#an implausible sandwich!!!!

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

so i'm writing an 8th year fic and h&d are taking a muggle studies class together in which they read one of shakespeare's plays, and i'm trying to write a final project (for which they are partners) but like. hogwarts academics don't seem all that uhhhhh rigorous to me (like we see the students complaining about having to write a foot of parchment which is essentially ONE PAGE HANDWRITTEN) and i'm a little worried that my assignment is too rigorous.

it involves a lot of like. thinking analytically and using your imagination wrt the motivations of people unlike yourself, and that's not rlly something they do much at hogwarts as far as i can see. BUT it is muggle studies, and like. they could definitely all use some practice at those skills, following the recent implosion of their society.

[omgeto]

☆ THRILL (h)ER! — SATOSUGU X READER

summary: when watching a scary movie with your two best friends, you cant help but hold onto them tight every time you get jumpscared. but as the night goes on and your fingers roam... wait, what movie were you watching again?

wc: 3.3k (its alll smut guys so give me a medal)

cw: double penetration, praising, slight degradation, gojo and geto bickering, fingering, dirty talk (?) and some fun loving you're their pretty little princess. afab!reader, MDNI

an: guys look I finally posted a fic for kinktober, yay me, I hope you like it since Id say the smut on this one hits different sooo give it a chance. also only big brains will understand the fic title.

KINKTOBER M.LIST.

your best friends, gojo and geto always have a way of making you feel right at home, especially when you find yourself in your favourite spot on the couch – sandwiched between them. geto's embrace is a gentle yet possessive one, his arms wrapped around you in a tender hold that radiates warmth, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your lower back.

to your side, gojo's long limbs seamlessly entwine with yours. your legs stretch over to meet him, creating an intimate tangle of limbs. his fingers trail leisurely up and down your thighs, their teasing caresses sending delightful shivers through your body. it's a familiar and electric sensation that's become an unspoken language among the three of you—one that hasn’t fully been enacted upon… yet.

"i don't know why you insist we watch this movie every year," geto complains, his gaze locked onto his b est friend, a playful frustration in his tone. "you're so predictable."

"oh, don't be a bore," gojo retorts, matching geto's glare before shifting his attention down to you. his voice is laced with mischief as he speaks to you. "you find it fun, don't you?" 

“what? do i like crappy slashers from the 80s with big titted damsels running from a shitly costumed killer?” you deadpan, your sarcasm evident. you could feel the vibration from geto as he lowly chuckles. gojo’s face forms a pout that prompts you to quickly add, “but i love them.”

gojo’s pout transforms into a triumphant grin as your admission earns you a playful nudge from him. “that’s my girl,” he exclaims, giving your thigh an excited rub as he turns on the movie.

geto, still chuckling softly, leans in closer. “well, i suppose if toru enjoys it, we can endure it one more time.” his words carry a hint of tenderness, his arm around you tightening ever so slightly, puling you closer into his embrace.                                                                            

you watch the movie in a comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the tv and gojo's oddly placed screams that you've come to expect every year. his over-the-top reactions to jump scares and gruesome scenes never fail to amuse you, and it's a source of endless entertainment for both you and geto.

geto, on the other hand, watches the movie with a more stoic expression, occasionally shaking his head at the implausible plot twists and unrealistic gore. His hand continues to rest on your thigh, his fingers now tracing soothing patterns as if to counterbalance the tension on the screen.

as the movie progresses, you notice how both gojo and geto steal glances at you when they think you're not looking, as their innocent touches progress into heavy petting. but there's a moment where you all pause, their movements stop, and you all look at each other as the loud sounds of exaggerated moans blare from the screen.

“i always forget this scene is in there,” gojo lies, with a snicker, an appreciative smile forming on his face as he watches the scene.gojo's arm remains draped around your shoulders, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm, while geto's touch has grown increasingly intimate, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles.

“oh don’t bullshit satoru,” geto accuses, taking his hand off of you for a second to send a jab into gojo’s side, “i know you’re getting off on watching this ditzy blonde getting laid.”

“not true,” gojo retorts childishly, “i think there’s better sights to get off on, isn’t that right?” he finishes casting his eyes, not so subtly, over to you.

“well i can’t lie and say the sights aren’t… appealing,” geto grins his hands coming back on you, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“you two are such guys,” you laugh, trying to remain nonchalant even though on the inside the pace of your heart was quickening, and every touch of their fingers sends jolts straight to your core. “you’re focusing on the wrong things here.”

“and what should we be focusing on here?” geto murmurs at you, you couldn’t see his face but you knew a smirk was plastered across it. his challenge hangs in the air as you pause, hesitating as you scan the room, your eyes meeting gojo’s trying to gauge if they are thinking what you are. geto can sense your hesitation as he feels your breathing still as you lean against him, so he pulls his finger under your chin turning your head to face him. “let us focus on you, come here.”

you lean in, his lips enclosing on yours in a deep kiss, you turn your body almost straddling him so you could get better access. his tongue enters your mouth, as his hands work down your body, and as the kiss intensifies, you’re aware of gojo’s gaze on you. you extend an inviting hand toward him, flashing him a smile as you pull away from geto and set your lips on your other friend.

gojo groans as your lips work with his, and his hands go straight into his pants, fisting his dick that has been hard all night just at the sight of you. geto cascades kisses down your neck as he starts to pull your shirt up off of you, you gasp at the feeling of both of their hands and lips all over you.

“h-how long have you two been planning this one then, huh?” you grin, a laugh escaping through your moans, as you let geto get rid of your shirt, assisting gojo with taking off your pants. 

“how long have we known you?” geto responds rhetorically, and gojo nod in agreement, as they both take off their jogging bottoms, leaving you all sitting on the couch in your underwear. there is no more hesitation, or uncertainty between you three—you all know exactly what you want.

“so who gets to have me first?” you joke, your eyes darting between the two of them, their lustful eyes are unmistakable as they stare at your body, their dicks straining against their boxers ready to be suffocated by your tight pussy.

“i get to!” gojo sputters out quickly, but he’s not as swift as geto who’s already pulled you back onto him, his fingers pushing into you without any warning. your mouth parts, as you let out a whine, as his long digits give your pussy fast, relentless strokes, he adds another finger, smirking as your body buckles against his. “hey no fair!” gojo pouts, side eyeing geto, but he can’t help biting his lip as he hears your cunt squelch everytime his best friend shoves his fingers into it.

“don’t worry, ‘toru,” geto reassures, his fingers curling up into you before he pulls it out swiftly, spreading your pussy apart and giving gojo a knowing look, “there’s room for the both of us.”

gojo eagerly drives his fingers into you from behind, his body pressing against yours as he charges your fingers into you. your moans increase as you feel a flurry of digits explore your pussy, gojo’s hand grips on his shoulder and geto hand holds your waist as they both tug your body back and forth in an attempt to get you closer to them.

“s-shit” you cry out, as you clench around their fingers, trying to keep them inside of you. you grind down against both of their fingers, your whimpers encouraging them to twist and push their fingers deeper into you.

“you see how much of a mess she gets for us?” geto asks gojo with a low chuckle, and gojo nods, smiling as the wetness of your pussy allows for his fingers to slide into you with ease, “press down on her clit. hard.”

“don’t tell me what to do,” gojo mutters, but he does it anyway. his thumb going straight to your clit, pushing down on it, smirking as you groan your back arching right into him. 

“see i told you,” geto chimes, laughing as gojo glares at him. geto’s focus shifts to you, as he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to your mouth, he holds your chin, placing his thumb on your bottom lip as he raises his eyebrows at you for permission. you nod lazily, opening your mouth, accepting two of his fingers —which are drenched in your juices. “‘toru, you gonna finish her off for me.”

gojo smirks, his fingers working in overdrive, as he adds another digit inside of you and you could feel yourself about to release. geto can tell you're close from the way you bite down on his fingers. “you close? you gonna cum on satoru’s fingers as you taste yourself?”

you couldn’t even respond, as your cum sprays all over gojo’s fingers and geto’s stomach. the boys both smirk at each other, as they hear your high pitched moans and see heaps of your cum spilling out of your pussy running down your thighs. gojo is in awe, his fingers still remain in you and he pushes them up lazily, trying to keep you plugged with your cum. you relax onto his fingers, letting him do as he pleases, as you try and catch your breath your body slumping onto geto’s.

“you did so well,” geto praises in his air, lifting up your head off your chest, pecking your lips softly. “you took both of our fingers letting us stretch your tight pussy, it felt good didn’t it?” 

“y-yeah it felt so good sugu,” you sigh, turning your head to face gojo, as you pull him closer into you, “you both felt so good.”

“you wanna let us stuff you further?” gojo questions eagerly, his hard dick resting on your ass, as rocks against you.

“satoru,” geto reprimands, shaking his head at his friends over excitement. but gojo shoots him a look shrugging as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, practically inhaling you.

“but suguru, she wants us both to stuff her,” he argues, as fingers already go back to your sobbing cunt. “you want that dont you?” he whispers, directly in your ear, slowly coaxing your pussy with soft strokes as he murmurs in your ear. “you want me and sugu to shove our dicks right up your pussy, together.”

“i don’t know if i can…” you hesitate, your voice faltering, but you pull your lip between your teeth, closing your eyes as you think about taking both of them.

“c’mon pretty girl,” geto persuades you, forcing you to open your eyes and look at the teasing smirk on your face, “don’t think we don’t know how slutty you can be. you know your greedy little cunt take both of us with ease, and you want it to, don't you?” you nod your head slowly in agreement, but geto shakes his, “no, we need to hear you say it. use your words. tell us what you want.”

“i want your dicks to stuff my pussy,” you admit, feeling your confidence grow as the smirk on geto’s face widens and you can hear gojo lowly growl in your ear. “i need it.”

“well we have to give our girl what she wants, right sugu?” gojo taunts, pulling you off of gojo and onto his lap, his dick slaps against your pussy. “suguru got to see your pretty face, before, so this time you’re all mine, okay?” gojo says to you, and you could hear geto kiss his teeth, but he obliges letting gojo have his way this time. 

“you ready for me?” gojo asks, waiting for your approval as he lifts you up slightly over his dick, he even looks over to geto he leans back against the couch, with his dick in his hand. you don’t even answer gojo, sliding down onto gojo as you moan together.

geto fists his dick at the sight, “go on satoru, fuck her,” he orders, his strokes increasing as he watches as gojo begin to thrust into you. your hands press down on gojo’s shoulder’s as you start to bounce on him, you lean forward whining straight in his ear, causing him fuck you harder.

gojo plays with your bra strap, pulling it and letting it release against your shoulder, “i don’t know why you’ve still got this on,” he complains, as brings his hands to the clasp of your bra, undoing it. your tits bounce as he pulls off your bra, and both boys smile at the sight. gojo’s fingers pull against both of your nipples, twisting and pulling at them causing you to cry at every tug. “so sensitive,” he mutters to himself, touching your tits inquisitively as he continues to toy with them, loving how with every touch your cries grow louder.

“it’s crazy how we stretched you so well earlier, but your pussy is still tight as fuck,” gojo comments, his words punctuated with every thrust. “i had all my fingers inside of you already, but your cock hungry cunt just can’t seem to get enough.”

“is he fucking you good?” geto calls, feeling himself about to cum, as he rubs against his dick hard. you look over to him and smile, nodding quickly as you wrap your hands around gojos neck, clinging to him as his dick drives into you. geto stands up, coming up behind you pressing a kiss on your neck, “you need me to help get you off?”

“she doesn’t need anything from you, i’m doing just fine,” gojo mumbles, but he lets you slightly raise up off of his dick and he smirks as he feels geto join him, geto’s dick presses against gojo in excitement as they wait in anticipation for you to enclose them with your pussy. 

“don’t be nervous,” geto coos from behind you, nipping at your ear. you look at gojo and he gives you an encouraging nod, and you slide back down onto them hissing in slight pain as you feel them both enter you. “it’s okay pretty, you’re doing so so well,” geto continues to reassure you, pressing soothing kisses down your neck, his lips sucking at your flesh. you all pause as you fully take them both in, and you feel the pain subside smiling at gojo giving him permission to move. 

geto follows suit, and you all move in tandem, fucking against each other. gojo places his hands on your ass, pushing your cheeks in pace with his movements whereas geto’s hands cup your tits, holding them firmly as he spreads his fingers over your nipples, rolling them.

“fu-fuck you two are too big, you can’t” you whine, clawing against gojo’s chest. they were both drilling into you relentlessly, you couldn’t catch your breath as every second you were being double stuffed with dick. tears spring to your eyes, as you cry out in pleasure, grinding down against them trying to get as much as them as possible. 

“if only you could see how slutty our girl looks,” gojo says to geto, as he watches your head fall back, another moan escaping your lips. “her eyes are all glossed over, she’s fucking crying, all slutted out on our dicks right now.”

“is that so?” geto mutters, he forces himself into you deeper, his back hitching up against yours, his clench on your tits tightening as he inches himself in your pussy, his hips slapping against you. “she’s such a good slut, i knew she’d be able to take us well, and look she’s loving it, already creaming all over us, isn’t that baby?”

you nod, your hand coming up to hold geto’s head as he nestles into your neck. you were losing your train of thought, you wanted to tell them how good they felt, how their dicks rubbing against each other in you was all you needed for the rest of you life, but when you open your mouth all that can leave your lips is incoherent words and moans. 

both of them smile, watching as you come undone on their dicks. gojo gives geto a nod, and their hands trade places. gojos fingers coming back to your tits, rubbing and pushing them apart before lowering his head to your chest, nuzzling your boobs. gojo and geto were so close that some things between them didn’t need to be spoken, and they were so close to you that they knew your body in and out. they knew when to push and pull, and where to suck just to get you cumming their lap.

“i’m s-so close, i’m gonna cu—” you try and speak out, but your mind is too far gone for you to finish. their dicks slip out of you as your bounces become sloppy, the pleasure too much for you but geto forces you back muttering reassurance in your neck. and the sudden contact causes you to cum, you release all over both them, but they don’t stop their movements, their dicks driving into you still, pushing back in all the cum you were letting out.

“satoru, we gonna give our girl one final stuffing?” geto prompts, and gojo nods, they both give you one final push and you could feel your pussy stretch as their cum sprays your walls. you wail out, the tears streaming your face as your body jerks forward, feeling their dicks go limp inside of you as you all pant in pleasure.

“that was fucking amazing,” gojo praises, a blissful smile on his face as he leans back his head resting on his arms. you return his smile, your lips meeting his in a quick kiss, that he groans at as you pull away. you come off his dick slowly, all of your eyes staring at the ropes of cum that immediately spill out of your pussy as he unplugs you. 

geto turns your head to face him, his dick still lodged deeply inside of you, he pulls you into a long kiss, his mouth smothering yours. he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, roughly biting down on it before releasing you, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to stare up at him “you’re mine, my pretty slutty mess.”

“um she’s ours,” gojo chimes in, but geto shrugs, not caring to listen to your other friend. geto, finally pulls you off his dick, and your pussy clenches around nothing, already missing the feeling of their dicks.

“you too always know to take good care of me,” you exhale, exhausted your pussy sore about being stretched open by the two of them. geto pulls you back into his original hold, leaning back against his chest, and your legs stretch over gojo’s lap. but this time instead of innocent gentle touches, geto’s hands lazily tug at your nipples, and gojo caresses your naked thighs, his fingers flicking at your clit every now and again.

“that’s what friends are for,” geto muses, pressing his lips against your cheek before saying, “now satoru, are you gonna press play on this shitty movie or what?”

AN: ight so there you have it my FIRST FIC of kinktober, what do you guys think I need to hear all your thoughts since Ooooof this took me so long to write. so I hope it is worth it. also if you see my bias towards geto during this then LOOK AWAY, im sorry gojo stans but im a geto lover foreverrr. but yeahhh lmk ur thoughts stay tuned for my other kink tober fics which WILL be on time I promise smooches.

[whencyclopedia]

The Violent and Mysterious Death of Christopher Marlowe

On the evening of 30 May 1593, the sounds of a heated argument could be heard emanating from a boarding house in Deptford, a district of London on the south bank of the River Thames. Two of the boarders were quarreling over which of them should pay the bill – or ‘the reckoning’ – for the supper they had just finished. As the argument escalated, a dagger was suddenly and “maliciously” drawn and one of the men attacked the other, inflicting “two wounds on his head of the length of two inches, and of the depth of a quarter inch” (quoted in Wells, 99). The wound, though deep, was not fatal, but the wounded man now feared for his life. After a desperate struggle, he wrenched the dagger free from his attacker’s hands and gave his opponent “a mortal wound over his right eye” (ibid, 100). The attacker died instantly, according to the coroner’s report, although modern medical opinion holds that he likely lived for several minutes before succumbing to his injury.

The man who had lost his life in this apparently meaningless struggle was none other than Christopher ‘Kit’ Marlowe, the 29-year-old darling of Elizabethan theatre and poetry. Marlowe – who was about the same age as his great contemporary William Shakespeare, both born c. 1564 – had a polarizing reputation, one that led to varied reactions when news of his death spread throughout the city of London. Fellow poet George Peele lamented the loss of a literary genius, referring to Marlowe as “the darling of the muses” while Thomas Dekker imagined his soul in the Elysian Fields, resting in the shade of a large grapevine. Other contemporaries were not so sorry to hear about the loss of a man who was a notorious street brawler, atheist, and sodomite. Thomas Beard, referring to the blasphemous comments Marlowe was alleged to have made shortly before his death, was glad to “see what a hook the Lord put in the nostrils of this barking dog” (Cheney, 24). For Beard, it was hardly surprising that an unscrupulous fellow like Marlowe should meet his inglorious end in a barroom brawl.

Frizer’s Testimony

But was that truly the whole of the story? For centuries, the circumstances surrounding Marlowe’s death were shrouded in myth. Various stories abounded – from the implausible idea that he faked his own death and went on to write the plays of Shakespeare, to the more scandalous tale told by writer Francis Meres (l. 1565-1647), who alleges that Marlowe was “stabbed to death by a bawdy serving-man, a rival of his lewd love”, with ‘lewd love’ here referring to a prostitute (quoted in Wells, 62). The story recounted at the beginning of this article did not surface until 1925, when several legal documents relating to the killing were discovered by Elizabethan scholar Leslie Hotson. The documents were from a coroner’s inquiry conducted on 1 June 1593, only two days after the incident, and contain the detailed testimony of Ingram Frizer, the man who had quarreled with, and ultimately killed, Marlowe. According to Frizer, there had been four of them staying at the Deptford boarding house run by a widow named Eleanor Bull: these four guests included Frizer, Robert Poley, Nicholas Skeres, and Marlowe himself.

If Frizer’s testimony can be believed, the four men met at 10 am on the day of Marlowe’s death. They enjoyed a midday meal, during which they were “in quiet sort with one another” – presumed to mean they were getting along well – before taking a garden walk until 6 pm. After this walk came supper; according to the coroner’s inquiry, Marlowe was lying “on a bed in the room where they supped” while the other three men were sitting together, their backs toward the bed, Frizer sandwiched tightly between Poley and Skeres. Marlowe and Frizer argued over which of them would pay the bill before the poet became violent, seizing Frizer’s own dagger and attacking him. Frizer, stuck between the two other men, found that he “in no wise could take flight” and was forced to defend himself (quoted in Wells, 99). Frizer therefore claimed he had killed Marlowe purely in self-defense, a finding that the coroner’s inquiry agreed with, deciding that Frizer had indeed acted “in the defense and saving of his own life”. Marlowe was buried in a mass grave, and Frizer was granted a full royal pardon less than a month later. The case had been open-and-shut, a regrettable instance of a fight taken too far.

Or so it would seem. In fact, there are reasons to doubt that Frizer and his companions were being entirely truthful in their account of what happened. Frizer, Poley, and Skeres were all connected to the queen’s secret service – Frizer was the personal servant of the nephew of the queen’s spymaster, while Poley and Skeres were experienced agents who had helped uncover the 1586 Babington Plot to assassinate the queen. All three were known to be men of dubious character; Skeres, for instance, had a history of luring unsuspecting young men into money-lending schemes, while Poley had various connections to the criminals of London’s underworld and had once said he would rather perjure himself than say anything that would harm him. Frizer, of course, had every reason to lie, since he would be sentenced to death if convicted of murder. Thus, the testimony of this “profoundly slippery trio” – as Charles Nicholl calls them – should probably be taken with a grain of salt. What these men were doing meeting with Marlowe in the first place is unclear, although it may have had something to do with the poet’s own history – for Marlowe himself had worked for the queen’s secret service and may have even been a double agent.

Read More

⇒ The Violent and Mysterious Death of Christopher Marlowe

[floridian-vigilante]

Hiii!!!! Would you be able to do some more headcanons about Wayne being autistic?? Specifically about sensory issues or literally anything else like that, my Wayne hyperfixation is eating me alive and finding someone (you) who also agrees that he’s autistic makes me want to explode with happiness!

helloo!!! um yes ALWAYS I love talking about autistic Wayne McCullough I love these request tytyty

ok so foreword: personally i do not have any major sensory issues that impact my life from day to day, i am awaree and relatively informed of the subject enough to have some headcanons and fact check them the best i can via the search engines but if any of this is like heinously implausible i apologise profusely and owe you like a sandwich or something

Wayne McCullough sensory issues headcanons herer we go

ok so

I think overall he's more hyposensitive than hypersensitive

specifically i think he's hyposensitive to olfactory, auditory and vestibular stimuli and a mix of hypo/hypersensitive to tactile stimuli and i will elaborate now

olfactory hyposensitivity is an under-responsiveness to smell so basically he does not experience that kind of stimuli in the same way or level as most do

it's why he smells things as like a way to interact with them its a sensory seeking thing

it also means he can't pick up on smells that are obvious for other people which normally isn't too inconvenient he does his hygiene things on a schedule anyway bc it's easier to remember

but it can get kind of annoying for del sometimes because he'll burn shit in the kitchen (once in a blue moon he's otherwise a very good cook) and he doesn't even KNOW that shit lingers

"...did you burn popcorn in the microwave again?"

"uh, yeah, how'd you know?"

auditory hyposensitivity basically the same thing but with sound

he's gotten into scuffles with neighbours for blasting music unreasonably loud at unreasonably early because he likes loud music but doesn't like the way headphones feel in or on his ears

yk those channels on your tv that are static and go HCGGCHSGJJKSKJAGFGJCBSK whenever you turn them on

as a little little kid like as a baby his parents would have him watch those to soothe him

and hey they TRIED with regular baby sensory programmes they had cable but he would cry and he would scream until they put his static back on and until they put it on (relatively) LOUD

it was more of a thing when he was little but he still doesn't respond to his name sometimes, particularly in a crowded environment to a voice he doesn't recognize

vestibular hyposensitivity basically the vestibular system has to do with balancing, movement, spatial awareness that kinda thing

clumsy as shit as a kid, has barely since recovered

several times he's started fights out by swinging and missing at a person and the initial embarrassment of the fuck up kind of works as good luck because it fuels him to win

and he does, every time,,

walks into walls

walks into tables, chairs

walks into people

you get it

when he was like 6 and being a little much and his dad needed a break he'd get him to see how many times he could spin around without getting dizzy

kept him entertained for a good half hour until he got distracted

and then tactile/touch stimuli is the only one he has trouble with really

this kinda goes for taste as well most of his hypersensitivities are with foods, but more often than not it's an issue he has with the texture

I touched on what i think some of his safe foods would be in my other autistic wayne hcs post but as for his foods that he absolutely cannot stand im gonna say

anything slimy or runny, any mushy fruit or vegetables, seafood, and apples (too cold and wet and weird against his teeth)

His main tactile trigger is around physical contact with other people but he is known to experience visceral repugnance towards an inanimate texture every once and a while

his dad tried sending him to a boy scouts thing when he was like 7

then on the first day he went into the backyard trying to find his son so he could actually get him to the darn place and had found little Wayne shirtless, lighter in hand, trying to burn his uniform because he didn't like the way it scratched

anyways physical contact is a weird one for him he's very conditional about it

like 90% of the time he hates it so much it's always such a shock to his system it feels BAD

but also it's like one of his top love languages

basically he hates unexpected touch 100% of the time, he hates touch from people he doesn't trust, and certain places on his body unless it's in a very specific context he will hate to be touched in

he prefers hard touch to light touch, but if it's in a favourable context and he's in an alright mood, he doesn't mind it so much either way

weirdly he never really had to talk to Del about that because whenever she holds his hand or grabs his arm to get his attention or anything like since they've known eachother she just GRABS

little weirdo

he could not breathe right with her on that bike

but anyways in the right context with the right person he finds touch to be sooooo comforting he craves it a lil

also introception/proprioception hyposensitivity issues

he does not feel or react to pain maybe as much as he should (canon)

he also doesn't really feel any physical indication of hunger, thirst, or heat until insane extents

he is dehydrated!!!

alright thats all ive got for now i hope that came out right and i hope you are having a scrumptious day tysm for the ask this was so funn

ps. sorry it took so long and is so long here's a sandwich

pps. i found out i have vestibular, tactile and auditory hyposensitivity during the making of this post

[everythingismadeofchaos]

I like how Daredevil has the superpower to be able to follow other people around at an implausibly long distance

Like. What a crazy power. Imagine if that was your superpower

It's like jesus's superpower to create sandwiches

I mean, still, wow. Amazing. But like dude

This guy got invulnerability

This other guy runs so fast he can distort the spacetime continuum to his will

"And you can do the same thing a $500 drone could do?"

"Fly? No. Surveillance"

"What? Like you have x-ray vision?"

"No, I just follow people. But get this, I follow them from really far away"

"Amazing. A meteor is about to hit earth. Good luck"

[sp-ace-demon-art]

I scurry as fast as I can. I cannot, under any circumstances, let them catch me— the

“them” being the police guards who keep “order” in the City Down Below. I feel beads of sweat drip down my neck in a rhythm. I am holding a bag full of sandwiches that was meant to be for a group of cemetery workers, however, I do not think that is a top priority anymore. The smell of decay throws me off guard as I continue to sprint, knowing I am closing in on said cemetery, a burning in my esophagus from the concrete air sifting. I weave through graves and tombstones trying my best not to disrespect the dead.

Beginning to feel fatigued, I try to think of the reason I am sprinting in the first place— actually, I do not remember this time. I could have swiped something or solely just glowered at the guards, who knows? I take a turn and encounter a dead end. I am fucked. My mouth feels like sandpaper and my throat like insulation. The wall looms over me menacingly and jeers my existence, there is nowhere else to go and the guards have caught up to me.

I am apprehensive about what is to come after finally being seized. Look up, there appears to be an alien ship above me, something I would draw as a child. A phantasmagoric antic, the saucer emitting a luminosity surrounding me. The guards aghast, dared not to interfere with whatever was occurring. I feel my feet begin to lift off the ground; feeling like air and my mind fuzzy. Everything around me turns white.

In the City Down Below we live a harrowing and rigorous life. Most of us wake up around 7 a.m. to attend work which includes farming, burying dead bodies, burning dead bodies, mining, and other mindless jobs. I got lucky delivering sandwiches for a deli. The city is meant for a “lower class” society, the scum of the world.

The Upper Ring serves The World Beyond, usually cooking food, playing music, painting, and other tasks that could be of use or entertainment for The World Beyond (or so I’m told).

The World Beyond, however, is a whole other ball game. Everyone up there is beyond intelligent and physically exceptional to all of us beneath. I wish it could change someday, however, I am aware of how implausible that is. It is so barbarous to put some humans on a pedestal above others just because they are deemed as “worthy.” I’ve never seen the World Beyond, but I know those entitled bastards do not understand how lavish their lives are.

Connecting them all is the labyrinth. Two ways in the labyrinth connect the cities: one is a transit unit connecting the Upper Ring to the World Beyond, most of it runs outside so we can see it from down below, and the other is a physical labyrinth with tunnels throughout, almost impossible to get through. Some people from the City Down Below can enter but those are the sanitation workers and they are only allowed to stay in a certain area. Even if they wander off they would get lost.

Down here, the only thing I have going for me is my collective of colleagues. We all live in an abandoned warehouse, with cots lining the floor, a single cooler in the center of the room with bottles of water filling the brim all being used over and over again refilled with rainwater. We have a space on the roof that accommodates all the canned goods we can find. We care for each other and make sure we have a chance to survive. None of us have a family to turn to, thus we found a family with each other. The older kids take care of the younger, and some of us find jobs to aid in providing. It truly has been hard for all of us but regardless we have prevailed.

When I was younger I watched a group of elitists from the World Beyond capture and kill them right in our home. They took my younger brother with them as well, leaving me by my lonesome. The image of the corpses of my parents lay etched in my brain forever and the face of my younger sibling blurred in every memory.

**************

I open my eyes. Where.. am I? I sit up from the frigid table I was lying on. Turning my head, I see an accumulation of people engaging in physical activities; a woman jogging on a conveyor belt, and a man lifting a metal bar with weights on it. I am in my own separate room but it is detached from the rest of the area by a glass wall. The rest of the walls are painted a clean, white color, reminding me of the concatenation from before.

I sit up. How did I get here? More importantly, where am I? I have never seen this room before nor do I recollect how I got here. I am no longer in the City Down Below.

I descend off the table and try to interpret what is going on. I make my way out of the room, everyone halting whatever they are doing to stare back at me but more in an appalling way than befuddled. I analyze what they’re all wearing, and it's nothing like I’ve ever seen before. It is all immaculate and sleek, whites layered with more white, occasionally a light gray. Nothing is corrugated, shredded, or disheveled.

I find my way out and immediately get bombarded with a great fluorescence piercing my eyes. As soon as they adjust everything in front of me materializes properly. Altitudinous, white buildings tower over the whole plaza, people milling around, conversing with one another, laughing at jokes. Foliage, which only seemed like a myth before, greets every corner of the circle, the ground erupting with stone, a fountain gurgling out fresh water, and the air is pure and clear. The breeze benevolently kisses my cheeks, not too warm and not too cold, gently and sweetly; inhaling it feels like exhaustion on the likes of me.

It suddenly dawns on me where I am: the World Beyond. My blood boils and my skin clambers. I am in a high society that I denounce every day of my existence. Seeing all the people congesting about as though no people are living in anguish fills me with unimaginable rage.

I shift my gaze to my left and a blonde man approaches me. His perkiness irritates me even before he starts to speak, his smile like needles prodding me to get my furious attention. “Hello,” he greets in a bilous, sweet, and sickening voice. Outstretching his hand to me, I take it reluctantly. “My name is Racket, I am your tour guide to the World Beyond,” he discloses. His cerulean eyes tear apart my flesh letting him see my anatomy. I just nod in acknowledgment. He appears perplexed momentarily and asks plainly, “Do you not talk?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m Hope. How do I leave as soon as possible?” I demand flatly. He looks baffled. I sweep my grimy hair out of my face, hoping to leave some flecks on his pristine white clothing.

“Why would you want to leave? I assume that someone from the City Down Below would adore it here compared to your atrocious life from before,” he remarks almost sympathetically, shifting his position.

I groan obnoxiously, “You thought wrong. Why would I want to live large in a place where all of you assholes achieve absolutely nothing while all of us barely survive,” I tell him. This man is probably the most picturesque version of someone in the World Beyond and simply stays here because of his chiseled face and tan skin. There is not a brain cell within that obnoxious skull of his that can comprehend the absolute horrors that occur down where I am from. All he has is his face. “Why am I here anyway?” I ask him, irritated.

He disregards my statement from before. “You, Hope, took an aptitude test last December in which you placed in the top percentile of everyone within the three sectors in your age group,” he explains, “While normally we would transport you to only one sector above your original one, the council thought it was only accurate to bring you up here to expand your thoughts into reality.” His plastered smile is radiant and almost ethereal, though simultaneously masking a darker knowledge.

Now I am overflowing with confusion. “Listen, the last test I took was over three years ago when I was fifteen. You must have the wrong person,” I convey to him. I continue to scan my surroundings, trying to construct an exit plan. “And anyway, why would they bring up the one person out of my entire age group who wants to see the stupid institution crumble? I have a record and I know the ‘council’ or whatever are not idiots.”

Racket flips through a book, probably with notes about me and how much of an awful and disgraceful person I am. He places his finger on a specific note. “Hope Diaz, current age 18. Participated in an annual nightly evaluation through a brain scan. The subject was not aware of the test. Diaz scored 1590 out of 1600. History with smuggling, petty theft, tagging, and evading police— not a physical threat. Known anarchist, needs eyes watching them at all times.” Racket closes the book and looks back up at me with a grin, as though to ask how he did.

My jaw drops. How do they have so much information on me and why did they give it to this guy of all people? “What else does it say in that book about me?” I ask hesitantly.

His face turns kind of confused at my reaction. “Oh, no no, just basic information about your history, family, career, education, security details, cycles–”

“You were informed about my menstrual cycle?!” I shriek, feeling very violated. I cover myself with my jacket and back away from Racket. I know he meant my daily routine but maybe they will kick me out if I cause a scene.

“Nonono,” he recalls, holding his hands up to stop me. “Your daily routine, I mean. They watch through the security cameras to know what you’re doing at all times and—”

I stand normally. “You’re no fun,” I exacerbate. I walk past him and he jogs to me. He is back to his goofy grin.

He begins to show me around the city with the massive towers, cobbled-stretched streets, and people going about their day with not a care in the world. There was not a single officer in sight for miles. No machine guns open ready to fire, no tasers, nothing. It is almost ominous how they are nowhere to be seen, a utopia without fear. Maybe it was normal here? It feels completely unsettling, it is so normal to have a creeping officer looming around the corner ready to pounce on any rat that gets in his way.

Our last stop is a dormitory that is eleven stories high, something unfathomable to me. “This is where you will be residing. I live here as well, actually, right next door to you,” he explains to me as we enter the building together. The lobby of the building is pretty much a carbon copy of literally everywhere else we have visited; white floors, white walls, white rugs, white clothing, white people.

We make it to the corridor where our rooms are located. Before we go in I look at him, still trying to absorb every piece of information from his image, analyzing his body language, trying to understand everything. “You never answered me before,” I begin, “How do I leave? I want to go home.” I focus on him beseeching an answer.

He looks more perplexed than the first time I requested. “This is your home now, You can never go back,” he answers entering his room, not even looking back at me.

I enter my room, scanning the pristine room; immaculate. I look outside to see the crepuscular time of day seething from the horizon. The haimish copper sun illuminates the asylum walls filling me with sanity once again. The tints of yellow remind me of my home down below, my friends all joyous individuals facing the day with an exuberant yet bitter mentality, one that I could never quite conjure in the face of our situation. I long for the rays of the sun to guide me home with their eternal string sifting out.

I lay myself down in my enormous white bed as the sun continues to dip below the horizon, masking its rays. As the light recedes, an epiphany sprouts into my brain. This could be a useful opportunity to achieve equality throughout all the sectors. This entire time I loathed being here, however, I am here specifically for a fresh and innovative perspective. I do not think any council will enjoy my diabolical plan, but there is no way I am passing up the opportunity to gain what I want most in the world: retribution and equality.

The sun barely peeks above the horizon, my bag full of my klepto collection sinking my back. I need to find a way out of here but in the most outrageous and destructive way possible. I disembark down the stairs hearing footsteps close behind. “Hope, where are you going?” whisper-shouts an accustomed, bubbly voice.

“I have to go home, Racket,” I declare, trudging forward

I feel his grasp around my wrist. “Do not go,” he demands in a low, urgent voice, very uncharacteristic of him.

I seize my hand back into possession. “You do not understand. Some people depend on me down there. No amount of luxurious compensation will convince me to remain in this dull society,” I shout, shushing from him immediately following.

He looks almost petrified, but I cannot tell if he is for me or himself. Maybe he is concerned? Nevertheless, I have to concentrate on the task at hand. He lets out a short exhale. “Look, when I was younger my parents tried to go down there and they were brutally flogged to set an example. I never saw them again after that and I am just... just worried about what will happen to you,” he admits.

I never thought worry was something anyone from up here would understand, but Racket is showing a sort of sympathy I never expected. And to think that I have a similar situation to someone who lives up here; especially someone so different from me. I step back deconstructing the information that was just relayed, attempting to elucidate his words. “Listen,” I start, “help me get back down there, and in return, we can bring justice to the people who have hurt us the most.” I outstretch my hand to him.

He looks at me hesitantly before responding with a grasp in solidation. Racket hastily scans our surroundings again, I can see a spark ignite in his, a fiery vengeance. “Fine. I will help you as much as I can,” my new colleague concedes. A grin locates its way onto my face.

We make our way out of the building unseen. We duck into an alleyway watching as I peer out of our position and watch the citizens glide by, with no care in the world like a fish in a glass tank. The white clothing reflected the sunlight off them giving them a radiance that whispers how untouchable they are. I duck back to Racket.

“Okay,” Racket begins. “The labyrinth is our best bet to get out of here. I know a member of the cleaning survey team who can help guide us to the City Down Below. Before we go down,

I know making waves is what we desire, we will find my acquaintance who works at the black market selling outlawed items. We will stop by there before heading out and then make our move.”

He grabs my hand, a burning sensation tingling from my fingertips up my arm. He pulls us out and leads us around, confidence spewing from his body ever so naturally. His act was pristine, as though he had been doing this his whole life. We weave around the city, pretending he is showing me things I have never seen before— which he is— never acknowledging where we are actually off to.

Eventually, we make it to a dark, slum part of the World Beyond, something I had never guessed existed. Tables laid out scattered with materials, tents, and coverings align the foreboding area setting the ominous mood. Every person looks like they still belong here, though, wearing desaturated-colored clothing in comparison to the luminous white I am accustomed to. Racket led us to stand at the opposite end of the market to a younger gentleman leaning on the table tapping away at some device. His hair combs back pristinely and his eyes piercing red. He is very handsome but in a mysterious and eerie way. His smile curls around his face impishly.

“Racket!” he exclaims. “Just the guy I wanted to see!” His voice was shrill and rough. He opens his arms to greet us, enthusiastically prancing around his booth only to land back where he was before. “What can I do for you today, my fine friend?”

Racket finally let go of my hand and his front. “Angelo,” Racket says, “I heard you started selling some... material... that I could use for a plan.” Racket shuffled around in his pocket.

Angelo raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he begins, “What are you looking for, my friend?”

Racket peaks around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “Something sure to be... explosive.” He slaps down a few bills, currency so high I had never seen them before.

Angelo glances over at me, smirking like I am some sort of silly clown. “And who’s your friend?” Angelo asks, attempting to derail the conversation. He leans over towards me and reaches out to touch my hair as I dodge his interaction.

Racket blocks the view between me and Angelo. “That is not what we are here for,” he grumbles in response, almost like a guard dog. A small smirk found its way onto my face.

“Relax, my friend,” Angelo chuckles, “I was just thinking about a way to ease your payment with an... attractive girl.” I cringe at the sound of him calling me a girl; my skin crawling in every sense.

Racket disregards that last statement to get back on track. “Consider this a down payment, and a generation contribution to the annihilation of the establishment– something that will benefit all of us.” Racket glances at me for a moment, pulling me closer to him.

Angelo contributes to the rolling eyes. “Whatever, twerp,” he mumbles, his gracious mask slipping. “I do not get much business anyway.” He slaps the money into his vest pocket and then twirls around to the station behind him. He rifles through some items, then scribbles down some notes on paper. He hands a bag to Racket and the note to me. “They’re micro explosives–a lot of them. The paper has how they work. You are welcome,” Angelo tells us. “And my number on the paper as well.” He shoots me a wink sending chills down my spine.

Racket leads us away. “How do you know him?” I ask after we are a safe distance away.

He stops in his tracks. “We...went to school together?” he states, not very sure of his answer. He hands me the bag of explosives to put in my bag. I raise an eyebrow as I put them away. “Okay, we may have ‘run the streets’ when we were in school,” Racket discloses, swiftly continuing to lead, taking no further questions.

We say goodbye to the black market and head in a new direction, a brighter less illegal one. Down the streets, I am so familiar with now, grinning faces, ignorant to the destruction that is to proceed.

I take in the view of Racket as he leads us through the streets. I can see more of him and who he is with our excursion. He hurts more than I realize and he has been through some unimaginable things, I conclude. His blonde hair trails behind him shimmering in the sunlight, like a golden string guiding me around the labyrinth, like that sun peering from the clouds. In a million years, I never would have thought that my path was fated to cross with someone like him.

After what seems like crossing the city forever, we come upon a skyscraper that looks like any other. We halt in front of the building, Racket still holding onto my wrist. “Okay,” he commences, ”so the plan is I am going to ‘give you a tour’ of this building until we see my friend. I’ll tell her what is going on and she’ll lead us down the passageways.”

I nod, Racket immediately trying to drag me away but I hold my position for a moment. He glances back at me. “Racket, before we go any further,” I lead, “I want to say sorry, for dragging you into this disaster. I can tell you do not do this at all, or any more at the very least, so you are very out of your comfort zone. Also, thank you for doing this for me. It really means so much that you are willing to help me despite the fact we just met each other. Not a lot of people would do much for a stranger.” I try to let the sincerity shine through my tone with eyes of gratitude.

Racket flashes me his smile; a real smile. “You’re welcome,” he says back to me, “but, you know, at this point I would not consider us alien to one another,” he finalizes. Then we are off.

We step into the building and are immediately greeted by a disarray of people bustling through the main corridor. Most appear panicked holding stacks of paper and large binders. The tile on the floor reflects the haste with the ceiling illuminating their anxiety. Their pure white fills me with a sort of dread.

I feel Racket drag me through the crowd and explain many things despite the noise clouding my ears. We push past the mods up a staircase and through hallways and doors until we make it into a specific office labeled “Head of Sanitation.”

“And this,” Racket gestures as he closes the door behind him, “is Margret.”

A lady, who looks a bit older than us with a frizzy, curly, black mop on her head, looks up at us, peering out her crimson frames. She is hiding behind a wooden desk scattered with papers and portraits of her family.

“Racket,” she proclaims, “I thought I sent you that mail you were fired forever ago!” She gets up from her chair and approaches Racket to swaddle him in a bear hug, chuckling through it all.

They let go and Racket motions towards me. “Margret, this is Hope. They are from the City Down Below. Hope, Margret is the head of sanitation throughout the different sectors; she’s from the Upper Ring but comes here for work.”

Margret takes her seat back at the desk. “Why are you here, Racket?”

Racket exasperates. “We need to get Hope back home.” He glances at me for a moment.

Margret lights out a long sigh. “No,” she says bluntly. “I am not risking my stable career so some person you barely know can ‘go home.’ This place is so much better than any of the lower sectors anyway, why would you want to go back down to the grungy area.”

“They–”

I cut Racket off. “I have a family to take care of. Just like you provide for your family, I need to provide for mine,” I justify. “It’s not like I belong here anyway. All the people are beyond sensational. I am just a piece of sentient dust floating in the air hoping I land on the ground.”

Margret rolls her eyes, I watch them fall out of her head. She shuffles through her desk and pulls out a large keyring with copious amounts of keys swinging back and forth. “You know what, fine. But it is perilous if we do not remain quiet; and do not draw attention to ourselves. We will cautiously do this. I will leave first and meet you at the entrance to the underground.” She swings the door open and exits.

Racket and I embrace each other. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, jubilation flowing in my veins. We let go and face one another. “I get to go home!” I celebrate.

I can detect Racket’s smile slowly weakening. This entire time he has helped me get so far at the task at hand; getting the devices to explode the fragile system, evolving a plan with me, and taking me to the end. We are so different yet so similar. I wish we could stay together. “Racket,” I begin, calming myself down. “You know, we always have room for more in our circle.”

His somber grin makes my stomach churn. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, making my skin burn, his hand resting on my shoulder when he is done. “Someone has to continue the rebellion,” he concludes, “destroying a part of the structure will not crumble the entirety of society, but will for sure start the defiance. I will do my part upstairs.”

I smile back at him, authentic and elated. I take his hand off my shoulder and into mine, intertwining, like our fates. “Come on, let’s get this party started.”

Racket weaves us around the building until we make it back to Margret who is fiddling with her keys while holding a device to her ear mumuring, immediately putting it away once she sees us. “All right, let’s get this over with,” she grumbles opening the door.

We descend into darkness, lights dimly flickering our path. The concrete walls emanate over us, the floors just as intimidating. As we walk about, Margret guiding our way, I very cautiously stick the micro-explosives to the walls within about equal distance to one another. I glance at Margret every time I stick one to ensure she does not catch me. Luckily, Racket keeps her distracted as I nonchalantly deploy our plan. We hear water drip all around us and a heinous stench so strong it could burn off your eyebrows. Creaking and sputtering followed by other ghastly sounds waft through the air setting the ambience of our excursion. Margret and Racket are discussing something as I fall behind, taking in the atmosphere we proceed forward in the labyrinth.

We walk for what seems forever, the monotonicity getting to my head. Eventually, we make it to an iron gate that overlooks a set of stairs, leading downwards to what seems the City Down Below. I grin from ear to ear, shaking Racket slightly with excitement. Margret is behind us unlocking the intricate gate and disabling any alarms. Eventually, the gate rises creating a creaking and crackling noise. As soon as the gate has fully ascended I run down the stairs.

I stop about midway to take in the view of the city; my home. The disheveled appearance with smok scattered across the plain is homey and inviting. I can already feel my throat burning from the smog and pollution. The sky looks as though it is on fire, covering the city in a thick layer like always. I am home.

I turn around to Racket, his golden hair that guided me all this way and his somber but sweet smile making me feel safe.

The fire plunges from the skyscrapers creating craters and slaughtering in numbers. Ash flakes through the air like snow gently floating down from the sky, kissing down on graves. The smoke asserts itself in the air making me cough and gag for clean air once again. The cataclysmic scene before me of buildings crumbling down and fire scorching the earth is almost poetic in its own way. The ashes of my city trickled down, the blood pooling in the streets only to cascade down a storm drain and be washed away with no remembrance of its owner. Heads roll and people shriek in horror. My mind is bewildered at how this entire catastrophe was caused.

The last thing I remember before torment was inflicted on my place of origin was being pushed off the upper staircase on the way down to the City Down Below. I felt a foot on my back; screams followed.

I remember seeing Racket reach out to me as I fell, Margret smirking behind him. He attempted to grab my hand to hoist me up but it worked to no avail. He yelled my name in a bloodcurdling way only he could show for someone like me. With all the time I had spent in the World Beyond, Racket was the only person who was always by my side. Racket had a darkness in him that brewed stronger, he resented every single thing about himself, yet pushed himself to keep going, holding back every thought of destruction that entered his mind. When he met me something must have cracked within him to be on the side of vigilance.

I peer back up at the fiery destruction that consumed my home. The heat brushed across my face, sinking in the severity of the situation. I knew today was going to be my last day on earth, it was inevitable at this point. I just hope that Racket is okay and he continues on my legacy of retribution.

I imagine all my friends in our little warehouse playing tag as kids; running around chasing each other and giggling until we get tired and fall to our backs. All of them smile at me and thank me for my sacrifice of going to work every day to help provide. I imagine all of this is a horrible nightmare— I am going to wake up and everyone is going to be looking down at me with their grins piercing my skin, Racket right beside telling them all the things we did in the World Beyond and the part of the labyrinth we disintegrated.

But none of it is real.

I try to get up off the pavement but the most excruciating and appalling bolt of pain shoots my lower body. I finally take a look at the lower half and an enormous crumbling slab of concrete lay down on my legs inhibiting me from standing up.

I guess, in the end, I got what I wanted— the annihilation of the different sectors, but just not in the way I imagined it to happen. As I watch my world cave in and the inevitable destruction of everything I’ve ever known and loved, I beg for mercy as my eyes gently close and I feel my consciousness fading. Hot tears trickle down my cheeks, and my lungs burn.

It’s unfair. It's all unfair

[aylacavebear]

Stockroom Antics - Chapter 13

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 1430

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic. This one is taking on a life of it's own in a turn I hadn't anticipated, so adding a new tag.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 13

When Dean put that sandwich down in front of you, you weren't entirely sure what to think, as it almost sounded like he demanded you eat. So, you only mumbled a thank you, not even looking up at him. You were only a case, after all, you reminded yourself.

As you ate the sandwich, which wasn’t bad, you continued reading the book in front of you. You mostly knew about demons, as you had had to ward your property from them and your truck. The book in front of you only had minor information on Pari. You weren’t entirely sure how it was helpful, either. It talked more about soulmates, and it was hard to get through since it was something you didn’t believe in.

To you, soulmates was something from a fairy tale. The things in the book in front of you only made you roll your eyes. It explained that Pari needed to find their soulmate, and sometimes it took lifetimes before they found them. The book also states that a Pari’s soulmate wasn’t always human. Sometimes, it was a vampire, demon, ghoul, even angels weren’t immune to this sort of thing. Then, there were the rare instances where a Pari’s soulmate was another Pari. 

When Dean spoke, you glanced up and watched the two of them, although barely, and neither of them noticed. You knew what parts they were reading and were confident they would figure out what you were attempting to find information on.

You quietly groaned at the information you’d read as you closed the book and got up, heading to the bookshelves. Since the whole soulmate thing was stupid and implausible, you went to find out what powers angels and demons had. They had to have several books on both creatures with the vast library available to them.

When Sam offered his help, it surprised you a little, but you didn’t show it. You were casual and nonchalant with your answers to his questions, even friendly with your smile and expression. After Sam had pulled the stack of books he had, you returned to your seat, just grabbing the one off the top.

The explanations he gave you while you read were helpful and reminded you of demon powers you’d seen them use over the years. The tidbit Dean gave you was something interesting, though, and you debated attempting that one that night.

You soon realized the current book had nothing useful, so you closed it and moved it to the side. Looking at the stack, you concentrated on the information you were after, angel powers, and a book near the center caught your eye. You then carefully pulled it out and began reading it.

When you took a sip of the soda after closing the first book, you were surprised at how close it resembled store-bought soda. You knew you’d have to work on that one, perfecting the flavor of something you created.

Every time they spoke to you, you didn’t look up at them. After all, you were just their case, and you kept reminding yourself of that. You did stay cordial with your tone and your responses, though.

The more you read and learned about the powers that you possessed, the more you began figuring out how to exhaust yourself like the very first book had explained to do. The part that bothered you is it didn’t say how long it would take to do that before your powers would fully awaken. 

You had no intentions of helping the King of Hell with anything. You just wanted to figure out how to keep yourself safe without having to constantly relocate. As you read the book about angel powers, it was more detailed, giving you powers based on the rank of the angel. That helped, but you weren’t sure what powers you were capable of using or having. Too bad the first book hadn’t been more specific.

As Dean got up and headed to the kitchen, you barely looked out of the corner of your eye to watch him. Then your eyes shifted to Sam, who was reading another book, although different from the one with the information on soulmates. When he, too, got up and went to the kitchen, you finally looked up from your book and sighed.

You knew you’d have to find a way to get outside to practice some of the more intense powers the first book had mentioned. Although, now was not the time for that. Perhaps after the two went to bed. You also took a moment to stretch, as you had been sitting there for several hours. Hell, most of the day. 

That was when an idea came to you. Could you learn the information the books held without reading them? You glanced at the stack of books that Sam had set near you. Gingerly, you reached out, setting your hand on one of the bindings, and closed your eyes. 

I want to know the information in this book, you thought to yourself, then took a deep breath.

Your thoughts are filled with information, and you sift through it like tabs on a computer. This was far more useful than reading the books, being able to scan them quickly mentally. You didn’t have the information memorized, but it was easier than reading each one. 

You did this with two more books before Sam made his way back into the library. To keep that particular power under wraps, you had grabbed another book and were reading it. However, you did notice how Sam got on his laptop and didn’t return to his book. The impulse to attempt to read his mind wandered across yours, but you stopped that thought quickly. You weren’t the kind to trespass on someone’s privacy like that.

Dean brought dinner to the library, and you wondered if they used the kitchen for anything other than just cooking. The way the burger tasted, though, surprised you. His smartass remark to your compliment made you roll your eyes and focus on your dinner and your book. The beer went well with the burger.

When everyone was done eating, you had had enough reading for the night. Your eyes felt as though they were a bit strained. So, you gathered the dishes and headed into the kitchen, both brothers watching you, a bit puzzled. This would give you another opportunity to use your powers, attempt to exhaust yourself.

The kitchen wasn’t dirty, per se. For them being bachelors, it was fairly well-kept. You set the dishes on the counter, then with just a thought, they were not only clean but also put away, along with what he’d used to cook with. There was a very light layer of dust on some things, so, with another thought, that too was cleaned up. 

You sighed, wondering what else you could do to expend more energy. Some of the cookware looked well used, so, with a thought, it looked brand new. You fixed the ware and tare on the drawers with a thought, making them look as if they, too, were brand new. You even went as far as doing the same with the fridge and replenishing a few of their supplies.

When you went back out into the library, you realized you had interrupted a conversation the two were having, as they quickly got quiet and looked at you. 

I’m just a case…

“I’m gonna head to bed,” you told the two of them, giving them a friendly smile.

“Alright. Good night,” Sam replied, and you couldn’t quite make out what the partial smile he gave you meant.

“Good night, Sweetheart,” Dean told you. The smirk he featured, you guessed, was just the way he smiled.

You headed down the hallway to the room you’d slept in the night before, closing the door behind you. Neither of them had given you the tour they had mentioned, which bothered you a bit. With a thought, your clothes changed, and you were now in a pair of sweats and a night-tank top. Then, you got a little dizzy, quickly but wobbly, making it to your bed and sitting down. That had been the most you’d ever used your powers.

The room spun a bit, but you were still able to mostly think, even through the fog of being dizzy.

Is this what the book meant…

As soon as that thought played through your mind, you fell over, your head missing the pillow, and passed out. At least you were on the bed all the way.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 14

Tag List: @djs8891

Link to the series Master List

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, leave me a comment, and I'll make sure to tag you.

[mediocreanomaly]

Listen in your soulmate au we forgot about no less important men

Livio and Razlo! May we have something with them both with the same reader?

Authors Note: I should seriously kiss you on the mouth for this. Yes yes yes 1000x yes of course I'll write Livio and Razlo. They are my boys, I adore them. mwah (that's me giving you a small kiss on the head and cutting the crust of your sandwiches)

*I'm referencing a small amount of my Vashwood parts in here but you don't have to read it to understand this it can be read as a separate thing*

Read the Rest of the Soulmate AU Here!:

Vashwood: Part 1 | Part 2 Knives: Part 1

Livio & Razlo Soulmate AU

• Livio finds out about soulmates from Wolfwood actually, and it scares the living day light out of him.

•Little Livio is trailing behind big brother Nick when Nick suddenly doubles over, grunting and clutching at his side.

•Liv goes wide eyed grabbing him and asking what's wrong

"S'nothin Liv, my soulmate just gets hurt a lot is all"

"Soulmate?"

"mhmm, you know. It's like- ugh, like you're tethered to another person and they can feel your pain? Here let me just show you-" Nick pinches Livio and Livio rubs the spot

"Hey!" he whines before he suddenly, he feels a return pinch in the same spot

•After that Livio is both fascinated and scared. He's very excited to know there's someone out there meant to care for him but the fact he could potently hurt them...it makes him feel a bit sick

•He does his best to try not to get hurt, the first time he gets a paper cut after learning about soulmates he cries for half an hour while Wolfwood has to try and reassure him that his soulmate will forgive him

•He really does do everything he can to keep his soulmate happy but...then he learns about Razlo and they run away from the orphanage

•Now, when Livio realizes that Razlo is there, they both have conflicting feelings about...well, everything. It's just that their soulmate is part of that very long list of things they need to work out when Livio finds out about Razlos existence

•Starting with Livio, he feels pretty awful that they've been potentially putting their soulmate through pain and he wasn't even aware of it. He doesn't have the memories that Razlos has of their childhood but...he gathers it wasn't great. Meaning they've hypothetically been hurting their soulmate before they even had the chance to prevent it. Along with the fact they're joining the Gun-Ho-Gun's...

•Well, Livio is distraught about that too, but he doesn't really see another option. He's not really a praying man but rest assured he'll beg god that his soulmate understands if they ever meet considering all the things The Eye of Michael did to him

•As for Razlo...he's got complicated feelings about the whole thing. First off...he's jealous. Not that he'd ever take it out on Livio, but when he began fronting and one day he felt their soulmate stub their toe, he got a bit in his head because...was this person really even his soulmate?

•Sure it was Livios soulmate but did the universe happen to factor him in? Would they be disappointed that they got stuck with him too? Would they even like him? What would happen if Livio lost his soulmate just because he was there?

•In all it's a bit of a touchy subject for him. That along with the fact he holds most the memories of the body getting hurt so in a way he almost feels like it's his fault if their soulmate gets hurt. (even though it's 100% not)

•When they leave the leave the Gun-Ho-Guns to travel with Vash they eventually have to have a talk with each other about it. While working for Knives they honestly didn't even expect to meet their soulmate but now that they are moving town to town with Vash (and his spitfire soulmate that he managed to find) it doesn't seem that implausible

•Livio wants their soulmate. He's tired of fighting and maybe it's the childish dreamer in him coming back but...he wants nothing more than his universally perfect other half. He often finds himself daydreaming about what they'll be like. Male? Female? Neither? Short? Tall? Loud? Quiet? Honestly it changes in his head every time and no matter what he's sure he'll love them

•Razlo is slowly coming to terms with the whole thing although he's going to be a bit guarded until he meets them. Really he just wants to see how their soulmate will react to him before he gets his hope up. Still, considering how gung ho (get it?) Livio is about meeting their soulmate...he can't help but wonder too

•The only other thing they are both nervous about is...they've taken their fair share of punches. From their childhood, to The Eye of Michael, to their travels with Vash, they've most certainly fucked over their soulmate a bit which causes some guilt to bloom

•They're both already trying to come up with how to apologize for the pain they inflicted on their soulmate (Livio's speech is a little more heartfelt, Razlo suggested they added the line "but you did break your arm when we were 15 which made it hard to hold all our guns" which was instantly shot down by Livio)

•I think it'd be a while before they found their soulmate, though. Not through a lack of trying. They're both pretty protective, I'll be it in different ways, but it's hard to track through small pinches and aching backs

•In fact...it's completely by accident when they happen to stumble across you

Livio sighs as he steps into the small bakery, eager to get out of the sweltering heat of Gunsmoke. Although his large form hardly fits through the door, he is confident in his decision for a snack the second the sweet smell of icing and vanilla fills his nose.

"Welcome in! I'll be with you in just one second!" Whom he presumes is the baker calls. He watches as they move behind the counter fussing over rolling out dough and topping cupcakes with sprinkles. He notices the way a few strands of their hair fall loosely in front of their face, their cute apron messy with flour and, as if they were in a movie, a perfect smear of icing on their cheek. Livio blushes slightly when he realizes he's staring, counting his lucky stars. They seem busy with the treats.

"Oh, uh, right, take your time," He says and tries to look busy examining the sweets in the display case. As Lizio looks over the various cupcakes and cookies laid out he can feel Razlo pushing forward slightly, not trying to front but somethings got his attention. Livio largely ignores him too focused on which dessert he wants to try, when he feels a burn against his thumb. At the same time...he hears the baker in front of him hiss.

"shit still hot" they huff under their breath as they pull their thumb back from the hot tray they apparently tried to grab. They sigh and wipe their hands off and glance up at him with a smile.

"Sorry about that! What can I get for you?" They hum. He blinks, forgetting about why he came in here entirely.

"Looks like we're staying in town for awhile" Razlo muses, although Livio isn't entirely sure if it was meant towards him or himself. Either way...Livio instantly agrees.

[ear-worthy]

E Pluribus Motto Podcast: Un-Serious & Unapproved Talking State Mottos

Listening to E Pluribus Motto is like taking a road trip with friends Janet Varney and John Hodgman. In each episode, they spotlight one state and chat about its motto, bird, beverages, songs, and–occasionally–muffins. Plus, you’ll hear from residents and guests whose lives or work have been inspired by that state. The show's producers, Maximum Fun, insist: "This podcast is a celebration of regional culture and an homage to the love we all seem to have for the place we call home. Pack your snacks and jump on in!"

Maximum Fun is a self-described pioneering podcast network, a home to dozens of shows, some of which they produce and some of which are produced independently. Their shows are about Comedy and Culture, and all of them try to put some good into the world. The fun people insist: "Our shows and our audience are the engines of the good that we do in the world. We do what we do because we think it matters to people. And we recognize our privilege, and the trust that people place in us. We try to use that position to direct attention and resources to deserving causes."

On June 30, 2023, Maximum Fun became a 100% worker-owned cooperative. 

E Pluribus Motto is hosted by John Hodgman and Janet Varney. When you're producing a podcast for Maximum Fun, comedy and wit are essential ingredients. As co-hosts, Hodgman and Varney deliver big time.

Let's face it. Making fun of all 50 states is like a gold mine for humor, sarcasm, the ridiculous, and the absurd. Florida itself is a laugh riot. Don't get me started on Oklahoma. 

Anyway, Hodgman and Varney extract as much comedic value along with information about each state that may have value at your next trivia night at the Stinky Moose Pub Thursday Trivia Night.

Janet Varney is an Emmy-Nominated actor, comedian, writer, and producer. She most recently starred as the horrible Becca on FXX’s You’re the Worst, and she created, wrote and stars in the IFC series Fortune Rookie.

Varney fought dark forces opposite John C. McGinley on three seasons of IFC’s Stan Against Evil and starred in seasons one and three of “Burning Love.” In the animation world, she was lucky enough to be the award-winning voice of Korra on Nickelodeon’s critically-acclaimed standout hit “The Legend of Korra.”

She is co-founder and co-director of SF Sketchfest, The San Francisco Comedy Festival, now in its 19th year.

John Hodgman is a writer, comedian, and actor. Most recently, he is the author of the acclaimed collections of funny true stories called VACATIONLAND and MEDALLION  STATUS. He also wrote three books of fake facts and invented trivia, all of them New York Times Bestsellers, and his writing has also appeared in The Paris Review, This American Life, The New Yorker, and Mad Magazine.

After an appearance to promote his books on The Daily Show, he was invited to return as a contributor, serving as the show’s Resident Expert and Deranged Millionaire.

This led to an unexpected and, frankly, implausible career before the camera, becoming the “Personal Computer” in a series of commercials for Apple computer, and more recently playing recurring roles in FX’s MARRIED, HBO’s BORED TO DEATH, Cinemax’s THE KNICK.

Hodgman is the host of the popular JUDGE JOHN HODGMAN podcast, where he settles serious disputes between real people, such as “Is a hot dog a sandwich?” and “Should we tell our children the TRUTH about Santa Claus.” He also contributes a weekly column under the same name for The New York Times Magazine.

The show began in October and just released its tenth episode in February on Tennessee, which ended season one. The first episode began with Connecticut, where listeners learned that somehow it is the pizza capital of the nation. All the episodes pose questions of little or no importance, but must be answered. Why does South Carolina have two mottoes, two official state drinks, two official state marine mammals and more? And that’s before they discussed how busy the state seal is.

In the Massachusetts episode, Hodgman chats with Kate Lorch. As an elementary school student, she struck a major political victory: getting Massachusetts an official state muffin. 

As co-hosts, Hodgman and Varney jell like gin and tonic. They're funny, sardonic, and still able to toss out facts of moderately utilitarian worth. The episodes are long, and could be tighter and shorter, but alas, comedic brains don't work on well with a stopwatch.

Check out E Pluribus Motto. It's fun, moderately informational, and Hodgman and Varney make an excellent co-host / comedy team.

[bergeronprocess]

This prompt is from https://thenarrativearc.org/writing-prompts 

9/20/24

Invent a new type of robot that helps with household chores.

This is what we need AI to do!! We don’t need AI to free us from creative tasks so we can do our chores. We need it the other way around. We need a robot with a cute face, one that is tall enough to be able to reach into a top-load washing machine and get the wet clothes out, then transfer them into a dryer. 

That’s the one household chore I want to automate more than anything, and one that seems to be out of reach for the present day. Vacuuming has already been automated by robots. That one was easy by comparison. 

It would be implausible to ask for some kind of washing machine with a door on one side and a conveyor belt to ferry clothes into the dryer. There are simply too many failure points in that harebrained thought. How does the door open? How does the conveyor belt draw power? The thought falls apart the more you look at it. 

But is it really that implausible to imagine a cutesy robot with little articulating arms? Give it a little face and a name and we humans will bond with it, too, lol. Then give it enough skills to understand how to load the washer, get that started, remove clothes from the washer, transfer them to the dryer, empty the lint trap and start the dryer. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but it kind of is - those are quite a few tasks. 

You know that classroom exercise where you are asked to write out the instructions for making a PB&J sandwich, but you inevitably forget things like “Get out your bread” or “Open the jars” because you take it for granted? When you think more about what feels like a Little Task, when you break it down, it’s actually more than you think!

Maybe the laundry robot could come in different colors, too so it can match the paint color of your walls. White, gray (yuck), taupe, blue, green, you name it. Give it voice controls so you can ask it politely to move your laundry from one machine to the next and start the next load. When it’s done, maybe it could collapse down into a flatter form like those silicone colanders, because space can be tricky in tiny laundry rooms. Let it collapse down and charge itself between uses.

Whichever company invents this thing, makes it work properly and prices it at a reasonable price point will literally just print money.

[more-than-a-princess]

That was odd: in Sonia's opinion, hamburgers were just about everywhere. Even if her homeland didn't have the likes of McDonald's and other popular chains, plenty of cafes and casual restaurants offered burgers on their menus. They were mostly absent in her family's homes to be sure, but as far as she was concerned, her family were the strange ones. She understood the risks, of going to a small bistro with sidewalk seating and ordering a hamburger and frites to savor alongside people-watching. But that didn't mean it wasn't common and she didn't yearn for it, due to its commonness. Where was Zack from, then, where al fresco seats and sandwiches and warm drinks were not the norm?

"There is time for spicy food later, then, and mushrooms," Sonia assured him, giving him a smile. He gobbled up the hamburgers as if they were the last meal he'd ever eat, and she wanted to assure him that he had many more ahead of him. Presumptuous, perhaps: she had no responsibility to him at all, only repaying his kindness with an overabundance of her own. She tended to do that, even when advised not to: but Sonia had so much when so many others had so little. Surely there was no harm in sharing, even if it was just a single meal.

For now though, he seemed to be satiated by the burgers and fries. And comfortable enough with her answers to divulge some of his own, ones that left more questions than answers. At its core, her position in life was one of politics so she was all too familiar with 'non-answers,' so to speak. But even his replies left Sonia a little befuddled: this wasn't a man attempting to gain the upper hand by twisting his words, instead Zack spoke of the implausible, if not impossible.

And she, Sonia remembered as she stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, was someone who believed in ghosts and demons and all other manner of supernatural.

"G-Gaia..." She repeated, exhaling the word in such a way that, perhaps, it might settle her rapidly beating heart. The sort of feeling she experienced alone in a haunted house, or a graveyard, or any sort of place where everything was not what it seemed and adrenaline ran high. "The Ancient Greeks referred to Gaia as the Earth Mother, the Goddess that was the source of all life," She paused, recalling old university courses to study him as he laughed. He wasn't trying to toy with her and her presumed sheltered life. From the way his laughter didn't feel quite so real, he truly meant what he told her. "But that was not what you are referring to, I am guessing."

Another pause. This time, it was for her to listen for the shuffling of feet, the murmur of words, outside all of the various entrances to the kitchen. He knew about one of them, but she knew all of them. And when the silence allowed for a pin drop to be heard, Sonia opened her mouth to continue.

"Zack," She began carefully. She was old enough to know that while she genuinely believed in her inquiry, that those around her would find her ridiculous at best. It went along with her other outlandish hobbies and interests, she supposed, ones that the older she became, the less her family tolerated. "Do you mean to tell me that you are from another planet entirely? And if so, what means of travel did you embark upon to end up here?"

She was much too enticed by other planets supporting life to sympathize with the part of his statement she felt she, to some degree, could understand: the inability to leave one's job and live to tell about it. Even if abdication no longer led to mysterious and unfortunate deaths in the Novoselic Royal Family anymore, it did mean that the royal who did it would be shunned by the nation for the rest of their days and, in her immediate family at least, would be the culprit for plunging her country into an unstable future full of social and economic inequality.

Once food was introduced, it was a hard temptation to fight against. Although, he should be mindful of his behavior, he figured, she seemed to understand enough about his situation that she wouldn't mind if he gave into his instinctual need to eat just this once. In the future, if they were ever in a situation where he had the opportunity to break bread with her again, he would take things slow.

"No, not a luxury, per se. Just not that common." That didn't exactly answer her question. He realized that he really didn't do a whole lot of answering her questions since they arrived at her establishment. That wasn't very fair of him. He knew he had to give a little to pay her back for her kindness. It wasn't that he didn't WANT to, it was.... that it was all too complicated to put out there in a way she would even understand.

And even if she did understand the implications, what then?

"I favor spicy foods--- or mushrooms! Two very different ends of the spectrum, I know." He grinned. "Though I fear if I tried to eat either of those things right now, they wouldn't settle very well." Especially on the spicy side. Hamburgers probably weren't the best option either, but it didn't taste greasy in the least! It would settle just fine, he was sure. And if it didn't, well he would be satisfied for as long as it stayed circulating his system~

He was starving [half sated now], but even he knew to set it all aside in favor of the moment.

He nodded once her initial permission was given to continue. He had made the offer, without qualm, that she might take the reward for his return for herself. He would not fault her for whatever decision she made when going forward. How could he?

"I'm not from this world. At least, not the way you know it. My world is called Gaia. It's in dire straights at the moment, but that's not why I'm here." He laughed, but it was more a laugh at the irony of it all more than anything remotely funny. ".... I'm on the run because I quit my job. I'm on the run because, I'm not allowed to quit my job and live to tell about it."

[anonymous-dee]

A Night Like Any Other... (Mammon/Reader)

Summary: Just a NORMAL phone call with Mammon. NOTHING SUSPICIOUS AT ALL.

Notes: HI! BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH SOME ANGST THAT I ORIGINALLY POSTED ON ARCHIVE!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: ANGST, DEATH, SHARP OBJECT, SUFFERING

Please don’t read if any of these dark topics will make you uncomfy!!!!

20%

Mammon cradled his DDD between his ear and shoulder, ranting about the usual inconveniences: Lucifer, the failure of his latest money-laundering scheme, Levi asking him for that money back. The usual stuff. As he spoke, he paced around his room. He always did that when he got worked up, though his hands were still busy shredding up the credit card bill he swiped from the mail pile earlier that morning. No one had to know about it. 

You listened to him talk, occasionally adding in “Mhmm’s” and “Wow’s” to let him know you were still listening. He wasn’t the only one who had an eventful day, that was for sure. But you would much rather listen to Mammon talk about his day than prattle on about your minor human problems. 

“Where are ya, anyways? Ain’t it gettin’ a bit late? Humans have no business out past-- what time is it?” There was a brief pause on the line before Mammon exclaimed: “Out past 7:00 PM!” 

You knew he was exaggerating the latter portion for effect. You replied with a soft hum. 

“Who knows? You’ll find out eventually.” 

“You’d better hurry up! As your first, I demand you come home. THE Great Mammon won’t tolerate any late humans.” 

15%

“Yes sir,” you were grinning ear to ear, “I’ll make sure to be there with a full report.” 

“Good, good!” 

You checked the time: 7:34 PM. You knew Mammon was in one of his moods, but he was right. Any later than this, and you would be breaking Lucifer’s Human Curfew. 

Mammon put you on speaker phone as he began scooping the shredded credit card bill into the trash can. Lucifer was never going to find out about his bills this time! He should really start sorting through everyone’s mail more often. Not only did he find a few expensive packages from Asmo, but he also found a new, surefire way for Lucifer to never discover his rogue spending habits! Two birds with one stone!

On the other end of the line, you could hear Asmo shouting something in the background. Something about missing packages that were on the table earlier that day. 

“I already sold ‘em!” 

“You’re literally the worst, Mammon! Ugh! I’m telling Lucifer about this!” 

“Ah, no! They’re right here!” 

Shuffling. Boxes being knocked over. You heard the pair exchange something more before the sound of Mammon’s door slamming crackled through the receiver. 

“Sorry about that, (Y/N). Had to take care of some super official business there.” Mammon wasn’t sure what you’d heard, but either way he would play it off as something he had already foreseen. Or something that wasn’t a big deal-- something you should just delete from your memory, (lest Lucifer have a 1% higher chance of finding out that he really did take Asmo’s packages from the counter along with his own overdue bill notes). 

“You’re something else, you know that?” Your voice was soft, unusually so. 

“Don’t know what you mean!” Mammon took you off of the speakerphone immediately; no one else would get to hear those sweet words. He felt a satisfying twinge of greed in knowing that only he could hear your voice at the moment. 

10%

“Oh yeah, that reminds me! There’s this, uh, arcade place! Usually that kind of stuff is Levi’s thing, but they have crane machines with cash prizes! Like, boxes with Grimm inside of them!” Mammon’s excitement was definitely leaking through the phone. 

“Are you sure?” It seemed a bit implausible, but so did a Vampire Bat Sandwich (one of Beel’s favorites). 

“Heck yeah, I’m sure! Let’s go there tomorrow after class!”

You felt a twinge of guilt. 

“Yeah, let’s.” Your words came out a bit flat; you had intended to keep them excited and lively, like the rest of the conversation. But... It was getting harder and harder to hide it when Mammon kept talking about the future. 

“Of course we have to go for a drive in one of my babies as well. We’ll have the whole afternoon to ourselves!” 

“I... I actually might be busy tomorrow,” you mumbled. 

“Oh, okay. Day after tomorrow then?” 

“I think I have something due...” 

“Next weekend? Don’t tell me ya have more plans!” 

“I...” 

The clouds released drizzly droplets, and without a moment’s notice the drizzle exploded into a full on rainstorm. Days like these were typically your favorite, but not when you were in the water. 

5%

You decided to change the subject. “If you could travel anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Mammon still pondered the question, though. “Dunno! Probably one of those fancy casinos they have up in the human realm.” 

“Sounds like you.” Your giggle hurt, but you were smiling regardless. Mammon was definitely an open book. Your favorite novel. 

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Mammon’s voice flared on the other end, but you could tell it was the usual banter; he wasn’t really mad. His expressiveness was one of his most endearing qualities, even if it did manage to get him into trouble a lot. 

You didn’t realize you were spacing out until Mammon snapped you back into reality. 

“Man, I hate it when phone calls get all quiet...” 

“Oh, sorry.”

“What? No, just forget it.” Apparently, Mammon wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, or so you assumed. At this point, you simply assumed that both of you drank a tall glass of Dumb Bitch Juice™ for breakfast this morning. “Ya weren’t supposed to hear that.” 

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, “hey, Mammon?” 

“Yeah?”

You hesitated to say those desperate words. But by now, it was probably far too late. There would be no going back after, right? Might as well not bother. It wouldn’t matter in the long run, anyways. Not after tonight. 

“Um... Nevermind.” You decided to hold your tongue after all. 

1%

You really wished you had charged your phone before leaving the house this morning. Again, another mistake in the clusterfuck of today. But then again, maybe this was for the better. Your mind was starting to grow hazy, and soaked strands of hair caked your face from the rainfall.

“Hey, Mammon,” you swallowed thickly, trying to shove down the rising lump in your throat, “I have to go. My phone is gonna die.” 

“Oh, okay! See you at home, Human!” 

In one last desperate attempt to soothe yourself from the anxieties creeping up the back of your neck, you called out to him before he could end the call. 

“Say my name, at least.” 

“Fine, fine. See you back at home, (Y/N).” 

0%

Finally, you could let go. No more fake appearances. No more holding it all together. You sobbed loudly, your cheek pressed against the cold, wet asphalt of the alleyway you had collapsed in. Well, less of “collapsed,” and more like “stabbed”.

Dumb Bitch Juice™, you dumb whore. Always making you act recklessly. But at least Mammon would get one more peaceful night, oblivious to the horrors you got yourself into. You at least wanted to hear his voice one last time-- Maybe that was selfish of you. Maybe not. All you knew was that deep down, you were terrified of losing him. And that you loved him to death. Literally.  

Your thoughts, in a probable attempt to escape the pain of the knife wedged in your torso, (a souvenir from a demon who really didn’t seem to like humans) shifted their weight towards what could have been. 

His warm hands laced within yours. That weird arcade date he wanted to take you on. Moving out of the House of Lamentation and into your own place. Marriage. Maybe even a weird Devildom dog? The thoughts were laughable, but oddly comforting at the same time. 

You let your phone slide from your grip, loosened. There was no use for a phone with no owner. 

Those images, vivid in your imagination, were so close, almost tangible. But Mammon didn’t even know how you felt about him. He was oblivious and obvious all the same, but you loved that about him. You loved him. You loved him so much. But your time with him was over. 

There would be another exchange student. The brothers would fawn over them just as they had you, and you would become a distant, painful memory like Lilith. They would move on. 

Mammon would move on. He would find someone else. You were just one slim chapter in his book of life. One small, insignificant chapter. A collection of nerves and sentences that couldn’t even tell him how you felt. 

[nancydrewwouldnever]

On another note CE was seen early last week back in MA. I won’t post the account name as we know that the crazies will troll the person🙄

“My beautiful wife ran into @ChrisEvans today while he was getting lunch. However implausible, her comic-loving, Marvel-adoring self somehow managed to leave him in peace and pick up his Sandwich... despite him standing right next to her. She's more graceful than I.”

Interesting... so his character wasn't needed at all in the three days of filming Pain Hustlers did at the W Hotel in Atlanta between Sept 26-28? I'm beginning to think his character isn't in the movie as much as we would hope. (The poster is based out of MA, not ATL? I don't have the bird app so it throws up that damn "sign in" banner and I can't go farther in the feed.)

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

>  I’m doomed >  paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll.  >  help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End. 

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared. 

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest. 

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth? 

It’ll be fine. 

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air. 

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly  from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does. 

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot. 

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge. 

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?” 

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter. 

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory. 

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle. 

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?” 

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease. 

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face. 

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts. 

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body. 

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl. 

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned. 

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.” 

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room. 

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious. 

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture. 

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue. 

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream. 

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back. 

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing. 

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye.  Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

[barbreypilled]

Satin is the only one who can actually manage to do his job so when he gets sent to babysit horny ass Jon at subway Barb immediately poaches him to be a sandwich artist by offering him just a completely implausible amount of money. She’s about 3 weeks late on his first paycheque and is genuinely concerned that she may have to kill him and make it look like an accident after seeing the notes he took. This probably would be easily fixed if they deep cleaned once

subway au nights watch are restaurant health inspectors and Jon is their worst employee. He has been enlisted to destroy the subway once and for all and every time he goes in he witnesses like 15 violations but haus so much frenemies to lovers covid for Theon that he doesn’t notice ‘haha u know what Theon I bet u don’t even have the balls to kiss me directly on the lips with tongue. Ur too much of a giant PUSSY’ meanwhile Barb is hunting a roach with hairspray and a lighter

[threeletterslife]

06 | Redefining Destiny

→ previous | next

→ summary: You were convinced you were in love with him. A former member of the mafia in the states, that is. It was true love. Destiny. Until one day you wake up with a memory lapse; then that love is replaced with hatred. The thought of marriage is substituted with revenge. If your love with Jeon Jungkook really was destiny, you’d fall head over heels in love again. But if only he weren’t such a hot, goading asshole.

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 70% fluff, 25% crack, 5% angst | e2l!au & soulmate!au

→ warnings: profanity, mentions of murder, blood, torture and gang activities

→ wordcount: 4.2k

You wake up feeling slightly cranky, groaning as you turn over to your side in early-morning contemplation.

How the heck am I going to face Jeon Jungkook, now?

Maybe he was right. Maybe the two of you should've been drunk yesterday when you'd spilled all of your secrets and confessed your guts out.

Gosh. Now it's going to be awkward.

You scrunch your nose just thinking about it. But the Jeon Jungkook you'd seen yesterday had been so different from the one you hated. He seemed like a genuine person. A person who had gone through too much. A person who was looking to make things right with the little he could impact in this vast universe.

He wasn't as bad as you thought.

Your head rings with the advice he told you. At this age, you should know what's good for yourself. Follow your own dreams.

For a guy who apparently sleeps around, he's wise. And considerate. But then again, he's been through a lot. You hadn't known that his friends had been murdered. The story almost seems implausible, but you have to stop yourself and remember that America is a whole other country with a very different culture and society. Maybe street violence is prevalent in the states. Maybe violence is prevalent there.

You sigh, throwing your covers off of yourself and quietly getting ready for class so you won't wake up your roommates. You guess you'll just have to try to avoid Jungkook until you can get your head back on track and really figure out what was up between the two of you.

But, of course, you should've known it would be impossible to avoid Jungkook. There's some magnetic quality about him that always attracts you subconsciously. You end up bumping into each other at the lunch hall.

Your friends had snorted, about to cuss Jungkook out until he'd spoken a soft, "Hi, Y/N," with a genuine smile etched out on his lips. Their jaws dropped open.

"Uh, h-hey," you'd stuttered. "Yeah, hi."

"I'm starting to think fate really likes us together," he'd said with a little laugh.

"Yeah," you'd agreed. "I, um..." You'd looked between your friends and Jungkook before sighing. If there was no way of avoiding him then you might as well—"Can I have lunch with you?"

Your friends and Jungkook had simultaneously said, "What??"

After the initial shock was sorted out, you'd ended up leaving the lunch hall with Jungkook, each holding your lunches.

Now you're sitting on the grassy lawns of your campus, basking in the noon sunlight as the rather awkward silence encompasses the two of you. You take a small bite out of your dainty finger sandwich from the local bakery. Jungkook just sips his drink in his water bottle. When the man makes no move to talk to you, you take another bite of your sandwich—this time, a larger one. By the fourth bite, your sandwich is gone and there is still silence.

You don't really feel like eating a second sandwich so you brush your hands free from excess crumbs and begin to twist the ring on your finger.

Jungkook notices your anxious movement, his eyes flickering down to stare at your hands.

"That's, um, that's a pretty ring," he offers.

"Thanks," you say. "It's my purity ring."

"Oh."

Silence again. But you like the silence better. It's better than arguing with him about stupid things.

"So..." you say, looking up at Jungkook who's sipping on his drink again. "I, um, it was nice last night." Your cheeks flush as the words leave your mouth and you stutter to clarify. "I mean, I know we haven't been the best of pals for whatever reason... But I don't know. Something about yesterday was pretty eye-opening, don't you think, JK?" The nickname slips from your lips easily—almost as if you've been calling him that since the beginning.

"I guess it was one of those days," Jungkook mutters. "You know, when you feel like you have to share your ordeals..."

"Yeah... I'm glad I got everything off my chest," you say with a smile. "It feels good to know that someone else knows my secret."

Jungkook nods as he continues sipping his drink. "Yeah..."

But he sounds distant, almost lost in his thoughts. And his eyes wander off into the distance, looking nowhere near you or where the conversation was supposed to be. He seems to be thinking.

"Is something wrong?"

"Um," he struggles to come up with what to say. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Maybe?" you say.

"I... Well, I didn't tell you everything," Jungkook says. "But, of course, you're not obligated to listen to me or whatever... It's just that I felt weird. That you told me everything but I left things out."

"Oh, JK," you say. "No, really. The least I can do is listen. I've been terrorizing you for way too long."

"I don't know," he replies. "What I tell you might terrorize you even more."

You cock your head. "What do you mean?"

"God," Jungkook sighs, massaging his forehead. "This is so weird. I just feel like telling you all of this. Even though I shouldn't. I just feel like I have to do this."

"Do what? Tell me what?" you say. "I'm curious, now!"

"You never asked questions yesterday."

"Well, I didn't want to interrupt you."

"I feel like I need to confess this part of my life to you. I weirdly trust you."

"I'm a trustable person," you smile.

"Strangely, I agree with that..."

"Okay, so what was it that you should've told me yesterday but you didn't so you have to tell me now?" you ask, tilting your head curiously at the man in front of you.

"I don't know... You might dump a load of holy water on me or condemn me while clutching that cross necklace of yours," Jungkook sniffs. "But it'll explain a lot of things, I guess."

"That's not how Christianity works!" you huff. "There's something called forgiveness," you say, crossing your arms. "And besides, if you're stalling that much, then maybe you shouldn't tell me. Maybe it's better for me to not know." There's silence after that. "But I want to know, so please, do tell," you admit while twisting the ring on your finger. "Is it that bad?"

"Yeah," Jungkook nods. "It's that bad. But whatever. I should've told you yesterday..." he sighs. "I don't know how to start telling you this," he confesses. "I never told this to anyone."

"You can start anywhere. I won't judge," you tell him, picking up another one of your finger sandwiches and taking a bite.

"Okay," he breathes nervously. He looks around to see if anyone was listening in, but the other students are consumed in their own activities. "Well, I was rich in America."

You frown. "Wha—"

"You promised you wouldn't judge," Jungkook sighs.

"Okay, okay, fine," you say. "I'm sorry. You can continue."

"Okay. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was rich in America. Wait, no... Let me back up. Before I was rich, um, I went there to study while my parents stayed in Korea. I was all alone in a vast country. I was Asian, Americans thought I was Chinese but I was Korean. I had an accent. I looked different. I had squinty eyes—or so they said... I was different and lonely and scared." Jungkook pauses his story to take a deep breath.

"But that's when I met my friends. There were eight of us in total. Seven boys including me and one girl. I had a huge crush on her back then... but um, she married one of the other guys. Anyways, we were pretty tight. All of us were foreign students from Korea, too, so we had a lot of similarities already," Jungkook smiles at the memories. "It was great. They were with me all the time. I met my best friend there. Kim Taehyung. He was the kind of best friend everyone wants but very few are gifted with. I was lucky to have him."

Jungkook takes a sip of his drink again and clears his throat. "I used to prank the other boys with Tae... Good times," he sighs. "Things went uphill when one of the boys—Jimin—thought the... um, the mafia was some cool stuff. We spent our days pretending we were secret members. Pretending we were in luxury suits and going on important missions and all that. Wasn't long until the pretending manifested into a reality."

You audible gasp. "Mafia?" you whisper, tilting your head. Gosh. You should be more surprised than this. But you're not. You should have more questions. But you don't.

"Yeah... the mafia," Jungkook nods. "I dropped out of college. So did Jimin and Tae to pursue it. We were entranced by the promising riches, mostly. It didn't occur to us then that what we were trying to do was necessarily bad. The rest of the boys continued with their education... And the girl... well, we left her out of all of this."

You interrupt. "But I thought the eight of you were friends. Why'd you leave her out? I mean, granted, she dodged a bullet but... c'mon."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. Her older brother was Jimin and there was no way in hell he'd let her join the mafia. Plus, the Park family was expecting their children to graduate with master's degrees in medicine or some sort. With Jimin out of the picture, she had to step up, I guess. We didn't even tell her where we were going. We just... left one day."

You scrunch your nose but you don't say anything.

"And then, the mafia business started, I guess. It wasn't that hard. LA had a lot of gangs already. We just had to pretend we knew what we were doing. Before we knew it, we were rich. Um, we had a big mansion with hundreds of rooms, a huge kitchen and expensive cars and limos... We were called the—"

"Crescents," you breathe.

Jungkook whirls at you with wide eyes. "How did you—"

"I-I, uh," you stutter. "I don't know. It just came to me. And you were staring at the crescent moon yesterday so I just assumed..."

"Wow. Yeah. We were called the Crescents... I uh, still have a scarification mark to show I was a part of it. It's on my right thigh," he says. "Tae's was on his left thigh..." Jungkook trails off. He takes some time for himself before sighing deeply and continuing. "We were a family, the Crescents. We had each other's backs... At least, that's what we thought."

"What do you mean?" you whisper.

"Our perception of family was kind of an illusion," Jungkook sighs. "First of all, there was a goddamn hierarchy. Tae, Jimin and I were at the bottom of it. Basically, it was because we didn't go to college. We were the only three hitmen in the seven-member gang. So yeah, we got stuck with a lot of the dirty work. House chores and shit."

"I'm sorry..."

Jungkook gives you a sideways glance. "It wasn't that bad at the moment. I didn't really mind doing the chores because I'd always be doing it with Tae. But thinking about it now... man, it was unfair. We were like the servants of a rich family." He sighs, staring at his hands before closing his eyes and frowning in disgust. "I've had blood that wasn't mine on these stupid hands."

He refuses to look at you, squeezing his eyes shut as he continues. "T-There was a torture room. And Tae, Jimin and I would hang around there... We'd get our vengeance through violence. Through inflicting pain on our enemies. Through hurting them so much they wished they were dead. That's the life I lived, Y/N."

"Jungkook..."

"It gets worse."

"Jungkook," you call his name again, moving to encompass his hand in yours. Sudden sparks erupt the moment your hands meet, the force of it making him open his eyes and look at you. He takes your breath away. You squeeze his hand in an attempt to calm him down. "I'm still here to listen," you remind him. "You've changed a lot... since your debut as a member of the Crescents. I won't judge. You can continue."

Jungkook takes a shaky breath before nodding. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay... Um, the Crescents had this business... an underground black-market kind of business. Um, arms dealing. We hooked up all the gangs around the city. That's how we actually got rich. We were a great gang. Everyone was either afraid of us or respected us. But..." Jungkook pauses. "We were kind of a fraud."

"Fraud?"

"Yeah. Normally gangs are pretty large. There's the boss, the underboss, and hundreds and hundreds of hitmen or new recruits. The Crescents consisted of seven members. So we lied about our numbers," Jungkook explains. "The Crescents were one of the largest gangs in the city—or at least, that's what everyone thought. No one dared to challenge us. Until..." he sighs. "Until they killed Jimin."

"They?"

"We never figured out which gang did it," Jungkook says. "It wasn't a murder done out of hatred either. Uh, so, basically, sometimes, when new recruits join a gang, they have to prove they are made of 'gang material,' which means they have to murder as a tribute to join. Usually, the victim is an innocent passerby. And... well, Jimin was the unlucky victim of a new, merciless recruit."

"They just killed him? Just like that?" you whisper.

"That's the mafia for you," Jungkook sighs. "They didn't just kill him. Before that, they tortured him. By the time we got to the body, we could barely recognize it."

"His sister..." you breathe. "Did she...?"

"That's when things started picking up. We knew we couldn't run a gang with only six members. So we brought her in."

"You brought her into the mafia??"

"Yeah..." Jungkook trails off. "That caused a bit of a problem. I mean, we lied to her to make her stay."

"Oh gosh."

"I know," Jungkook sighs. "We told her that her brother was killed by an enemy who wanted to go after her as well. We were trying to scare her into staying. Keep in mind, she hasn't seen us or her brother in six years. It took her a while before she realized she needed us to protect her. We were also the only key for her to get revenge on her dead brother. So, just like that, we became a seven-member gang again."

"Wow," you breathe.

"She hated us at first. And all of us were confused. It was weird seeing her again after so many years... And she was mourning—we all were. We didn't expect anyone to get killed, but it happened, and all we could do was move on. But the night she found the torture room, she tried to leave. I thought it was going to be over then, but Yoongi... the guy who married her later, managed to convince her to stay. From there, it went pretty well. I think she started accepting our ways, despite the violence and cruelty. We all thought we were a family again. Until she left. She took Yoongi with her too. It happened so fast. They fell in love, she wanted to leave the mafia suddenly, so they left. I caught them leaving too. I caught them in the dead of the night, getting ready to leave. God, I was so mad, then. But I let them leave. They didn't deserve the family if they didn't appreciate it.

"The Crescents were a five-member gang now. We felt like we lost everything. Morale was low, days were depressing... the family was falling apart more than before. And just when we thought it couldn't get any worse..."

"Oh no," you breathe.

" 'Oh no,' barely even cuts it," Jungkook says. "Maybe the other gangs saw them leave. I don't know. Something happened and the they found out the Crescents were a five-member gang.

"They ambushed us in our own home. In our own fucking torture room. But they couldn't get to me because I was hiding in the dark corners. They didn't see me. But I saw everything they did. They tortured them first. There wasn't a spot on the floor that wasn't red with blood. I didn't know what to do. Taehyung saw me, in his last moments, and he begged me to leave. He risked more pain and more torture for me. I watched him die because I couldn't leave until they left. But I sprinted out of the place the moment they stopped guarding the door. I didn't know where to go. I would be a target anywhere, so I knew I had to get out of the country.

"I've been here ever since."

It's silent as you try to digest the contents of the tragedy that you were told of. "Gosh..." you begin, shaking your head as your look up at Jungkook's doe eyes. You can tell he's tearing up—especially when he turns away to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. "You must have so much trauma," you tell him. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," Jungkook sighs. "At this point, I'm kind of used to the nightmares..." He shakes his head, frowning. "God, this was such a sob story. I'm sorry. I feel bad for telling you all that."

"No, don't feel bad," you say, taking both of Jungkook's hands in yours. "I'm glad that you were able to get the story out to someone."

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Y/N... You didn't sign up for all that gruesome stuff."

"Hey, JK, I'm really fine," you say. "Besides... um, it sounds weird but I feel like you've told me this before... Or, I don't know, I feel like I've heard this story sometime else."

Jungkook hums. "Is it weirder to say that I agree with you? Maybe I felt comfortable telling you because I felt like I told you this before? I don't know."

"For some crazy reason, I get what you're saying."

"Me too."

"I mean, this... this whole thing is crazy!" you say, shaking your head. "Two days ago, I would've done anything to spite you."

"I would pour a bucket of ice water on your head if I could," Jungkook laughs under his breath.

"What??"

"Two days ago, that is," Jungkook clarifies with a snort.

You nudge him, releasing your hands to cross your arms over your chest. "Very funny, JK."

His heart flutters every time you call him that. In fact, his heart flutters every time you near him, and he can't quite understand why.

"So," you begin, "we've called an official truce. Is that it?" you grin. "You'll be there for me when I want to rant about the stupid classes I have to take to get my degree, and I'll be there for you when you have your bad dreams... Or just whenever you need a friend."

"Well said," Jungkook nods. "It's official, then."

He laughs when you hold out your hand, preparing for a rather professional handshake. But he grabs your hand nonetheless and shakes it.

Invisible sparks fly every which way; both of you cannot see it, but both of you can feel it. Something feels right. Something feels familiar.

The past few weeks have been strange without your usual animosity-filled exchanges with Jungkook. But it had been replaced by friendly talks and discussions.

The more you talk to Jeon Jungkook, the more you like him, and the more you want to spend your time with him. He's an inspiring soul, ex-mafia member or not. He wears his big heart on his sleeve and shares his generosity with you.

It's funny to see him do a complete one-eighty from the man you used to know, but at the same time, you know he can be mean when he tries, which may come in handy in the unlikely chances that you were robbed on the streets of Seoul.

Your days are usually spent researching on getting a teaching degree or learning how to become a great elementary school teacher. Ever since Jungkook told you to pursue your dream, you've been trying to do just that. Your nights are spent hanging out with your friends—mostly Jungkook. Your late nights are spent with you awake in your bed at strange hours of the night. But you don't really mind getting less sleep these days.

Sometimes, it's easy to get carried away in your life—especially when you're surrounded by everything you like. Today, you spent your whole day on your laptop, writing up an application to start online teaching courses. By the time you look up from your screen, it's dark outside. The only source of light comes from the sliver of the moon that clearly illuminates the sky.

A crescent moon.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to get outside for some fresh air. You quickly grab a thin jacket and leave your dorm, mindlessly walking around your campus. After staying cramped up in your room all day, the nighttime exercise does you good. You're feeling so much more refreshed by the time you've walked for almost an hour.

But when you're making your way back to your dorm, you catch sight of Jungkook. He's sitting on a metal bench, staring up at the crescent moon with a nostalgic look in his eye. He looks lonely. Sad, even.

Before you know it, you're already approaching him. "Hey," you say, sitting down next to him.

"Hey," he replies, quietly. He doesn't take his eyes off the moon. "Did you know I was gonna be here?"

"No," you confess. "I just wanted to get some fresh air tonight."

"Oh," he says. "It's a crescent moon," he murmurs.

You don't know if he was talking to himself or if he was remarking for you to answer. You reply just in case. "Yeah... Do you need someone to be by your side?"

"Mhm," he hums.

"Is it Taehyung, again?" you whisper.

Jungkook jerks his head toward you, making you jump back just slightly. "God, I tell myself to move on, but I can't," he admits. "He plagues my thoughts, my dreams... But I don't want him gone. I don't want to lose my memories of him."

You slide your hand over Jungkook's. "It takes time to move on," you say. "It'll be fine."

The man next to you takes a deep breath. "Be strong and courageous," he says, turning to stare into your eyes. "Do not be frightened—"

"And do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go," you recite along with him with a small smile on your face.

"Joshua 1:9," Jungkook whispers. "Saying the verse out loud helps me calm down sometimes."

"That's great, Jungkook," you say. "I'm glad it can help."

"You know, I couldn't sleep tonight," he says. "I just... I kept getting nightmares the moment I closed my eyes. I didn't know what to do. Something told me you'd be out here and I just—"

"You knew I'd be out here?" you say. Your heartbeat quickens the moment Jungkook admits that and your cheeks flush warm heat.

"I-I just got a feeling," he says. "And we're always meeting, anyways, so I thought my chances were pretty good."

You smile. "I think it's just meant to be, then. Right JK?"

Jungkook grins wildly. "Right Y/N."

He doesn't stop himself when he suddenly leans in, softly taking your hands in his. You let out a little gasp when your noses touch, your eyes fleeting down to his delicate lips as he takes a moment to cherish the proximity.

"You know what's weird?" Jungkook whispers, scrunching his nose.

"It feels like we've done this before," you whisper back, smiling.

"Yeah..."

He leans in to meet your lips for one, single, chaste kiss. Both of you pull back, the invisible sparks flying between the two of you warming up your insides and making your cheeks hot. Your purity ring burns on your finger, a reminder that you won't lose yourself completely to Jungkook tonight.

But you let him take you away to his tiny apartment that—for some reason—seems familiar as well. Everything about him seems familiar. Even when he kisses your cheeks and lays you down on his bed, his touch, which should feel rather foreign, is comfortable. It feels natural. When his kisses turn deeper with more tongue, your head goes crazy, and your mind goes absolutely blank.

You're breathless by the time he's pulled away. All of your clothes are intact and are just the way you'd put them on before, but you feel vulnerable under his eyes. But you trust him enough to feel that way.

You end up falling asleep under his covers, completely knocked out after a busy day. Jungkook watches you sleep, making sure the blankets are tight around your figure to keep the warmth in before slipping under the covers as well.

His heart beats uncontrollably in his chest as he waits patiently to fall asleep. And when he does, for the first time in a very long while, Jungkook isn't plagued by his nightmares. Maybe it's because you're by his side.

—previous | next

—masterpost