#lucid!luke

[ashsartcorner]

Here’s my 2 final entries for this year’s challenge!! I’m sorry that a majority of these entries had to be done in my chibi style, but it was much quicker to get them done that way. I hope you like them! __________________

[Image descriptions in alt text]

All characters belong to @saveraedae

[doll3tt33]

Guys forgot to share that QUICKIE WAS IN MY DREAMS LAST NIGHT WHBWNWK

We went on a rollercoaster ride together, and then he gave me a piggyback ride!!!! A FUCKIN PIGGYBACK RIDE!! LIKE WE WERE BASICALLY IN LOVE

BUT LIKE WTF WHY DID I HAVE TO WAKE UP???

WHY??!

GOD JUST PUT ME BACK TO SLEEP. I CANT GO ON NOW THAT IVE GOT A TASTE OF WHAT IT WAS LIKE. THE WAKING LIFE IS SO CRUEL WITHOUT HIM 😭😭😭😭

[peppereddaze]

OKAY- HOLD ON-

So I just had a really weird dream last night- a really weird one! I dreamed about how the newest Layton game came out- you know it- ‘World Of Stream.’

I dreamed that I got it for Christmas and that I played it!

I can’t even begin to explain what happened!?

So-

Luke is grown and a detective and friends with this older famous engineer- who made everything in the now highly steampunk-futuristic looking America!?

He was like half robot! Had a visor and everything that showed his little emotions! Gold and blue steampunk-style look with these epic steampunk gauntlet claws! He actually was disabled- an amputee only having his one leg and the rest of his limbs where missing after an incident and replaced with cool prosthetics! He was also half-blind. His name was Arlo! I can’t remember his full name but it was Arlo! It was probably something cooler- but I’m calling him Arlo!

A ‘comic relief’ and mascot character of this little robot character named Whim! They were small and blue and had these little pipes that went from their back to their head which steam came out of! They had a full-face visor that showed their expressions through icons and such! They were like Arlo’s first creation and they looked more janky, goofy but- Omigosh I loved them!?

They were witty and a lil sarcastic but in a funny way and just- helpful and they had character and a story! They were loyal as anything to Arlo and joined the little main cast perfectly.

So like usual- drama and mystery’s occur about some flip-flop book of memories, Arlo looking familiar to Layton-

Apparently Arlo was revealed to be Luke’s older and missing brother, something about how Arlo used to be Layton’s apprentice. They one day went exploring in a cave and Layton being a archaeologist- trying to find the magical book. They find it and stuff happens and the cave collapses and Layton or apparently someone used the book which erased any memory of Arlo’s existence!? Even to his parents, even to Hershel, even to himself??

Arlo was trapped and badly injured which eventually led him to be found by people and living a new life in making gadgets to better people’s lives, then Arlo becomes the tragic villian of the story who wants revenge on Layton and chases him around with a giant mechanical spider mecha. Like damn- petty much? Plus pretty big stretch for a motive… but whatever.

Layton tries to reason with Arlo and apologies- it seems to work as Arlo settles and seems to forgive him before he suddenly slashes Layton across the cheek in like a really cool cinematic moment!? Like in a real tense and real animated moment- even a Luke gasp. Layton does dramatic fall. Hits ground. Luke’s casual- nah crying out “Proffesah!”

Whim also being there and looking horrified.

Luke is angy and Arlo is sad about that and stuff.

Flora was in some scenes for some reason- I don’t know when but she suddenly appears and disappears at times!?

More stuff ensues!

The whole story in a nutshell is just meeting Luke, wanting to go on little mystery’s, learning about mystery book, Layton and Arlo slowly remembering each other and Luke being happy for his two friends to meet finally, Whim moments, Arlo realising and remembering and turning bitter and turning to revenge mid-way and just-

Whim realising their creator is not who they think they am and agreeing to help to hack Arlo’s robo army…?

And then trying to destroy Arlo- Whim is also infected by a dangerous glitch or virus?

Whim practically sacrifices themselves and that part I was crying about when I woke up!?

Like this isn’t even real and I was sobbing!

I don’t know what to do with this dream but it was so random and just so- vivid that I had to post it!

If anyone has questions about this plot I can try and answer them??

There’s a lot more to say I’m just trying to wrap my head around it all!

I am trying to write this before I forget it! D:

[justgowithit505]

No I didn't get enough sleep because I was busy thinking about how Luke from JATP would be an amazing uncle even though he says he's no good with kids, I litterally spent 1 hour and a half thinking about it and then I had a horrible nightmare it was like… lucid dreaming but I couldn't control what I was dreaming it was just a nightmare that felt hideously real I guess? I "woke up" in my living room and was really tired like i couldn't stand up so I just crawled to my bedroom but I felt the wooden floor beneath my fingers and I heard like the creaking and stuff. And when I came to my bedroom my bed wasn't there so I realized I was still dreaming and then I woke up on my bed and I was really paranoid because I didn't know if I was dreaming or not but in fact I wasn't, I tried to shift when I was lucid and I felt like static in my body I don’t know how to describe it, and I was supposed to wake up on a stage so I kinda freaked out when I felt the floor so my question is has anybody experienced anything similar? Did I mini shift or?? It felt real, like i was there.

[fallloverfic]

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Fandom:  The Hunt - Lucid (Webcomic)

Relationships: Hendrey "Hennie" Lupescu/Cassius "Cash" Luke Christian

Tags: werewolves, POV Cash, angst with a happy ending, developing relationships, smut, boys kissing, pining, more tags on Ao3

Summary: Cash plans to give Avery's recorder to Rhys to be done with Rhys for good, but while Cash is trying to figure out how to talk to Rhys about it, he runs into Rhys' uncle and scary boss, Hendrey, again. Despite everything, Cash is drawn to Hendrey, and Hendrey is curious.

First Chapter

Last Chapter

[chalkscene]

tears of themis ⇢ YOU DECIDE TO SLEEP ON THE COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT

ft. luke pearce, artem wing, marius von hagen & vyn richter

you’re shifting restlessly on the couch when you catch your LUKE alarm keychain—handmade by luke himself—peeking from behind the armrest, “luke says he’s sorry.” you can’t help but smile at the sound of luke faking a small voice and whatever rage that filled you from your argument hours ago has now dissipated, endeared by the sweet gesture. “you’re gonna set off that alarm by accident,” you quip, the lightness in your tone encouraging luke to come into view. “you’re not mad anymore?” he asks, cautious yet hopeful. all his years of training and building a hard exterior to be a detective have nothing on you because in the warmth behind his hazel eyes that only you can bring out, you still find the boy you grew up with. the boy you’ve always loved. “i can’t stay mad at you,” you admit, on the brink of tears, “luke, i’m really sorry…” luke is quick to bring you in his arms, declining your apology because that’s what he does—he’ll blame everything before he’ll blame you. you’re unable to hold back a sob, prompting him to hold you tighter before he whispers in your ear, “let’s not do this again, okay?”

ARTEM is going over a recent case when he realizes it’s almost midnight. he’s usually one to pull an all-nighter but gnawing at the back of his mind is the argument he had with you today—you two haven’t spoken to each other since. after having decided to put off his work until tomorrow, he walks out of his home office to join you in bed but he finds you in the living room instead, your pillows and blanket already set up on the sofa. he can tell you’re aware of his presence from the way you’re deliberately not looking in his direction. still, he attempts to catch your attention with a soft call of your name. when you don’t reply, he carefully crosses the distance between the two of you. “we can’t fix this if you won’t talk to me,” he pleads. artem’s convinced his words have fallen on deaf ears until you finally speak, “i just don’t want to say the wrong thing again.” artem understands, thinking back to what started as a simple disagreement escalating into something it shouldn’t have and before you could stop it, you were both raising your voices at each other, saying things you didn’t mean. “i’m sorry about everything i said,” your voice sounds weak as it quivers and artem immediately wraps you in his embrace. “me too,” he tells you, “we can talk tomorrow. just come to bed.” when you nod into his chest, he presses a reassuring kiss at top of your head as he promises, “we’re alright.”

as MARIUS waits for you in bed, anxiety slowly eats away at him, the argument he had with you hours ago replaying in his mind. you should’ve walked in by now, he thinks, so he waits a few more minutes before getting on his feet and makes his way downstairs. he’s rehearsing his apology, muttering to himself to test the words on his tongue but it all flies out the window when he finds you asleep on the sofa. ridden with guilt, he decides to save his sorry’s for tomorrow when you’re both lucid for a proper conversation. marius is careful not to wake you up—gently slipping an arm beneath your head and looping the other under your knees to carry you to the bedroom. he’s tucking you in bed when you begin to stir awake. “sorry,” you hear him whisper, “didn’t mean to wake you up.” “what time is it?” you ask groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “it’s late. go back to sleep.” he places a tender kiss on your forehead to lull you to your slumber before he shifts you on your side, his chest against your back as he slides an arm across your torso. “sweet dreams,” he mutters and you feel his breath on the nape of your neck. “marius?” “hm?” “i’m sorry about earlier…” “that’s my line, miss,” he quips, albeit sincerely. he gives your body a gentle squeeze as he pulls you flush against him. “i’m sorry, too,” he replies, “i never want you to go to sleep upset.”

you’re getting settled on the couch when you hear VYN clear his throat as he carefully places a fresh cup of tea on the table in front of you. “chamomile tea,” he states, “it will help you sleep better.” there’s the slightest caution in his voice but it’s enough to tell you what the tea is for—peace offering after your heated disagreement earlier. “thank you,” you mumble, gradually feeling the guilt bubbling in your chest, “you’re using reverse psychology on me, aren’t you?” there’s no bite in your tone but vyn’s eyes still widen at the accusation. “n-no,” he stutters and a giggle involuntarily escapes you, to vyn’s surprise. “i’m joking.” when you notice his body language go lax, you slowly reach for his hand. “and i’m sorry for the things i said to you,” you tell him, “i didn’t mean it.” “i know.” a soft smile curls on his lips as he interlocks your fingers together, “so am i.” you stay quiet for a moment, basking in his touch that you missed terribly before he speaks again. “if you still wish to be alone tonight, i don’t mind staying here.” you fight the urge to roll your eyes, aware of the fact that this is just him assessing your boundaries—vyn does mind and you know that—so you shoot him a dubious look instead to which he responds with a sheepish smile. “i suppose you’ve changed your mind?” you actually give him an eye roll this time. “you know you had me at chamomile.”

[brokendreamscreation]

Reblogging from my sideblog and adding Lucid to the mix! Not thrilled with the hairstyles for him but it will do. Like Silver, he has several Obey Me! verses now so I focused on that vibes.

School uniform and angel wings are under the cut.

Tagging: @pupmusebox @pcrdiseseekers @s1lxcs @dangaer and you! The person seeing this right now!

↳ peek into this life ♡

Feel free to make yourself, your oc, blorbo, ship etc and a dessert to represent ^^

tags but no pressure: @antique-remains @umemiyan @misc-magic @jeschalynn @oopsiedaisymae

@silverrings-n-prettythings @arvandus @lonely-north-star @featheredcrowbones @taysifer

@theoxenfree @thebellearchives + anyone else :3

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Two

SUMMARY: another day, another visit to joel’s little coffee shop. he’s as miserable as ever, and you’re probably the only person brave enough to want to spend time with joel outside of his work.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k , i’m afraid this is v. short. </3

WARNINGS: fluff. angst. our luke danes-y joel is having a hard time trying to mentally confront his feelings. you’re just as annoying and oblivious to it all as always. mentions of food consumption. reader refers to her parents verrrrrry brief. mentions of reader’s hair blowing into her face, but otherwise nothing to note.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s back is flush to the counter when you amble through the door this morning, hair strewn across your face, strands set into sticky peach gloss. A few strong gusts of wind—and a stupid confidence in your locks to stay in place—has led you into this precarious position.

Typical. On a morning where you’d like to feel good about yourself, you’re suddenly left feeling like hot garbage.

“Coffee. Now.” Guttural and bone-tired, you hurl at him. But he doesn’t move. His eyes affixed to the chalkboard above the strategically placed syrup station, arms folded over. You’re lucky if he’s even heard you for his attention is wholly deployed to the new menu that he’s spent the better part of thirty minutes creating.

You trudge—cold and dishevelled—through the cafe, feeling eyes on your back. The woman whose face, outfit, and attitude is always put together, is currently struggling through her morning no thanks to the glorious October weather. And the fact that last night’s date went to absolute shit is no help to you today, either.

“Joel.” Exhausted from the day already—despite it barely pushing eight twenty—you squeak. He grunts in response, pointing to the coffee pot that’d just finished brewing as he awaited your inevitable appearance at his door.

Still, he doesn’t move. So you take it upon yourself to shift from one side of the counter, to the other—dropping your purse on it as you do so. It’s weird, being here. Being in Joel’s territory. It gives you a random power trip, more than anything.

But that’s short lived when you realize that your favorite pink polka-dot mug is too high on the shelf—and Miller is too enamoured with whatever it is that he’s doing—so you settle for the less appealing yellow butterfly one, and begin to pour in the liquid that’s definitely comparable to black tar heroin.

You take a swig, before you’re traipsing away from the carafe that you’ve been so gratefully acquainted with.

“I’m so over today already.” You moan, walking over to your seat. You’d have liked to have been sipping on a fresh maple hazel latte today, but you’ll take what you can get so long as you’re not having to actually make it yourself.

You lean over the counter—zoning in on the miniature cake-case—and lift one of those beautifully round cinnamon rolls. You take a bite, and all seems to be right in the world. Aside from the man whose bun you’ve just stolen.

“Joel, are you even lucid right now?”

“I am.” He mumbles, wondering whether the specials should be placed before or after the main menu. It’s a predicament he didn’t think he’d be faced with at this time on a Friday morning. But here he is.

“Whatcha doin’?” A little bit intrigued—because Joel has never struck you as a perfectionist—you ask. He doesn’t respond straight away, and you don’t mind because you’re raking your fingers through tangled strands, wondering why you never carry a hairbrush with you anymore. You’re also munching on your illegal cinnamon roll.

“Just tryin’ to make this stupid place look a little better.” He exhales a deep, exaggerated breath. Joel’s line of sight meets yours when he swivels around, a wonky smile pulling at your lips and a sheen of sticky buttercream icing twinkling beneath yellow spotlights.

He takes you all in. The black dress that you’re donning, your favorite double-breasted woolen coat—that you pull out of your wardrobe each fall—the collection of bracelets decorating your wrists. You’re a marvel, despite feeling less than adequate. A different kind of beauty.

Joel bites back any feelings, and blinks at you.

“Did you just take that cinnamon roll without paying?”

You nod, swallowing down the last mouthful, followed by a long sip of coffee. “I did. And I’d do it again.”

Yeah. He thought as much.

“The specials board looks good.” Striving to change the subject, you tell him. You look up at it, impressed by his handwriting and ability to draw little pumpkins and maple leaves. It’s sweet. “Why’d you change it?”

He glances at it with you, noticing too many imperfections. He sighs.

“Was boring me, the old one. But now…”

“Now this one isn’t up to scratch either?” You pose, setting your lips into a straight line. “But I think it looks great. And I come in here every single day, so I think that I’m qualified to say that.”

Joel chuckles. He supposes that you’re right. He also supposes that you need another refill.

“How’d last night go?” Almost as if he doesn’t want to know the answer, he asks. All the while pouring enough coffee into the mug to drown a small town. “Was Costco guy a hit?”

You groan. Dramatically. Joel grimaces.

“I take that to mean no, he wasn’t.”

Wordlessly, you nod. You take a long, drawn out pull of your coffee. Again. And Joel checks you out. Again.

The apples of your cheeks appear to be slightly more subdued, now. No longer blazing red. And your smile—despite faltering at the mention of your date—is as bright, and toothy as ever.

She’s so beautiful.

I wonder whether or not he was a jerkoff.

Soft spoken, Joel asks about Marcus for the last time when you swirl the remnants of coffee about in the mug. He’s curious. Maybe a bit too much.

“Ugh, I don’t even know what to say.” Slightly depressed—completely unlike you—you start. “It was so crappy, Joel. I had high hopes, but he was just so…eh.”

“Eh?”

“Yeah. Eh.”

“Meaning?”

“Boring. Irritating. A literal life-sucking, soul-destroying, personality vacuum.” Blunt, you tell him. “I’d rather sit and watch an entire room of paint dry, than have to spend another waking minute listening to him ramble on about his vapid life.”

Plump lips contort—against his better judgement—into a little smirk. Satisfied, perhaps. Content with the fact that your date—the one that you unintentionally rubbed into his face—went so awfully bad, you don’t even want to talk about him.

Very, very satisfied.

“But my lunch with Maria was great.” Starting to smile again, you explain. “She told me that she and Tommy are heading to Cancun next summer. And that they’re hoping to start trying for a baby—“

Joel grimaces. He hates this.

So. Much.

“Come on, it’ll be cute. Uncle Joel.”

He stares at you, a few loose curls poking out from above the backstrap of his hat makes it almost impossible to take him seriously.

“I’d rather not think about my brother and his wife trying for a baby.”

Your eyes roll. “Grow up, you prude.”

Joel’s hands fuse to his hips, a light sheen of sweat coating the skin of his forehead. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s hot, or starting to get annoyed.

“How is that me being a prude? I just don’t wanna think ‘bout my brother having—“

“Enough.” Warning—though fighting a giggle—you say. “I can’t believe that when I say that you’re brother is trying for a baby, you automatically envision Tommy having sex. That is not normal.”

He supposes that you’re right, but still. The mental image haunts him.

Maybe it’s just a girl thing, to think of that so positively. Like it’s something to share with the entire world. But to him—a guy—it’s the most inconceivable thing.

Perhaps it is a little bit prudish.

“Moving swiftly on…” Hands placed gently against the newspaper left at the spot to your right, you make eye contact with him again. “Maria said she’d cover tomorrow night.”

Joel says your name, letting his head tilt back a little bit. He seems annoyed at you for going behind his back like this. You can’t find it inside yourself to care, though.

“She said she’ll be happy to. ‘Cus you never go out, and have no friends, and no social life, and—“

“I get it.” His baritone is low as he growls. It’s almost primal. It’s actually a little bit seductive, you feel.

Despite being handsome—almost painfully so—you’ve never thought about him like that. It’s never once crossed your mind to harbor these feelings about your friend, but that has completely unintentionally awakened something inside of your already chaotic—much too busy—brain. And your vagina.

You feel very Bridget Jones-y, now. In a strange position, but wholly comfortable with the fact that you’re stuck here. In fact, you don’t hate the thought of pushing some more.

“And considering that you never get laid, neither, I said that I’ll be happy to help out.”

Joel’s dick twitches. His face falls.

“With setting you up, of course.” You finish, watching fifty different emotions flit over his hardened features. One of which being complete unadultered fury.

Fury for the fact that, maybe, you’ve teased a little too close to home. and getting to grips with being single stings. Or fury because he wants you, and you’re trying to push him onto another body.

Regardless, Joel looks pissed.

And so, with that, you take the morning paper, and stuff it into your little purse. He watches intently, and the little adjustment to your panties through your dress absolutely does not go unnoticed as you stand to attention beside the barstool.

Your coat is being shrugged on in a heartbeat.

“I’ve gotta shoot. My parents are coming to stay with me Monday for a few nights, and I needa stock up on tea leaves, fresh linens, and enough red wine to get so drunk that perhaps I’ll be able to tolerate an hour with my mother.”

Joel forces a laugh.

“See ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He watches you leave—like each day before this one—and smirks. “See ‘ya tomorrow. Maybe.”

Your head whips around as you get to the door, eyebrows fused together. With eyes squinting, you point at him. “Thin. Ice.”

The next evening rolls around faster than what you might’ve liked, and is considerably colder than before. A black scarf wrapped around your neck really tampers with the vibe of your very put-together outfit for movie night.

But you suppose that if you were to leave that at home, then you’d absolutely die of frostbite. And then the question of who’d annoy Joel if I was six feet under? rattles around your head. And you can’t possibly carry on with the prospect of death.

So the scarf stays on. And so does the matching hat.

“You look like one of the snowmen that the kids build on the green.” Is what he greets you with when you enter the coffee house. Neck and chin swathed in faux cashmere.

“Very funny.” You mumble, pulling down fabric to reveal your perfectly plush lips. “Let’s go. I’m starving, and it’s cold.”

“Don’t forget your coal ‘n carrot.” Maria jokes from behind the counter, and Tommy is almost doubled over laughing at his wife.

They’re so cute together. It makes you sick.

“Don’t poke the bear.” Joel murmurs to his brother. “I’ve gotta spend the evening with it, and I’d really rather my head stay intact—“

“I can hear you.”

Joel glances over his shoulder shrugging on his denim jacket with the white borg trim, and stifles a laugh at the sight of you; completely clothed from your cheeks down. It’s adorable.

“Sorry.” Murmuring again, he says. He gestures for you to go out first, before he’s turning to his brother and Maria, mouthing a quick thank you.

She simply smiles in response, and turns to her husband when the two of you leave the building.

“He’s totally into her.”

“Oh, no doubt about it.” Tommy replies. “Just hope he’s not too chicken shit to do anything ‘bout it.”

She agrees with a soft hum, making tracks to a table of new customers to take their orders.

Per Joel’s request, the two of you grab a burger from a very—very—greasy joint a few blocks away from the movie theatre, and you find it being one of the best you’ve ever had in your life.

Piled to the absolute high-heavens, it’s safe to say that you’d never seen such a creation before. Cheese, bacon, lettuce, tomato—a boat-load of pickles—and, like, six onion rings, had that monster very deserving of its title of gut-buster.

But the way that you absolutely mangled that thing had Joel way more impressed. He’d only ever watched you devour cinnamon rolls and the odd stack of pancakes. This was like a fever dream.

And the fact that you then decided on grabbing a purse-full of snacks to take into the screening of Beetlejuice with you, has you very deserving of a few freebies from his humble cafe.

“That movie never fails to make me smile.” You say as the two of you walk—arm in arm—back into the cold, dreary night. “But it always begs the question; if the Maitland’s died by drowning, then why aren’t they wet throughout the movie?”

Joel laughs and shrugs, finding himself tightening the grip that his arm has on yours. Neither of you mind.

“I just think that Keaton plays a demon super well—“

“Don’t call him that.” You defend. “I mean, I know that he technically is one, but still. He’s a stand up guy.”

“He’s a total jerk—“

“Joel.” You whine. He’s one of your favorite fictional characters, and it’s killing you to hear this slander. “He’s my—he’s my boy. I love him.”

He blinks at you. His respect for you is dwindling, mainly because you’re essentially saying that Keaton’s portrayal of a green-haired gremlin is better than his version of Batman.

Blasphemy.

“He’s hot.” You say after a few moments of silence, feeling your cheeks heat at the confession. “In a dilf-y way. I think.”

Two brown eyes almost bulge out of Joel’s head, and he literally cannot help the laugh that bubbles from the fissures of his throat. You are very troubled.

“That’s concerning.”

“The fact that I like older men is concerning to you?”

His heart thumps. He’s not sure why, but it does. It’s a strange sensation—one he’s not able to describe in so many words—but he enjoys it. He thinks.

Maybe.

“No.” He clears his throat. “The fact that you find Michael Keaton—as Beetlejuice—hot is concerning to me, kid.”

You throw your head back laughing, motioning to a bench that looks fairly dry. You’re not ready for your evening to end quite yet.

“Why’d you always call me that?”

Joel unhooks his arm from yours, taking a seat as you plop down onto the birchwood. He lets out a little grunt as he goes down, something about his back and knees hurting from slaving away alllllll day.

“Call you what? Kid?”

You nod.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, leaning back. Joel extends his legs, just watching the city lights pass him by. “I’m a lot older than you. It’s habit, I ‘spose.”

Dallas is bustling, tonight. A cold, foggy evening will seldom stop the population of Texas from stepping out on a Saturday night. Phil’s Line Dancing club is packed, as per usual. Wall-to-wall with people just looking for a good time.

The atmosphere is unmatched, to you. Nothing feels as good as your state. Especially on weekends and football days. You get a little wet just thinking about the Cowboys playing AT&T.

Your home is so vibrant. So colourful and beautiful, and you’re happy to be seeing Dallas in all of its glory with Joel by your side tonight.

Many a drunk couple stumble past you both as you sit and chat on the bench, the thought of his last sentiment still hanging over your head like a little rain cloud. He may be a lot older than you, but you don’t mind. You still see him as a friend.

A good friend, as a matter of fact. Great, even. The best, perhaps.

A friend who despite seeing every single morning—and sometimes evening—you still feel like you cannot fill in the blanks on the sordid details of his life.

“Can I ask you something?” You turn so that you’re facing Joel, eyes searching his face for an answer. He smiles. The lines around his mouth, crows feet and forehead wrinkles have your eyes softening.

He’s so handsome.

“Yeah, shoot.”

Fiddling with the chain on your wrist—the one that Maria got you from Toronto—it’s a struggle to find your words. The right words, anyway.

You clear your throat after an awkward juncture, finally able to verbalize what you want to say.

“Did Tess leave because of me?”

It comes like a ton of bricks to the chest. Joel didn’t think you’d ask such a heavy question, least alone after spending the evening—outside of the shop—together. It’s a very jarring—painful—position to be thrust into. But it’s a question that he knew he’d have to respond to first as last.

His heart wrenches. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t know whether you do.

“I won’t be offended. Honest.”

“Where’s—uh—where’s this comin’ from?” He stutters over his qualm, hand reaching for the back of his neck. He rubs at the skin, feeling his heart pound. “Did someone say somethin’?”

Your head shakes. “No. I’ve just been thinkin’…”

“Why?” Comes a little bit curt. He kicks himself, but you don’t seem fazed by his tone. “People talkin’?”

Again, you’re shaking your head. “No, Joel, I just wanna know.”

Inquisitive as ever.

He swallows thickly the acrimony that’s rising to the surface at the thought of Tess and the day that she left. Trying to keep it suppressed hasn’t done him the favor that he thought it would’ve.

“She left ‘cus she had enough.” He spits, doing the most to avoid eye contact. “Of me. Of Birch Grove. Of everything that I fuckin’ did.”

You gasp. You don’t think that you’ve ever heard Joel curse.

Raw with emotion, his voice sounds barren. Bare. There’s nothing left to say, on the topic, but so much at the same time. But he owes this to you.

“She never liked you, y’know?” Almost guilty, he says. “Said you’re always too chirpy and flirty—hell, I think she was just projectin’ ‘cus I never saw her happy to see no one.”

“No way.” Not nearly sarcastic enough, you laugh. “I’m surprised that she never spat in my coffee.”

“Yeah, well. I’d never put anything past her.” A little bitter, he responds. “Hated all you girls that’d come in. Even scared off Josie—told her not to come back, or she’d tell her husband that she was tryna screw me—“

Genuinely shocked, your jaw hangs low. “Jesus.”

“Yep.” He watches over the stragglers stumbling out of Phil’s, and looks at you.

Your cheeks, nose and ears are stippled with a rosy blush. If he were to set his calloused palms against your tender skin, he’s sure that the cold would be almost bone-chilling. But he refrains.

“Nasty, nasty piece ‘a work. Glad she left, if I’m honest.”

“You two…You seemed so happy.”

“We were.” Honest comes his proclamation. “Until we weren’t. Until she started to get envious of every single female that walked through the cafe doors, and turned into a big blonde green-eyed monster.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly trait.”

He agrees with a tight-lipped smile and a nod, ignoring the fact that he was feeling that very emotion when you went out on a date. With a man who wasn’t him.

But now, here you are. With Joel. On a not date. But he’ll take what he can get, so long as the two of you can have some time together.

“God, Joel. I couldn’t imagine my life not coming to see you every morning.”

He smiles.

“What?” You blush. But it’s not apparent, what with the way your skin is already flush.

“Nothin.’” Joel’s teeth show beneath the scratchy hair of his mustache. You smile back. “Just couldn’t imagine mine if you didn’t come ‘n bleed me dry of lattes ‘n cinnamon rolls, either.”

That’s wholly the truth. Something he didn’t think he’d ever find himself letting you become privy to. Yet, here he is.

“That’s sweet. It’s nice to know that you have a heart beneath all the band shirts, and flannels.”

“Yeah, well.” He stretches his arms out and you slide closer to him—taking the man completely by surprise—nestling comfortably into his side. A perfect fit, actually. “It’s hard to get to, but it’s there.”

You smile up at him, eyes twinkling beneath the streetlights above.

“That’s good to know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze is averted to the sidewalk, now. Focused wholly on the night passing you by. “Hopefully I hold a tiny little place there.”

Joel hugs you into his side, silently reassuring you that there’ll always be a tiny little place in his heart just for you.

[summonademon]

So hear me out. Nurse!Percy AU. You following me? Ok, so his patient is Kronos, but hear me out!!! Kronos is old as fuck and his family hates him so they never come visit. Hence, they hire Nurse!Percy. At this point they're just waiting for him to die so they can get their inheritance.

Oh did I say no visitors? Actually he does have one person who checks on him: Luke Castellan.

So these two get talking during Percy's shifts. It's a bit awkward but they actually have a lot in common and meanwhile senile Old Man Kronos is between them like

Percy: Oh you went to that school too? I can't believe we never met.

Kronos: My pregnant wife tried to poison me...

Luke: Yeah, that was before we moved here. I hear they have a new gym building now.

Kronos: ...but I swear I wasn't actually going to eat our children.

Percy: Mhm I used to work summers there as campus cleaning staff. It's like a damn sauna.

Sometimes Kronos is lucid enough to give Luke some backhanded old-school dating advice...or just say something sexist, racist, etc, etc. ("you better go get that little fag boy for yourself, and don't let him fuck you like a woman, ya hear me??" "...Mr. K, it's 1am.")

Oh and when the Old Man inevitably dies, the extended family shows up for their inheritance. Plot twist; Luke inherits the ancestral home. It's basically a mansion and it's worth millions now. The other relatives are seething, but they walk away with some fat checks so it's whatever. Percy moves in, it's happily ever after.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 12 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - In the wake of Luke’s visit, you and Spencer are forced to be honest with one another. How will a former FBI Agent react to discovering he’s been harbouring a fugitive?

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - heavy on dialogue, graphic depictions of violence and murder, past abuse, death of a parent, swearing, tears, prison arc, Cat Adams, dissociation, brief mention of past addiction, making out, use of term “rape”, fingering, oral (f receiving), male masturbation, confessed feelings.

WC - 6.2k

Chapter 12 - Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Silence. 

As a little girl the sounds of silence ringing throughout your home was a warning sign. Silence was an indication that something wasn’t right, something was deeply wrong. 

The rare moments in which voices weren’t exploding off of walls, reverberating through the halls, cracking, rumbling, echoing within the house filled you with dread, morbid anticipation for when their raucous feuding would begin again. 

Silence in the Reid household derived the opposite, offering a privileged repreve. The small windows in time when his mother was lucid, instead of screaming so loudly that walls shook, were a wondrous abatement of his responsibility. 

When she simply slept as opposed to yelling that they were coming to take her away. Silence was a solace, enjoyed but not necessarily revelled in, because he knew all too well it wouldn’t last.

It went a long way to explain the fundamental difference between the two of you. Where you always tried to fill those deafening voids of quietude, Spencer fought to let them pass freely and for as long as they pleased.

It was so still in the lodge that you could hear the wind rustling through the long grass outside. If you really focused you could even hear the far off sounds of the horses in the stables. 

It was the kind of quiet that left you on tenterhooks, the kind that came before an all mighty eruption. The calm before the storm. The tranquillity before the chaos. The respite before all hell broke loose.

You and Spencer didn’t know each other at all and that was startling apparent now. But thanks to Luke’s visit, it was time to dig up all those secrets you’d both tried to bury from one another.

It was the witching hour. The be all and end all. 

You had relocated to the couch while Spencer was unable to sit still. He paced the length of his living room while you toyed with your hands in your lap. The longer he patrolled, the more he limped, but he didn’t let it slow him down. 

He raised his good hand and threaded it in his hair. He entwined his fingers in the locks and tugged at his roots. Grounding. Tethering. He was trying not to divorce his mind from the situation. 

It was almost an hour spent like this after Luke’s departure. Neither of you wanted to speak for fear of what you might say, what you might unearth. But it was an inevitable conversation and eventually one of you would need to break this fractured silence.

Normally that would fall to you, but not this time. The words wouldn’t come, you were still too busy trying to wade through all of the information. For a time you were at a stalemate, neither of you willing to be the first to break the silence. 

But then with a huff of breath, Spencer finally stopped pacing before he wore a hole in the floor and glared at you with the kind of gaze reserved for the criminals he interrogated back in his previous life. 

“I'm gonna need you to explain to me why my ex Fugitive Hunter, ex boyfriend has a file with your face on in his possession.” His voice was surprisingly steady, not loud but not quiet either. Not necessarily angry but certainly not untroubled.

You leaned forward, your elbows on your knees. You scrutinised him with your gaze, locking eyes with him to show you were not to be intimidated.

“And I’m gonna need you to explain to me how an FBI Agent wound up in prison before falling off the grid and uprooting his whole life to live out some cowboy fantasy.” You retorted, not willing to give it up so easily.

Spencer’s eyes darkened, you saw his jaw pulse as he clenched it. He was most definitely not budging on this.

“You first.” He growled.

You continued to stare at him, offering him your full attention but not a single word. His jaw oscillated furiously, you swore you could hear the grinding of his teeth.

“I swear to god if you don’t tell me everything I will call him back here, Y/N.” He spoke again when you didn’t make a sound. 

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth, weighing up your options. You had very few. You could make a run for it but Spencer was no doubt faster and he was closer to the door. You could try and lie to him but now you knew he’d been a profiler that wouldn't be easy. 

If your gun wasn’t in your glovebox, you might have considered shooting him, not that you wanted it to come to that. You did care about him after all. 

Your final option was simply to tell him the truth and await his reaction. If he called Luke then you could reassess the situation. For now, all you had was the cold, undiluted truth. 

“I told you about my mom and my stepdad.” You began with a tenuous breath. “After I found out she died, I confronted the son of a bitch. I couldn’t stop myself. He as good as admitted to me that he killed her. I didn’t go there to hurt him, at least I don’t think I did. But I did take my revolver.

“He almost immediately started beating on me like I knew he would. I thought maybe if I let him hurt me just enough I could go to the cops. But then he got me up against a wall, his hand around my throat and I thought this is it, he’s going to kill me. So I had to act fast. 

“I pulled out my gun and I shot him in the stomach. As he was stumbling backwards I emptied my magazine into the bastard. But it wasn’t enough. He was dead, sure, but it wasn’t enough. After everything he’d put me and mom through, it wasn’t fucking enough. 

“So I reloaded and shot him six more times. A neighbour must have heard the gun fire because the cops showed up pretty fast. Everything was a blur. I somehow ended up in a cell, my fingerprints taken, my DNA. 

“I had to remain in holding pending trial as I had no one to bail me out. Eventually when the trial came, I was charged with manslaughter two. Seven years. Seven fucking years.” You paused to take another breath. Tears were readily falling down your cheeks at this point and Spencer’s expression was unreadable. 

“The guard that was transferring me upstate was a real soft touch, young and green. I’ll admit I manipulated him, got him in a compromised position and I escaped. 

“I spent about six months on the run. In the meantime I guess I must have fallen on the radar of your ex boyfriend and his partner. I knew I recognised him when I saw that photo in your room but I never saw him up close, only once from afar. It was his partner that finally caught up to me and I was put back in prison. 

“I spent a year in a max security facility. A few weeks ago there was a prison break. I almost didn’t leave. Almost. But I did. I ran and I fucking ran and I kept running until I find some cowboy injured on the side of the road. I'm not proud of what I did, Spencer, but if I had to do it all again I wouldn’t change a thing. So you can call Luke back but I will run again. I am not going back to prison, I would sooner die.” 

You stopped talking and were once again met by a long stretch of silence. Spencer started to pace the room again, his expression still blank and you had no idea what he was thinking. He didn’t make an immediate grab for the phone so you could only hope there was a small chance he might not turn you in. 

You watched from the couch as he walked back and forth, back and forth. Every now and again he would huff out a breath and rake his fingers through his hair. You didn’t know what to think, and it unnerved you. 

He wasn’t entirely surprised in truth, he’d known you were running from some kind of trouble. The signs had been there, and there had been many. And they all spiralled into the forefront of his memory. 

“What if I rob you? You don’t know me, I could be a criminal.” 

“You’re not gonna rob me.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” 

“I'm good at reading people. You have a trustworthy face.” 

——

He didn’t miss the way you jumped a little at the initial sound and how your body seemed to go rigid at the sight of the flashing lights.

——

“What do you do?” 

“This and that.”

——

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” 

“Why would you think that?”

“Deflection. Answering a question with a question. You are in trouble.”

He suddenly stopped pacing, looking back at you. His face didn’t give away what was going on in his head, perhaps that was deliberate. His body went rigid as he sucked in a breath and then deflated as he exhaled. 

“Four years ago I was arrested for drug possession and later charged with murder. I was framed by a woman I arrested about a year prior. She used a partner on the outside to get me in a compromised position, drugged me so I couldn’t remember what happened. I spent three months in prison while my team worked to prove my innocence. But in the meantime, Cat, the woman pulling the strings, had my mom kidnapped. 

“I have not been the same since then. When I was released I tried to continue as normal, like nothing had changed. But I was changed. Three months inside felt like three years and it destroyed the very fabric of my being. I can’t imagine what a year would have been like. 

“The first time I suffered a dissociation was when I had to come face to face with Cat again after my release. I thought she’d had my mom killed and I got her up against the wall with my hand around her throat. And to make matters worse, she was pregnant.” He grimaced a little now, clearly he was seeing the similarities between what he’d done and what your stepdad did to you. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t the same but he spoke again. “I still to this day don’t remember doing it. For a few seconds I blacked out and when I came back around my friend Jennifer had wrenched me off of her.

“And then it happened with Luke.” He choked back tears. “He tried to…touch me and my mind just divorced itself. The next thing I knew I had his arm twisted behind him, pinning it to his back. That’s when I knew I had to leave. If I wanted to keep the people I loved safe, I had to leave. My medication helps to a degree but I’m not the same. I’m never going to be the same. I couldn’t be an FBI Agent anymore when I couldn’t trust myself in the field. What if I dissociated and killed someone? No, I had to take myself out of the equation.” 

You could see the unshed tears behind his eyes but he was determined not to let them fall. Your own were still rapidly rolling down your cheeks but you didn’t care. You’d kept this all bottled up for far too long and it needed to come out. 

He stood staring at you, rolling his lip between his teeth. What did this all mean? Where did the two of you go from here? 

“So what now?” You sighed with a shrug of your shoulders. “I wouldn’t blame you for calling him back. You might not still be an agent but you took an oath once upon a time. Protect and serve, right?” 

Spencer was mulling over your words, nodding his head slowly. He cupped his jaw, brushed his fingers over the scratchy stubble. You weren’t sure if it was an attempt to ground himself or just something he did when he was deep in thought. 

“I should call him. I know that I should.” He dropped his hand again, his eyebrows pinched. You could almost see the internal debate happening in his head. “But…I know what it’s like to be pushed to the darkest realms of your mind, to feel like violence is the only way out. 

“If Cat had killed my mom, I wouldn’t have hesitated in doing the same to her. And I would have slept well after. There are three particular men from my past who if I ever saw again I would, without doubt, kill. So if I were to call Luke, it would be hypocritical of me. Because I understand why you did what you did. And honestly? I don’t blame you.” 

You choked on a sob and it wracked your frame. Your emotions were coming in huge waves and you couldn’t see an end in sight.

“Is this a trick?” Your voice wet with tears. “Did you somehow alert him and he’s on his way back here? Are you trying to distract me?”

Spencer surprised you when he laughed, shaking his head at your question. He finally moved closer to you, dropping down to the couch. He took hold of your hand in his good one and laced your fingers together. He smiled gently at you, his eyes soft as he looked at you. 

“No, Y/N, I swear to you this isn’t a trick.” He croaked. “Do you believe in karma?”

Your brow pinched deeper, unsure where he was going with this. 

“Yes, very much so.” You nodded. 

“Me too. Although I hate to admit that because I’m a man of science and logic. But I do believe that what we put out in the universe has some bearing on how we are compensated in return. You and I aren’t that much different. We’ve both seen our share of immense trauma, both had to face things no one should ever have to go through. 

“But I’m starting to think that maybe us finding each other was the universe's way of cutting us both some slack. Maybe we are each other’s rewards for the atrocities we’ve been forced to face. I have no intention of turning you in, and if you run anyway, I would be inclined to follow you. Because I think we need each other. I think we’re just two lost souls who found each other just when we needed one another the most. 

“I spent my whole life feeling as though no one understood me, alone in a constant sea of people. But since I met you, I’ve felt seen for the first time in my life. Even before I told you all of this, I think you saw something in me that resonated with you. I think ultimately, we’re one in the same; two peas from the same fucked up pod. I think I’m…” he trailed off, swallowing a lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “I think I’m falling in love with you and I think I want to let myself.” 

Somehow his confession caused more tears to fall from your eyes and he was quick to let go of your hand and cup your cheek so he could brush them away. He held you with a delicacy you’d never experienced before. No one had ever been so kind, so gentle with you. No one had ever looked at you the way Spencer was right now. 

You’d done a terrible thing and you knew it. Although you didn’t necessarily regret your actions, and you certainly weren’t missing any sleep over Leon's death. But because of what you’d done you’d resided yourself to being alone. No one in their right mind would ever accept for you for who you were and where you’d been. 

But Spencer Reid - Doctor, SSA whatever he was - didn’t just accept you but he understood you. 

It was intrinsic. A deep seated comprehension passed between you. Perhaps Spencer had a point, for all your collective wrong doings, all the trauma you had both suffered, maybe the universe was offering you to each other in compensation. 

The tears continued to fall and he didn’t stop wiping them away. The look he was giving you told you he would always be there to dry your tears. He briefly removed his hand from your face and took yours again, pulling you to your feet with him. Once you were both standing you instantly fell into his outstretched arms. 

You nuzzled your face against his chest and he encased you in his arms. His cast pressed against your back but if you felt any discomfort you didn’t mention it. His other hand meandered up and down your spine, rubbing your back in a calming manner while you sobbed into his t-shirt. It occurred to you that this was the first time he’d ever hugged you. 

In return you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him so tightly he felt the air being squeezed from his lungs. But he didn’t care. Not in the slightest. 

He lowered his head, resting his cheek on your crown. His breath fanned through your hair, his strong, comforting hand scoring up and down your back whilst his heart beat could be felt from your proximity. 

Never in your entire life had you felt so secure than you did at that precise moment in time. 

You’d spent so many years running from the prospect of closeness, hiding your heart away from the world. After losing your father so young and then your mother at the hands of her second husband, you had learnt to never depend on anyone. 

In Spencer you had found a kindred spirit. He had built up the same walls around his heart, guarding himself from the world with the same careful precision you had. He didn’t let people in because he, like you, had been burnt in the past.

But as he held you in such a tentative yet unyielding manner, you could feel the defences you’d carefully curated start to crumble to dust. 

Spencer's approval and resolute understanding of the very fibre of your being was resoundingly stalwart. You knew as he tightened his grip on you that he would be forever unwavering in his adoration and protection of you. 

“Spence?” You whispered, wiping your eyes on his shirt before looking up at him. 

He lifted his own head and brought his good hand to your jaw. Your chin rested in his large palm while his fingers caressed your cheeks. 

“Yes Y/N?” He whispered, glossy eyes peering down at you. 

“I think it’s only fair that you know…” you trailed off, sucking in a breath, preparing to speak words you’d never said to another person before. “I also think I am falling in love with you too. And at this point, I’m too far gone to stop.” 

He breathed out a sigh of relief and chuckled lightly before brushing his lips over your own. 

“Please don’t stop.” He mumbled into your lips. “Because I have every intention of catching you when you are ready to fall.” 

“You know you’ll never have a normal life, right? I’m on the run, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder.” 

“Y/N I have never known a normal day in my life.” He laughed. “I’d rather be looking over my shoulder forever with you by my side than ever be without you.” 

“You really do know all the right things to say, huh?” You smiled up at him, your heart wrapped in a warm blanket of affection.

“Not usually.” He shrugged. “But you make it so easy.” 

He brushed his lips over yours again, keeping his hand on your face, holding you as if you were a fragile bird. 

“No more secrets?” You asked, eyes pleading. 

You noticed something flicker across his features briefly as he drew in a breath.  

“In the interest of transparency, the real reason I don’t drink is because I had a drug problem. A long time ago now but, uh, yeah.” He puckered his lips. 

“Wow, you really are messed up.” You chuckled. “I have a trunk full of cash which I took from my mom’s safe after I killed my step dad. And the car outside is stolen. I took it from a junkyard and changed the plates so no one should be looking for it, but it’s always a possibility.” 

Spencer closed his eyes for a few seconds, nodding his head in understanding.

“Might be best to get rid of it at some point.” He mused out loud. “Where did you get a cell phone if you’re on the run?”

“It’s a burner.” You shrugged. “I mostly relied on a paper map and my own instincts whilst travelling but I needed it just in case. Good job I did too because otherwise you might still be out in that desert.” 

“Lucky for me.” He kissed you again, more passionate than before, his tongue edging into your mouth to deepen it. 

It was a strange and alien feeling having someone know you so completely, and not only know you but accept you. 

He was soon leading you back towards his bedroom and the two of you climbed into bed together. You undressed each other down to your underwear before Spencer started to tense up. He pulled back from your lips and stroked your hair back off of your face. 

“I, uh, I thought I was ready but…” he trailed off with a fractured sigh.

“You’re not there yet.” You finished for him.

“Not quite.” He admitted, a faint blush spreading to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m trying.” 

“Please don’t apologise to me, it’s okay.” You brushed your knuckles over his stubbly jaw. “Spence, I have to ask…” 

His eyes snapped closed and his body stiffened. He rolled away from you until he was on his back.

“Please,” he mumbled. “It’s been a lot today. Can we just…?” 

“Okay,” you agreed, although not placated by his answer. “Can I…at least hold you?” 

His body seemed to relax a little at that and you saw his head nod against the pillow. He held his arm open and you curled into him, resting your head on his chest and draping your arm over his stomach, careful to avoid his wound he hadn’t yet redressed. 

His skin was warm against the side of your face and you closed your eyes, breathing him in. He tucked his own arm around you, resting his hand on your hip and brushing his fingers against your flesh. 

There were some things he simply couldn’t talk about. A part of him wanted to, a part of him wanted you to know him inside and out. And maybe one day you would. But he was exhausted by this day and needed to keep this one thing close to this chest. 

Telling the woman he was falling in love with that he was raped was not exactly high on his priority list.

***

When you awoke you were on your side facing the window. From this angle you could see pieces of the rolling expanse of land bathed in the early morning sunlight through the slatted blinds. 

Spencer’s casted arm was around you, one of his knees pressed between your own thighs, his front flush against your back.  He was already awake, that much you were certain of as his lips were peppering kisses along the side and back of your neck. 

You nuzzled back against him to let him know you were awake too, and he held you tighter. His hips grinded against your ass and given that between you there was only your flimsy panties and his boxers, it was inherently obvious how hard he was. 

Less than twelve hours ago he said he wasn’t ready for anything like this but you weren’t going to complain. 

Spencer had woken up like this, pressing against you, holding you for dear life. He’d been standing at half mast in his pants before he opened his eyes. With his brain still addled by sleep, he was going to take advantage of it and just let himself give over to this. 

He kissed along your jaw bone, fingers that peeked out of the cast brushing over your ribs. The cast was impeding what he wanted to achieve and he grumbled a little against your skin. 

“Can we, uh, relocate?” He mumbled. 

“As in?” You croaked out a reply. 

“Same position. Other side.” 

You nodded against the pillow before rolling over to face him. Spencer was particularly uncoordinated in his attempt to clamber over you, lay himself down and resume spooning you. 

He tucked his casted arm under the pillow and his good hand was now able to freely wander your body. He forced his mind to stay in the ether, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. He needed this, he needed to feel connected to you, more so than he already did. 

He didn’t waste time with the preamble, didn’t want to allow his mind to be fully aware in case he started overthinking it. He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your panties to which you moaned in response.

Taking that as a green light, he manoeuvred his knee back between your thighs to wedge your legs open and let his hand slide inside them, instantly moving towards your clit. 

You gasped at the contact of his deft index finger pressing against your bundle of nerves, wiggling your ass back against his crotch. 

Spencer started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, closing his eyes and burying his face into the back of your neck. 

You were already completely soaked and it drove him wild to know he could have this effect on you before he’d even touched you. 

His ministrations were fast and desperate, and he started rutting against you in no time at all. You had barely escaped the blankets of sleep and your head was still hazy. 

His finger flicked and pressed with adept precision. He knew exactly what he was doing and your moans were testament to that. 

You were already spiralling, falling into the depths of pleasure bestowed by him. You rocked against his hand, fitfully to increase the friction. 

His heavy breaths on your neck and his hardness rubbing up against your ass cheek were only adding to it. You wanted to turn your head, look at him, kiss him; but he kept you pinned to his chest. 

Your thighs were trying to clamp around his hand as he toyed delicately with your clit, but his knee was in your way. You heard him chuckle darkly into your hair. 

“What? What do you want?” He mumbled, his lips pressing against the skin of your neck. 

“M-more,” you simply whined. 

Spencer thrust against you, the feeling was mutual. 

Suddenly he withdrew his hand from your panties making you whine like a feral dog. He then shuffled backwards, pulling you roughly by your shoulder until you were on your back. 

He quickly knelt over you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide. His messy bed hair hung in his face and a sinful smile was adorned on his lips. 

He kissed you hard and fast, tongue plunging into your mouth and messily exploring its contours. It only lasted a moment before his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck. 

He sucked deeply at the apex of your throat, you could already feel a bruise to begin to form in his wake. But then his lips continued to trail lower…

He kissed the swell of your breasts over your bra, down between them across your sternum. Brushing over your ribs they kept getting lower and lower until…

A wanton moan escaped you as his lips ghosted across the waistband of your panties. Spencer smirked against them as he raised his hands and started pulling the fabric down out of his way. 

You kicked them off your legs, looking up at him with large eyes. 

“Is this what you want?” He spoke against the skin of your hip bone. 

“Y-yes…” you whimpered. “Yes p-please, Spencer.” 

“Not Spencer,” he smirked at you. “Call me Doctor.” 

You whined loudly, arching your back off of the bed.

“Fucking hell.” You panted. “Why is that so hot? P-please Doctor. Need it. Need you.” 

He growled at your use of his honorific, straining painfully at the front of his boxers. He let his lips graze lower, breathing in your natural scent. 

You instinctively parted your legs wider and Spencer settled between them, gazing between your legs like he’d just found the holy grail.

There was a point not so long ago when the idea of intimacy, specifically oral sex, would have sent him spiralling into the darkness. But right now he needed his face between your legs with an unadulterated desperation.

Perhaps had you been a man it might have been different. In all honesty he knew he’d never be able to perform oral sex on a man again. Chances were, he may never be able to receive it again either. 

Your glistening cunt spread before him was the most dizzying sight he’d ever beheld. And although it had been an extremely long time since he’d been here with a woman, he still knew exactly what was needed to pleasure you the way you deserved. 

His forearm came down on your stomach, pinning your writhing body to the bed. He edged his face closer and closer until you could feel his breath between your legs. 

And then the flat of his tongue swiped through your slicken folds, collecting your arousal on the muscle and swallowing you down. 

He moaned at your taste and it vibrated through you. You wiggled beneath him but he held you down harder with his arm. 

He was purposefully slow in his movements, making you desperately squirm against him in the need to get him where you so badly needed him. 

His facial hair was rough between your legs, causing a friction that was unimaginably pleasurable. 

He allowed his tongue to dance between your folds, teasingly avoiding your clit. You whined as your fingers dove into his hair and tried to tug him higher by his roots. A laugh escaped him, dissolving between your legs. 

“Someone’s impatient.” He mumbled, swallowing down more of your bitter arousal.

“Can you blame me?” You panted, wrapping your legs around his neck. 

He chuckled again, placing a kiss on the inside of each of your thighs. And without warning he plunged back between your legs like a scuba diver taking to the ocean and drew your bud into his mouth. 

You gasped loudly, fingers curling into his thick locks and gripping them with all of your might. He suckled your clit, his tongue swirling around it in the most jaw dropping way conceivable. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head and your thighs clamped around his head. You thought you could have just come then and there. 

His tongue was skilled, as though this was a well practised art to his. He was sure of himself and it was warranted. He settled quickly into a smooth rhythm, one in which sent a heat flooding throughout your entire body. 

His strong arm held you down against the bed as you frantically rocked against his face, coating his chin and mouth in your slick. 

Spencer was moaning against your clit, a man possessed by his one objective of bringing you to orgasm with his tongue. 

In his mind we’re only two thoughts fighting for dominance: getting you off and the almost painful straining against his boxers.

Without really meaning to, his hand wandered of its own volition between your bodies and straight into his pants. 

He gasped as his hand wrapped around his shaft as though surprised by it. He quickly started pumping himself in his hand, but kept his attention between your legs. 

The sounds of his saliva mixed with your arousal and the room was awash with the sloppy sounds of Spencer’s eating you out. 

Your fingers were lost in his hair. Your legs tightened around his head to the point you might suffocate him. But he didn’t care. 

He let his tongue glide back between your legs hissing in desire as he collected your seed on his deft muscle. Soon enough he settled back on your clit, sucking it back into his warm, wet mouth once more. 

Your body was convulsing, trembling and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your impending orgasm swelled in the pit of your stomach right beneath Spencer’s arm. 

Your nails grazed his scalp and he bucked into his hand, precum leaking from the tip. He wanted to continue this forever, spend every single moment of every single day worshipping you between your legs.

But he knew you were close, he knew it was only a matter of time before you reached your peak. 

As if on cue, you tugged tightly on his hair, thighs pressing viciously against the sides of his face. 

“F-fuck…” you stammered, the tears now rolling from your eyes. “S-Spence, I’m gonna…oh fuck.” 

A final, rushing wave of pleasure encompassed you and he sucked harder on your bud, as a scream erupted from you. 

You came with a string of slurs and whines and Spencer continued to lap his tongue back and forth over your clit until you were physically pushing him away. 

Your body was a quivering mess beneath him, your hold on his hair and grip of his face loosening as your limbs flopped like a rag doll to the mattress. 

Spencer collected your arousal on his tongue, making you whimper and shudder. With a chuckle he sat back on his haunches, still with his hand around his cock. 

You blinked a few times, bringing him into focus. The sight before you could only be described as divine. 

His mouth and chin was glossy with your arousal, his eyes nodded with lust. His hair was messier now after your assault on it and fell in his eyes. 

His boxers were pushed down to his thighs and he hurriedly jerked himself in his hand as he knelt over you. 

You rolled your bottom lip feverishly between your teeth, unable to take your eyes off of his thick, hard shaft in his hand.

His stomach was clenched, his abdominal muscles tightening beneath his flesh. His member was coated with his own slick and you regarded the way the vein on the underside pulsed with each pump of his hand. 

“I’m c-close.” He mumbled, increasing his speed. “Where can I…?”

“Anywhere.” You were quick to answer. “Anywhere.” 

The endless possibilities were too much for his hazy brain and didn’t move, couldn’t move. Instead he kept up his strokes for a few more moments before the tug in his balls and pinch of his stomach alerted him to the imminence of his orgasm.

Seconds later he stuttered out a breath, mumbling, “f-f-fuck!” And then he erupted, streak after streak of hot come across your stomach and hips. 

He slowed his strokes but continued to pump himself more leisurely as he expelled every last drop of his orgasm, some of which dripped down the side of his balled fist. 

Once his cock was completely spent, his legs gave way and he collapsed next to you on the mattress, quickly drawing you in for a deep and slightly messy kiss. 

The smell of sex clung to the air, heavy and heady and in return Spencer clung to you like you were his only lifeline. You held him with as much energy you had left in your body, limbs entwining to the point you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

He peppered sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach, from you cheeks to your neck to the crown of your head. This had to be heaven because nothing had ever felt this good.

He looked at you, deep into your eyes as he cupped your face delicately in his hand. It was impossible to doubt his loyalty to you when he looked at you like that. 

“I, uh, I lied before about something.” He croaked and you immediately frowned at him. 

“About what?” You pouted but Spencer was smiling at you, dispelling some of your nerves. 

“I told you I was falling in love with you. I lied.” 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You croaked. 

He inhaled deeply through his nose as his hand trailed into your hair. His gaze was permeating right through to your soul. 

“I’m not falling in love with you. Because I’ve already fallen.” His smile grew but there was a hint of nerves laced into his words. 

You exhaled in relief, half wanting to slap him for misleading you like that. But instead you kissed him. 

“God that was mean.” You laughed against his lips. “And I guess that makes two of us.” 

You felt him relax in your arms at your admittance and he pulled you tighter to his chest. 

You were ultimately just two fucked up people just trying to find your place in the world. And neither of you would have ever thought you’d find it here together. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

[brokendreamscreation]

Lucid: “But the roof has the best view!” :(( *sad burb noises*

Lucifer: *holding up Lucid like a cat by the scruff* Did you lose this?

Simeon: Ah you found my son again!

Lucifer: *tired birb parent at this point* Keep your son off my lawn, out of my basement and away from my ROOF!!!

[phoebepheebsphibs]

From Bad to Worse

@boots-with-the-fur-club @tmntaucompetition

Prev || Next

Julia paced back and forth as she waited for Luke to return.

She felt uneasy. Call it 'Mother's intuition', if you will. Something was off.

The phone rang by the kitchen countertop. Surprised, she dove for it and nearly smacked herself in the face when she put it to her ear.

"Hello? Luke, is that you??"

"Hey, Mom!" Michelangelo's voice rang through, tinny and slightly staticy. Hotel phones, ammiright? Not that Julia had ever used a hotel phone...

"Mikey!" she grinned, happy that her kid was safe. If he was alright, then that meant -- "Everyone else is okay too, right? No one's hurt?"

"We're all fine, Mom," Luke's voice came in, a bit more distant from the phone.

"That's good, I... wait, where are you calling from?"

"The daycare office," another, unfamiliar voice chimed in. "I hope you don't mind. My cellular device, uh... kinda got crushed in battle."

There was a soft pause.

"Oh, this is John Bishop by the way. I don't think we've met yet."

Another, more uncomfortable pause.

"Oh, and I'm not spored anymore. I probably should have led with that."

"Ya think?" Mikey's voice noted sarcastically.

"I, um..." Julia listened carefully, hoping to find something to prove it. She didn't want to outright say she didn't trust him or fully believe him, but they were dealing with a mind-controlling creature here that could turn your own senses against you. "Could you put Luke on for me?"

There was a shuffling sound as Luke took the receiver and whispered into it.

"Hey, Mom."

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, we're not hurt. I mean, Bishop looks a little worse for ware but --"

"No no, I mean --" she paused, inhaled, exhaled. "You know. The other thing."

Luke mimicked his mother with an inhale and exhale before he spoke again, voice softer than before.

"...It made me see our Mikey's death. And... and seeing Bishop normal and lucid again is tough, for... a number of reasons. But he's understanding so... so it'll be good. I'm okay for now."

"Are you sure?" Julia asked. "You can tell me if something is troubling you."

"I know you have to ask that because you're my mother and kind of a therapist for kids, and I promise that after this is over we will have a long talk about everything," he whispered. That confession was enough to convince her it was truly her son speaking to her, and he would never lie to her. "But right now, we called you to warn you."

"Warn me?" Julia startled. "About what?"

"Chaplin's on his way!" Mikey butt in. "We were able to free Bishop from the spores but they just infected Chaplin instead! And since you have two hive-minded spore victims with you --"

Julia dropped the phone. She could hear the voices on the other end continue to talk and call her name as she raced into the bedroom and shook LeonAudro awake.

"hhhhrrrmrmmmmmwwwwhaatisittt?" Leo groaned, slowly sitting up as his eyes rolled around his head. "cccccannit wait t'll m'rn'ng??"

"No, I don't think so dear! Wake up Donnie -- AudreyTello -- er, your Donatello -- we may need his help."

"He hasn't slept in days," Leo yawned, groggily sliding out of the nest/bed. "I doubt I could even wake him if I wanted to..."

"Then just come with me, we have a situation!" Julia whispered, taking Leo by his hand and pulling him along into the kitchenette where the others were still panicking on the phone.

Julia grabbed the receiver and clicked a few buttons frantically before the voices came through speakerphone.

"--MOM! Mom? You still there?? Should I call back??"

"We're here, honey!" Julia exclaimed, holding the phone equal distance between her and the sleepy teen. "Tell us again what just happened."

"Ok, the tl;dr is that Bishop got despored but Chaplin is the new face of the fear fungus and escaped and is most likely on his way to your room now!" Mikey repeated.

Leo was silent, eyes blinking sluggishly as he struggled to stay aware.

"...Say huh?"

"You're all in danger!" a deeper, more grown-up voice shouted.

Leo's eyes popped.

"Is... that who I think it is?"

Julia nodded.

"...Hey, Bishop," Leo mumbled. "Long time no time."

"Ditto."

"Excuse me, but what are we going to do about the lovecraftian horror coming your way?" Luke asked.

Julia exchanged an unsure side-glance with Leo.

"...How long do we have?"

"He left around five, maybe ten minutes ago, tops," Bishop noted. "I don't exactly understand how this place works, but --"

"You'll have five minutes until he arrives," Luke explained. "You should get out of there!"

"Should we?" Julia pondered. "If he's tracking us, then what will running do?"

"Besides, Donnie's in no condition to be running anywhere right now," Leo added, one hand running over his bald head as the other fidgeted with his knit sweater. "And I'd hate to think what will happen to him or Mikey..."

"Aren't we safe in here anyways?" Julia added. "These magic rooms -- he can't get in, can he?"

"Not unless he's a part of your AU," MBU Mikey explained. "...Who's room are you in?"

"...Ours, I think," Julia whispered as she traced back her thoughts from just a few hours earlier. "The Mama Bear AU."

"Okay, so he won't be able to get in, but I wouldn't put it past him for anything," Mikey noted. "he'll do whatever he can. You'll need something to defend yourselves just in case."

"Does my winning personality count?" Leo asked jokingly.

"Yeah, you could definitely use that as a blunt instrument," Luke joked.

"Is this the time for banter?" John Bishop interjected.

"Right right, sorry."

"I'm sure we have plenty to prepare ourselves with," Julia noted, already rummaging through the drawers to look for anything she could use. "Thanks, boys."

She heard Bishop huff softly at that addressment, but he stayed silent.

"We'll be there soon to help," Luke promised. "When we come, we'll use a special code so you know it's us. You ask 'who's there' and we'll respond 'Seymour Krelborn'. Does that work?"

Julia chuckled softly.

"Yes, I think we can manage that. Be careful, don't take chances," Julia begged.

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing to you!"

Julia smiled softly as she put the phone back into its place on the wall. Her smile faded into hard determination.

"Alright. Barricade the front door. Then lock yourself in your bedroom."

"But what about you?" Leo asked, eyes glimmering with the softest hint of blue around the corners of his vision.

"I'll be alright, I've been in stickier situations," she reassured him. "I fought in the civil war, this is nothing."

"Wait, you did what--?"

"Go stay with your brothers," Julia insisted. "Protect them. That's your job."

Leo nodded with determination and then raced away.

Julia got to work. Kids, don't try this at home. Unless you really, really want to... Mama Bear went to the cabinets and pulled out as many supplies as she could find. Plates, glasses, silverware, plastic cling wrap.

This magic hotel room really DID have everything she would need!

First, she covered the entrance with cling wrap. It wouldn't hold, of course, but it would distract and at best disorient. She then placed a thin yarn tripwire across the floor for the behemoth to trip over. A few more 'Home Alone' type traps were set up here and there in the short allotment of time she had left.

There was a knock at the door.

Julia took her position behind the couch, her ninpo rolling pin in one hand and sharp metal knitting needles in the other.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"Seymour Krelborne!" came the answer.

Julia gave a deep sigh of relief before slowly approaching the door. She clicked the lock and reached for the door chain before noticing a small flow of blue particles coming in from underneath the door.

A loud crack followed a sudden break, the door was snapped in half as squirming tentacles and a shrill shriek of anger started to slither their way through the splintered wood. She saw yellow glowing eyes lock in on her. Julia ran back to her station behind the couch fort she's built and watched as Chaplin ripped the door out from its frame and threw it into the hallway.

"Oh Miiiiiikeeeeey," he sang. "Guess who's heeeeerrrrrreee!"

Dr. Chaplin walked into the room...

"You know, you really shouldn't reveal your secret callsigns when my spies are in the room with you. LeonAudro still serves a purpose, even after all this time..."

...And immediately got caught in the clear cling wrap.

Chaplin growled as he stumbled, throwing his multiple arms around. His foot tripped over the yarn wire, sending him onto his knees as several cups filled with sharp cutlery were released from the ceiling, stabbing him in the back and shoulders. He roared, looking around frantically for Julia.

She was already on top of him.

Julia dug her needles deep into the side of his neck. Fighting in a war taught her some pretty helpful things, like how to heal gruesome injuries... and, unfortunately, how to inflict them. She knew exactly which arteries and muscles to go for, what angle to stab at to cause as much damage as she could. Neon pink and dark red spurted out as he screamed and wriggled underneath her.

A long tentacle reached back and wrapped around her, throwing her into a wall.

. . .

Mikey shot up when he heard the very loud thump and crash.

He'd heard the door 'open'. His eyes popped open, Leo was standing guard. He saw Mikey wake, and held a finger to his lips while signing 'stay quiet, try to sleep'. It was only then he noticed Donnie asleep by his side, and Mikey stayed close to his chest, trying to focus on his heartbeat.

He'd heard a bone-curdling voice that he recognized instantly. Mikey's spines rose in defense, his tail going rigid and sharp with spikes. Leo held up his hand. Mikey pressed himself closer to Donnie. He could feel himself shaking in terror.

But it wasn't until he heard the thunderous crash that he jumped up, eyes wide. Leo looked terrified. He looked frozen, the only communication between the two teenagers was through their eyes, and Leonardo's were begging Mikey to stay where he was.

Everything in Mikey wanted to run away, cry out in fear. Mikey liked to believe that he was brave. Mikey liked to believe that he was mature. He liked to believe he wasn't a 'little man' as Raph used to call him.

But even hearing that voice, muffled through walls and garbled among other sounds, it terrified him. It made him feel like he was a very very little kid, still with all his baby teeth and chubby arms and squishy face, alone in a nightmare with the most grotesque and petrifying thing he'd ever known. His abuser. His murderer. The devil that tried to make him into his own personal demon of war.

Mikey could feel the tears flooding down his face, though he stayed silent.

Leo was by his side in an instant, holding him by his shoulders and forcing him to look only at his face, stay focused, stay grounded.

Another loud crash, a monstrous roar and a cry of pain.

Mikey gasped, the panic reaching exponential levels and causing his head to turn to static as he struggled to breath.

Leo gripped him tighter, bringing him close for an embrace as he whispered to him. Mikey couldn't understand anything, all he could hear was a vicious and cruel man telling him how wonderful of a killing machine Mikey was, berating him and ordering him to attack his own brothers.

There was another crash, and he heard Julia yell before coughing and gasping. She sounded hurt!

Mikey wrestled himself free from Leo's grip and jumped to the door. He heard Leo hiss at him to stay back and stay in the room as he reached out for him.

Mikey cracked the door open, peeking through.

There he was, in all his un-glory. Standing over Julia, who was propping herself up by her elbows as she struggled to stand, coughing and hacking. She spit onto the floor. It was speckled red.

Chaplin turned. He saw Mikey.

Mikey gasped. Leo shut the door.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, crawling backwards. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

The door bent in half. Mikey and Leo screamed. He could hear Julia screaming in the other room as well. Leo stepped between the two of them, directing Mikey to stay on the bed with the still sleeping Donnie. How had he not woken up yet??

Leo raised his fists. Where was his odachi? No, katanas. No, he... Mikey's memories were all mixed up as his panic overruled his thought process. LeonAudro stood between the monster and his creation, trying to hide how badly he was shaking as he kept his fists up and shouted at the beast.

"You're not taking my brothers!" he yelled, voice cracking indiscreetly. "You might as well leave! Or else... o-or else you'll have to deal with me and these bad boys!" He raised his fists just a little bit higher.

Chaplin laughed.

"How funny. But why would you send me away when you were the one to invite me here in the first place?"

Leo's face fell.

"What...?"

Chaplin's eyes glowed blue, and Leo screamed in pain, gripping his head tightly as he stumbled around the room. He looked back at his little brother, and Mikey saw his eyes flashing between white and blue.

Chaplin swat Leo down like a bug, sending the slider flying into the wall with a crashing thud. Leo's glowing eyes rolled back in his head as he slid down the wall and crumpled onto the ground. Mikey shrieked out and dove towards him, patting his cheeks as he tried to wake him up.

"Blue?! BLUE!! Wake up, p-please w-wake up! Get up, Blue!!... Leo...?"

Leo was unresponsive.

"Come along now, pet," Chaplin teased. "Before I lose my temper anymore than I already have."

Mikey turned and growled at him, seething with fury. How dare he hurt his brother. How dare he attack his family. How dare he ruin his life and try to take away everything he loved and trusted. Mikey's fangs elongated, jutting out as he snarled at the man. His spines and spikes were sharp, on point. His claws scratched the floors. He clicken menacingly at Chaplin.

"I will give you till the count of three," Chaplin sighed. "One..."

Mikey pawed and rutted at the ground, an animalistic trait to warn an opponent that he was getting ready to charge.

"Two..."

Mikey snarled. He could see Julia struggling to stand. It only made him madder.

Mikey pounced.

Something caught him midair.

"...Three." Chaplin sighed. "I must say, I am disappointed. I was half-hoping to reach a conflict resolution peacefully."

Mikey struggled, a cold chill running up his spine as he realized that Chaplin was not the on holding him back. Mikey could feel the air around him shifting, a blue aura and sickening fog beginning to surround him as the arms that had caught him began to slowly wrap over his torso. They were meant to be loving, kind and familiar arms. But the were unfeeling, cold, and calculating.

"I suppose that making you suffer could be one kind of consolation, however," Chaplin sighed. "After all you did to me."

Mikey struggled, chirping and screeching as AudreyTello marched his baby brother over to Dr. Chaplin.

"Thank you," he whispered to AudreyTello, as he wrapped a slimy and slithering hand Mikey's throat. "As for you... I suppose I owe you a form of gratitude as well."

Chaplin lifted Mikey high off of the ground, squeezing around his neck. Mikey gagged and choked, kicking wildly as he struggled against his captor.

"I was always in the business of weaponizing fear. Through machines, or political regimes, or you. Fear has always been the greatest motivator. At first, I was furious you brought me here. But now, seeing all this place has to offer -- I really must thank you! You've shown me, yet again, there is no limit to what I can take."

Mikey's movement lost energy. His grip on Chaplin's slimy claw loosened. His kicks slowed. His eyes grew hazy. His breathing was raspy.

"Your idiotic mushroom-riddled Bishop believed that I wanted to return home with you. He was right on one count -- I wanted you back. But why would I ever go back to that stinking dimension?"

Chaplin tightened his grip to the point Mikey screamed in pain with whatever air he had left inside him. He brought the child close to his face, close enough he could smell the putrid, rotting flesh.

"I died there, remember?" Chaplin spat. "You did that to me. So, why would I go back when I could have my revenge here? And not just on you, but EVERY Mikey, every stupid little mutant turtle from EVERY dimension! And after that, who's to stop me from going wherever I want! I don't need your universe, I'll make my own!"

Chaplin's face split into a sharp and disproportionate grin.

"And who knows, maybe I'll let you keep a version of your brothers..."

There was a sound like shattering glass, halting Chaplin mid sentence. Someone had thrown a lamp at his head. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned around, still holding a barely conscious Mikey like a ragdoll.

"Do you mind?" he asked drably, gently sweeping the shards of pottery and the dented lampshade off his bulging shoulders. "I've heard it's rude to interrupt when someone is talking..."

Mikey felt Chaplin's grip loosen just enough for him to catch a breath. Through blurry vision, he could see a creature half as large as Chaplin, dressed in dark wraps and a red mask.

"You again?" Chaplin growled. "What, are we collecting family members like its a hide and seek?"

"Let him go," Raph growled, helping Julia to stand up.

"Or what?" Chaplin chuckled.

Mikey turned and glanced back at Donnie. Dee looked like he was sleepwalking, same as Mikey when Chaplin used his Alpha powers. Mikey noticed something glimmering under his cloak. He swished his tail and saw a small collection of potions tethered to his belt. Mikey wasn't sure what they did, but he grabbed the first one he could reach with his extra appendage. It was bright orange and strangely warm. Donnie saw him and reached up to reclaim the potion.

Mikey smashed the bottle over Chaplin's head.

He was not expecting what happened next. But he figured he'd regret it later...

Prev || Next || Where did Donnie get the potions from??

[pupsmailbox]

STARTING WITH L

MASCULINE︰ lachlan. laird. lake. lamar. lambert. lamont. lance. landen. landon. landry. landyn. lane. lanford. langston. lanny. larry. laurence. lavern. laverne. lawrence. lawson. layne. layton. laz. leandro. ledger. lee. legacy. legend. leighton. leith. leland. len. lenard. lennie. lennon. lennox. lenny. lenox. leo. leon. leonard. leonardo. leonel. leonidas. leopold. leroi. leroy. les. lesley. leslie. lester. letter. lev. levi. levon. lew. lewin. lewis. lex. leyton. liam. lincoln. linford. link. linton. linus. linwood. lionel. liu. lloyd. logan. london. loren. lorenzo. lorin. lorn. lorne. lorrin. lou. louie. louis. lovel. lovell. lowell. loyal. loyd. luca. lucas. lucca. lucian. luciano. lucius. lucky. luis. luka. lukas. luke. luther. lyall. lyle. lyndon. lynn. lynton. lynwood. lyric.

FEMININE︰ laila. lainey. lakelynn. lana. laney. lara. laura. laurel. lauren. layla. laylanni. leah. leandra. leanna. leena. legacy. leia. leighton. leila. leilani. lena. lennon. lennox. leona. leslie. letter. lexi. lexie. leya. leyla. lia. liana. libby. liberty. lila. lilah. lilian. liliana. lilianna. lilith. lillian. lilliana. lillie. lilly. lily. lina. lindsey. lisa. liv. logan. lola. london. londyn. lonnie. loralai. lorelai. lorelei. louisa. louise. lucia. luciana. lucille. lucy. luisa. luna. lyanna. lydia. lyla. lylah. lynnette. lyra. lyric.

NEUTRAL︰ labyrinth. lace. lacy. lai. laiken. laine. lake. laken. lali. lam. lamar. lamp. lance. landry. landyn. lane. lang. lark. larkin. latch. lau. laurel. laurence. laurent. lavan. lave. lavender. lavey. lawan. lawin. layken. layne. layton. lazarus. le. leaf. leather. ledger. lee. left. legaci. legacy. legend. lei. leigh. leighton. leis. leith. lek. lemar. len. leni. lennie. lennon. lennox. lenny. lenox. leo. leon. leone. lesley. leslie. less. letter. levi. levian. levy. lex. lexi. lexington. leyton. li. liam. lian. liann. liberty. lie. liel. life. lilac. lille. lilo. lily. limit. lin. linae. lind. linde. linden. lindi. ling. lingxi. link. linn. linux. lio. lione. lior. lithium. liyan. lo. lock. logan. logic. lois. lok. loki. lolan. london. lone. lonnie. loose. loren. lorin. lost. lotus. lou. loui. louie. louis. love. loyal. loyalty. luca. lucca. lucid. lucka. lucky. ludo. lue. lui. luka. lull. lumi. lumière. lunar. lune. lurch. lurk. luscious. lutfi. lux. ly. lykke. lyn. lyndon. lynn. lynx. lyre. lyric. lyrik. lý.

[clonehub]

i think about what it would mean if Padme got an abortion, and not in the sense of prophecies or fate* and how different the galaxy would be without luke or leia. I mean in the sense that Padme is chasing an idealistic life with Anakin because she spent her entire childhood being controlled by adults while having other children risk their lives for her because in her society, the age of (at least political) maturity was 14. Her entire life was politics, her blood was politics, her soul was politics, and she'd never deny herself those things, but she needed something that was hers. She needed to make a decision that was hers, one that represented freedom, and Anakin represented that to her.

Until he stops being that. She's an idealist until something happens that makes her not want to carry + bear Anakin's children. The idea of having kids, in that moment, needs to be deeply unappealing to her.

I want to know what that thing is. I want to know what Anakin says or does that shatters his representation of himself in her eyes. I want to know what changes in Padme to make her not want a family with him.

*frankly, even this would be reason enough to abort (to me). notice how a Chosen One Prophecy always requires a mother to give birth to a special child she's doomed to lose whether she wants to bear that burden or not (she always unknowingly does)

(and also I get that Avoidance of Fate would mean Padme would have to know about all the fuckery with the Force, somehow. idk maybe someone has an AU about it)

Me personally, I think what would shatter that for Padme is if Anakin stops making her feel safe. Like deeply, deeply unsafe. At the same time, her view of the Republic (and maybe democracy? idk) would have to change fundamentally, too. I was talking about this with some mutuals and we were speculating that Anakin's violence towards other children makes her not want to have kids with him. He says "I would kill anyone for you and the child(ren)" but that's the problem. She doesn't want him to do that. She doesn't want him to kill people.

Other speculation is that what contributes to this decision are a series of horrible Force-induced nightmares and visions that come from having Force-sensitive twins inside her (though of course I don't want to link a desire to get an abortion, a serious exercise of bodily autonomy, with a lack of lucidity or mental stability).

Padme also asks herself "Do I want to have a child with this man?" Unclear. Next question: "Can I imagine him holding our children?" She cannot.

[chizu117]

Scrybe Luke AU that's been bouncing around in my brain like a screensaver.

After P03 uploads Inscryption online and he's killed, Luke becomes a Scrybe with a focus on death cards. He mostly continues to work on the game, recycling the other Scrybes' scrapped mechanics and other material. As he was recreated from what was on his computer, he's more of a version of "Lucky Carder" than of the real Luke, but he does have lucid moments here and there.

[madame-fear]

Imagine Lucerys taking you moongazing at late hours of the night, when no one is around to bother.

It would be just the two of you, resting your bodies against the ground, from the Dragonstone beach, where he often swordtrains with his eldest brother, feeling the grains of sand under yourselves. The sea tides gently being moved by the cool nightly breeze, provoking a soothing sound as the waves clashed against one another, and they crept to the shore; occasionally hitting against some small shells, and rocks.

The lucid light shining from the moon would be reflected down into the sea, and gracefully against your faces very slightly.

It’s just the two of you, listening to the sounds of your surroundings, and your own chest rising and descending with each breathing; inhaling your ambrosial scents that never failed to put you at ease whenever you needed it. Perhaps you’re glued to his side, with his arms around your delicate figure, or maybe you’re laying your body on top of his own. Either way, you would always find a way to press loving kisses and show physical, innocent puppy love.

Luke’s fingertips would gently trace the back of your hand as you caressed his chest in a leisure up-and-down manner, feeling your velvety skin under his touch, leaving the faint ghost of his stroking as he stroked you. Expect him to delicately raise your hand to his lips, kissing your palm dedicately, and his soft pecks and smooches would travel across your nails, fingers, and knuckles.

You would most definitely softly whisper things to one another. Maybe it’s your insecurities, bad jokes for you to quietly chuckle stupidly, little secrets that no one but both of you know from each other, or simply, express one another’s thoughts as you lay down for the bright moonshine to reflect upon you. Feeling each other’s warmth, your lips in every inch of your skins, cuddling to no end, fervidly interwining your fingers on his dark, messy hair to the point it makes his hazel eyes flutter shut in delight, and solely enjoying the quality time you manage to have next to one another, all by yourselves, with no one around to possibly interrupt you.

The sweet little dragon prince would absolutely adore to have you on the tight grip of his arms, kissing every bit of you; pampering you, spoiling you, cherishing and loving your entire self, like you deserved to be loved, and taken care of.

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