeling we’re not talking about houses anymore…’

A longer pause, one that left you watching the three little dots disappear and reappear while Emily debated how to reply. Where she struggled with wanting to blow you off, or if she really did want to get into this right now. Eventually she decided on somewhere in the middle.

‘Remember when we talked about setting down roots?’

‘Yeah.’

‘My therapist said the same thing.’

‘Told ya I wasn’t crazy.’

She huffed out a laugh, holding back the eye roll.

‘I tried. I’m trying. It’s just proving harder with each time. Like the more that I have tying me to here, the more I start to feel trapped. Caged in here with no opportunity to even see the other options anymore. The job’s the same, sure, but it’s also entirely different. We had a case a bit ago where the unsub was drowning his victims only to attempt to resurrect them, it was the first time the rest of the team found out I actually died, it left an even weirder taste in everyone’s mouths. It was the first time Reid looked me in the eye since being back, Morgan’s just barely over it, nothing feels right anymore. And buying a house? That seems like the last thing I should be doing if I feel like this. I don’t know where I’d want to go, what I’d want to be doing, it’s not like I’m out there actively looking for something different…’

‘But if it fell in your lap, you’d probably jump at the opportunity?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Well, hold off on putting the offer down for now, see what else is out there, talk it over with your therapist.’

‘I will. And hey, thanks for being my soundboard for all of this, it really hasn’t been the easiest.’

‘Of course. Life’s always easier with a friend by your side. I’ve got your back.’

‘No kidding.’ She smiled softly, ‘and thank you.’

**

Three weeks later the opportunity really did just drop into her lap. A phone call to an old source to help the BAU on a case lead to a very lucrative and enticing job offer. One that made her stomach twist into more knots than de arming a bomb did. 

At the end of the week Emily was surrounded by her team, her friends, people that she loved dearly, who were finally accepting her back in their lives. Yet she still felt completely isolated and alone. She was certain that things were never going to be the same in DC again, that it really was time for her to go. So, as she watched JJ and Will dance together, soft smiles on their cheeks while he leant in to steal a kiss, she made up her mind. 

She was taking the Interpol offer.

Maybe a complete reset and starting over really was what she needed right now.

_________________ @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @its-soph-xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @romanoffsho @ratsnestinmyhair @assgardangod @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @lesbodietcoke @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak

[nullifier]

0_0 was real inspired by @0046incognito 's recent animation & decided "hey. you know it would be pretty funny to put rocais in this" so she's in it now #I LOVE ROBOTS !!!1 Tried emulating the style for the first one then went in with my more regular sorta linework on the destroyed image

?How does she work?:

"Radi" [I haven't come up with a better name rn] is a Nuclear Power Plant Submersible Technician, you know those pools they put the uranium in to boil water to create power? She lives in the nuclear reactor pool. She was entirely designed to never leave these pools and is perfectly designed for the environment: her hard plastic casing, while normally inert, when introduced to the boiling hot pools becomes more flexible, thus allowing her movement [plus the plastic over time absorbs the fuckin radiation or whatever and starts glowing epically]. Cause she's ALWAYS underwater she has no mouth, but has a Geiger counter on her chest that she can project her voice through if needed. She can't "hear" either, the only way management is able to relay instruction to her is use of special walkie-talkies Specifically for talking to Her and whoever else is also on the line. Totally water-cooled, no fans. She's charged using "rectenna" antenna technology [something something, turning radiation/heat/waves into DC power] Normally rectennas have very limited capabilities because it requires a ton of ambient energy to be able to draw from, but Exclusively for use in these pools she's able to draw enough energy to keep charge. This makes her both dependent on the pool for her cooling, and the radiation of the plant to keep charge [she can't leave!!! =D]

> After the plant ceases operation, the pools become cold so she has to remove her plastic casing. She's running on fumes since the ambient radiation will eventually run out. I imagine she has some desperate attempt to flood the place and escape to anywhere to find SOME source of radiation, maybe the toxic waste containment...

sketches as well =) 92 is the uranium number + her face is the radiation symbol

[ohtobemare]

HAPPY HUNDRED !! 🥳 so well deserved bae

for your lil celebration i’d like to request Bradley & prompt #4 in the fluff section,, “it's hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you."

I kinda love this one, not gonna lie, dev! Here's your cute and fluffy Rooster. Much love, babe!

Rack 'Em

“You think you’re pretty slick, dontcha?” 

Your words lift barely above the pounding AC/DC chorus rattling the windows of the Hard Deck, but somehow they manage to drive a knife straight through his chest.

Your slow, precise smile stabs him between the ribs, kicking his heart rate up to a nearly unforgivable pace. At this rate, Rooster is fairly confident he’ll have no ribs left as sparkling eyes seem to track every one of his movements. 

It’s already hot in this damn bar, with all the bodies and the chatter and the noise of Saturday night. He’d been sweating through the Hawaiian shirt since he got here, meeting up with Nat and the guys for drinks after a long ass day on base—weekends were just as unforgiving as weekdays around Fightertown.

Getting his ass handed to him at darts, listening to Fanboy and Omaha talk smack about what little game they actually possessed had only pissed him off more, not aiding in the we-could-stop-sweating-anytime hope. 

But, any hopes he’d had about a couple of beers chasing the heat out of his blood evaporated when he saw you walk through the door, girlfriends in tow, looking dangerous in too-tight jeans, a white tank, and flip flops. Hair pulled up off your shoulders, you’d opted for contacts and light makeup tonight, though the shitty lights in this place put a glow on your face that he couldn’t stop thinking about. The black bra was intentional, probably—the white tank offered no kind of coverage in any certain terms. 

You were electric, he couldn’t stop tracking you to the bar. Something hot and tight pooled at the base of his gut before rocketing up his spine, sounding off in a tight bundle of nerves in the back of his neck, reminding him that he’s running on five hours of sleep for a reason. 

On probation for other reasons—like sneaking on barracks after curfew, being a cocky son of a bitch at the stick, mouthing off to the one person on the planet he should actually be minding. Watching you swing on a barstool with exaggerated movements, legs purposefully still wide, makes him salivate.

His tongue is tracing the 'stache over his top lip, beer midway to his lips when you laugh, the column of your throat so there. 

He hasn’t stopped himself from eye-fucking you when Bob nudges him in the ribcage. “Rooster? You here, man?” Floyd is snapping his fingers in front of Bradley’s face now, his huge fingers making quite the noise in front of his eyes as his hand claps solidly on Bradley’s shoulder, “Jeez, man—what’s up with you?” 

“Yeah, fuck, Rooster—you’ve been zoned out for like, five minutes.” 

Snapping out of the sex-induced trance the film reel of his brain is looping, he takes half a step back on his heel before turning to face Bob and Fanboy, who are looking at him with furrowed brows of concern. Or, rather, Bob looks concerned—Fanboy appears amused, spinning a dart between his index finger and thumb as his jaw sets into a smirk. 

Bradley can feel the flush on his cheeks when he lifts a hand to rake his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine,” he mutters, taking a pull on the beer. It’s cold, frothy, and the condensation from the bottle feels great on his upper lip as he smooths his fingers over his mustache, as if to remind himself to chill the fuck out, “Who's fuckin’ turn is it?” 

“Yours,” Fanboy extends a dart, “Bob just put you two losers on the board.” 

He sounds mildly irritated, but it won’t last—Omaha and Fanboy have them smoked, which isn’t an unusual feeling. They’ll be rejoicing in no time. This place has kicked his ass in darts a dozen times, be it Seresin or others—he’s a bad dart player. Horrendous. Doesn’t help he’s distracted thinking about you at the bar, half hard imagining the things he would do to that smiling face of yours. 

Fifteen minutes and a hundred quick glances later, Fanboy and Omaha have, indeed, killed Bradley and Bob in darts. He volunteers to retrieve drinks from the bar and Bob offers to secure a pool table that’s been vacated, but Rooster barely notices—he instead tracks you across the bar, to a booth you and your friends have plopped into along the wall of windows.

Your two friends are across from you, giggling over some girl shit, you leaning over the bar to speak to them animatedly—you talk with your hands, your expressions genuine and larger than life. 

Forearms leaning against the bar, he wonders what you’re telling them. From here you look like a phenomenal storyteller, someone he never wants to stop listening to.

Whatever you’ve shared is hilarious, because you plunk back into your side of the booth, laughing so hard your head kicks back against the booth. So hard that your face turns pink, and you cover it with your hands for a heartbeat, fingers pressing to your cheeks in a way that tells him you know you’re flushed. 

You’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. And Bradley flies planes for a living—there’s nothing sexier than handling a multi-million dollar government aircraft at dizzying speeds.

Or, at least, there wasn’t until he sees you, still giggling foolishly in your booth like a kid.

Warm just thinking about you and that pretty mouth whispering dangerous things, he bites the inside of his cheek, something in his cock twitching at the idea. 

He hasn’t realized the corner of his mouth has ticked up in a grin until Penny Benjamin is dropping four beers in front of him, smirking as she wipes her hands on her jeans.

Pushing off the bar, Rooster begins taking the necks of the beers between his fingers, the thick glass chasing heat out of his hands. Thankful for the distraction, he nods at Penny. 

Her eyes cut over his shoulder. “Sweet girl,” she says quietly, reaching to pop an olive from a garnish tray into her mouth. “She’s drinking Titos and soda water, just so you know.”

God bless Penny and her female intuition, and he smiles at her and lifts  a shoulder, raising his beer-laden fingers to playfully salute off his brow. 

“Noted, ma’am. Thank ya.”

She winks at him and chuckles, shaking her head as he turns smoothly on his heel, eyes fluidly moving to you in the booth again as he begins cutting through the people on the floor back to the table Bob has been guarding. 

Bob’s chalking up cue sticks when he plunks a beer down on the edge of the table. Bradley hauls off on the beer, long and slow drinks, hoping it’ll chill the heat in his blood and calm his heart the fuck down.

It doesn’t work—instead, his throat hollows when he watches you scoot up against the window, legs extended across the vinyl of the booth, bare feet crossed as your flip flops hang out beneath the table. 

Even from here, your toes are manicured in a bright and adorable yellow, standing out against dark-wash, dated flare jeans. You wiggle them to whatever beat it coming out of the stereo system—he can’t remember, doesn’t care.

But you know the song, your head is bopping to the tune as your finger lazily circles the rim of your drink. 

All he can think about is his feet tangling with yours. Tangible heat jumps into his chest.

“Rooster.” 

He jumps. Nearly fucking vibrating, he blows out a breath and grabs the collar of the Hawaiian shirt, trying to fan the sweat dripping from the hollow of his throat. Eyes casting to the felt of the table, from the corner of his gaze he sees Bob extending a cue to him, freshly chalked and ready to go. 

“You ready to rack ‘em?” 

Snatching it from him, Bradley gives what he hopes is a firm nod, but knows is anything but.

“Yeah. Let’s go for it.” 

He sinks a stripe in the corner pocket on the first go, claiming stripes the rest of the game. Once he’s into it with Bob, Nat and Seresin meander over to join up for doubles, and he’s relatively into the game—the hundred or so glances he’s allowed himself to steal of you drops significantly as Seresin and Nat engage him in conversation, topics floating in and out about work, Top Gun, dates, and somehow, Bradley’s time in UVA. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about you, but liquid courage and the distraction of friends is giving him an edge. Rooster’s decided that he’s going to interrupt your girls night. It’s inevitable. He’ll be kicking himself for the rest of forever if he doesn’t at least make himself known, and contrary to his callsign, he isn’t chicken.

Calculated, maybe a bit reserved, but never chicken. 

About thirty minutes into the game, he notices that your friends have either left or stepped out, because you’re alone in the booth. Feet still crossed and bopping lightly to the music, you’re on your phone. Brow pulled into a little wrinkle, he can see your glass is nearly empty—mostly ice, the lime torn to bits at the bottom of the glass.

Mouth ticking up into a small smirk, he tosses back the rest of the Blue Moon he’s been sucking on, and excuses himself to retrieve another. 

Penny serves with him a wink and a smile as she nudges the Titos and club soda toward him with a light finger. He grabs it by the top, thick hand doming the rim of it to keep it stable, and lithely moves through the crowd of people, tracking your booth. Your girlfriends are gone, but they’ll return–closer proximity reveals that you’re purse guarding, your loneliness temporary. 

He’s standing at the edge of your booth, and your eyes flick up to him from the phone. It drops into your lap and you shift your shoulders against the cool window. Even from here, he can see the beads of perspiration on your forehead. Your lips are a glossy pink, something he’s missed, and for a brief second Bradley tracks the idea of what they might taste like; what it would feel like to mess up that gloss in his mustache.

The mere thought of it stokes heat in his belly, sends it rocketing through his blood, straight to his cock. 

Your smile is slow, the silence between you two bleeding for a second. “Hiya.” Your tone is innocent and bright in that girlish, cute kind of way, but something in the back of the greeting tells him you can be dirty when you want to be. “I was wonderin’ when you’d make your way over here.” 

The statement, and the slight accent, pops his brow. “That right?” 

You giggle and shrug a shoulder, elbow lifting to brace against the back of the booth to cradle your head. “Mhm. You’ve only been eye fucking me across the room all night, Bradshaw.” 

The way you say his name unravels something along his spine. His eyes trace the lines of your face, the  length of your throat—-the way you’re sitting does marvelous things for your tits, cleavage a damn near valley in what he’ll bet anything is a push-up bra.

Rooster is actively blinking back the idea of ripping that black bra off you with his teeth when you sit forward, hand reaching for the drink that is, obviously, for you. 

“Thanks,” your fingers brush against his, and Bradley nearly jumps back from the spark of electricity the sensation sends up his arm. Damn near giving him heart palpitations, your tongue tracks the cocktail straw, taking a slow pull of the Titos with a little smile on your face. 

“How’s it going? Get your ass handed to you in darts yet?” 

Your eyes drip down his frame, and he feels a sense of pride when your gaze lingers on his chest, marveling. Loosening his shoulders, he drops an arm to the back of the booth, leaning against it in what he hopes is a casual way—mostly for support, because your sparkling eyes are undressing him, right here, and he can barely stand it. 

A drink of beer helps his response. “Yeah, but Floyd and I are making a comeback with pool.” 

“Ah.” You nod, eyes cutting to the game. “Figures. Sounds like fun.” You wink at him then wiggle your fingers in the direction of the game, tipping your head that way, “Looks like you’re up, Rooster.” 

“Wanna sub in?” The very idea of you bending over a pool table has him nearly feral, the back of his tongue thick with a dry he doesn’t ever remember feeling before. Tongue tracking along his back teeth, he can’t raise any kind of moisture in his mouth at all, and the beer does nothing for him. 

“I’m kinda out on a date with girlfriends, Bradley,” 

He lifts a shoulder dismissively, nose scrunching to match the effort. “What kind of girlfriends are they if they deny you a game of pool with a guy like me?” Thumb tucking into his chest, he lifts his hand to rake through his hair again, something he knows is sexy as fuck.

It works, because he watches you swallow a breath. 

You beam at him, sapphire eyes snapping to life in a way that nearly startles him as you plunk your drink on the surface of the booth with more gusto than necessary, the liquid swirling in a tempest as you scoot your way forward, out of the booth.

Reaching beneath the table for your shoes, you brush up against him as you find your feet, mere inches from his face, now. 

“Smart ones,” you counter, quickly. 

He chuckles. “Relative term, sweetheart.” 

“You think you’re pretty slick, dontcha?” The corner of your mouth lifts as your eyes slide to half mast, head tipped playfully to the side. His senses swirl with whatever perfume you’re wearing, which he is fairly certain is some kind of mint-eucalyptus thing, but whatever it is specifically doesn’t matter. His toes are curling when you lift your leg to slip on a sandal, the oher dropping to the floor. 

“Is it working?” 

You pinch your fingers together, nose wrinkling just so. “Maybe a little.” 

You step closer, if possible. You’re so damn kissable, lips perfectly full and glossed in a way that is destroying his ability to reason. Nearly vibrating, he can’t stop looking at your mouth, down the front of that fucking tank top.

Fair skinned and drop-dead stunning, he swallows a thick breath when you turn and knock your shoulder against his, giggling at the expression on his face–his brows are popped up and you lean in, head tipped back in a way that says you want him to kiss you, but you actually don’t say anything at all. 

“Rooster,” 

Control. He needs control, but his fingers are burning to spin the curl that’s fallen from your top knot around his finger. It looks soft, playful—enticing. He suddenly can’t think of anything else except the contact of your shoulder, still lingering against his, the weight shifting on your legs as you shimmy to brush your hip against his. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes narrow as you rise up on tiptoes, the little ring of blue in your eyes tracking his as you rivet him to the floor. He’s welded, good and firm to the floor. Can’t move, can hardly breathe.

The air moving in his chest feels stale and thick, like every breath weighs a thousand pounds, ripping his lungs to shreds as he tries to focus anywhere other than the weight of your gaze. He can’t, though, you’ve trapped him there—and a thousand thoughts spin out of control, his entire life with you in and out of it, reminding him of everything he’s missed, could miss, if he ever lets you go. 

“You okay there, aviator?” It’s a teasing question. Your eyes drop to his top lip, head tipping to the side as your thumb lifts to gently swipe over his mustache. “Y’seem a little off your game tonight, Bradshaw.”

It isn’t a lie. He has been off his game, ever since learning your name. 

He probably won’t ever be on his game again. And, Rooster isn’t sure he wants to ever be back on his game. At least, with anyone else. You’re enough game for him, for anyone. Any idea of “being on his game” ever again with anyone else drops a bullet in his gut, stirs acid in the back of his throat.

He could throw up, right now, even thinking about having anyone else.  

He chuckles, faintly. Nervously. “Oh, baby, I—” he blows out an uneven breath that pops his cheek. Heat flares up onto his nose when you smile slowly at the reaction. “—ah, shit. Any idea how hard it is to stand here and not kiss you right now?” You’re laughing now, head thrown back, shoulders shaking at the very idea of him being this nervous. 

When your head rights, your hand is sneaking up his chest to the back of his neck. Firm and tight, you pull him forward, his chest brushing with yours. He’s positive you can feel the heat rolling off of him like a freight train, but you don’t seem to mind. Instead, your tongue skips out over your bottom lip, wetting it as you tip your head back and to the side, angling like you’re about to kiss him. Again. 

“Who says you can’t kiss me right now, Bradshaw?” 

It’s all the greenlight he needs. Thick arms wrapping around your waist, he remembers he’s holding a beer bottle, and steps forward, shuffling you to set it on the table.

Your hips move flush against his as your arms wrap around his neck, dragging him down for your lips to meet. You kiss him first, and it takes a fraction of a second for him to deepen it—you meet him, nibbling at his top lip, and he pulls you tighter against his chest. 

Bradley’s fairly certain he can hear bells in the distance when your breathing shallows, a little gasp in the back of your throat unraveling everything in his gut as you press tighter against him. His fingers can’t help but bury in the material of the tank top, holding you hard and fast, and you giggle when his fingers dip into the belt loops of your jeans.

Your hand has already skipped beneath the collar of his shirt, the other playing with his hair in that delightful, sexy way. 

Half aware that people in the bar can actually see both of you, you moan into his mouth heavily before breaking the kiss, heaving for air. He’s hungry for you, on the bleeding edge of dragging you out of here to the Bronco, when you giggle and press a firm kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Hiya, baby,” you whisper, nose tucking up beneath his ear, “I missed you.” 

“Missed you more,” 

Reaching for the aviators hanging from his shirt, you slip them on, low on your nose. Your gaze over the rim of his shades is heavy, dark and lusting, nearly killing him. Pressing another chaste kiss to his cheek, you gently push him back, brushing shoulders with him as you angle towards the pool tables.

“I doubt that, Bradshaw,” Turning on your heel, you crook a finger for him to follow. “Now. You promised you’d show me how to sink some balls. Care to make good on that promise, lover?” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Biggest love to all ya'll! Get your ask in, here!

[buckets-and-trees]

Game: match the character with the trope & give a little explanation why you paired them/how you would go about writing that type of fic 🩷

Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Ransom Drysdale, Ari Levinson & Nick Fowler

Forced proximity, forbidden love, fake dating, hidden identity & arranged marriage

Okay, this was fun, Em! And at least this time I didn't get TOO carried away...

ARI LEVINSON - FORCED PROXIMITY - I don't know... maybe this 2500-imagine-ish pitch that spilled out of my fingers this weekend? Hahaha

BUCKY BARNES - HIDDEN IDENTITY - I think this could happen over many different period of Bucky's life, but I'm especially interested in Bucky on the run after Winter Soldier and before Civil War. I love reading fics that take place during this time, and I've got a fic that I started and need to go back to (and maybe rewrite so I can complete it) that would be him hiding for short periods of time in cabins/rentals/vacation homes as he makes his way out of the DC Metro area those first months after CA:WS and while he's crashed at one particular place, Reader shows up, and they spend a few days or maybe a week together before moving on to the next place (and the next and the next until he eventually ends up in Romania).

RANSOM DRYSDALE - FAKE DATING - When a petition citing some extenuating circumstances/technicalities/the manner in which his confession was coerced/etc, a judge is willing to review it due to Ransom's good behavior (read: MONEY) while he's been serving time, and he gets him out of jail. You are immediately hired to be his Cinderella-image of a girlfriend so he can become the public's wronged and misunderstood Prince Charming because Linda won't have any more bad press - it's affecting all of the family businesses. Why are you willing to take the deal? You came up in an initial pool of suitable eligible females in the local area and it just so happens that one of the editor's at Harlan's publishing house (still overseen by Walt) has been considering one of your novels for publication, and this presents an opportunity for them to sweeten a proposal for this PR relationship by offering you a six-novel publishing deal as long as you maintain the relationship with Ransom for at least 18 months.

NICK FOWLER - FORBIDDEN LOVE - You're a detective working for Interpol. You know the trouble he's caused. Even though he was able to cover up his deeds initially with the CIA, once the Chinese/MSS took him into custody, it all came out. But he's managed to escape. He's managed to find his way to Romania, which is where you just so happen to be stationed now. You worked a case closely with him six years ago in Portugal, and...though you both kept it professional, his charm was undeniable. He had no idea you were in Romania, but he's not mad about that in the slightest now that he's spotted you. He could have some fun with this. Are you ready to play with fire?

STEVE ROGERS - ARRANGED MARRIAGE - In a Steve Stays scenario, if he's going to refuse to be Cap, he's being lobbied to still use his influence and power to help bring some order to this post-Blip society. He went tried to retreat and fade into the background, but things are escalating, and Pepper - who had also tried to stay in the background - is concerned that there are things happening maybe because of their inaction. She's got an idea. She wants to get Steve into political office, and she's going to appeal to his sense of duty (which she can do because it's the guilt she's also feeling). He'll agree because he trusts her judgement. For the best image, he's going to need a wife - this is a harder sell, but - again - he trusts Pepper Potts, he doesn't even need to vet the candidates, because if he's all in on this idea, he'll be all in, and he knows Pepper will pick someone who will fit the bill as his suitable trophy wife. You.

would... well would anyone be interested in any of these if I thought about actually writing them?

[schildmehdchen]

I'm still stuck in my chaotic busy life but I managed to write a tiny snippet with some of my faves for a challenge within the @dc-marvel-crossovers pool noodle event. \o/

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Rorkoun

CR 6

Neutral Evil Huge Aberration

Adventure Path: Kingmaker: Rivers Run Red, pg. 86-87

These absolutely bizarre aberrations slither through the lightless waterways and endless, inky depths of the Darklands, making their homes in tight crevasses no creature of their size should be able to fit in and emerging to gorge themselves on whatever creature may pass by. Able to cram themselves into tiny cracks thanks to their boneless, semiliquid body, victims may not even realize one's there until its teeth are already closing around them!

When discovered in cavern waterways closer to the surface, Rorkoun are typically found nesting in pools or bogs near the hideouts of goblinoids and mite/mitflits, because their alien intellect registers two facts: they cannot stand the flavor of goblins and mitflits, but both of those creatures often bring in what the Rorkoun truly enjoy, the (say it with me now) flesh of sapient humanoids. While normally these creatures are opportunistic ambush predators, Rorkoun fill a strange niche in the Darklands: that of the guardian to small raider tribes. Not out of loyalty, but because goblins and mitflits both love to antagonize nearby civilizations, which invites reprisal from those civilizations, and that reprisal comes in the form of delicious morsels the Rorkoun truly enjoys to feed on; any actual guarding it does is purely incidental. While goblins often believe the twisted abominations to be protector beasts that guard them from the retribution of dwarves, drow, and other Darklands denizens, their fanatic belief often blinds them to the fact that the Rorkoun only ever attack invaders until it manages to grab onto a morsel or two and dive back into the waters to enjoy its meal, leaving the rest to do as they will.

Rorkoun strike like the snakes they just barely resemble, lashing their lengthy bodies from their watery homes in the hopes of Grabbing onto a target and either constricting them to death or pulling them into the water to drown. They have a 15ft space and a 15ft reach, making shorelines in the Darklands even more precarious than they already were, and their strength and size can spell doom for single targets that get grabbed by their bite or their coiling slam attack. The bite of one of these creatures deals 2d6+7 damage, the slam 2d6+3, and both of them Grab anything they hit. Anything that can't break the grapple takes an additional 2d6+7 damage each round from constriction, but the primary danger is being dragged into the water and swiftly drowned; even breaking free of the grapple doesn't end the danger, because most creatures pulled underwater--especially ones which rely on bludgeoning weapons--have their offensive options drop to nearly zero. It's difficult to fight back or gain any meaningful distance before the horror just grabs them again next round!

If you think you're safe taking to the air or being able to walk on water, they have a disgusting way around that, too, by horking up Gobs of their horrid mass at targets within 30ft as ranged touch attacks. Anything hit by a Gob takes 1d6 damage from the impact and must succeed a DC 19 Reflex save or become entangled in the slime, plummeting to the ground if they're in the air, sinking if they're swimming, and becoming stuck in place if they're on solid earth. This technique is especially dangerous when aimed at foes already engaging goblins and gremlins alike, as being entangled usually assures a swift and horrible demise by countless thrusting spears and cutting daggers. Mercifully, any amount of Acid damage destroys a Gob completely and utterly, allowing Wizards with Acid Splash to free themselves and their allies without risking too many resources, and Rorkoun themselves have a Vulnerability to Acid that means bringing acid flasks and Acid Arrow into the depths is a good move.

Rorkoun are incentivized to use their slime as a support projectile, as tribes of goblins near their homes will usually throw such victims into the water for them to feed upon like a sacrifice. Without other monsters helping them kill creatures that were gobbed up, any creature that gets outside of their reach and stays out is typically safe. "Stay away from the water" is the surest way to avoid having to get into combat at all with these things, and while not always feasible, taking the battle away from the shoreline assures no third party attacks will leap from the depths to assault the party. The threat posed by these tentacle monsters is immense, but the Rorkoun need this massive threat radius because of a crippling weakness: Aquatic Dependency. Their lives swiftly end if they spend even a single round without their space intersecting a source of water, their bodies painfully and "violently" dehydrating the second they're not drawing water into themselves. They take 1 point of damage the first round they're not touching the water, then 2 the next, 3 the one after, then 4, 5, 6, so on and so forth until they either slip their body back into the water or die horribly. The process is stated to be so painful that Rorkoun will only bear it if they're literally on the verge of starving to death, and otherwise will never risk leaving the water for any reason or any length of time.

Before we wrap up, let's talk quickly about something unusual and unique about them: Deathwatch. This ability isn't listed anywhere in their Special Abilities block, nor is it a Universal Monster Ability, and it's not listed under constant spell-likes as it technically should. I'd consider this a printing error if it weren't for the fact that Deathwatch as a spell exists, and it's a fairly useful spell for something that's an opportunistic ambush predator: It allows the Rorkoun to constantly assess the health states of living creatures around it, letting it know which one to focus its wrath on as the easiest target, and how to avoid hidden Undead, unappetizing Constructs, or creatures who are too full of vigor for it to bother with. It's a 30ft cone, which also allows the Rorkoun to track prey in complete darkness, prey which is invisible or hard to spot, or sense when something (perhaps even something wounded) walks or swims past its hiding spot so it can spring out like a snake in a peanut can.

You can read more about them here.

[distort-opia]

Bruce: another day volunteering at the gotham vigilant shift. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the clown. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

They're having their cigarette break. It's been a long day and they've just hopped off panel for five minutes while the DC writers currently pretend they know what they're doing, bringing in the next arc.

Clark [thoughtfully]: Didn't they have you guys, like, die together in a pool of blood shaped like a heart?

Bruce [exasperated]: They also had your wife tell you WE'RE married!! How does my character manage being so GAY and yet so UNFUCKABLE--

[dreamofjoys]

DAY 1 KINKTOBER 2023

7 min in heaven? More like 7 days inside you!

Main Masterlist + Rules / Next Day of kinktober

A/N: Please read the rules on my kinktober 2023 main masterlist before proceeding. Rule breakers will be blocked.

Characters involved (separated): Malleus draconia(TWST), Wriothlesly(Genshin), Ayato(Genshin), Nanook(HSR), Luo Cha(HSR)

Sypnosis: After getting officially married, you and your husband decided to finally go to your long awaited 7 days honeymoon in a resort at private island specially reserved by your husband! Those 7 days were meant to be fun and relaxing, but why are you so tired by the end of it?

C/W: Fem reader, possessive, slight implications of yandere at nanook's part, jealousy, fingering, squirting, begging, praising, overstimulation, luocha having nasty/bad ideas. This story takes place for 7 days (7 fics)

BY OPENING THE TAB BELOW, YOU CONSENT TO READ DC/SMUT WRITING + HAVE READ THE RULES

Day 1 Scenario

"Here's the room that is specially reserved for you. Please enjoy your stay here, my lord and milady." The butler bowed before closing the door to give you and your husband some private time alone. Your eyes sparkled in joy as you take in the magnificent sight in front of you. This was more than a room. It was a grand suite that consist of a living room, kitchen, a master bed room and two guest room. The furniture was decorated in luxurious gold and red colour that was made fitted for royalty. You decided to explore the master bed room first. As expected, you were not disappointed by the results. The whole room was well lighted up due to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which provided a magnificent view to the outside, which is the sea. A king size bed was placed in the middle of the room, with a plush looking set of tables and chairs beside it. There was another door at the side, which you can only assume that it leads to the bathroom. "This place is so cool!" You exclaimed, twirling around in excitement before landing on the bed with a oompf sound. Your husband trails behind you, humming in approval at the service that they were given. It seems like he was satisfied from the abundance of money he had spent on this honeymoon trip. "How did you get to know this place?" You looked at your husband who has taken his place beside you, twirling a strand of your hair around his index finger and thumb. "I did some extensive research to make sure that everything was to your liking." His hand switches to caress your cheek, before sliding down to the plum of your boobs, and further down to the swell of your ass. "What's wrong?" You blinked innocently, trying to the shake off your excitement at your husband's actions, but the wet poolness in between your legs says otherwise. He knows you are aroused when he finally slips a finger into your labia, your slick easily coating him as he starts finger fucking you. "That butler has some nerves to check you out while I right infront of him." You spread your legs wider, eager to welcome your husband's digit while he rambles off about how it's rude to stare at one's wife. "Don't hold back your moans, I need you to scream."

𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗨𝗦 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗔

He was a god at making you squirm around just by his mere fingers alone, curling it on a "C" motion, deliberately applying pressure onto that one spot that he knows will have you screaming his name out.

"I can tell that the butler likes you." Another finger in and he had you begging him for more. "Ma-malleus! There please!"

"Am I making you feel good? Say it and I will give you more."

"Ye-yes yes!" You start rutting your hips on his fingers, your toes curling when he manages to hit a even deeper and delicate spot inside you. "You make me feel so good! Malleus please!"

Malleus hums in satisfaction at your begging. His free hand toying with your sensitive clit, rubbing it in a fast circular motion, prompting you to release all over his hands as you let out the lewdest and loudest moan.

𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗬

"Sh-shit-"

"No bad words sweet heart, or else I might throw you into jail. But that would be better right? That way, no man will ever looking at you."

Wriothelesly carefully scissors your hole open, wanting to test how much your cunt can open up just by finger fucking you alone. "Are you tired already? I haven't stretched you to the size of my cock yet." Each time his fingers stretches you open, you whine at the cool air breezing through your vagina, reminding you of how empty it feels inside.

"Want your big cock please-" Wriothlesly raises an eyebrow at your statement, intrigued at your boldness. "Sweetie, if you want me to fuck you nice and good, you need to scream for it."

𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗬𝗔𝗧𝗢

"Yato, faster please?"

"I can't hear you, dear."

"Fa-faster please!"

"It seems like my hearing is having a problem today. Dear, would you mind screaming what you want out loud?" His fingers were thrusting into you at an agonizingly slow pace, so much so that you want to just fuck yourself on his fingers, but the steady grip on your waist says otherwise.

"PLEASE FUCK YOUR FINGERS IN FASTER, AYATO!" One moment you were screaming at your request, the next moment you were screaming and moaning at his slender long fingers repeatedly pressing onto your sweet spots, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the sudden waves of pleasure.

"Mhm, that's more like it." Ayato smiles, feeling satisfied that you had gave in to his teasing once again.

𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗢𝗞

The Aeon of Destruction lives only to destroy, and that includes abusing your insides with his whole fist in.

"Na-nanook! We just started. Please hah slow down a little!"

"What for?" He clicks his tongue in annoyance, mind still preoccupied with the filthy butler who dared to look at you. "Im just doing what I normally use to do." The room was filled with the sound of your slick squelching as Nanook fist his hand into you like a punching bag. You wanted to move away from him, feeling overwhelmed by his fisting but he only pulls you back, lightly scolding you not to run away from him.

"Wa-wait, Im gonna-" He groans when he feels your wall tightening around his fist, clear liquid shooting out of your hole and onto his muscular arms. "Did you just squirt on me? Wife, you are really cute."

𝗟𝗨𝗢 𝗖𝗛𝗔

"Soon honey, I know you are going to come any moment now." Luo cha murmurs, seemingly focusing on pleasuring you with his skilled fingers.

"Luo-Luocha, a bit more on the right please! Ah yes, there!" Your high pitch moans drives Luocha insane. He might be burning with jealously at the butler who was previous oogling at your figure, but his focus has somehow switched to wanting to give you the best sexual experience ever.

"Don't hold yourself back, hun." Luocha fiddles with your bundles of nerves, encouraging the knot on your stomach to release and flood over his hands and staining the clean bedsheet with your juices.

A sinister thought of asking the butler to come in and change the bedsheet had appeared in Luocha's mind......

[rontra]

I have a question about CTDE zatanna's backstory. How do you interpret the medulla jewel? I mean both the impact it has on her story and powers. Also does the hidden city play a big role or not really?

zatanna nation alive and well in my inbox today... welcome... and you're activating my CTDE Ramble Mode 😭 here we go again (puts in a readmore) but thank you for asking!

god the fucking medulla jewel. i mean the thing is.

i MEAN. the THING is.

even DC didn't really seem to know how to interpret that thing. it's shown up like twice or whatever Back In The Day and it was all quite vague and then they stopped talking about it forever. so it never really crossed my mind as something i should factor in to be honest 😭 but now that it's been brought up i'm considering if it might be useful in some way...

well, CTDE Zee's power level has always been primarily a result of her immense experience (never ask a magician her age), which is plenty sufficient for my general purposes. her long training, lived experience, and intricate know-how are the main vehicle, wrapped around an engine of her raw magical power. taking the medulla jewel as a type of magical power source (as presented), it might serve as a means to support the immense pool of resources at her disposal...

primarily i would hate for it to be the Sole Culprit behind her strength since there are Other Reasons she's like this (lol) but i think it could definitely be a Factor (and help explain the truly Zany stunts Arc 3 demands of her, which are so immense they almost kill her lmao)

...i suppose there's a few ways to conceptualize it for my purposes without sundering the 'verse like for example

the jewel is an "innate source of magic" that actively supplies her with a constant flow of power

the jewel is a "battery" that passively stores excess power to be used whenever needed

the jewel is a "philosopher's stone" that transmutes base magic into effective spells directly, circumventing traditional casting methods/costs (essentially, casting for free)

the jewel is a "lens" that focuses magic and gives spells a buff to concentrated power, like a magnifying glass under the sun

something else or a combination

for my purposes and the role she plays in the AU, a combination of #2 and #3 feels more compelling to me than something like #1. Since the CTDE is running "magic always has a cost" rules, a big thing about zee's bad vibe is her non-committal relationship with actually paying—if the medulla jewel provides an innate "bank" of some magical resource, which she can choose to "trade" with the universe in order to immediately cast For Free, that suits her type just fine. her coin on a string for the vending machine of magic, if you will

but it should have a theoretical limit, so making it a "battery pool" that runs low Eventually and needs to recharge (by skimming magic off the world around her) is OK. how to manage her bank of resources—whether to do regular safe invocation or cosmic trickery or just cast from her cheater freebie pool—should be (at least in theory) a choice she makes when bending the universe around her

(her level is so immense that in like 99% of cases she could just freecast without thinking about it) (but the 1% of spells that she needs to Actually Think About is what we're concerned with preserving, so that's still okay)

if she has that funny thing built-in, she probably spent a lot of her training time refining and practicing how to use it and how magic interacts with it. which means she would probably have to Know About All Of That beforehand. which brings us back to the Hidden City Sindella Lore huh.

well when it comes to her parents and stuff, CTDE Zee does play the same general tune--so it's possible some variation of Sindella's Fun Battery Pack plot did happen. this part of the CTDE backstory i havent really delved into bc it hasn't been relevant/important to the main plot of the AU but honestly.... maybe it would be fun to tinker with those components and assemble something

if a variant version of that did happen and sindella was being used to power the hidden city's hidden city-ing, zee would know enough to refine her own Working Relationship with the Magic Brainstone. but also i did Simply Assume and mark sindella as "dead" in my chart earlier, so it probably didn't end much better for herBHJDJMKS

ahhh... we hardly knew ye...

if a version of that stuff happened its probably backstory/not SUPER foreground to her present-time CTDE storyline . since she has some other major shit going on nowadays . but it mightve still been a pretty important part of the backstory...hmm....

it might even prove useful for me down the road, in plotting some of the foggy areas, maybe? i could probably use a hidden city or two, they're convenient to have aroundHDHJBFD

(imagining fondly) the peak Evil Motherhood Theme moment of the CTDE will be when zee takes everyone back to the hidden city and is like Yeah so they sucked my mom DRY here and NOT in a good way. she Died! & theyre all like "ohhh. this is why youre like this"

haha no idk..hm... it's compelling. i'll have to think of a way to use it. if nothing else youve given me something to think about.... in my zee cave...

[wilsondick-winterexchange]

WDWE Day 3

The Wilson fam would like to invite you to join them on the third day of celebrating the bond between the most iconic murderous DC family and their favorite boy in blue... It's the WilsonDick season💙🧡

We know you're excited to check out the new works, but first, please don't forget to double-check the warnings and tags before proceeding!

WORKS

the warmest spring [ART] for NyxKvistad [Mature, No Warnings Apply] [Dick/Wintergreen]

Summary:

A chance meeting at the beginning of 1954 brings two strangers together.

Invisible Mercies [FANFIC] for greeneyedfirework [Gen, Teen, Chose Not to Use Warnings] [Dick & Slade & Joey & Grant]

Summary:

Robin wakes up in the lair of an unknown enemy: a masked mercenary calling himself Deathstroke the Terminator. Six hours ago, the Teen Titans dragged a dying Ravager off the battlefield and spirited him away to Titans Tower to save his life. These two things may or may not be related.

Test Run [FANFIC] for inabsurd [Explicit, Chose Not to Use Warnings] [Dick/Slade, Dick/Joey]

Summary:

Dick really should know better than to be alone with an alpha like Joey's dad.

Broken Crown [FANFIC] for lordwisteria [Explicit, Rape/Non-Con] [Dick/Grant, Dick/Slade]

Summary:

The Wilson Pack is infamous for their highly lucrative slave trade, for their ruthless methods and for the quick and efficient way they tame and re-sell unruly slaves. The latest addition to their Omega pool is a pretty little thing who refuses to either bend or break, but instead of doing it the hard way, pack Alpha Slade Wilson decides to use the opportunity to teach something to one of his pups.

A Family That Plays Together, Stays Together [FANFIC] for Zero_Ducks [Explicit, Rape/Non-Con, Underage][Dick/Grant/Joey/Slade]

Summary:

Dick had a simple choice to make. Submit himself to The Terminator or let his friends die. With a blood oath and magic at his enemies' disposal, Dick finds himself caught in the web of their revenge and desires. Will The Terminator's plan to make Dick the family Omega succeed, or will Dick finally manage to escape his basement prision?

probably still adore you with your hands around my neck [FANFIC] for Leymonaide [Explicit, Chose Not to Use Warnings] [Dick/Addie/Slade]

Summary:

“Do you regularly show up at people’s doors at 3 am or am I really special?” There’s a glock already aimed at Dick’s face. Adeline Kane’s stern features swim in and out of his unsteady frame of view. Dick has just enough cognizance to remember she’s not who he’s looking for. “Sl- Sl- Slade,” he hisses through chattering teeth. And then he’s out.

[angusbyrne]

LOCATION: The game room🎱 DATE: Monday, September 5, 2005, mid-morning Closed starter for @themickey

With more care than a casual, one-person bout of pool required, Angus gathered the billiard balls out of the pockets they'd been left in. At his private social club, back in DC, they had several tables—carom, English-style, Russian pyramid, and snooker. His ability to hold his own there was largely thanks in part to the time he spent in the game room at Woodrow House, even before he became an official resident. The one here was a classic, English 8-ball table; the old felt was the same soft, deep green. He couldn't resist fooling around with it for a moment.

Angus took the triangle rack off the wall-mounted cue holder, his attention only momentarily caught by the sound of another person entering the room. "Good morning," he greeted Mickey, as warmly as he could manage when he wasn't typically a warm person and he'd barely had any sleep the night before. There was also the matter, of course, of an ongoing scavenger hunt that he was all too willing to ignore for a little bit. There was an irrational part of him that thought, maybe, if he pretended not to care about finding a clue, then one would fall into his lap as the day went on. Maybe. He moved to rack the balls, starting with the 1-ball at the apex.

"Alison's beat the both of us in here, I do have to inform you," he continued, then gestured over to the scene where Alison's discovery occurred. "She found a clue on the dartboard."

[aprocessionofthoughts]

To sink or swim

whumptober2023 day 10- stranded fandom- Danny phantom x dc TW- panic summary- After a portal spits Danielle out onto an abandoned island she has to try everything she can to get back home.

ao3 masterlist

Danielle had been exploring Europe when a natural portal opened up in front of her. She was flying too fast to stop or turn and so tumbled through it, landing roughly on the ground on the other side.

She groaned and rolled over onto her back. The sky was clear overhead and she didn’t hear the sounds of people nearby. All she could hear were birds and ocean waves. She grunted as she sat up and looked around. It looked like she was on a beach.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to visit Stonehenge another day.” She huffed, brushing sand off her before freezing for a moment and then going intangible. Sheesh, forgetting powers was supposed to be Danny’s thing, not hers.

“Okay, a quick trip around the island to find out where I am and then I can head out.” 

The island has a small mountain at its center which she avoids. It has bad vibes. But the rest of the island is your typical deserted tropical island. This of course gives her no clue which direction she should fly in.

She glances around but there isn’t any other land visible. Flying up and looking at everything from a higher perspective doesn’t change that. Though she thinks she spots a coral reef circling the island.

The sun is still pretty high up so she figures she can just pick a direction to fly and eventually she’ll come across some land.

But as she gets farther from the island she starts to feel tired and her limbs start to tremble. She almost falls into the water before she decides to head back. 

She collapses onto the beach, panting. “What in the world?” She waits for a few hours till she feels back to normal before picking a different direction to fly. 

The same thing happens.

“Uggh.” She collapses back into the sand. Whatever. She’d just explore the mountain.  She flew in that direction ignoring the apprehension she felt as she drew nearer. 

A cave was easier enough to spot. Maybe too easy. But whatever. She started to notice a glow up ahead. Sunlight? No. It looked wrong. Even as Ellie grew more apprehensive she kept approaching. It felt like she was being tugged towards the center of the mountain.

And then she was at the opening of a giant chamber, illuminated by a glowing green pool that was large enough that Ellie could hardly see the other side.

It looked like ectoplasm but felt wrong. It felt rotten. It prickled at her skin, yet at the same time seemed to draw her nearer. 

She stumbled back struggling to look away. Finally, she turned and flew out, collapsing back on the beach.

What was that?

She shivered. 

She had to get out of here. She flew up. If she was high enough she could probably get out of range of whatever was keeping her from flying too far.

Then she slammed into something solid and barely managed to keep herself from falling from the sky. She looked up and noticed a strange shimmer in the sky.

A ghost shield? But that didn’t make sense? Why would there be a ghost shield way out here? And yet, no matter where she tried, whatever it was kept her from flying too high.

Fine then. She dove into the ground, and immediately she had to pull herself back up. She gagged and shook, her skin covered in a thin sheen of the rank ectoplasm.

What was this place? 

She pulled herself into the cover of the trees and huddled by the base of a trunk. It was getting dark. She’d keep trying in the morning.

Before she could fall asleep, she looked out over the ocean and noticed a faint green glow coming from where she thought the coral reefs were. 

A familiar green glow.

Ectoranium. 

She started to shake, glancing around widely. And now that she looked everything felt wrong. The birds had too many eyes, the monkeys hadn’t even made a sound and their fur shone slightly purple, the plants were weird colors too and moved in a nonexistent breeze.

Oh, Ancients.

Where was she?

What hellscape had she landed in?

She was trapped.

Stranded on an island that pulsed with rank ectoplasm, surrounded by ectoranium.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to go home!