#hot wheels tornado set

[rashivermaofficial]

Unbox to Thrill: Hot Wheels Tornado Twister Tracks by rashiverma

Join us on an adventure of unboxing the Hot Wheels Tornado Twister Track! In this article, we delve into the excitement of discovering each piece of this action-packed playset. Our video demonstrates the assembly process, making it easy for you to set up the track for epic racing duels. Experience the thrill as the Hot Wheels racing cars showcase their speed and agility, delivering high-octane entertainment that will keep the whole family engaged and entertained.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Stay Still, Little Dove

Joel Miller x Female!Reader

18+

Series Masterlist

Summary: Joel takes matters into his own hands to deal with your newly insatiable sex drive with a little help from a u shaped friend. TW: softdom!Joel, female orgasms (like a lot of them), oral (fem!rec), this is all about her A/N: THANK YOU for all the comments, likes and reblogs on my last story! I fully believe only 1 or 2 people will read these and I'm just floored by the response so far. I wish I could write without a plot, but I added some backstory about these two. Word Count: 4.3k

Ellie has always been a tornado in your life. Her biological mom was your childhood best friend. She had her demons, so you can’t say you were surprised when during her weekend trip to visit you with her new baby she disappeared, leaving you with little Ellie. 

Overnight, you went from a 22-year-old young woman starting your third year of your degree to a 22-year-old adoptive single mom pushing through your third year of college. 

Your parents were helpful, driving four hours from the small town you grew up in every weekend so you could work or do homework. They offered to take Ellie for a while or help you find people to adopt her, but that little tornado of a girl was your priority and you weren’t going to abandon her like her mother. 

She broke her arm at 2 on her big wheel, and at 3 she needed 10 stitches across her eyebrow from when she tried to leap from the kitchen table to the granite island. Safe to say the granite won as she still bears that scar today. At 4, she bolted up the stairs to the high dive and jumped off without an ounce of fear. Thank god she was already a strong swimmer.

She seemed to crave chaos, so when she befriended the girl with wildly curly hair on her first day of school you just shook your head, predictable little tornado. 

Thankfully Sarah Miller was a sweet and kind-hearted girl, maybe even a little shy. It also helped that Sarah’s young dad, who didn’t wear a wedding ring, resembled a Greek god. Tall and broad with tanned skin, he owned some sort of contracting business based on the truck he’d do school pick up and drop off in. When the girls introduced you two, he flashed you a small smile, revealing that goddamn dimple. 

You’re both pretty sure the girls played a hand in the two of you eventually getting together, granted they both conveniently don’t remember playing tiny matchmakers. They’d ask for sleepovers and playdates almost daily, or sign you both up to the same shift at school events.

“Mommy, I swear on the moon that the teacher picked!” Ellie said when you had the coat check station at the Valentine's Day dance. “Buuuut you might want to put on lipstick.” 

It’s been a little over 14 years since then and he still sets your blood on fire with that dimple. 

Both of you approached this new empty nest phase apprehensively, but it turns out that having the house to yourself (with no risk of one of the girls walking in) opened a whole new set of rather kinky doors. Not that you were necessarily vanilla before, but while they lived there you didn’t have ropes and paddles hanging on your bedroom wall, or the hooks on your four-poster bed.

You also never would have been how you are now, bathroom door wide open in only the trousers you planned to wear to work. 

“Not that I’m complainin’ sweetheart. But why are you topless?” Joel asks on his way to the kitchen. 

“It’s too damn hot in here.” You grumble, getting out your skincare and makeup. 

Joel shook his head to himself as he walked to the kitchen. He knew better than to bring up that it wasn’t the temperature, it was you and your recent perimenopause diagnosis. He hated to see you suffering, but your newly insatiable libido gave him an idea. 

As you get ready, Joel leans against the bathroom door frame drinking coffee, observing you through the mirror. 

You see him most days in his typical work attire - dark jeans, a t-shirt with his company logo, and a flannel or denim button-up. But it will never get old to you. You almost find him sexier in this than in a suit. Especially when he has the cuffs rolled like he does today. 

“Little Dove?” His voice is deep and scratchy. 

A slight blush paints your cheeks, knowing that it’s going to be one of those days. 

“Yes, sir?” 

He slowly walks towards you as you lean into the mirror to blink on some mascara. He stops just a hair away from you, not touching you but close. Close enough for you to feel the heat coming off of him. He waits until you’ve put the mascara wand away, and uses his free hand to trace a line slowly down your spine. 

A shiver runs through you, and you let out a small moan. Partly from the feeling of him, but mostly at the reprieve from the hot flash you’re experiencing. 

“How many orgasms do you think I could give you before you beg me to stop?” He kisses the top of your left shoulder, watching your eyes widen slightly in the mirror. 

Goosebumps spread across your body. If he wants to play, you’ll make it difficult for him. “Well, after the little kidnapping the other night you gave in after three.” 

“This is about you giving up and not me giving in,” His free hand continues a light trail along your bare back. 

“And didn’t you say you felt like you had done an intense Pilates workout the next day?” He adds teasingly.

You were hoping he’d forgotten about how you groaned as you lowered yourself into the bathtub to soak your sore muscles. Even though your hormones seemed to think you were a teenager again, your body took a little longer to recover. Joel cared for you in a way that only he could; making dinner, wrapping you in your beloved heated blanket, and gently massaging your hips and legs. 

You don’t want to give up this easily so you scoff and say, “Please, old man. You’d get tired before I’d quit.” 

The next two things happen so quickly that it’s over before the excited squeal leaves your lips. He spins you to face him and lifts you onto the countertop, caging you between his arms, his hands gripping the vanity on either side of you.  

“Now now, Little Dove. I’d be careful who you call old.” His recently playful tone is back to a deep gravel-like command that settles right between your thighs. 

“You will refer to me as sir in these moments and nothing else. Do you understand?”

You nod eagerly sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fuck you love him like this. 

He kisses down your neck towards your right breast. Pausing he adds, “Words, Little Dove,” before gently dragging your right nipple through his teeth. 

You let out a desperate moan arching your back into the pain, “Yes, sir.” 

Joel quickly steps back, taking his coffee cup with him. “Be a good girl today.” 

+++++

You spend your workday trying not to think about Joel. You immerse yourself in your to-do list and your team gets a few projects done early and sent off for approval. You’ve almost forgotten about the morning events when you hear your phone buzz. 

Joel: When I get home I want you in that little black lacy thing, Little Dove. I’m bringing home dinner. 

You reply with a funny ‘yes, sir’ gif.

Joel: Oh, my sweet Little Dove. I’m almost starting to think you like it when I punish you. 

You: Do your worst, I won’t tap out.

Joel: Tell me what you’re going to be doing when I get home.

You find a photo of you wearing the aforementioned ‘little black lacy thing’ and attach it to your message that says, “Wearing this, sir.” 

Joel: Be kneeling beside the couch when I get home. 

You: Yes, sir. 

++++

The rest of your day goes by tortuously slowly, yet the drive home seemed suspiciously fast. You laugh to yourself picturing a speeding ticket in the mail and Joel’s reaction when you tell him he has to pay it since it’s his fault. Maybe you’ll ask him when he’s in a sir mood.

You hop in the shower, shave and touch up your makeup before clipping and clasping yourself into the outfit Joel loves so much. As you step back to admire yourself in the full-length mirror you realize certain squishy parts of your body don’t look great in this.

Focus on the positive, you remind yourself. 

The deep v-halter of the one-piece garment accentuates your breasts, you spin to take in the low cut back and high cut cheeky bottom that highlights the globes of your ass. 

The familiar sounds of Joel’s truck pulling up the driveway sends a rush of nervous and excited butterflies through your stomach. You hurry to the sitting room, grab a throw pillow from the couch and kneel. 

Your eyes follow as Joel heads to the kitchen, holding a bag from your favourite sushi restaurant.  He places it on the island before looking up at you with dark eyes

“Look at the ground and put your hands on your lap.” He commands. 

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling as you look down and do as he says. 

“Little Dove, don’t roll your eyes at me.” His voice deepens with every word, instantly setting your core on fire. 

He’s silent for a moment and you can feel his eyes on you. “From now on when I say to kneel, this is how you’ll be. Understand?” 

You squeeze your thighs a little tighter, breathing starting to shallow at the sound of his voice as he slips deeper into sir mode. 

You reply with a breathy, “Yes sir. Sorry.” 

Joel walks over and pets your head. “You look stunning like this.” He whispers, before turning and leaving you alone. 

His words feel like warm honey being drizzled down your spine. No one makes you feel as desired as Joel and immediately your earlier body insecurities vanish. You can hear him moving things around the bedroom before he walks back to the kitchen but you don’t dare look up. You’re a good girl, Joel doesn’t like brats, and right now all that matters is pleasing him. 

Joel sets up dinner, arranges the sushi on plates, opens the wine and lights a candle before sitting at the table, legs spread, facing you. 

“Crawl to me, Little Dove.” His deep voice washes over you. Almost as if it puts you in a trance. You know your knees are going to regret this in the morning, but you’re so turned on that you don’t hesitate to crawl across the area rug and then onto the hardwood flooring Joel installed himself.

Stopping between his bare legs, his strong hand cradles your chin and tilts it up, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and tight black boxers. But it’s the sleek black remote control vibrator in his other hand that steals your attention.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He says with a soft moan, gently stroking your cheek. “Go put this in, and then come back and have dinner with me.”

He helps you to your feet and hands you the vibrator. He turns you towards the half bath off the kitchen and pats your bum gently while you walk away. 

Joel has laid out everything you might need on the counter. After cleaning the toy, you push the thin fabric of your lingerie aside and slide it inside yourself. You can already feel pressure on that little spongy part inside you that Joel loves to tease. As you wash your hands you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

I can do this, you say to yourself. 

As soon as you step out of the bathroom and make eye contact with Joel the toy comes to life. Your false confidence from a few seconds ago buckles along with your knees as you brace yourself on the door frame and let out a breathy gasp. 

“I want you to keep count and thank me for each one, Little Dove. Understand?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you moan, crossing your legs and squeezing your thighs, all while maintaining eye contact. 

The vibration stops, you take a few deep breaths before standing up tall and walking over to the table. Always the gentleman, he pulls out your chair and kisses the top of your head before taking his seat. 

“Eat while we go over some ground rules, Little Dove.” 

You don’t have to be told twice, you love sushi and you’re probably going to need your strength for the evening. 

“You are going to need a safe word tonight.” Your mouth goes dry and you become accurately aware of the small remote control in his possession. 

“We are going to use a colour coding system, much like traffic lights. If I ask you for a colour tonight you have three options. Green means you want to keep going,” he emphasizes the word you. 

“Yellow means you need a break and will let me know when you’re ready again. Say red and we stop.” Joel pauses and looks at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply in between bites. 

He picks up his wine and takes a sip before continuing softly, reaching across to grab your hand. “But baby, you can say yellow or red at any time. If you need a break or reassurance, say yellow. And if it’s too intense and you need me to stop, say red. We’ve done our research on this. But you need to know that if you say stop, or that you need a break, or even if you’re crying and saying I’m hurting you, I will not stop. Colours only. Understand?”

You nod while taking a big mouthful of wine, the nervous excitement that you’ve been feeling all day courses through your body. As your wine glass is put back on the table the vibrating starts again, stronger this time. 

“You should know by now that you need to use your fucking words, Little Dove.” He says darkly. 

“Yes,” you stammer. “Yes. I under….I understand, sir.”

The vibrating stops and you let out a breathy, Oh god.

You both eat your dinner and finish the wine, this man could give you whiplash with how quickly he can go from sir to family man.  He asks about your day and tells you about the new apprentice he’s hired. When you both finish eating he takes the dishes to the sink. He turns to face you, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. The sleeves of his t-shirt stretch over the ropes of muscles lining his biceps. 

“Little Dove, do I have your consent to make you come until you use a safe word?” 

Again, the whiplash. 

Your mouth goes dry as you reply with his preferred ‘yes, sir.’ 

The toy comes to life again, on a higher setting than the last 2 times. You lean forward so your ass is slightly off the chair to ease some of the intensity. You’re not a stranger to a vibrator, but never one that’s pushed this firmly against your g spot and your clit. The seat of your chair is clamped between your fingers as you cry out in pleasure. 

“Don’t make me tie you to that fucking chair. Sit down, Little Dove.”

You do as he says, letting out a desperate moan as the hard seat presses the two ends of the u shaped toy deeper and harder against your g spot. 

“Oh fuck - fuck - m’gonna…” you close your eyes and your head falls back as the white heat in your center starts to reach its breaking point. 

Joel strides over to you and grabs your chin, twisting you slightly to face him. “Look at me, I want to see it when you come.” 

“J-Joel,” his hand doesn’t leave your chin and he watches you with such admiration as you start to come undone. 

“That’s it, Little Dove,” he whispers as he places a few kisses along your jaw towards your ear adding, “Let go for me.” 

Your orgasm hits you hard, spreading from the base of your spine and out to every inch of your body. Wave after wave flows through you, intensified by the look of admiration spreading across Joel's face.  

“There you go - good girl.” 

Your fingers start to ache as you fight to stay seated in the chair, his wishes are your command and you’ll do anything to hear him praise you again. You squirm against the seat as overstimulation starts to take over. 

“Please, sir,” you beg, “fuck! I need…I need to move.” 

“So beautiful when you beg, Little Dove….count it for me” He says. 

“One sir, thank you.” It comes out weak and breathy, a voice you didn’t expect after only one orgasm. 

“Give me a colour, baby.” His voice is almost soothing as he torments you with the vibrator. 

Current state aside, you’re not giving up or giving in after one orgasm, even if it is still coursing through you minutes later. 

“Green!” You scream, shifting yourself off the chair slightly as he switches to a new vibration setting.  Its intensity varies and shifts, and the anticipation of never knowing what might hit you next is a new level of wonderful torture.

Joel slides your chair out and kneels in front of you, pushing your hips back down to the chair. 

“I will tie you down if you don’t stay still, Little Dove,” he growls before slamming his lips into yours.

A second orgasm tears through your body, your hands move to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you try not to move. It’s no use, the vibrations are too intense and you buck your hips up while your head falls back breaking the kiss. 

The kitchen fills with your cries of ecstasy. Somehow you manage to count and thank him for the second one before he turns off the toy and pulls you to your feet. You grip his strong forearms to steady yourself, your pussy still fluttering against the weight of the vibrator. 

“You have five seconds before I turn this on high, Little Dove. Unless you can make it to the bedroom before that.” 

Your legs feel like jelly beneath you, but your competitive side kicks in and you sprint down the hallway as he loudly and authoritatively counts to five. You almost make it through the bedroom when you feel the most intense vibration hit your swollen g spot. You stumble forward, folding your upper body onto the bed. Your brain scrambles to catch up to your body as it processes that you’re not in pain but instead in a state of agonizing pleasure. 

Joel walks up behind you, pressing himself against your ass. “You’re doing such a good job for me,” he praises before landing a hard slap on your right ass cheek. 

Your body is suspended in that moment right before you come. You almost feel like you’re floating and the pleasure is so intense that you can’t even make a noise as you clench the bedsheet in your fists to try to ground yourself. 

He uses his body to pin you down, folding over you and whispering “Give me a colour,” in your ear. 

“Green” comes out in a shaky whisper. 

“That’s my girl.” He says proudly, biting your shoulder blade. 

Again it’s his words that do it, my girl, and you finally tip over the edge and tremble underneath him. Joel kisses and sucks the skin of your upper back, every inch of your body feels encompassed by him and crying out for relief, but you’re not giving in. 

“Ah - fuuuuck…” you feel like this orgasm has been going on for hours.

“I wish you could see how good you look right now.” 

“Stop. P-please. Stop,” you beg in between gasps of air. 

As you come down from your high the vibrating slows to a small tickle, not enough to make you come again but enough to remind you that it’s there.

Can someone die from an orgasm? 

“Take off your clothes,” Joel growls in your ear, slapping your right ass cheek as he peels himself off of you. “I’m not stopping until you use the safe word, Little Dove.” 

He pulls his shirt off and watches as you undo the clasps and clips of your lingerie and slide it off with shaky hands. 

As you lay on the bed you say, “I’m not a fucking quitter, sir.” 

Joel smirks, laughing through his nose a little as he wraps a silk cuff around each ankle, spreading your legs apart for him. “How many are we at so far?” 

As he cuffs your wrists you reply. “Three. Thank you, sir.” 

He kisses your forehead as he slowly removes the vibrator. “Fuck me,” he says, “look at this mess, such a good girl for me.” 

You close your eyes and let the praise wash over you like a warm bath. Joel shifts his body between your legs and places two little kisses on your swollen clit making you whimper and suck your bottom lip between your teeth. 

He uses two fingers to lightly circle your clit making you come instantly with a whimpering ‘four, thank you, sir,’ at the end. 

Joel doesn’t stop, switching to use his tongue while keeping the same pace and pressure as you come again.

“Ah - five, thank you, sir!”

….and again….”fuck, six. Thank you, sir.”

...and again….”s-seven - oh god - thank y-you, sir.” 

Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat as a cool liquid drizzles down your pussy. You gasp at the new sensation, eyes shooting to his face. 

“Stay still, Little Dove.” 

As he runs his fingers up and down your pussy, the lube turns warm and tingly, heightening his touches. Joel draws circles on your clit with his thumb, pursing his lips and blowing cool air. The warmth turns icy cold, and when he stops blowing, heat rushes to your pussy, pulling another orgasm from you. 

Yes, I’m certain someone can die from an orgasm. 

“Count, Little Dove.” 

A whine escapes your lips as you try to tug your legs together. His thumb has slowed down but it’s all becoming too much. “Eight. I can’t anymore, sir.” 

He blows cool air again and the heat rushing has you keening all over again. 

“Please, Joel. I can’t. Please.” Tears spring from your eyes. 

“You’re ok. You can do this, baby.” Cool air hits your pussy again and you come apart.  “Good girl. So gorgeous. Count it for me, Little Dove.” 

“Nine. N-nine,” your eyes slam shut as he pulls away from you. “T-thank you, sir.” 

Before you’ve even finished thanking him, he slides his middle finger inside you, lightly massaging your g spot that’s still so sensitive from the vibrator. He pushes one of his strong hands down on your mound as he torturously works you toward your tenth orgasm. 

“No…please. Sir, I,” you gasp as you try to pull free. 

“I can’t,” the pleasure is almost painful at this point as the pressure from your arousal builds. He knows your close, he’s been dying to make you squirt again after the other night. 

“Color,” Joel says tenderly, slipping a second finger inside you and hooking the forward. 

You swallow hard against your sore and scratchy throat. You whine ‘green’, as you arch your back to try to ease the intense mixture of pain, pleasure and pressure that you’re experiencing. 

“Stay still, Little Dove,” Joel pushes harder on your lower belly. “Give me number ten. Show me, baby. Show me how good this feels.” 

You swear that everything stops, including your heart and time, as you fall apart under his touch and gush all over his hand. The walls of your pussy are clenching around Joel’s fingers and you can feel a puddle forming underneath you.  You think you hear Joel praising you, but the sound is muffled by your gasps and moans.  If you lived in an apartment your neighbours might think you were being tortured based on the loud cries coming out of you. Joel is sure that he’ll be making you a hot toddy to ease your throat later, but right now he’s hyper-focused on getting you through this orgasm.

As you start to come down his hand slows, “relax, baby.”

 “Red. S-stop. Fuck Joel, red.” 

Joel gently removes his fingers, shifting quickly to undo your restraints. You’re shivering and exhausted as he pulls you into his arms and away from the soaked sheets.

Everything Joel Miller does is done with the utmost care and attention, including aftercare. Your heated blanket is already warmed up, tucked near the headboard. He pulls it over you and places a featherlight kiss on your sweaty forehead. 

“I got you, darlin’. Shhh. I got you.” He holds you tighter as you melt into him. 

After a few moments of silence, you tilt your face up to look at him. “Are you okay?” He asks gently.

You bite your bottom lip to stop a smile. “Ya, that was - amazing.” 

You laugh a little and tuck back into his chest. “Are you sure? I’m so proud of you for using a safe word, but I need to ensure I didn’t hurt you.” 

You shake your head and fight to stay awake. “No…you didn’t” you mumble sleepily, stifling a yawn. “I’m great - just one minute…then I’ll do something for you.” 

Joel laughs softly and tilts your face up to his. He presses his lips to yours gently. “That was for me, Little Dove. Sleep for a little bit, I’ll wake you up for electrolytes and food.”

The warmth of your blanket takes over, you whisper an ‘I love you’ just as you drift off, thanking whoever brought this beautiful man into your life. 

++++++++++

Taglist: @corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @mermaidgirl30 @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut

[ckret2]

I have one/two acronyms for the bounty hunter

HASO (Humans Are Space Orcs)

EISA (Earth Is Space Australia)

Then you add the peculiar flavor of weird that is Gravity Falls

That or the poor bounty hunter is an INSURANCE hunter and claimant for the UFO (Space tax evasion!)

Honestly I'm not a big fan of the "humans are space orcs/earth is space Australia" thing. By this point, it's become very "humans are the ONLY species that's strong, that's brave, that's loyal, that's self-sacrificial, that's protective, that gets scared for fun, that heals from wounds, that can work hard for a day straight, that can solve problems with creative thinking, that can eat poisons too strong for any other creature's delicate digestive tracts, that—" Like, there's very little that we're the absolute best at even on our own planet. "oOoOo humans are SO TOUGH we like to eat HOT PEPPER EVEN THOUGH IT HURTS—" birds don't even taste capsaicin. Cows and rabbits can eat deadly nightshade. They're the space orcs now.

The most often reblogged HASO/EISA stories have turned into a form of speculative fiction that fails to offer any speculation on the capabilities and potential of cool alien species, and instead is just humans bragging about their favorite parts of humanity by deciding nobody else could ever achieve the same feat—"No one heals like Gaston, invents wheels like Gaston, no one persistence hunts for their meals like Gaston!"

Why should we believe that intelligent cooperative spacefaring aliens of multiple species from multiple worlds are universally deficit in the capacity for self-sacrifice, or eating things that hurt, or thinking other animals are cute enough to pack bond with them, such that the human race is the only species with such a capability they've ever seen? Why are we to believe that no other intelligent life-producing planet has ever had tornadoes, earthquakes, large predator species, whatever? It's so self-congratulatory it implicitly stunts and limits the potential of the entire rest of the universe. If no other species can ever be As Much As humans and if no other world can ever be As Much As earth... then everyone and everywhere else is less interesting than us.

Who wants to play in a sci-fi setting like that? A setting where everything that could be cool and fun and new is, by the very definition of the genre, defined by how inferior it is to what we already know?

The idea that the UFO is part of a tax evasion scheme is very funny tho

[harwood-pmc-official]

Every Man A Tiger

Robert would never get used to the Slingshot. Despite it being standard procedure for more than sixteen years of his life, he’d never be used to the sickening pit in his stomach as the chute whipped by, the blur of sudden, instantaneous motion. 

In seconds, the Morgenstern was out, thrown nearly a kilometer by the combination of its own thrusters and the slingshot’s power. Behind him were 17 of the bravest men and women he knew, thundering out of the chutes with a sound like orbital bombardment. 

“Alright, people,” Robert said into the comm. “Sound off, It’s go time.” over the radio came the responses, one by one, all reporting systems in the green and weapons hot. Rambler squadron, Haymaker squadron, Tornado squadron. Three groups of six, trained extensively to work as one unit and as individuals, and some of the most capable pilots in the inner sphere. 

“Solid copy. You all know the target, let’s turn and burn. Time on target is 35 seconds, I repeat, three-five seconds.” Robert said, met with a chorus of confirmations came over the comm. 

“Well boss,” said Tornado two, currently running the best sensor package, and thus appointed to lookout. “It looks like your plan worked better than expected!” And it had. 

The sky around the decoy dropship was swarming with aerospace fighters, like a swarm of gnats around rotten meat, turning and wheeling in dogfights with the fighters already deployed, exactly as intended.

“TOT 5 seconds, DS-122.” Robert commed to the dropship.  “You’re free to split off. We’ll make sure they don’t chase.” 

From there, it was all just routine. Just another furball, like the ones Robert had been getting into since he was seventeen. Pick a target, catch a tone, and blow it to hell. Rinse and repeat until your guys were the only ones still flying. Luckily, there was no shortage of targets today.

Among the cloud of fighters and interceptors, Robert could spot the red tail flares of the WoB’s elite aerospace unit, the Purifying Light, and from what he could see, they lived up to the legend. They were ruthless, executing maneuvers that anyone else would be mad to attempt, before blowing the Clan fighters to smithereens.

Luckily, Harwood pilots were just as crazy as they were. 

For his first target, Robert picked a Purifying Light interceptor, of a model he didn’t immediately recognize. It was sleek and mean-looking, all brutal edges and blade-like lines. Pressing the toggle on the stick, he set the interceptor as his target and began the hunt. 

To its credit, the interceptor was good. The moment that Robert engaged the targeting system, the interceptor was peeling off, rolling down and away from his line of sight. However, Robert was better. As soon as the interceptor took their dive, he followed, keeling over and dropping until he had them in his reticle. They banked hard, trying to shake him, but Robert banked right along with them, keeping that little green icon in just the right place until… tone.

Robert fired, sending two missiles straight at the interceptor. Before he could even truly react, the missiles were turning his shiny new interceptor into aerospace-grade confetti. 

In a heartbeat, he was wheeling around once more, thumbing the toggle to the next interceptor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two Blake interceptors following DS-122 out, and shouted into the comm.

“Haymaker, break from this furball and get the bandits on 122’s tail, Tornado, cover their exit!” As the two squadrons followed his orders, Robert once again lost himself in the cut and thrust of the dogfight, keying a target, turning as tight as his body can handle, and waiting for that sweet, sweet sound. 

Before long, there were only a few interceptors left, though the coalition force wasn’t without losses themselves. On Harwood’s part, they’d lost Rambler Four, Haymakers One and Six, and Tornado was down to Three, Four, and Five. Of them all, only Haymaker Six and Tornado Two had the chance to pop chutes. 

Currently, Robert was chasing down his seventh bandit of the day, and his third PL, but there was something… different about this one.They missed easy opportunities to disengage, only tried to stay out of his sight insofar as keeping his lock fuddled. It was like they wanted to be followed. By the time he realized that he’d walked into a trap, he was already hearing missile warnings behind him. 

Acting on instinct, he hit the air brakes and flipped the Morgenstern up on its wingtip, letting the missiles shoot right past him, where they streaked harmlessly away, to blow some poor farmer to hell. A quick look over his shoulder told him there were two of them, with the one he’d been chasing now looping around to make three. 

Immediately, Robert was pulling 10 G’s in a vertical climb that would leave a pilot who hadn’t lost three of his limbs in G-LOC. At times like this, Robert thanked his lucky stars that he’d made the call to get his teeth. Sure, they made his mouth always cold, and biting his tongue was a royal pain in the ass, but all the stunts like this he’d pulled over the years would have turned the teeth he was born with to powder. 

However, try as he might, he couldn’t manage to shake the bastards. He rolled to the right, they followed. He took a nosedive, and they were still on him like stink on shit. Pitched upwards into an Immelmann, but still they followed. He looked around, scanning the sky for someone that could get them off of him, but all of his pilots were locked in engagements of their own, too busy staying alive to worry about saving his hide. As he heard the warning system sound the alarm of multiple active locks, he took a half second to confirm it to himself. 

This was how he was going to die. 200 miles above the surface of some Blakie dustball, all because he fell for a trap hook, line, and sinker. 

In the next half second, a moment of irony struck him. He and Corax had been together only yesterday. Like some kind of sick joke, the universe had given him back love in his life, only to rip it away a day later. 

Sorry, Nevermore, He thought. Guess I’m not gonna see you after the op after all. And then there were explosions all around him. Brilliant green and blue energy beams danced all around his fighter, never touching it, but detonating every missile and taking down every fighter that was harrying him. A shape, angular, silver, and gleaming shot past. It rolled, jinked, dove, and climbed, taking on even more of the Blakist fighters solo. As Robert watched, the fighter briefly transformed in mid air, to literally smack a Blakist fighter out of the sky. A LAM. That means… “Are you going to help, Robert, or must I do all this by myself?” asked Corax, jokingly.

Robert barked out a laugh, still only half-sure that he wasn’t dead yet. 

“You’ve sure got a thing for timing,” Robert said shakily. “A second later and I’d have been nothing but dust!” For a single, glorious moment, they simply flew alongside one another, drinking in the other’s presence, and savoring the fact that they weren’t dead.

“Listen, Nevermore,” Robert said. “In case we don’t make it back, there’s something I wanna sa-” Corax cut him off.

“Save it, Robert. We will both be fine, and you can tell me when we have both feet on solid ground.” Even with only his voice, Robert could hear the smile in Corax’s voice.

Then, without warning, the right wing was gone. 

Robert couldn’t tell what had done it- it hadn’t been a missile, or he would have heard it, right?- but where his right wing and engine had been only moments before, there was now only a gaping crater, pouring hungry flames and black smoke. 

“Robert!” Corax shouted, bringing his LAM into a dive. 

Shit, shit, shit, he thought, mind spinning. You can salvage this. 

“Nevermore!” Robert shouts, wrenching the plane out of its flat spin. “There’s an open area in the city- probably a park of some kind. I’m gonna set it down there, alright? Let them know, so they can come and fin-”

“Robert, focus! Eject! You do not need to set it down, punch out!” Robert yanked at the eject lever, wrenching at it with his prosthetic arm to no avail.

“It’s stuck! I’m fucked, Birdie, get the hell out of here!” “No, you are not stuck. Unbuckle from your seat and duck, Robert. As low as you can.”

Confused, Robert did, ducking as low as his bulk would let him. “Alright, Birdie, whatever you’re gonna do, hurry up and do it!” Within seconds, the canopy has been blasted away, laser fire cutting each of the canopy supports. The wind takes care of the rest. “Now just roll and fall, Robert, you have your backup chute.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Birdie!” Robert laughs. “Literally!”

“Do not die on me, Robert. Do you understand?”

“You ain’t that lucky, Nevermore. See you on the other side.” As Robert said his goodbye, he rolled the Morgenstern over and jumped, letting gravity carry him away from the doomed aircraft. 

 The wind whistled past his face, wind whistling through his hair as he plummeted through the upper atmosphere, through the clouds and into the hellscape below. For several minutes, he fell, soaring through the air towards the street of the Blakist-held city. At 2,000 feet above the ground, he pulled the chute, canvas spooling out behind him as the rooftops grew closer. For a single sickening moment, it seemed as though it wouldn’t catch, until with a stomach-wrenching jerk, his descent slowed. 

He maintained his slower descent, guiding himself towards a clearing between buildings. However, unfortunately for him, the Morgenstern had followed him down. With a sound like a wailing demon, it slammed into the skyscraper above him, sending chunks of concrete, glass, and steel raining down around him. 

For a moment, he thought he’d make it out unscathed. However, no sooner had he thought it than a blinding pain sent his world to black.

[slutforstabbings-archive]

tobacco smoker!Corey Cunningham HCs

I've made a couple posts about this already but I headcanon Corey as a cigarette smoker and here's what kind of smoker I think he is!

heavily inspired by input from @nachtmahr666

also tagging @rebel-blue, @wolvesandvampires @lastgirl0nearth

Warnings: smoking obviously, self destruction and suicidal ideation (points 4 and 5)

Corey starts smoking after the accident with Jeremy. When he's in jail waiting for his bail to be set, someone offers him a cig. He's apprehensive but his nerves are so shot, he'll accept any help he can get to be even just a little calmer. After his first drag he coughs so hard he almost throws up. But he figures it out and is shocked it does actually make him feel a little better.

Now he smokes alone in his room while Joan and Ronald are at work, or late at night after they go to sleep. His mom smokes like a chimney and he sneaks a cigarette out of her pack once in a while. He hides it until he has some alone time and then he smokes it hanging halfway out the window so the smoke doesn't linger in his room. He always flushes the butt down the toilet, washes his hands extremely well, and uses mouthwash after too, to make sure he's not leaving evidence.

He tries hard to keep it just for when he really can't handle things, he knows that it's addictive and if he let himself, he'd smoke as much as Joan does, and if she ever noticed even the one a month he steals, he'd never hear the end of it. Denying himself, almost like edging, until he has a day bad enough that he gives in. Then, heart racing, he waits for Joan to leave that little box unattended, so he can slide one out and tuck it in his pocket. He walks around with it in there, getting a kick out of his rebellion that makes him feel better even before he lights up.

When he starts working at the garage, everyone who works there smokes, and he knows Ronald won't snitch if he takes a smoke break at work, since he'll get in just as much trouble with Joan as Corey will. So it's their secret together now, one of the only ways they bond as step-father and step-son.

Corey hears someone call Marlboro Reds "cowboy killers," and he likes the way that sounds, so he switches to smoking those. As a little kid cowboys had kinda been his thing, and he still holds cowboys up as the ideal men in ways he doesn't even realize. He can't live like a cowboy, but maybe he can die like one.

Dying is definitely a part of the smoking for him. It's (novelization) canon that he thinks about dying and is mildly suicidal but scared to act on his feelings. He hangs over the railing of the stairs in the abandoned Allen house and wants to fall like Jeremy did but he can't make himself let go. Lighting up is easy, tho. Knowing every cigarette makes his life shorter is comforting to him. He's not interested in immortality.

Corey religiously flips a lucky cigarette. Upper left corner of the box. First thing he does with every new pack, he takes one out and flips it around, putting it back in filter side down. It's almost always the last one he smokes, but on days when the residents of Haddonfield are really on one, when Willy the Kid will not shut the fuck up about the cult of Thorn, he smokes his lucky early. He does not flip a new one until the next pack.

The first time Corey feels affinity for fire is the first time he strikes a lighter. Way before he ever smoked, way before the accident, he found a lighter in the crack in his seat on the bus. He quietly put it in his backpack and when he got home he sat behind his house burning blades of grass and little pieces of paper. Keeping the lighter lit for so long the spark wheel got too hot to touch. He burned his thumb on it and spent a week trying to keep his hands palm down around Joan so she wouldn't notice the wound and flip her shit.

When he starts doing yard work for people in Haddonfield, he's stoked raking the leaves or collecting branches after a tornado because it means he gets to light a fire. He loves nursing the flames from a tiny smolder to a huge inferno, watching them devour the yard waste, standing too close to the heat until his face and hands look sunburned and he has to step away.

When he starts working at the garage he realizes the welding tasks are his favorites because he gets to use giant torches. Every time he goes through the steps to turn the torch on, turning all the nozzles open and using the striker, it's a thrill. It never gets old having the sparks rain down on him. In the novelization it says he thinks about turning the torch on other things in his life, and the thought doesn't have any specifics but it brings him comfort. He wants to burn it all down even before he meets Allyson.

After he meets Michael, he smokes openly in front of Joan, her freak outs have no power over him anymore. He tears the filters off. He's not careful about making sure the cherry's all the way out before he flicks his butts anymore, let it catch a piece of trash and start a wildfire. Everyone would be better off if it did.

He tells himself if Terry Tramer comes around while he's got a lit cigarette, he'll put it out right between that prick's eyes. Let him walk around with a permanent mark staining his reputation just like Corey does. Then the stars all align when he knocks Terry out and the torch is right there. He can do so much better than just a little cigarette burn now.

[narrators-journal]

Compliments

Honestly, it's funny to see how long it's taking my wheel to land on anything but persona. It's also funny how sparce the hetero asks are on this wheel. Like, dude, I have a handful of asks left. Either way! Despite the wait, I hope you enjoy it! I've written a few attendant x Narukami asks, so I tried to shake it up a bit with this one. Not much, I can only get so creative with how I write Margaret with a breeding kink, but I tried~ And I hope it's fun to read!

Kinktober Masterlist: Here

CW: Breeding kink, pet play, I at least implied the lingerie, Margaret has a praise kink ehe

The thick braided rope of Narukami’s leash bit into Margaret’s palm from how hard she gripped it. Her other hand clawed into the fabric of the limo’s seats to try and give her some grounding in the tornado of gut-twisting pleasure she was swept up in. “F-fuck, Margaret...you feel really good.” the lipstick-stained man huffed, his words rolling over the velvet room attendant’s milky skin while one of his strong hands gripped the thigh he had captive on his shoulder so he could continue to plunge into her as he spoke. Which, was a surprise to Margaret. Of all of the kinks and turn ons she’d expected to find, a taste for being praised wasn’t on the list.

Yet, she wasn’t going to complain about the way such gruff words of affirmation sent her stomach into tighter knots and made her back arch. “N-Narukami…” She panted, her blue-painted nails digging deeper into the limo seat as she fought for breath between the way the man’s thrusts jolted her body against the seat, and the sudden constriction of the lacey bra she had managed to keep on with the sheer thigh high stockings, though the matching panties of the set were a lost cause. One unexpectedly strong tug from her pet had shredded the delicate material like they were merely paper.

Which, admittedly, they sort of were. The fancy undergarments Margaret often wore to impress her wildcard were rarely comfortable or built to last, but they were hot. And that was all they needed to be. Especially in the moment. With how Narukami humped into the attendant and drew out lewd noises so easily, she couldn’t care less for the pricey underwear sets he cost her,

Though, in the growing buzz of need, the golden-eyed woman did manage to recall the article her lover wore as well. So, with a harsh thug of the leash, she composed herself enough to moan out, “Praise me again.” “Excuse me, mistress?” Narukami breathed, slowing his thrusts down to a lazier pace, his misty eyes staring down at the attendant with a glint of mischief that was equal parts hot, and annoying. “Praise me again.” She ordered, her teeth slightly bared at the man as she tried to grind her hips against his. An already complicated movement to pull of in her haste for friction and the fact that she was turned on her side with a leg thrown over Narukami’s marked shoulder, but made further difficult when the man moved his hand from her thigh, to her hip.“When did I praise you?” He asked innocently, the smirk that crept onto his lipstick-spotted face as he slowed to a stop annoyed Margaret to high heaven, but she bit back her impatience. “When…” the words died on her tongue. The heat of embarrassment creeping onto her skin with the thrill of pleasure, “when you said I felt good. Do that again.”

Despite being the one who held Narukami’s leash, and the one who put the embossed collar on his neck, being made to repeat what he said back to him had the woman’s stomach twisting and her cheeks burning. But, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant rush of emotions, just a cold contrast to the burning pit of unsatisfied need that was kept alive by the twitching cock buried in her cunt. Ever so close, yet refusing to move while the wildcard was obviously trying not to be smug. “Oh, that.” He hummed simply, in as best an innocent tone as he could manage while beginning to lazily hump into her again. “All you had to do was ask, Mistress.” Margaret was going to punch Narukami.

But, only later. Because, with that last coy remark, Narukami returned to his movements. Driving his length in and out, keeping a tight hold of the thigh he had imprisoned to dive as deep as he could with each thrust. The drag of his cock against Margaret’s slick walls after a torturous pause sending a fresh bolt of warmth through her veins that made her writhe in bliss and moan all over again. “You sound so pretty, mistress~” Narukami hummed, his leash forgotten under the barrage of ripples of head-spinning bliss that filled the attendant’s head. “And you’re a dream to look at-” he continued, letting out his own moan, “When you’re under me.” That one had the silver-haired attendant whining. Dangerously close to her orgasm and a layer of buzzing heat that rippled over her skin with more intensity.

”Narukami!” she moaned, reaching up to try and grab the wildcard’s hand in an attempt to fight off the encrouching fog in her mind. “Oh fuck, breed me! Breed me, Narukami!” She ordered, forgetting his leash, but not how to be bossy, even at the edge of her orgasm. Yet, she didn’t get the chance to hear if he said anything before the euphoria flooded her body and blocked out her senses. The last thing she could register was Narukami’s thrusts stuttering to a halt until his cock was buried to the hilt in her cunt. Pumping her full of an overwhelming heat while her body shuddered.

When Margaret managed to scrape her thoughts back together and level out her breathing, she let her head fall back onto the limo seat. Her golden eyes slow to clear of the haze, while her muscles returned from a gelatinous state. “Was that to your satisfaction, mistress?” Narukami breathed, just as breathless as the attendant, beautifully disshevelled and still speckled with kiss marks despite his sweating, on top of it. Which, earned a smile from the woman as she pulled herself off of him and pushed herself up so she could hook a manicured nail under the collar he still wore and run a thumb over the name embedded in the material. “Of course, my wildcard. You always do a wonderful job for me.” She assured before she gave him a kiss and moved to get dressed.

Narukami wasn’t too far behind her in that, both quiet as they dressed and the tall man headed for home once again. At least, until he was inevitably summoned again.

[kayla1993-world]

It took a matter of minutes. Greg Mason was outside his trailer home in Hines Creek, Alta., filming a summer thunderstorm, when he noticed clouds rolling faster.

Mason, his wife, and their cat and dog hunkered down next to their living room couch, feeling the house buck and whine like a wild animal. Then, the room filled with the screech of nails being pulled.

"We were going to die," Mason recalled thinking at that moment. "And there is nothing you could do about it."

The village of Hines Creek, about 445 kilometers northwest of Edmonton, is in recovery mode after a powerful storm rolled through Friday night.

Alberta Emergency Alert issued a tornado warning for the Fairview, Alta., area — just southeast of Hines Creek — shortly before 9:45 p.m. Friday, because a severe thunderstorm nearby was "possibly producing a tornado."

Hines Creek residents told CBC News the thunderstorm had already been underway for a while before things turned rough.

Environment and Climate Change Canada is still investigating what happened. Meteorologist Danielle Desjardins told CBC News Saturday morning.

"It could be plow or straight-line winds, or it could have been a tornado," Desjardins said.

The community had lost power during the storm, which hindered the public's ability to send in information, photos and footage of the weather event in real-time, she added.

As of 5 p.m. Saturday, the ATCO power outage map shows two outages in the Hines Creek area, affecting nearly 500 customers.

Photos posted to social media show trees that were uprooted entirely, snapped in half, or bent over; some structures such as sheds were damaged or destroyed and the roofs of some homes and buildings were torn off.

The weather agency had received many reports of rain walls and Ping-pong-ball-sized hail.

The hail fell after the roof ripped off Mason's trailer. The chunks of ice looked like golf balls, he said.

Kathy Loxterkamp and her husband have lived in Hines Creek for over 50 years, and they have never witnessed such a storm.

Friday had been hot, and the thunderstorm seemed like it was going to be fairly typical, she said.

Then the outdoors turned white, Loxterkamp said. She and her husband hid in their basement because the weather showed all the signs that a tornado was coming.

"What's going to be up there?" she and her husband wondered from the basement. "Is the roof going to be there?"

Loxterkamp and her husband were also grateful to have a basement, she added.

About 10 minutes later, it was quiet outside again, she said. Hines Creek, home to about 396 people, is a community where everyone knows everybody in town — and residents say that sense of community has glowed in the hours since the storm.

After the weather passed, members of the Mennonite community stopped by Mason's property with sandwiches and supplies to put a tarp over the top of his trailer home, where the roof used to be.

Others have donated trucks and a Bobcat tractor to help collect debris from the yard, he said.

A GoFundMe campaign to help pay for a new roof was launched Saturday morning. It had raised $305 as of 4:30 p.m.

"This community is top shelf bar none," said Mason, who will stay in a borrowed fifth wheel trailer for a while with his wife.

Loxterkamp checked on her neighbors once the weather passed Friday night, she said.

At 6:30 a.m., she and her husband were cutting fallen trees and moving debris in their yard.

She and a neighbor also stopped by the seniors' lodge to check on residents there, Loxterkamp said.

This morning, Little Denise Foods, a local Filipino restaurant, set up a station to give out free coffee, pancakes and eggs.

Loxterkamp is grateful to be part of such a community, she said. "When something bad happens, they just come together and help."

[honeybeekao]

No Lonesome With You

2137 words

Johnny Joestar/Gyro Zeppeli

fluff, slow dancer's a cat, modern setting

Summary: Johnny turned to Gyro, his eyebrow raised. "You didn't think to tell me ya got a cat then."

"Technically I didn't, she just walked in here yesterday and I haven't kicked her out." Without a moment to spare, Gyro skittered past Johnny and pulled Dancer into his arms, swift as lightning. She immediately climbed her way on to his shoulder, staring at the newcomer.

Wanting to get a closer look, Johnny rolled as far forward as the space allowed.

The atmosphere was desolate as it was quiet—far too quiet to possibly believe there were even other human beings on Earth. The shine radiating off his laptop was blinding - he never did opt to turning the brightness down, perhaps that contributed to the abundance of headaches. No matter, he wouldn't do anything about it—he'd just continue to sit, staring at a mindless article that he'd far off forgotten he was gonna read.

The time in the corner of the screen was small but at the same time so utterly bold as it quickly switched to the new hour.

1:00 AM.. His therapist had recommended he try melatonin to try and get a grip on his sleep schedule, but he'd already know it wouldn't work. Maybe the meds would, but the whole "getting more sleep" never did seem to be Johnny's thing. It didn't matter how much sleep he got - albeit it did if he had to wake up early, but that was the thing. Here, with a freelance job in digital painting and illustrations; he didn't need a specific wake-up time. It was all a way for him to revert to lackadaisical routine, but that couldn't hurt him. It got him through life, yeah it was lonely most of the time—but he'd survived hadn't he? It was okay because he was stable.. At least, financially, and the privacy he'd never gotten growing up was all around.

A curious notification popping up at the top of the screen caught his attention, straining his eyes to read the text he found it was from his friend Gyro. Of course it was Gyro, Johnny didn't talk to anyone else who'd even be awake at this hour. Diego was too ambitious to let his proper schedule be fucked up, and HP just didn't talk much when it came to online.

"yoyo do you wanna come over and taste test some things??" The message read, followed by a slightly blurry photo of a kitchen counter that looked like a tornado had blown clear through it—why was every capsule of food coloring basically empty? Aren't you supposed to use like two drops of that shit?

Are you /srs or /j Johnny typed quickly, thankfully noticing his typo of "/h" before sending it which.. what even would that mean? He was grateful for the vehement need to meticulously go over any message he sent.

"100% serious, I may have gone a bit overboard," Gyro said after around 20 seconds. Probably wasn't paying too much attention to their chat if he was baking.

I'll head over :)✌ he replied, closing his laptop and finding its case somewhere on his bed. How that somehow ended up under his blankets despite him not remembering putting it there- he'd never know. The fact it was 1 AM probably didn't make that matter any better.

When he finally stopped staring off into the darkness—how poetic— no, but it was a little concerning how much he spaced out — Johnny pushed himself into his chair. Ready to make the totally strenuous journey to Gyro's apartment.

After closing the door behind him, keys in his pocket and the bulky laptop under his arm, he wheeled down the hall. No one was out at this hour thank God, and the air was quite pleasant actually. It could be classified in the ever-popular Goldie Locks zone - not too cold, not too hot, perfect for going outside in the dead of night! Er.. morning? Both, neither.

After turning one corner, Johnny got to the door with a decorative cowboy hat hung up on the frame—yeah Gyro didn't actually live that far and it was a wonder that the two didn't just resort to sharing an apartment given how often they were at eachother's respectively. Johnny knocked on the door, then continued to let his mind wander.

Was it a twist of fate that Gyro had sent such a message at what seemed like the perfect time? If it had been any longer with him dwelling in the mental mindfield he called his brain, he may have sunk into the clutches of those damnable thoughts. The ones that veered their claws at random moments and whisked themselves away in the shadows when others were near. Usually, he could ignore it - but Johnny was finding it more and more difficult to as the demons got bigger, more effective. Some nights they ate him up inside like he was nothing but a cored apple, easy to rot. Oh Gyro, you've no idea how much I don't wanna be alone tonight.

The click of the lock, and the sudden appearance of his closest friend brought him out of his haze, knocking off the blank stare he surely had settled into. The man had a funny apron on, he really did have a certain charm tied in every aspect of his life, was that a pin of Link from Zelda?

"What's up Johnny Boy! Up at the dead of night I see?" Gyro said in a surprised voice, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm always up this late‐ and you knew I'd show up." Johnny replied with a snort. "Am I welcome?"

"Always—even if I don't expect it," Gyro answered with a wink, the implications of his statement flying right over Johnny's head as he wheeled into the apartment. A strong scent of cinnamon, vanilla, a hint of chocolate maybe? permeated the air like the morning of Christmas, and Johnny couldn't help but scrunch his nose at just how vibrant the smell was. It didn't overwhelm him per se, but it was far stronger than any bakery he'd ever had the pleasure to be in. How many things did Gyro make?

"I kinda got carried away by looking at recipes and couldn't pick only one, so by midnight I had like 3 mini cakes baked!" Gyro rattled off his tale like it was just some regular evening occurrence. Which in all fairness it kinda was. This wasn't the first time Gyro had made an entire weeks- maybe two weeks worth of something because he couldn't just pick one idea to test out; he was really a man of his craft.

"Did you use every spice in that cabinet?" Johnny joked, eyeing obvious colors of unknown dusts on Gyro's face. He watched as Gyro closed the door, then gave a grimace as the man shook his head like a dog who'd freshly exited the depths of a lake—there was stuff in his hair too?? How'd he manage that?

"What, why're you judging me," Gyro's voice came off offended, he had the gall to move closer to Johnny which prompty earned him the palms of 2 nimble hands half a foot from his face.

"Do you want me to have a sneezing fit, Jesus Gyro," Johnny wiggled his hands as if to say "shoo!" He wasn't really irked—and he was probably being a tad overdramatic—but what could he say? He couldn't stand sneezing over cinnamon and sugar.

Gyro huffed, then switched his gaze to the hall. "I was thinking I'd deliver them to whoever's in my contacts, maybe spin a wheel to see who gets the one loaded in food dye, but I was sooo lonely without my best friend Johnny! Thought it was worth having ya' around." He talked with such a large grin on his face you'd think he was telling his life's story. Not once had Johnny ever bothered bringing up what went on in his own head, but it seemed Gyro wore his heart directly on his sleeve - as prominent as his golden grills. If he needed company, he'd seek it rather than let the alternative swallow him whole. Admirable; how did he do that?

"Well you're in luck I wasn't busy." Never am, not at night at least. Johnny dropped his hands back to his lap and tilted his head ever so slightly. "Sooo you wanted me to taste test or something?"

"Yepyep! Since I dunno if it's even any good," Gyro looked off sheepishly while tapping his hand on the wall behind him.

"You're a professional chef, I doubt it sucks." Johnny smiled in weak amusement, pushing himself to leave the front-door area to reach the kitchen. Which, it shouldn't have been surprising that the scents of delectable sweets was only more ambrosial the closer he got to them.

"Is... is that.." The young man gawked upon entering the brightly lit room. His eyes were wide in awe at the spectacle of a little gray creature perched upon the top section of the mahogany bookshelf. It made neon eye contact with Johnny, its tail swishing around as the two were at a standstill.

"Pspspsps—" Gyro's call to the fluffy feline wooshed through the air and hit all 4 ears "—Daaancer!"

Johnny turned to Gyro, his eyebrow raised. "You didn't think to tell me ya got a cat then."

"Technically I didn't, she just walked in here yesterday and I haven't kicked her out." Without a moment to spare, Gyro skittered past Johnny and pulled Dancer into his arms, swift as lightning. She immediately climbed her way on to his shoulder, staring at the newcomer.

Wanting to get a closer look, Johnny rolled as far forward as the space allowed. "You seem friendly.." Illegal how tall Gyro stood when he wasn't slouching.

"She's not chipped so.."

Johnny stuck his hand out, slow and far away enough for Dancer's choice to get closer. He could feel air from her nose as she conducted her character analysis, his breath paused in slight worry. What he was worried about, no fucking clue but being rejected by animals has got to be the lowest of lows that ever could low. "She's got gorgeous ey—"

The man's words were snipped short as the weight of 4 paws landed on his lap, the fluffiness of a face pressing his stomach like he was some sort of pillow. What the hell what the fuck, oh my God. Johnny's face rattled in mortification, jaw dropped and eyes unmoving, but soon endearment tinged the water in his heart and his hand went to pet the kitty's head.

Gyro's grin couldn't possibly get any wider, the man's eyes shining glee and THEY WERE ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. "She picked you!"

"Shh go away I have a new best friend," Johnny could barely control the warmth in his voice, which was a feat given how rare that was. Wasn't his thing, some people speak in winter and some speak in Summer— it all depends on their nature. Diego definitely spoke in autumn.

Bright as hell, with Johnny's glare to match, Gyro's eyes glanced around his camera to give him a 'it was necessary you can't be mad at me' face. The polaroid printed, and the pretty picture began to appear in front of him. A mirror to the real thing.

"So since she's your best friend now you can just show up to see her whenever ya want." A statement of calm and welcoming words reached Johnny's ears a moment later as he held the polaroid between his fingers. He hadn't seen a photo of himself smiling so genuinely in.. in like ever. Something about it made him want the tears to fall—but God he couldn't cry over a cat. And he especially couldn't cry about a cat in front of his other best friend—why was it complicated like that?

Gyro returned to his habitat of cooking utensils and baked goods, some already put into containers and others stuck on the cooling rack that'd probably been long over its use many minutes before. He let the cats bond as he made small slices of the different desserts, transporting the dense feathers of pure sugar to a plate of graphic roses. This was also the only plate that adorned this pattern, Gyro'd been searching to find a set to match - perhaps that goal would never be achieved. Nevertheless, he set the plate on the table, opting to just leave it there for the two to snack on at any point. And he'd get to actually reducing the mess to wash-cloths and Clorox later. Not TOO much later, but an hour wouldn't hurt the counter surely.

"Where'd the name Dancer come from," Johnny spoke up. The creature really had chosen him, her purring resembling that of a running engine. A cuddle machine of a cat and a boy who'd never known the pure joy of it.

"Oh I dunno, the way she jumped seemed kinda like dancin'—" Gyro led his own way, hair flowing behind him towards the CD player that set closer to the couch in his cozy living room. "A bit simple but I like it."

"Me too," Johnny mumbled a bit, "my best friend Dancer."

[itcars]

First Look: The Volkswagen Golf GTI Clubsport 45

The Volkswagen Golf GTI Clubsport 45 opens for order to UK customers from tomorrow, marking 45 years of one of the world’s most iconic and best-loved badges with a highly desirable and bespoke limited-edition hot hatchback.

The GTI Clubsport 45 is the sixth generation of Golf to be bestowed with a special anniversary edition, and is based on the Golf GTI Clubsport – the quickest and most powerful production Golf GTI in the current eighth-generation line-up – and adds a package of upgrades befitting of such a landmark model.

The recipe is simple, but effective – Volkswagen takes the Golf GTI Clubsport, with its 5.6-second sprint to 62 mph, 300 PS and 400 Nm of torque, removes the speed limiter to facilitate a top speed of 166 mph (where permitted), and adds an Akrapovič titanium sports exhaust system to augment the car’s engine note, save weight and improve exhaust flow. 

The already sporty aesthetic of the GTI Clubsport is given additional assertiveness with a set of dynamic 19-inch ‘Scottsdale’ alloy wheels, which feature a high-gloss black finish and a Tornado Red pinstripe around the rim. The car’s special status is further marked out by ‘45’ lettering on the side sill panels, and a metallic black finish to the door mirror covers and upper part of the spoiler.

Inside, GTI lettering appears on the backrests of the front sports seats, while the ‘45’ emblem features in the center spoke of the steering wheel – a constant reminder to the driver that they are driving a part of hot hatchback history. Artvelours fabric in the door panels and a leatherette arm support add further sporting luxury to the interior of the model.

These tweaks combine to create the latest in a six-generation string of subtly tweaked but historically prominent special edition Golf GTI anniversary models, which started with the Golf GTI Mk III 20th Anniversary Edition in 1996, and continued every five years covering the Mk IV, Mk V and Mk VI Golfs in 2001, 2006 and 2011 respectively. For the Golf Mk VII, the model gained special, limited-edition Golf GTI Clubsport and Clubsport S variants for the GTI’s 40th anniversary.

Performance for this new special edition remains the same as that of the acclaimed GTI Clubsport – outputs of 300 PS and 400 Nm of torque translate into acceleration to 62 mph from standstill of 5.6 seconds. The Clubsport 45 achieves fuel economy of 37.7 mpg.

[wjbsart]

A complete, very long list of all GBoard-combinable emojis because I can't find one anywhere.

Ok so for those who haven't seen my stuff (or have only seen my Bionicle posts), I sometimes emoji mashup redraws, with the recent fourth one using GBoard-based fusions. Frustratingly, there's no actual list of fusion-compatible emojis, so I'll attempt to compile them, in a list below the "Read More" thing:

Green/▢ = compatible with fusion Blue/△ = only works with certain emojis Red/◯ = not compatible with fusion

Also, since other people's terms for specific emojis might not match up with mine, I recommend using CTRL+F and then doing this to find the specific emoji you're looking for. This list is in the order presented in GBoard's Emoji menu. Some of them will be generic unicode symbols, I don't know how to change that, sorry for the inconvenience. Also, I won't aknowledge multi-category Emoji.

Smileys and Emoticons

😀Open-mouthed smile▢

😃Wide-eyed smile▢

😄Closed-eyed smile▢

😁Closed-eyed grin▢

😆Laughing▢

😅Sweating smile▢

😂Cry-laughing▢

🤣Cry-ROFLing▢

😭Crying▢

😗Kissing▢

😙Kissing, closed eyes▢

��Kissing, blushing▢

😘Kissing, winking w/ heart▢

🥰Surrounded by hearts▢

😍Heart-eyes▢

🤩Star-eyes▢

🥳Noisemaker and party-hat▢

🤗Hugging▢

🙃Upside-down▢

🙂Smile▢

☺Blushing, smiling▢

😊Blushing▢

😏Looking off to the side▢

😌Relieved▢

😉Winking▢

🤭Hand over mouth▢

😶Nightmare fuel Mouthless▢

😐Neutral▢

😑-_-▢

😔Pensive▢

😋Licking lips▢

😛Tongue out▢

😝Tongue out, eyes closed▢

😜Tongue out, winking▢

🤪Tongue out, wide-eyed▢

🤔Hmmm▢

🤨Suspicious▢

🧐Monocle▢

🙄Rolling eyes▢

😒Unamused▢

😤Snorting▢

😠Angry▢

😡Angry, red▢

🤬Swearing▢

☹Frown▢

🙁Frown but less▢

😕Confused▢

😟Distraught▢

🥺Pleading▢

😳AWOOGA Flushed▢

😬Yikes▢

🤐Zip▢

🤫Shushing▢

😰Distraught, sweating▢

😧Distraught, shocked▢

😦Distraught, neutral▢

😮Open mouth▢

😯Open mouth, surprised▢

😲Shocked▢

😱Horrified▢

🤯Your head asplode Mind blown▢

😢Crying, single tear▢

😥Crying, less sad▢

😓Sweating▢

😞Dissapointed▢

😖Pained▢

😣Persevering▢

😩Weary▢

😫Tired▢

🤤Drooling▢

😴Sleeping▢

😪Sleeping but different?▢

🌛Left-facing moon▢

🌜Right-facing moon▢

🌚New moon face◯

🌝Full moon face◯

🌞The sun▢

🤢Queasy▢

🤮Vomiting▢

🤧Sneezing▢

🤒Unwell▢

🤕Bandaged▢

🥴Drunk▢

😵Dizzy▢

🥵Hot▢

🥶Cold▢

😷Masked up▢

😇Angel▢

🤠yee haw▢

🤑Money-tongue▢

😎Cool▢

🤓Nerd▢

🤥Lying▢

🤡Clown▢

👻Ghost▢

💩Poop▢

👽Ayy lmao Alien▢

🤖Robot▢

🎃Jack-o-Lantern▢

😈Demon 1▢

👿Demon 2▢

👹Oni◯

👺Tengu◯

☠Skull and crossbones▢

🔥Fire▢

💫Star with trail▢

⭐Star▢

🌟Star with bits▢

✨Stars▢

⚡Lightning◯

💥Explosion◯

💯100△

💢Anime anger symbol◯

💨Steam▢

💦Sweat Droplets▢

💤Zzz▢

🕳Hole▢

🎉Party popper▢

🎊Confetti ball▢

😺😸😹😻😼😽🙀😿😾Literally all the "cat in different emotions" emojis▢

❤🧡💛💚💙💜🖤Literally all the coloured hearts△

♥Heart suit▢

💘Heart with arrow▢

💝Heart with ribbon▢

💖Shiny heart▢

💗Growing heart▢

💓Beating heart▢

💞Swirling hearts▢

💕Two hearts▢

💌Love letter▢

💟Heart in square▢

❣Heart exclamation mark▢

💔Broken heart▢

💋Kiss▢

👥Two silhouettes◯

👤Silhouette◯

🗣Talking silhouette◯

👣Footprints◯

🧠Brain◯

🦠Microbe▢

🦷Tooth◯

🦴Bone◯

💀Skull▢

👀Eyes◯

👁Eye▢

👄Lips◯

👅Tongue◯

👃👂🦶🦵💪👍👎👏🙌👐Every other body part and hand gesture, seriously this isn't even all of them◯

People

Seriously, I don't know why none of the people-category emojis are Fusion-compatible. Let's just move on.◯

Animals and Nature

💐Bunch of flowers▢

🌹Rose▢

🥀Wilted rose◯

🌷Tulip▢

🌺Hibiscus flower◯

🌸Cherry blossom▢

🏵Rosette◯

🌻Sunflower◯

🌼Daisy▢

💮White flower◯

🍂Falling leaves◯

🍁Maple leaf◯

🌾Rice plants◯

🌱Seedling◯

🌿Herb◯

🍃Falling leaves again◯

☘3-leaf clover◯

🍀4-leaf clover◯

🌵Cactus▢

🌴Palm tree◯

🌳Deciduous tree◯

🌲Coniferous tree▢

🏞National park◯

⛰Mountain◯

🌊Wave◯

🌬Wind◯

🌀Tornado symbol◯

🌁Foggy scene◯

🌫Fog▢

🌪Tornado▢

☃Snowman (with snow)▢

⛄Snowman (without snow)▢

❄Snowflake

🏔Mountain with snow◯

🌡Thermometer◯

🌋Volcano◯

🏜Desert◯

🏝Desert island◯

🏖Beach◯

🌅Sunrise/set (water)◯

🌄Sunrise/set (mountains)◯

☀Sun▢

🌤Sun with cloud◯

⛅Sun and cloud◯

🌥Cloud with sun◯

🌦Sun and cloud with rain◯

☁Cloud▢

🌨Snowcloud◯

⛈Stormcloud◯

🌩Thundercloud◯

🌧Raincloud◯

💧Drop◯

☔Umbrella with rain◯

🌈Rainbow▢

✨Sparkles▢

🌙Crescent Moon◯

☄Comet◯

🌠Shooting star▢

🌌Milky Way◯

🌉Bridge◯

🌆City in the evening▢

🌃City at night▢

🌍🌏🌎Earth▢

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘The moon◯

🙈🙉🙊🐵Monkeys, wise or not▢

🦁Lion face▢

🐯Tiger face◯

🐱Cat face▢

🐶Dog face◯

🐺Wolf face◯

🐻Bear face▢

🐨Koala face▢

🐼Panda face▢

🐹Hamster face◯

🐭Mouse face◯

🐰Rabbit face▢

🦊Fox face◯

🦝Raccoon face◯

🐮Cow face◯

🐷Pig face▢

🐽Pig nose▢

🐗Boar head◯

🦓Zebra head◯

🦄Unicorn head▢

🐴Horse head◯

🐸Frog face◯

🐲Dragon head◯

🦎Lizard◯

🐉Dragon◯

🦖T-Rex◯

🦕Diplodocus◯

🐢Turtle▢

🐊Crocodile◯

🐍Snake◯

🐁Mouse▢

🐀Rat◯

🐇Rabbit▢

🐈Cat▢

🐩Poodle◯

🐕Dog◯

🐅Tiger◯

🐆Leopard◯

🐎Horse◯

🐖Pig▢

🐄Cow◯

🐂Bull◯

🐃Water buffalo◯

🐏Ram◯

🐑Sheep◯

🐐Goat▢

🦌Deer▢

🦙Llama▢

🦘Kangaroo◯

🐘Elephant◯

🦏Rhinoceros◯

🦛Hippopotamus◯

🦒Giraffe◯

🐒Monkey▢

🦍Gorilla◯

🐪🐫Camels◯

🐿Squirrel (why does the squirrel of all things have a Unicode symbol?)◯

🦡Badger◯

🦔Hedgehog▢

🦇Bat▢

🐓Cockerel/rooster◯

🐔Chicken◯

🐣🐥🐤Chicks◯

🐦Bird▢

🦉Owl▢

🦅Eagle◯

🦜Parrot◯

🕊Dove◯

🦢Swan◯

🦚Peacock◯

🦃Turkey◯

🦆Duck◯

🐧Penguin◯

🦈Shark◯

🐬Dolphin◯

🐋🐳Whales◯

🐟Fish▢

🐠Tropical fish◯

🐡Pufferfish◯

🦐Prawn◯

🦞Lobster◯

🦀Crab◯

🦑Squid◯

🐙Octopus▢

🦂Scorpion▢

🕷Spider▢

🕸Spiderweb◯

🐚Shell◯

🐌Snail▢

🐜Ant◯

🦗Grasshopper◯

🦟Mosquito◯

🐝Bee▢

🐞Ladybird◯

🦋Butterfly◯

🐛"Bug" yeah sure ok◯

🐾Pawprints◯

Food and Drink

🍓Strawberry▢

🍒Cherry◯

🍎Red apple◯

🍉Watermelon◯

🍑Peach◯

🍊Orange◯

🥭Mango◯

🍍Pineapple▢

🍌Banana◯

🍋Lemon▢

🍈Melon◯

🍏Green apple◯

🍐Pear◯

🥝Kiwi◯

🍇Grapes◯

🥥Coconut◯

🍅Tomato◯

🌶Chili▢

🍄Mushroom◯

🥕Carrot◯

🍠Sweet potato◯

🌽Corn◯

🥦Broccoli◯

🥒Cucumber◯

🥬Lettuce◯

🥑Avocado▢

🍆Aubergine◯

🥔Potato◯

🌰Nut◯

🥜Peanuts◯

🍞Bread▢

🥐Croissant◯

🥖Baguette▢

🥯Bagel◯

🥞Pancakes◯

🍳Frying pan◯

🥚Egg (somehow)◯

🧀Cheese▢

🥓Bacon◯

🥩Meat◯

🍗Chicken leg◯

🍖Anime meat◯

🍔Burger◯

🌭Hotdog▢

🥪Sandwich◯

🥨Pretzel◯

🍟Chips◯

🍕Pizza◯

🌮Taco◯

🌯Wrap◯

🥙Stuffed flatbread◯

🥘Paella◯

🍝Spaghetti◯

🥫Can◯

🥣Bowl◯

🥗Salad◯

🍲Pot of food◯

🍛Curry◯

🍜Noodles◯

🍣Sushi◯

🍤Fried prawn◯

🥡Takeaway container◯

🍚Cooked rice◯

🍱Bento◯

🥟Dumpling◯

🍢Oden◯

🍙Jelly Donut Rice ball◯

🍘Rice cracker◯

🍥Fishcake◯

🍡Dango◯

🥠Fortune cookie◯

🥮Moon cake◯

🍧Shave ice◯

🍨Ice cream◯

🍦See above◯

🥧Pie◯

🍰Cake slice◯

🍮Custard mate what kinda custard have you been eating, this is clearly a créme caramel◯

🎂Birthday cake▢

🧁Cupcake▢

🍭Lollipop◯

🍬Boiled sweet◯

🍫Chocolate◯

🍩Donut◯

🍪Cookie◯

🍯Honey◯

🧂Salt◯

🍿Popcorn◯

🥤Soft drink◯

🥛Milk◯

🍼Baby bottle◯

🍵Green tea◯

☕Coffee▢

🍺Beer◯

🍻Beers, plural◯

🥂Champagne glasses◯

🍾Champagne◯

🍷Red red wine◯

🥃Whiskey◯

🍸Martini◯

🍹Cocktail◯

🍶Sake◯

🥢Chopsticks◯

🍴Knife and fork▢

🥄Spoon◯

🔪Kitchen knife◯

🍽Plate▢

Travel and Places

🛑🎡Everything from the stop sign to Ferris wheel◯

🎠Merry-go-round horse▢

🎪🏕Everything from circus tent to campsite◯

🌇City at sunset yes I'm surprised as you are▢

🛤Train tracks◯

🛣Road◯

🗺Map◯

🗾Japan is an island by the sea filled with volcanoes and it's beautifuul!◯

🌐Globe with meridian lines▢

💺Plane seat◯

🧳Luggage◯

Activities and Events

🎈Balloon▢

🎀Bow◯

🎁Present◯

🎇Sparkler◯

🎆Fireworks◯

🧨Dynamite Firecracker◯

🧧Red envelope◯

🎐Wind chime◯

🎏Fish streamers◯

🎎Japanese dolls (that's what the emoji's called, don't @ me with the actual name for them)◯

🎑Moon viewing ceremony◯

🎍Pine decoration◯

🎋Tanabata◯

🎄Christmas tree▢

🎗Ribbon△

🥇🥈🥉🏅🎖Medals◯

🏆Trophy◯

📣Megaphone◯

🥅Goal◯

⚽⚾🥎🏀🏐🏈🏉🎾🏸🥍🏏🏑🏒SPORTS◯

🥌Curling stone◯

🛷Rosebud Sled◯

🎿Ski◯

⛸Skate◯

⛳Golf-hole◯

🎯Target◯

🏹Bow◯

🥏Frisbee◯

🎣Fishing rod▢

🎽Running shirt◯

🥋Martial arts uniform◯

🥊Boxing glove◯

🎱8-ball◯

🏓Ping-pong◯

🎳Bowling◯

♟Chess◯

🧩Puzzle piece◯

🎮Controller◯

🕹Joystick◯

👾Videogame alien◯

🔫Gun◯

🎲Dice◯

🎰Slot machine◯

🎴Flower playing card◯

🀄Mahjong tile◯

🃏Joker◯

🎩Top hat◯

📷📸Camera◯

🖼Painting◯

🖌Paintbrush◯

🖍Crayon◯

🧵String◯

🧶Wool◯

🎼🎵🎶Music▢

🎷🎺🎸🎻🥁Instruments◯

🎤Mic◯

🎧Headphones▢

🎚🎛🎙📻Assorted audio stuff◯

📺TV◯

📼VHS◯

📹Camcorder◯

📽Projector◯

🎥Film camera◯

🎞Film◯

🎬Clapperboard◯

🎭Comedy and tragedy masks◯

🎫🎟Tickets◯

Objects

📱🧻Everything from smartphone to toilet roll◯

🧸Teddy bear▢

🧷🧢Everything from safety pin to baseball cap◯

👑Crown▢

🎒💍Everything from backpack to ring◯

💎Diamond▢

💄👓Everything from lipstick to glasses◯

🕶Sunglasses▢

🥽📁Everything from goggles to folder◯

🕶Newspaper▢

🗞🔎Everything from rolled-up newspaper to right-pointing magnifying glass◯

🔮Crystal ball▢

🧿🔓Everything from Nazar amulet to open lock◯

Symbols

There are no compatible non-repeated Emoji here.◯

Flags

Aaaaand none here either.◯

Feel free to let me know if I got anything wrong.

[rashivermaofficial]

hot-wheels-tornado-twister-track : Rashi Verma : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Join us as we take you through the process of assembling the Hot Wheels Tornado Twister Tracks. Our comprehensive guide ensures you won't miss a beat as we piece together each part, preparing the track for an exhilarating adventure. Get ready to rev up your engines and embark on this thrilling journey of twists and turns!

[korydarling]

headcanons // zoyalai babies

hi, i just finished row, and all i want is some domestic zoyalai & some zoyalai bbs, so have some of my headcanons that i have to just to satisfy myself

i like to think that when zoyalai has kids (bc they totally will), they’ll only have girls. like, nik would be such a good girl dad imo???

nikolai & zoya have three daughters.

the oldest is named inessa liliyana

her middle name is after zoya’s aunt (obvs), and her first name, inessa, was a name nikolai had loved since he was a child & had always been set on naming his daughter

inessa is beautiful. like drop dead gorgeous. but what else would you you expect with such hot parents?!

she’s got zoya’s dark hair and her skin is a little darker than nikolai’s, but in all other aspects, she’s his doppelgänger

they call her “nessa” or “nessie for short

as she gets older, she hates being called nessie, so nikolai does it even more just to get on her nerves

she’s firey like zoya, and she has nikolai’s sense of humor, so she’s def a handful as a child

their second daughter is named eleonora alina

eleonora was a name they stumbled upon whilst searching for a name for inessa. it was zoya’s top choice for inessa, but ultimately, they decided against it. when eleonora was born, they knew that it was perfect

alina was honored when she found out that eleonora was named after her. she may have even shed a few tears upon being told

she looks just like zoya, except for her hazel eyes, which she got from nikolai.

nikolai calls her elly, and her sisters & zoya call her nora. she loves both of her nickname, and prefers being called either over being called eleonora.

she’s sweet and shy, but sarcastic when you get to know her. eleonora rarely gets angry, but when she does you’d better watch out

the youngest daughter is alyona genya

nikolai and zoya knew that if they had a third daughter, they would make her middle name genya. and genya even picked out alyona’s first name without even knowing it

zoya and genya came across it when the pair were looking for names, whilst zoya was pregnant, and genya pointed the name alyona out to zoya, who immediately fell in love with it

alyona is the only lantsov daughter with blonde hair. she has zoya’s brilliant blue eyes. everyone says she looks just like a blonde zoya, but both nikolai and zoya herself say she looks just like nikolai.

nikolai and zoya call her ona, while her sisters call her aly. she is indifferent to her nicknames and is fine with being called whatever

personality wise, she is almost just like nikolai. she was a tornado on wheels when she was a kid, but mellowed out a little as she got older, even though she was still a tad snarky

i just really love the idea of nik as a girl dad. i think nikolai having sons just feels weird and wrong. i might make a separate post about him as a dad/ him & zoya as parents, so look out for that!

these are just my personal headcanons that make me feel all warm in the inside, but if you have a q or two, feel free to ask & i will be sure to elaborate ;)

[thefanficmonster]

Quarantine On Crack

Until Dawn Gang + Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Some underage drinking, A LONG-ASS READ (sorry 😅)

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Humor

Summary: The Until Dawn kids (including Hannah and Beth) decide to go through literal hell - trying to survive each other while being stuck on a mountain, in a lodge together for an undetermined amount of time. It’s really a 50/50 chance of how their relationships will be affected by this much time spent together.

Requested by my dear Until Dawn Anon. This is the first time our babies aren’t suffering yay! Hope you enjoy! Know I had a ton of fun writing. The credit for some of these amazing quotes goes out to you (keep both the requests and quotes coming, I absolutely love them!) Love you, Vy ❤

Imagine what the aftermath of a human tornado would look like. You’ve got an image? Great. Now triple it as though three tornados had ripped through the place. Cause that’s what the lodge looks like right now.

Let me backtrack just for a second so I can give you a proper idea of what’s going on and how it came to be. I’d like to mention this ain’t my first rodeo. I’m not in Blackwood nor am I staying in this lodge with this group of people for the first time. I knew what I was getting myself into when I accepted Josh’s offer to go there now with this pandemic that’s eating away at the world. I knew certain members of the group would be hell to put up with but that quarantine beat staying at home alone with my thoughts, so I gave in. This plan had its perks: since we would be the only ones on the mountains and all of us are perfectly healthy, we’d be allowed to wander the woods and breathe some fresh air. On the other hand, however, I’d have to restrain myself from committing murder. The snowy wood outweighed the possibility of becoming a murderer and that’s how I ended up here with the ten people I’ve been friends with since high school freshmen year. 

We’re on day four so far. Yes DAY four, not WEEK four, and people are already scrapping with one another. Jess and Emily can barely tolerate each other. Mike and Matt likewise. I’ve been done with their shit since day two and am now watching a literal rom-com unfold in front of me. “Will They, Won’t They Squared” is the title in case you were wondering. Why squared? Well we have two pairs of love birds around here that are not official, BUT THEY SHOULD BE. Not naming any names or anything *ahem*.

I probably should’ve mentioned, while I was on the scrapping topic, that I have already managed to threaten Mike at least ten times. Emily and I are trying our hardest to remain civil with each other through passive aggression, and I must admit we’re doing well. 

Another thing that has been going on is A LOT OF FUCKING FLIRTING. I swear we run on hormones and caffeine. And I’m into it.

Jess and Emily were at each other’s throats just moments ago, the argument took so many turns and kept branching out so much I forgot what they were even fighting about. Sam and Josh are sitting in front of the unlit fireplace. Sam’s giving him a hard time about his inability to light a fire. She’s basically doing what I would’ve been doing if Matt hadn’t handed me a cup of homemade cider.

“Y/N.“ He says as he settles on the other end of the couch

“Matthew.“ I reply to his greeting, clinking our cups together

“GET A ROOM YOU TWO!“ Emily yells from somewhere behind us

“We have like three empty seats between us and exchanged two words.“ Matt shakes his head, looking at the staircase over the backrest.

“Oh, sureee.“ Emily replies sarcastically

I can tell she’s about to go on and I’ve already went off on Mike twice today so my argument energy levels are low and I’m not having it. Thankfully, a single look shuts her up real quick and she goes about her way.

Suddenly, a loud scream comes from the kitchen. Everyone turns to look in that direction, but I’m unfazed. It’s Ashley’s scream so I know exactly what’s up.

“Sit tight, guys. I’ve got this.“ I put my cider on the coffee table and walk into the kitchen, grabbing the can of deodorant that I purposely left on the counter for this exact scenario. I pull the lighter out of my pocket and step between Ashley and the source of her terror which is, as I guessed, one of those mutated ass Blackwood cockroaches. 

I waste no time torching it and picking it up with a paper towel before throwing it in the trash. We take the trash out every night at eleven PM as some unspoken ritual, so the corpse can chill there for now. I ain’t going out in the cold just to throw away the dead body of a cockroach.

“Sorry about that.“ Ashley says through a relieved sigh

“Don’t worry, Ash. Everyone’s afraid of something.“ I assure her, putting the can of deodorant where it previously was.

“Even you?“ she asks skeptically

“Nope.“ I respond with a smirk.

“I CAN CONFIRM!“ Josh calls out from his spot in front of the fireplace, “SHE ISN’T AFRAID OF ANYTHING!“

“And a pyromaniac on top of all.“ Chris mumbles under his breath

He’s not wrong. I did teach them the deodorant flamethrower trick.

I notice Jess has taken one of those three seats Matt mentioned were between him and I earlier. The one closest to him, to be specific. Instead of third wheeling, I grab my cup and plop myself in one of the armchairs.

“Is that another point for the ‘Y/N’s burnt cockroaches’ score board?“ Mr. Munroe struts his way into the room.

I hum affirmatively, “Piss me off some more and there will be another point on that score board.” I warn him nonchalantly, taking a sip of my now almost cold cider.

 Ashley, who has safely made it out of the kitchen and is now sitting on the floor by the couch looks up at me and Mike who is now standing behind my chair, looming over me like a street lamp. “Do you two even consider each other friends?”

I give Mike a debating glance, one he returns, before looking back at Ash, “We fuck occasionally.” Mike confirms from behind me.

“That doesn’t answer the question.“ Ashley’s disappointed sigh mixes with Jess’ shocked gasp.

I give Jess an unamused look, “What? Don’t act like I haven’t slept with you too.”

Poor Matt, who’s halfway through a sip of his drink nearly chokes at my words, “Wait, WHAT?”

“OK, show hands everyone who HASN’T slept with Y/N!“ Mike declares.

Chris, Ash, Sam, Josh and Matt raise their hands in the air.

“I’m honestly offended that I haven’t.“ Sam says while raising hers.

“Offended that you haven’t what?“ Hannah asks as her and Beth come downstairs a bunch of board games and puzzles in their arms. “And why are we raising our hands?”

“People who haven’t slept with Y/N.“ Jess quickly explains, grumpily folding her arms over her chest. I can’t help but laugh, nor can I restrain the urge to fluster her even further by winking at her.

“I would raise my hand but these boxes would go everywhere.“ Hannah shakes her head.

“I won’t raise mine because....well, I just won’t.“ Beth blushes, making me laugh.

Josh whips around to glare at me, “Seriously?”

I raise my hands in surrender, “Wasn’t my idea.”

Thankfully the topic is dropped by the time Emily walks in. She sits down on the other side of Jess on the couch, more than happy to interrupt her and Matt’s flirting.

“Oh, finally!“ Sam says as the fire that’s been in the making for a while now finally lights, “I knew you could do it, Josh!“

“We could’ve done it a lot quicker if you helped, you know?“ He narrows his eyes playfully at her, taking the hand she offered to him so she could help him up.

“True, but I was your moral support. You know I like focusing on one task rather than multitasking.“ She teases him, “And now I’ll be your cider supplier. Be right back.“

I give Josh that knowing smirk when I see his ears reddening. You know something’s up when your cheeks/ears are burning hot in a room that’s around freezing - you’re either burning with a fever or a crush. No other explanation.

Hannah and Beth have set the board games they’ve brought onto the coffee table so we can decide what we’d like to play.

“UNO?“ Beth offers while Jess, Josh and Matt look at the options.

War-like flashback ensue when I shake my head, “No! Nah hah, I’ll be tempted to strangle somebody.”

“Over UNO?“ Josh gives me this look that’s between disappointed and deeply concerned

“I’ve been tempted to kill over Rock, Paper and Scissors.“ That statement tells him enough that he turns back around with this stunned look on his face.

Eventually, after a lot of convincing, the whole gang is on board with playing a round or two of truth or dare until one of us decides something more original because we really don’t feel like playing board games.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?“ Emily asks, not giving anyone else a chance.

I smirk, kicking my feet up on the table, leaning back in the chair, “Truth for the first round.”

“Who here is the best in bed?“ she sneakily narrows her eyes at me, thinking she’s intimidating. How cute.

“Dare.“ Why don’t we make things interesting?

Em doesn’t complain, “We still have that cockroach’s corpse?”

“Enough said.“ I get up from my seat only to get grabbed by Mike and pulled back down.

“Easy there, caveman.“ He says, shaking his head, “Just answer the question. This doesn’t need to be gross.”

Chris, Ash, Matt and Jess look mortified. “You were gonna do it, weren’t you?” Matt gathers the guts to ask.

I give him a sweet smile and a nod. “And to answer your question: Me. My turn! Josh, truth or dare?” 

He glares at me intensely, “Dare.”

The fucker knows I’m not the type to give ‘kiss this person’ or ‘7 minutes in heaven with that person’ dares. But I do ask some risky questions. Well...the only way to get him into my trap is to use his hatred for bug against him.

“We do still have that cockroach. So...“ I give an innocent shrug of the shoulders, giving him the chance to put two and two together instead of breaking it to him.

You could pinpoint the exact moment the realization hits him, his face turning in disgust. “You know, Y/N, sometimes I really love you.” He says, very touching of him, “And sometimes I’d love to kill you.” He takes a moment, a moment filled with aggressive eye contact between us before finally giving in, growling: “Truth.”

I think I’m level with Mother Theresa for what I did next. “What’s your favorite video game?”

The relief that washes over him is priceless to see. His answer comes as a sigh that indicates that the whole world has been lifted off his chest, “Metal Gear Solid.”

“Cool.“ I say with a cheeky smile.

Being the college kids we are, we easily get bored after a few more rounds, but not before having to defuse an argument that’s basically name-calling between Jess and Emily. I’ve noticed a pattern: if one of them as much as breathes in the other’s direction - a cat fight takes place.

Thankfully, the group disperses into smaller groups or in pairs. Sam, Josh, Chris and Ash go to the theater. Mike and Jess head upstairs, and I think no one would like to go to that area of the lodge in the next two or so hours. Emily and Matt go on a stroll while Hannah and Beth somehow convince me to play Monopoly.

The round ends with Beth somehow gathering all of mine and Hannah’s territories. After a brief celebration they head on over to the theater to join the others. I turn down their offer to accompany them and go warm up the cider that’s now literally frozen.

“Grab whiskey if you want to speed up the process.“ I’m surprised to hear Munroe’s voice behind me but don’t show it as I refuse to even turn around to answer him.

“I’m saving the whiskey for when things get really fucked up.“

“Smart, I guess.“

I choose to be nice and fill up a cup for him as well. I hop up on the counter, taking a slow sip of my drink while looking Mike, who’s standing opposite me, leaning against the kitchen island, dead in the eyes.

“You know,“ he’s the one to break the tense silence that surged between us, “jealousy is a poisonous thing.“

Intriguing opening, Michael. “I’ve heard, yes.”

“Then why don’t you just drop it? You’ll be happier if you do, trust me.“ That smug look on his face makes me want to pour the hot liquid (Destery Smith, anyone?) directly onto his handsome features.

I hear a pair of footsteps approaching the kitchen. A side glance in the direction the noise is coming from confirms that there are indeed two people coming this way - Chris and Ashley.

“A bold thing to tell me while we’re around so many sharp objects.“ If the eyes are really windows to the soul, I would like to picture his with a bunch of stab-wounds from my glare-daggers. Though my gaze is intense, there is a calm smirk on my face. “I can kill you right now.“

Chris and Ashley walk into the kitchen and freeze - they clearly hadn’t noticed us until it was too late. They are looking at us like a pair of deer caught in headlights - mortified.

Mike jumps at the opportunity to ensure his safety, “You can’t! There’s witnesses.”

Unfazed, I turn to the pair who’s on the fence about what they should do, “Guys, could you please excuse us for a moment.”

They both nod hesitantly, slowly taking a step back. Mike is not about to let them go, however. He straightens up, setting the cup he’s holding aside. “No, no, no! Don’t move! Not another step!”

Their eyes land on me and I give them a reassuring and encouraging nod to exit the room. They both comply easily.

“Guys, come on!“ Mike pleads desperately, making me suppress a chuckle

“Sorry, Mike. But you won’t show up at my house in the middle of the night....“ Chris trails off with his apology when Ashley takes hold of his hand so she can lead him away from the kitchen.

“She will.” Ash finishes his sentence, giving me a subtle wink to which I reply by blowing her a kiss.

“Checkmate“ I say triumphally, turning to look at a somewhat scared and disappointed Mike.

“A FIRE IN THE THEATRE!“ Hannah’s scream startles all of us.

I look at the where I left the deodorant earlier, finding the spot vacant. Oh boy...

“Damn it, Josh! I told you not to use the flamethrower without my supervision!“ 

As Mike and I run out of the kitchen I hear Chris say: “I’m afraid this is the only time this getaway will be lit.”

I hope Ashley gently smacked him upside the head in response to that.

[blkgirl-writing]

"Secret Tunnel...of Love" Sokka x Reader

Summary: Reader has to come to terms with their love for Sokka, and somehow get them out of a stupid "love tunnel"

Requested: Yes! And requests are open.

A/n: like, not my best, but its ky guest Sokka fic ever, so hold on white I take off my kiddie wheels.

Warnings: one lil' mention of being sick, thought to be unrequited love.

It was wrong, to think of sokka in the way you did.

He had been through a lot...set he always stayed so strong. He was always there for you, holding you when it was too much. Giving you the extra food because "you needed the strength more than anyone else." And you did the same for him...but-

But, this. This was too much.

As the nomads sang their songs of love and hope, Sokka guided the group through the tunnel, grasping your hand in his 'for protection,'

His hand was slightly clammy, but grasping you like he was holding on for dear life. Sokka looked back every other moment, doing a small search of amy possible wounds you might have gotten from just walking for a few seconds.

It was no good, though. You were stuck. Parted from Aang and Katara, and being sung to by mediocre artists. It was foolish. There was only one way out. And if you didnt at least even try it, you'd be stuck with a heavy heart in a tunnel of darkness forever.

"Sokka?" You muttered, prying your hand from his. Your steps slowed, eventually coming to a stop, a puff of dirt dust proofing up as you took your final place.

"Sokka, please-trust me, okay?" You wanted to cry, throw up, even. Anything other than do what you were about to do. Everything in your whirling mind telling you to stop.

"What's the matter, Y/N?" Sokka stopped dead in his tracks, giving you a look of thinly veiled fear. Did you get hurt? Where you too tired to keep walking?

"We have reached every possible end to this place. Maybe...maybe we have to just accept the one way out-"

"And what would that be? Digging through the rocks?" He pointed to the right, which was another path collapsed. He huffed. "Because that's a long energy task with little to no percentage of us actually getting out."

You wanted to laugh, but nothing came out. Instead, you took a step towards Sokka, and then another. Letting your body carry over to the stupid, silly, but clever, and extremely funny man you had grown to care for. Every step felt like you were dragging metal.

He had a girlfriend

He's still grieving from that loss

We have too much going on right now

He doesn't like you like that.

Thoughts spiraling like a tornado, wrecking all power you had inside yourself. Just, one glimmer of hope keeping you going-

That beautiful boy. How he looked at you approaching him. With wonder and a glitter you couldnt describe.

"Can I kiss you?" You muttered, voice low as you laid a hand on sokkas shoulder, eyes connected to his. You wouldn't dare look away, not now, when you were laying your intentions right out. "Love will lead the way. And...i might just have enough love for you to make up for yours."

Sokka blinked. Standing frozen under your touch. His wide brown eyes scanning your face, figuring out a puzzle. It was almost as if you had spoken in a foreign language.

Too much time had passed.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, I miss stepped. Sokka, please dont hate m-" His chapped lips pressed to yours, his hands reaching out to pull you into his chest.

"Never be sorry." Sokka muttered, forehead pressed to yours. His breath was light and hot over your skin. Just perfect. "We should have done that a long time ago."

"Hey! Look, a possum somethin' or other! Wait, did you guys manifest an animal baby?" One of the travelers was petting the big creature, who looked extremely fond of the group.

"Well, look at that~" sokka put on a lopsided smile, "love really does lead the way."

[cajunquandary]

The One with Red Sky at Morning

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel

Summary: After a difficult hunt, you and the Winchester brothers want nothing more than to rest. As fate would have it, things don’t go so smoothly.

Warnings: Natural disaster, a little flangsty.

WC: 2300

A/N: This was written for @smol-and-grumpy​ “NAT’S SUPERFRIENDS TITLE CHALLENEGE.” My title was “The One with Red Sky at Morning.” I actually wrote several versions of this but settled on this one. A very similar situation happened to me when I was very young, out hunting with my father deep in the woods of South Georgia. All we had was a four-wheeler and a lot of quick prayers. To this day I don’t know how we made it out alive. Enjoy my first writing back from a three-year hiatus! This might get rough. Suggestions welcome!

Also, sorry not sorry, I was feeling giffy~

“Faster!” You yell, a shriek threatening to escape your core.

“C’mon, Baby,” Dean prays through gritted teeth, both feet forcing the accelerator to the floor. The speedometer stops measuring past a hundred and twenty. You gulp as the RPMs reach past the point of no return.

“We’re not gonna make it, Dean,” Sam goes pale, breaths quick and shallow, voice breaking as he spoke his brother’s name.

In the rearview mirror, you can just make out beads of sweat tracing the concern lines on Dean’s forehead, a black abyss behind him. You grab onto Sam from the back seat, burying your face into his flannel. Dean’s string of curses is soon overpowered by the ghostly sounds emanating from the beasts on your tail.

The air is hot and electric, raising every hair on end. When you hear the crack, your blood runs cold.

This must be it, the end.

You stumble sleepily out of the slight motel bathroom and over to the coffee maker. Without so much as peeking, you masterfully load the grounds and water and press the magic button. Oh, how you love that button. Scratchy bedsheets stir behind you, but you pay no attention. A shadow of a smirk creeps across your face. The holy bean water is ready. You take the much-too-small Styrofoam cup with you to sit at the table by the window. Lifting the chalice of your soul to your lips, you inhale as if you’d been starved of oxygen all night. Your eyes gradually open, adjusting easily to the low light of the room. The sweet scent helps to knock the cobwebs from your mind, the warmth radiating from your palms to the depths of your bones.

What a week it’d been. But right now, you don’t want to think of the vamp nest or their victims. Right now, you revel in the tranquility. In the bed near the door, Sam is rubbing the sleep from his eyes, no doubt about to share some coffee with you at the table. On the couch, Dean’s limbs are sprawled in awkward positions, but he still snores gently.

Finally, a smile graces your lips as you watch Dean. He’s so peaceful. There’re no lines on his forehead or forlorn frown below his freckle dusted cheeks. You almost wish he could stay like that forever—at peace. You also wonder what it might be like to touch him, hold him. After the hunt and almost losing him, being more than a few inches away from the man actually hurts. You couldn’t imagine never again seeing those deep, loving eyes, or the way he sings in the car, or dances when he thinks no one is around.

Catching you just before you jump off the deep end into thoughts and memories of Dean, Sam finds his seat next to you. Trying to brush the obvious daydreaming off as nothing, you take a gulp of coffee, only to grimace in pain as it burns all the way down, leaving your upper lip and tongue tingling.

Sam chuckles. “You know it’s hot, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” And so is something else in the room, you can’t help but to think to yourself.

You set the rude drink upon the table and stand to open the curtains. With a thrust, the stubborn things release and reveal the world outside.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp. You stare for a moment just to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. You rub them. You stare a moment more, then rub them again. Red skies morning, sailors take warning.

You look over to Sam, your body rigid.

“What is it, Y/N?”

“Sam, check the weather. Now.”

As if on cue, Dean’s phone is the first to sound the alarm, shortly followed by yours and Sam’s.

“It’s a weather alert—severe storms coming,” Sam stood from the table to look outside as well.

Dean groans from the space behind you, “Well then let’s get a move on.”

You don’t even bother getting dressed, instead throwing one of Dean’s old flannels over your thin t-shirt and leggings. Just like your days in EMS, your boots and pack stand ready next to your bed.

Within a minute, everyone slides into the impala, coffee forgotten. As Dean pulls onto the highway, you and Sam map out the fastest way to get home to the bunker with the least amount of bad weather to drive through, looking for a place to stop for food if possible.

Around two hours in, the drive is going decently well, with only a few patches of hail and heavy rain. You begin to doze off to the comforting lull of the Impala and the Allman Brothers.

Your body betrayed you as it twitched violently. Still on edge after the hunt, you jump from the action, accidentally hitting Dean in the shoulder.

“You good?” He glances quickly in your direction, adjusting his hand on the wheel.

Heart beat loud in your ears, you lean back and return a quiet “yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”

No rest for the wicked or the hunters, you suppose.

Dean hums along to the music. You are powerless watching the vibration of his neck, wondering what it might be like if your lips were to touch the spot where his pulse rippled the skin. You look down at your phone in an attempt to distract yourself.

Pulling up the weather app, you report the developing spot just up ahead. The brothers take note, then you lean against the window and watch the blur of pine forests and rolling fields. Even overcast, the landscape is breathtaking. You reminisce on your days in the back of the “bus,” what it was like when the tone would drop and in seconds you’d be flying down the road, lights and sirens, mentally preparing for the unknowns waiting for you on the scene. After ten years, there wasn’t much you hadn’t seen. This knowledge and wisdom helped but still couldn’t prepare you when a changeling become your patient.

You catch yourself, not wanting to remember the details of the attack, the ambulance rollover, or the death of your partner. You don’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if the Winchester boys hadn’t shone up when they did, or if you’d stayed in that town after the bodies were found.

Wiping an unwelcome tear from the corner of your eye, you refocus on the trees, enjoying their dances under the influence of wind lines.

Until one fell, bending until it snapped, twisting off halfway. Then another, and another.

“Uh, guys?” When had it gotten so dark? You check your phone for the time again. Almost three in the afternoon.

You don’t need to look behind you to know what it is. You don’t get the chance to tell Dean to floor it—he already is. You grip the seat tightly as the car lurches forward, shaking under the speed and the wind force.

It’s as if an invisible giant is stepping down on the forest on both sides of the highway. Oncoming traffic has ceased, some people have already bailed from their cars, seeking scant shelter in the ditches. Leaves and branches now swirl through the sky, littering the road ahead. Dean takes the next exit, not slowing down a bit.

You are so close to the bunker now, but the echoes of the angry titan behind you threaten to devour the Impala before you even have a chance for safety. You hazard a glance behind you.

No more than a mile behind the racing car, the tornado swallows the whole world, preceded by the biggest cloud of debris you’ve ever seen.

“Faster!” You yell, a shriek threatening to escape your core.

“C’mon, Baby,” Dean prays through gritted teeth, both feet forcing the accelerator to the floor. The speedometer stops measuring after a hundred and twenty. You gulp as the RPMs reach past the point of no return.

“We’re not gonna make it, Dean,” Sam goes pale, breaths quick and shallow, voice breaking as he spoke his brother’s name.

In the rearview mirror, you can just make out beads of sweat tracing the concern lines on Dean’s forehead and the rotating black abyss behind him. You grab onto Sam from the back seat, burying your face into his flannel. Dean’s string of curses is soon overpowered by the ghostly sounds emanating from the beasts on your tail.

The air is hot and electric, raising every hair on end. When you hear the crack, your blood runs cold.

You are covered in glass from the back window, the wind sucking the breath from your lungs. Sam reaches over and pulls you into his lap, holding as tightly as your eyes are shut. Dean masterfully swerves in an out, dodging unknown obstacles and navigating winding roads.

You recognize these turns. The bunker!

Castiel is already perched at the edge of the garage when you open your eyes. Still at full speed, Dean swerves the car inside, causing it to slide sideways and leave thick rubber tracks. Castiel struggles against the wind and grabs Dean as he bails from Baby.

“I can’t close it! We have to take cover, now,” Cas yells over the train whistle screams of the tempest.

Not missing a beat, Sam grabs you and doesn’t even pause to set you down. The alarms in the bunker sound off, competing with the storm.

You all finally tumble through the door and slam it locked behind you. You grunt as your ears pop from the pressure change and rub your jaw.

Heavily breathing from the ordeal, the four of you trade nodding glances, indicating that everyone is okay.

You are the first to break the silence, shaking bits of glass from your shirts. “I need a drink.”

Castiel and Sam follow you down the steps, but stop to sit in the war room. Dean trails on your heels, also eager for a drink. You grab the bottle but keep walking, ready to be in your own bed already.

Dean protests. “Hey, you gonna share?”

“Sure, but you’ll have to follow me.”

Once in your room, you take a long draught from the already open bottle of whiskey, then turn and hand it to Dean.

“Close your eyes, Winchester.”

Dean does as told, bottle already suspended at his lips.

You pause for a moment to admire those lips and the way they purse when he swallows. It catches your breath but you turn away, stripping the glass-ridden clothes into a pile on the floor. You curse under your breath as you realize the clothes that other than the ones still in the car, the rest were in the laundry room, several wings down.

You grab a pillow to shield yourself just in time as Dean opens his eyes to see what the matter is. He apologizes quickly and turns away. “What’s wrong?”

“No clothes.”

Without hesitation, he shrugs the shirt from his shoulders and extends it in your direction.

“Thanks.” You are so glad that his eyes are still averted so he can’t see your red face, the blush stretching through your whole body. You quickly slip inside the shirt and bottom it, thankful that it reaches nearly to your knees. You pause at the collar, lifting it to your nose and nearly fall as the heady scent of him fills your senses. Dean, standing now, catches you just in time, closer to you than ever before. His hands rest gently at your sides, and he chuckles sweetly as he leans in to kiss your hair. The whiskey still warming your bones, you wrap your arms around him, interlocking your fingers and burying your face into his bare chest. He pulls you in tighter, squeezing.

The stress of almost losing him on the hunt to that fang and of nearly becoming flying sky trash slowly falls away within the shelter of his embrace. He leans onto the bed and back farther, taking you with him until you’re both under the blankets completely intertwined.

The dim light provided by a small lamp in the corner casts just enough shadow that you can count the freckles dusted on Dean’s cheeks and get lost in the hazel green folds of his eyes. Could this really be happening? Is the hunter you’d be pining for silently for over a year really holding you this closely—in your own bed?

Your breath mixes with his when he leans in even closer and brushes your lips with his. You close your eyes and relish in the warmth and comfort and safety of his arms, the softness and taste of his lips, stubble grazing your chin.

You can still perceive faint sounds of the raging storm outside, but you have no more fear. You pull away slightly to enjoy the sweet smile on Dean’s face until a passing shadow crosses it.

An elated “finally” can be heard near the doorway. Sam winks and closes the door, retreating footsteps resonating down the hall.

A new storm blooms in your core as you surrender yourself to the ease of being so close to Dean. Together, you trade secrets and promises in the intimate moments before slowly falling asleep to the comfort of his voice.

Red skies morning, sailors take warning. Red skies night, sailors delight.

With the red flashes of the bunker floodlights filling the air, you did certainly delight, safe at last. Any wreckage could wait until morning.

TAG LIST:

@supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @aseasyasdeanspie @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79 @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0 @impala-dreamers-mainfrigginblog @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @akshi8278 @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby​

*To be added or removed, shoot me a message

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Things We Don’t Say - Ch 2 (modern AU - actors)

Summary:  No one is perfect, and sometimes, two people are just so perfectly flawed that those pieces fit together and make something beautiful. When sparks fly between two leads of a new hit show, is there a happy ending in sight, or will their own mistakes overshadow any chance they had at something worth fighting for.

Rated: Explicit    

Warnings:   This is a joyfully Captain Swan story, but there are a few warnings. It does start with Emma/Neal and Killian/Milah. I don't write non-CS, so there won't be any sexual anything happening 'on screen', so to speak, between those couples, but I won't guarantee there may not be a mention. This story contains numerous episodes of cheating. If any of these things make you squick or are not your bag, carry on.

AO3 - FF

- or read below the cut -

As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or removed) for further updates.

Tag list: @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @teamhook @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4​ 

Chapter Two

Killian sighed into the hard press of his fingers against his tired eyes, listening to the soft hum of the elevator as it climbed to his floor. He’d look like a drunken raccoon by the time he got into the apartment, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. An early morning shoot that had dragged late into the day left him feeling more dead than alive, and he hadn’t bothered with his normal clean up on set. The time saved getting back to his bed was the bright side—the downside was a few fans had recognized him when he jumped out of his uber, his trademark eyeliner and messily styled hair a giveaway. He’d managed a few weak smiles as they snapped pictures and hurried on his way, taking a few strange turns and slipping a spare beanie he kept in his pocket over his head. That, a popped collar, and hunched shoulders normally did the trick. Being famous certainly had its perks, but crazed fans knowing where he lived certainly wasn’t one of them.

It was usually simpler to drive to set, but lately he’d been to worn out to trust himself behind the wheel. The past two weeks had been a nightmare of last minute reshoots and publicity, and he couldn’t wait for it to all be over.

The elevator doors slid open, Killian staring at them for a moment before he realized her was staring at the familiar artwork that spanned the hall outside his condo. Desperately trying to blink away sleep, he trudged down the hall, leaning his forehead against the cool metal door for a brief second before unlocking it and heading in.  

God, he hoped Milah was content to have a quiet night in.

Everything was blessedly dark and quiet when he stepped into the entryway, shrugging his leather jacket off and hanging it on the waiting hook, his boots next as he eased them off his aching feet and lined them up neatly below the jacket. He rolled his neck and stretched, wrinkling his nose as he realized a fifteen-hour day filming had left him less than fresh.

A hot shower and bed—that was the plan. With any luck, and the darkened apartment seemed to be on his side, Milah would already be stretched beneath the covers and he could slip in behind her and fall asleep pressed to her warmth. It would be the perfect start to a weekend otherwise free of engagements and obligations.

“Milah?” he whispered, not wanting to startle her if she was relaxing in the living area.

There was always the chance she’d gone out with friends earlier and wouldn’t be home until late. It was a Friday, after all.

His back ached as he stretched his shirt over his head, balling it up and launching it toward the hamper as he walked into the bedroom. A glaring light greeted him from around the corner and he realized that Milah was indeed home, but not where he’d hoped. It looked as if a tornado had blown through the walk-in closet—every pair of heels she owned were tossed onto the floor and the chaise was covered with a haphazard pile of glittering dresses. Milah was standing in front of the mirrored wall, a sequined, black strapless number pulled over her body but left unzipped as she adjusted a pair of large earrings, her brow furrowed.

“Oh, thank god your home,” she huffed, flashing an annoyed smile over her shoulder as she slid her second earring in. “This zipper is absolutely impossible.”

He smiled and stepped into the closet, taking care to avoid the dresses that had sloughed onto the carpeting.

“I’m happy to help, darling,” he assured, catching the nearly invisibly zipper and easing it up her back. There were certainly nights he would have coaxed her into agreement that off was the far better option, but tonight he was more than happy to get her dressed and out the door if that was what she so desired. “Headed anywhere special?”

“It’s that opening of the new club—you know, the one with the glass ceiling that everyone has been going on about. I mentioned it the other night—good lord, Killian, you positively reek.”

Killian flashed a tired smile in the mirror, but her frown only deepened.

“Honestly, Killian, you can’t go out like that. You’ll need to have a quick shower.”

Killian’s brows echoed her own displeasure as he realized what she was implying.

“Did you want my company, as well?”

“Do you even listen when I speak? Sometimes I wonder. I told you two nights ago that Lara and William were expecting us. They’ve barely seen you.”

Killian couldn’t remember a Lara, but he seemed to recall a bright, friendly man with reddish-blond hair who may have been a William. No matter who they were, he had no interest in spending the evening with them, and even less in spending the evening on his feet in an obnoxious club.

“It’s been a long day, Milah—every day for the past couple weeks has, and I’m exhausted—”

“You’re absolutely right, Killian, it has been a long day, a long few weeks, and I’m sorry that I thought I might get to spend some time with you at the end of all of it. How foolish of me,” she snapped, and Killian felt the words like a slap to his face.

“No, you’re right. It’s—I’m sorry. I’ll have a quick rinse and get dressed.”

Milah beamed at him, adjusting her hair and checking that everything was just as she wanted it to be in the mirror. Killian pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder, the warmth of her smile washing away a bit of his exhaustion.

He wanted her to be happy, and perhaps the past few weeks had been more difficult for her than she let on.

“It will be a lovely night, I promise,” she said, shoving him gently toward the bathroom as she turned to reappraise the pile of heels.

* * * 

Despite Milah’s initial enthusiasm that he’d agreed to join her and two people he most definitely did not remember—apparently William had brown hair and was quite pretentious—it was not a lovely night. The hot shower and the warmth of Milah’s arm in his had been enough to fool him into think it might be the tiniest bit enjoyable—after all, it had been some time since he’d been to a club—but he’d been wrong, very wrong.

Everything from the moving lights to the music to the stench of hot bodies pressed against one another was giving him a pounding headache, and he slid down further into his chair, nursing a rum and casting about for Milah, wherever she’d gone. He’d wanted to give her a nice evening at his side, but he hadn’t been able to find it in him to join her on the dance floor—probably because his feet had blisters from filming in his costume boots all day—and she hadn’t been able to find it in her to forgive him.

He’d been able to keep track of her at first, but soon she was lost in the crush of bodies and he was lost in his rum—at least it helped dull the sounds a bit.

He didn’t know if it was the insane schedule he was booked to finish shooting for his latest movie, or just the lack of free time, but nothing felt quite right lately, and he was worried a change was needed. Milah was clearly unhappy with his schedule, with how much distance it put between them. He found himself wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad time to step back a bit, to get away and really dedicate some time to the two of them.

It was a question he’d come back to more than once in the past few months, and as much as he wanted to feel that doing so was the right answer, his gut kept telling him it wasn’t.

He loved her, he certainly didn’t want her to be miserable, but the thought of missing out on opportunities at the high point of his career, it did worry him. Liam had worked more than any person should have to help put him through school, and he’d only ever wanted happiness for his little brother. Liam was a big enough man to know that for Killian that meant acting, even if it was a hard path. If Killian were to step back now, would that be doing justice to his brother’s sacrifice. What if he started turning down offers and never bounced back from it?

He searched the dance floor once more, but there was no sign of his Milah. Knowing she was probably hurt enough to ignore him for the rest of the night, he whipped out his phone and started scrolling through emails, most of them simply things his manager had already spoken with him about over the phone. It wasn’t until he scrolled farther back, nearly hypnotized by the small boxes flying along the screen, that a flagged email came to his attention and he stopped. The details were familiar, and he only just remembered the conversation he’d had with Cora.

It had been an offer for the lead role in a new series, but he’d turned it down due to the filming location. He’d been worried about having to uproot Milah, but scanning through everything once more, he found himself second-guessing his first decision. Perhaps it would be the answer they needed, and the more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him personally.

Maine was certainly quiet and would allow for more quality time together—and the pay was bloody obscene, which never hurt. According to Cora, the role had been written specifically for him. He wondered how the showrunners had taken it when he declined.

His finger hovered over reply.

He should probably discuss it will Milah first, but then thoughts of Liam tugged at his tired mind and he reread the arc for the lead role, each sentence making him more inclined to see if taking it on was still a possibility.

He’d earned his name and place in Hollywood by becoming the face of playboys and scoundrels, all of his characters well-known for their rakish appeal, but to be honest, he was starting to become concerned he may not be offered anything more diverse if he didn’t branch out soon. This role—this would be something different, something Liam would be proud of. The series treaded water somewhere between a fantasy show and a piece that examined the very fabric of what is real, the main character a man who suffered great personal tragedy and loss only to have his independence and health rocked.

The more Killian looked at it, the more he knew it was for him, the words swimming with possibility...or rum. He didn't know what about his previous roles had drawn the showrunners to him of all their choices, but for the first time in a while, he really wanted something.

He really wanted this.

A feeling of certainty settled in his gut and he shot off a reply to Cora.

K: I want this, do what you need to do.

The message sent and he almost expected to look up and see Milah hovering over him, a flushed smile on her cheeks from dancing, her hair falling in tendrils around her face, but his table is still empty and the dance floor is still a writhing mass of faceless people.

Raising his glass in a lonely toast, he took another drag of rum and closed his eyes.

He wants to dream that she’ll be as happy as he is, that’s all he wants for her.