#the rhythm of this is probably all over the place but y'know. oh well

[yourlocaltiredartist]

wrote this in like 20mins and barely edited lmao anyways

[queerpumpkinnn]

hi! if your requests are open could you do anything for patrick verona? like anything lol ill take it

So requests are actually not open right now, but given that this was sent in when they were I saved it for Kinktober. I hope you like it!

Kinktober 31st: I Knew You'd Come Around

aka hate sex with Patrick Verona

1k words

Summary: Hate sex with Patrick Verona. That's it.

Pairing: Patrick Verona x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut duh, enemies to enemies with benefits?? probably some darker themes idk, sex at a party but they're in a bedroom, little to no aftercare, vaginal fingering, light scratching, light hair pulling, patrick is a cocky little shit but what's new

~

You hated yourself for doing this, you really did. You hated the butterflies in your stomach for fluttering when he grabbed your ass, hated your hands for tugging him closer by the collar of his, hated your heart for racing at the feeling of his tongue on yours.

That was the general emotion when you were around him. Hate. Hate and frustration and annoyance and pure, fiery arousal.

The last one is the most prevalent as you're pressed up against a bedroom wall, the bass of the song playing outside reverberating on your back. Patrick's hands are all over you, groping and tracing every inch of skin he could find.

"Fucking idiot," you huff in between wet smacks of your lips, yanking at his shirt collar, trying to signal him to take it off.

"Y'know," he starts, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, "for someone who proclaims to hate me so much, you sure are hell-bent on getting me naked."

"They're not mutually exclusive concepts, dumbass." Your words seem frail, and your voice trails off at the end as his fingers tug at the belt loops of your pants.

"Ooh, big words." He purrs, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you doing that thing where you try to sound smart so that I don't notice that you're full of shit?"

"I am not- oh, god..." Any biting remark you may have had ready died on your tongue as his fingers slipped under your pants and were tracing the damp patch on your underwear.

"Aw, not so talkative now, are you?" Patrick placed open-mouthed kisses over your neck, nipping gently every so often. "If I'd known this was all it took to shut you up, I would've done this sooner."

With a gasp, your hand snakes up to Patrick's hair, fingers curling when the pads of his fingers linger over your covered clit, roaming a little before finding the rhythm that made your head fall back with a thump.

"Atta girl, keep making those pretty noises." He hummed, using his other hand to pop open the buttons of your pants and tug them down to your knees.

Well, naturally, you just had to do the opposite of whatever he told you. So you clamped your mouth shut. Of course, you were now resigned to breathing heavily through your nose instead and that was still as audible.

Patrick pulls back for a moment to look at you, eyes darting all over your stony face, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

"Shoulda seen that coming. But we'll get you talking."

And you should have known he wasn't all talk. Before you have the chance to scoff at his remark, his hand dips under the waistband of your underwear to trace along your folds.

You could feel your cheeks turn hot as you saw his eyes go wide with awe and amusement. "'S such a mess down there, pretty. Little ol' me did that?"

He knew you weren't going to admit that, so he didn't wait for a response. He got all he needed when he saw you react, saw you keen when his fingertips dragged over your clit, resuming the rhythm that set fire in your belly.

"Aw, it's okay," he purrs, tonguing over your collarbone. "Y'don't have to say it. Y'know why? 'Cause this pretty pussy says it all for me, doesn't she?"

That makes your pussy clench, and you know he can feel it. An airy chuckle tells you he definitely can. "Thought so. Can feel her asking for it, begging for me."

You can't help the moan that is ripped from your throat when he sinks a finger in, curling at just the right spot to have you raking your nails down his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. Your legs are already trembling, and stray hairs are already pasted to your forehead by sweat.

"Fucking hate you," you sigh, but when you're rolling your hips up into his hand it doesn't hold much venom.

"Can't hear you, sweet cheeks, might need to speak up."

"I hate you."

"What's that?''

"I hate you." You can feel pleasure boiling in your gut, seconds away from boiling over.

"One more time," he purrs, pressing his palm up into your clit.

"I hate you! Patrick!" You grasp onto his shoulders as pleasure comes over you in waves, spreading through every vein into your fingertips until you're left with a blissful afterglow, panting and whining.

"There we go." Patrick wipes a hair that fell over your mouth away, grinning. "Knew you'd come around."

You roll your eyes as Patrick pats your cheek and then leaves towards the ensuite bathroom. He comes back a moment later with a wet rag and hands it to you.

He stays for cleanup, but for the first time in all the time you've known each other, it stayed silent.

As you fixed your hair in the bathroom mirror, Patrick came quietly up behind you and placed a glass of water on the counter- you hadn't even noticed he'd left, you'd been so lost in thought.

"I'm assuming you don't want to be seen together, so I should leave now."

You didn't respond. You weren't sure why, and you weren't sure what the answer would have been if you had. But Patrick doesn't seem to take offense to it, instead stepping away from the bathroom. You watch through the mirror as he heads towards the bedroom door.

He stops in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. He's wearing his telltale grin and his hair whips with the movement as he looks back at you.

"Oh, by the way, if you ever feel like hating me again, give me a call."

.

Patrick Verona Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[dream-meister-translations]

WOLF GAME

THE WOLF GAME - PART 4

━

MISAKI MORI : C'mon on guys! L-Let’s get along! If we join forces, we can definitely get out of this place together!

RITSU KAMIKI : People who talk like that tend to die early in these situations, y'know? 

MISAKI MORI : Wh-What!? Die early!? Anyway, let's get going!

TAKUYA TSUCHIYA : Even if we work together, a wolf might end up killing someone, right? 

MAKI TAKAYAMA : You don't really think someone will kill someone do you!? 

SATORU YONEMORI : If they don't kill a sheep, they will be executed, right? They have to kill someone. 

KOU NIIMURA : Only if what that absurd doll says is true...

CHIE KOMIYA : S-So the wolf m-might really kill someone...

A heavy, indescribably tension began to fill the air. Some were anxious, others eyeing each other up. As if trying to assess who the wolf amongst us was. 

SATORU YONEMORI : This is getting us nowhere. We should explore the building some more.

RINTAROU IIDA : That sounds like a good idea~♪ Exploring is fun~!

TAKEO KOJIMA : It's dangerous to explore alone. And it'll be too slow if we all go together. We should each pair up and divide the exploration. 

MISAKI MORI : That sounds like a smart idea.

-

In the end, I wound up searching the third floor with Misaki. Kou and Miho were paired up and to explore the other half of the third floor.

MISAKI MORI : The circumstances aren't great, but it's nice to meet you! 

KOU NIIMURA : We should start the exploration right away.

MIHO KAIDOU : Yeah, everyone be careful. Keep your guard up. Anything could happen from this moment forward. 

-

Misaki Mori, 19 years old. 

A kind girl who speaks in the Kansai dialect. She is a self-proclaimed otaku who is in love with rhythm games. She appears to be dressed in some sort of cosplay. She's very friendly and often strikes up conversations with the other participants. Even if she becomes a wolf, she doesn't seem capable of killing anyone. Honestly, she's just my type. 

-

MISAKI MORI : What is this place? It looks like some kind of classroom or something...

ME : Yeah, it's kinda weird. 

MISAKI MORI : Yeah...It's giving me the creeps...And look, the windows are all boarded shut.

ME : Probably so we can't escape through them.

MISAKI MORI : Oh, and look, there are flowers on the desk. I wonder what that's all about...It doesn't give a good feeling, does it...?

MISAKI MORI : Huh...There's also some scratches on the desk and something in the drawer. 

ME : A piece of paper?

MISAKI MORI : There's something written on it...Oh... 

ME : "We are all very sad to say that Yuuya has passed away. Today we will be holding a memorial ceremony for Yuuya from all of us in his class."

ME : ...This is terrible...But what does it mean...?

MISAKI MORI : How sad...

MISAKI MORI : Oh, look over here...There's something written on the blackboard too. "To the sheep : Have you yet to realize your true selves?"

ME : Our true selves? The hell does that mean?

MISAKI MORI : Is it trying to convey something to us...? Well, we have other rooms to search, we should go check them, right?

ME : Y-Yeah, let's do that.

MISAKI MORI : Shall I lead the way?

ME : Yeah, thanks.

MISAKI MORI : This is such a spacious room! Huh...All the windows in here are boarded up too...

ME : There really is no way outta this place.

MISAKI MORI : I guess all we can do is investigate further.

As I look around, I find a bag resting against a bench. It looks to be Kou's belongings. Inside there is a laptop, a tablet, and a couple other technological devices. It's all meticulously organized. It seems Kou is a very neat person.

Next to his bag is Misaki's bag. Inside is a cute handkerchief that is neatly folded. She seems to like cute things.

ME : Huh? There's a stack of papers here. They look like medical papers from a hospital or something. 

MISAKI MORI : Why would something like that be here?

ME : It says... "Psychiatry" on it... I think we should meet back up with the others and show them what we found.

MISAKI MORI : Yeah, that's a good idea. They've probably finished their searches too. We can go over all the evidence. 

After completing our search, Misaki and I returned to the main area of the building to meet up with the others.

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 8 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

*****

Azriel hadn't moved all night, and Gwyn hadn't stirred in his arms, she was still sleeping soundly, snuggled into his chest. Azriel cradled her against him, waiting for her to wake up on her own. She showed no signs of waking even an hour later, and they'd soon be late to training, not to mention his wing was cramping up from where she'd wriggled slightly onto it half an hour ago. He subtly sent a shadow to open the blinds, sending sunlight flooding into the room, bathing everything in a rosy glow. Gwyn scrunched up her nose, hiding her face against him, the light making her stir and blink open her eyes. She froze as she realized where she was, but smiled, and released Azriel's wing,

"Sorry," she mumbled, "You should have just shoved me off, y'know,"

"I didn't want to wake you," he muttered, brushing the hair out of her face, "You were so calm,"

"I was asleep, so obviously,"

"Still, I didn't want to incur the wrath of waking you, either,"

"I'm not that bad!" She protested,

"Oh really?" He chuckled, "Nesta told me one time you launched a full-on pillow assault because she woke you at the time you usually get up." Gwyn glared at him,

"Nesta needs to mind her own business," she mumbled, "I was tired." Azriel snorted, and got up, ignoring Gwyn's squawk of complaint,

"I thought I was supposed to push you off, make up your mind," he laughed, turning to grab a set of leathers from the wardrobe,

Duck

What?

A pillow smacked him in the back of the head, and he turned to find Gwyn grinning triumphantly at him from where she sat on the bed. She squeaked and dived under the duvet when he picked up the pillow and tossed it into the air a few times, before throwing it back at the lump under the duvet,

"Asshole!" Came the muffled response, and he chuckled before ducking into the bathroom to change, grunting when his face met another pillow the moment he returned. Gwyn giggled, and threw another one that he barely managed to dodge, before crossing to the bed and grabbing the last pillow off her. He chuckled when she dived off the bed, grabbing the pillows she had thrown earlier. She threw one, and then pounced, smacking him with the pillow again and again, until he laughed, 

"I surrender! You win, oh mighty Valkyrie." Gwyn huffed, and let him up, grinning to herself as she ran out of the room to get her own leathers. Azriel chuckled to himself as she ran out,

Ask her to dinner.

What? No, don't be stupid.

Ask. Her. To. Dinner.

Stay out of this, just do your jobs.

Our job is to help you. We're helping you. Ask her to dinner.

Gwyn returned before he could respond, 

"Az, you're supposed to be teaching, it'd be absolutely disgraceful if you were late." Gwyn sauntered back out, leaving Azriel to roll his eyes and follow her. 

*****

Nesta was already there when Gwyn reached the training ring, 

"Are you planning anything today?" She asked, and Nesta shook her head,

"I was supposed to have lunch with Elain, but she's still not speaking to me after I shouted at her."

"What?"

"For upsetting you. She's mad, thinks I should be mad at you for being happy, and Az for being an idiot." Azriel winced as he overheard their conversation. "I shouted at her after you left, made her cry actually." Gwyn glanced away,

"I'm sorry, I don't want to be the cause of conflict between you."

"Oh you're not, Elain deciding to be a petty bitch is the cause, she's just picking a fight because she's upset that Az isn't following her around any more." He what?

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he used to fancy her,"

"Used to?"

"He hasn't made any sort of move for ages, and she's never had to go for anything before, so she's a bit put out by it, I think. She doesn't dislike you, don't worry, I think she's just a bit all over the place at the moment." Gwyn nodded, and glanced towards Azriel, setting up the obstacle course again with Cassian. He'd stopped going after Elain. Nesta groaned as she followed Gwyn's eye line, "Cass has been being so annoying about that damned obstacle course, we've got to beat it, beat him." Nesta grinned at Cassian, casually rotating her wrist, and sending her sword flashing through the air. Cassian snorted with laughter, and shook his head,

"Save the swordplay for later, sweetheart." Nesta lost her rhythm, and narrowed her eyes at him, leaving Gwyn struggling to contain her laughter at Cassian's grin as Nesta flushed at the promise in his eyes. Nesta was saved from further embarrassment by Mor and Emerie's arrival, and Emerie grinned when Mor said something quietly, vanishing moments later,  leaving Emerie quickly explaining at Nesta's questioning glance,

"The brace is finished, Mor's gone to fetch it, and she's staying for training today." Gwyn didn't miss Emerie's grin each time she said Mor's name, but didn't comment on it either, turning her attention to the obstacle course facing her. She let a few others go first this time, focusing on listening. With each female taking on the course, Gwyn remembered Azriel's words, listening for their footsteps, the slight changes in direction, whether they were louder or quieter, running or walking, or fighting. When her turn came, she had a reasonable idea of what the course looked like, up to a point at least.

For the most part, she was right, and easily navigated the first half, before having to slow down, to pay closer attention to the obstacles. She focused on one at a time, but kept listening and  checking for any new ones, any potential 'enemies'. She passed her previous marker, and almost reached the end before the wooden beam she'd been running across gave way, and she collapsed to the floor, her wrist twisting unpleasantly beneath her. She squeaked in pain, and scrambled backwards as the beam fell, slamming into the ground where she'd been moments earlier.

"Shit!" A shadow was already swirling around her wrist, even as Azriel sprinted across the ring to reach her, a blue shield flaring up when another chunk of wood fell towards her. She scrambled to her feet, inspecting her wrist as she moved, it wasn't broken, sprained maybe, but nothing more. "Are you hurt?" Azriel gripped her elbow, tugging her towards him as he met her halfway across the ring,

"Not really, just hurt my wrist a bit." Azriel's attention snapped to the wrist in question, a shadow still circling it, and heaved a sigh of relief,

"It's not broken,"

"I know that, dumbass, I just fell funny on it, what happened? It wasn't supposed to break was it?"

"No, no it wasn't." Cassian was already at the faulty obstacle, and shouted back to Azriel,

"It's been tampered with, there's a bit of damage here as well," he ran a hand over the next obstacle, and locked eyes with Azriel, "This came from Illyria." Gwyn looked to Azriel, his face cold, almost unreadable, but a muscle twitched next to his eye, he was worried. She gently rubbed the hand still holding her elbow,

"It's okay, no-one got hurt."

"This time, who knows what might happen next time, that beam could have killed you."

"It didn't, I moved, we'll just have to closely inspect everything before every session." Azriel nodded, his siphons fading from the brilliant cobalt blue that they had been a few moments ago to a more subdued color, light no longer shining from them. He stepped back from Gwyn, running his gaze over her, from head to toe, and she let him ascertain for himself that she wasn't hurt, "I'm fine, Az." She muttered,

"Perhaps we should do something else today," Gwyn nodded, and let him lead her away from the obstacle course.

*****

Azriel fought the panic at seeing Gwyn in danger, she was safe, she was unharmed, mostly. She sat onto a bench by the wall and Azriel mumbled for her to wait a moment, not quite paying attention until he had grabbed their medical kit, and found the bandages inside,

"Az, I'm fine," Gwyn insisted, but didn't stop him from binding her wrist, and she caught his hands as he finished, her own tiny beside his, barely covering them as she smiled at him, "Thank you."

"Probably best if you avoid using it too much for now, you're lucky it's your left, you'll still be able to fight if you want." Gwyn nodded, and waited with Nesta and Emerie while he and Cassian cleared the debris out of the way, "You get some hand to hand practice set up, I'll sort archery, Emerie at least will be wanting to practice with the brace." Cassian rested a hand on his shoulder, and met his eyes,

"Breathe." Azriel did, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it through his nose, "She's fine." Azriel glance back to the bench,

She's okay,

The shadows whispered in his ear again, as they'd been doing since the first step he took from her,

"She doesn't need you to protect her, not now at least, just to help her."

"I know that. I just, I don't know." Cassian smiled,

"I do. It's difficult, but they're capable, she fought off a full warrior on her own last night, unarmed, she can handle a bit of wood." They, who was they? He didn't ask though, it had just been a slip of the tongue, he couldn't possibly mean Nesta and Gwyn, perhaps he meant they as in the Valkyries, there'd be no point in comparing Nesta and Gwyn. Nesta was Cass's mate, and Gwyn was, whatever she was to him, no way. He could have sworn a sigh sounded in his ear, and he offered Cassian a small smile as he made his way to the archery range, finally relaxing fully at a light laugh from behind him. He didn't need to look to know what she looked like, head tossed backwards, hair slightly falling out of her braid. He loved it when she laughed, they way the skin next to her eyes crinkled a little, her dimples forming when she smiled, even the sound of it. She laughed again, and his shadows hummed in response, the sound echoing through his mind as he set up three targets.

Emerie was lagging a little behind, with Mor helping her to do up the brace, her wings set higher than usual, and she grinned. Mor accidentally nudged a wing as she did up the final clasp, and Emerie froze, but an accidental touch didn't usually elicit that response, perhaps clipped wings were different, perhaps a touch was just painful. Gwyn made her way over, but didn't move to touch a bow, good, it would be a very bad idea to try to shoot with an injured wrist. He'd see if he could fix it after the session had finished, when he was a bit calmer.

Nesta smirked at Cassian, slowly drawing an arrow from her quiver and twirling it through her fingers, before quickly sending it flying for the target. She didn't take her eyes off him the whole time, relying on her peripheral vision to aim,

"Nesta! Stop that." He snapped his fingers in front of her face as she raised an eyebrow, and grinned, Azriel didn't even want to know how Cassian had responded, "Stop flirting, especially by shooting things, it's weird." Nesta just shrugged, 

"Whatever you say, chaperone." Azriel rolled his eyes,

"And how long does that continue for?"

"Until it stops being fun." Nesta looked sideways for a moment, thinking, "So never." Azriel groaned inwardly,

"Shoot the damn target." Emerie chuckled beside him, and Gwyn appeared next to her,

"You should know better than to spar with Nesta by now, Az,"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, just," he broke off, Nesta was staring across the ring again, her gaze locked with Cassian's, "Do you two need five minutes?" Nesta shook herself,

"What?"

"Do you need to grab Cass for five minutes, we'll cope." Nesta flushed, and shook her head, muttering to herself, sounding remarkably like 'five minutes my ass', "What, Nes?"

"Nothing." She narrowed her eyes at him and went back to shooting the target. Azriel chuckled to himself as he helped Emerie with her position, and her aim. She grinned at the first arrow that flew straight, her confidence skyrocketing with each successive arrow. When she managed to hit the bulls-eye a whoop sounded behind them, Mor. He hadn't even realized she was back. Odd, usually he knew exactly where she was,

"Yes!" She shouted, her grin matching Emerie's as she ran over to the Illyrian female, "Do that again and we'll go out tonight for a celebration." Emerie did, and again, having three bulls-eyes by the end of the session, although Azriel only saw the first, missing both others when he was either telling Nesta off for making eyes at Cassian, or talking to Gwyn. At one point he had to bite down on his lip to keep from roaring with laughter at her assessment of Nesta's weird flirting. Still, Nesta had glared at them both, and Azriel had shoved Gwyn in front of him, with her jokingly 'protecting' him from Nesta's wrath. 

Gwyn stayed to help clear up, and Azriel pretended not to note Cassian and Nesta's absence, but did grin on their return,

"Eight minutes, I do apologize, I underestimated you." He dodged the practice dagger that flew towards his head, although who had thrown it, he wasn't sure. "I do hope you plan on actually helping now." Cassian just sighed and shook his head, not bothering to reply, 

"Gwyn, did you want to have lunch, I never let you finish earlier?" Nesta asked, tidying up the last practice swords,

"Oh, yeah, so long as you're not going to be busy." 

"I'll meet you at one?" Gwyn nodded, and laughed when she wriggled against Cassian as he picked her up, and scrunched up her nose when he kissed it gently, 

"You mean to say I have to be away from you all of lunch? However will I cope?" He wailed dramatically, Nesta just patted him on the cheek,

"Stop being a baby." She wriggled out of his arms, before dashing out to escape. Azriel smiled at Gwyn's shout after her friend, his shadows dancing and weaving with the sound of her laugh when Nesta flipped her off. 

"Do you have time to practice a bit of silent fighting?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, tell you what, Cass! C'mere, Gwyn's gonna try and sneak up on us, and if we hear her, it'll be like she got caught and has to fight her way out." 

"What? I can't fight you two!" Gwyn protested,

"Just one of us, whoever hears you first will act as your enemy, the other will coach you through the fight." He grinned, and Gwyn nodded,

"Okay, so long as you don't actually beat me up." She grinned, and waited a moment for the males to walk a bit away from her,

"I bet you I hear her first," Cassian whispered,

"Oh yeah, how much?"

"Five gold marks."

"Five? Ten."

"Fine." Azriel grinned to himself, knowing Gwyn was already moving, and grinned wider when she made a slight misstep, and Cassian made no indication that he'd heard her. He whirled to face her,

"Got you, defend yourself, and get out." Cassian swore behind him, but tossed Gwyn a practice sword, and she raised it into a block just before Azriel reached her, he stayed silent as he circled around her, blocking her exit,

"Look around you Gwyn, what can you use against him?" Gwyn frantically glanced around and launched an attack, pushing him back, back, but he stepped over the loose stone, and Gwyn lost her rhythm, scrambling backwards to avoid the blows raining down. "Think Gwyn, he's bigger than you, stronger than you, do not let him drag this into close combat." Gwyn nodded, slowing her breathing and moved to disarm him, and would have succeeded had Azriel not known exactly what she was about to do. "Careful, don't let him know what you're planning, feint, trick him." She didn't, a trick in itself, and Azriel barely dodged her blow,

"Let's make this interesting," she panted, "If I win, you have to sit through all of dinner with Nesta and Cassian." Ugh, not a chance, he was never letting her win now, breakfast with those two was bad enough. Gwyn yelped as she dived sideways,

"And when I win?"

"If you win. What do you want?"

"Teach me piano." She laughed but agreed, and feinted left, but struck right. Azriel was already there, moving too fast for Gwyn to respond quickly enough, her sword went flying across the room, and she ducked underneath his to try and wrench it out of his grip before he could move against her, but he was faster. Gwyn yelped as he slipped sideways, and flipped her over, carefully shielding her head as she fell. She glared at him, and wriggled, but couldn't dislodge him. She huffed, "I win." Gwyn narrowed her eyes, unwilling to admit it, but still glared at him when he let her up. 

"Piano lesson tonight then," she muttered, "I'm having a bath."

Azriel chuckled as Gwyn stretched off, his worry about her wrist having vanished long ago and she waved at him as she vanished,

"Pay up." Cassian feigned shock, but sighed and handed over ten gold coins, 

"Fuck you."

"Pleasure doing business." Cassian was still glaring at him as he left, and he could have sworn he heard a bark of laughter from down the hall when he changed into clean clothes. With Gwyn and Nesta out for lunch he had time to plan, to actually see what he could do about the coming conflict, because it was coming. He and Cassian found each other, well, Cassian dragged himself into Azriel's room, carrying an armful of reports,

"I got the reports on each camp, we can at least get an idea of numbers based on loyalty." Azriel sighed and let him in, falling into a familiar routine,

"Windhaven's loyal."

"Four hundred and twenty-seven."

"Ironcrest could go either way, I have conflicting reports,"

"Well, they have three hundred and eighty-five warriors." Azriel nodded, noting down locations and numbers on the map pinned on his wall as Cassian spoke, building a clearer picture of what a war could look like, if they would win it, or if they would need the Darkbringers as well. Cassian was studying the map with his own gaze, looking at troop movements and numbers more than locations, and lords' loyalty. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, more than half the camps were loyal, about a third were absolutely not, and the others, well, he couldn't be sure. If all went to plan, they'd have over half of Illyria's warriors on their side, if it came to a war Azriel was confident they'd win, but the cost would be huge. 

"It's not enough, we need to ensure that those unsure remain loyal." Cassian grunted in agreement,

"Perhaps we can get through to their females, and they can sway the undecided males, get Emerie to start something, and let it spread."

"We could get her to 'worry about her family in a war', that way other females will worry more, and convince their families not to try to start a war, and to be on the winning side if it comes to it." Cassian nodded, 

"She's still staying here with Mor tonight I think." Azriel nodded, 

"I'd be worried to go home too if I was her."

"I'm not sure that's, never mind, she'll go home tomorrow, maybe the day after, we can speak to her tomorrow at training." He was being weird. He couldn't mean something else, what was he not sure about? He almost asked,

Don't be stupid. 

I'm not.

You are. It's Mor she's staying with, don't be stupid.

I - oh. 

Azriel just smiled, and asked if Cassian wanted to talk to Rhys and Feyre or if he should,

"You have a piano lesson to get to, I'll head over now." He, shit. At some point the sun had indeed gone down, he hadn't even eaten dinner per say, but he supposed the endless plates of snacks probably counted, maybe. He couldn't help smiling to himself as he crossed the corridor and gently knocked on Gwyn's door,

"Hello Shadowsinger."

[tangleweave]

Crimson Tide (Drabble / RP)

[ @illbringthechaosmagic ]

An anonymous person has been taunting Stephen that a loved one has been taken captive...

Stephen Strange was not a patient man. He didn't like it when things came slowly, but he had learned how to deal with slow processes, as long as he could be assured of rewards down the line. Even less than slow progress did he like things that threw him off his rhythm. To be interrupted in his work was to invite his wrath, and by the Fates, could he be creative with his wrath.

That had been long before the car accident and the Sorcerer Supreme thing.

But now, the odd woman who had come to him to explain to him, in interestingly explicit terminology, that Wanda was being held prisoner... not only was she an interruption, she was an active irritant. An antagonist? No... not for him. To qualify as an antagonist, there were several things that needed to happen, not the least of which being a need to demonstrate a direct threat. So far she had shown him no evidence that she posed any harm whatsoever, and certainly not within the welcoming room for Kamar-Taj, where two other sorcerers stood at polite but firm attention in the corners.

She was seated in the wooden chair dead center of the room, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. Her dusky skin and wavy black hair shone in the sunlight that filtered through the ceiling slats. Her accent indicated she wasn't Nepalese, though she could easily be from India or some other adjacent region. She seemed curiously calm for someone in his presence who knew the things he was capable of.

Fine. If she wanted to play mind games, he could play them too. He moved to a cabinet and withdrew a pair of long yellow leather gloves, the cuffs of which were adorned with delicate sigils of black and gold. He had his back slightly turned as he began to don them.

"What now?" he heard her taunt. "Does the great Doctor Strange mean to get blood on his hands?"

He glanced towards her with eyebrow arched as he slid the second glove on. "Obviously not," he said, "otherwise I wouldn't be gloving up."

She thrust her chin out towards him. "You don't frighten me."

"Of course I do. I'm a doctor. Being attended by one is inherently frightening. It means there's something wrong with you. And there must be something deeply wrong with you, in particular, if you thought you were just going to waltz in here, declare that you're holding a friend and ally prisoner, and then not make any demands in exchange for her release." He held up his hands, palms towards himself. "Hadn't you heard? This is Kamar-Taj, where I had my operation to restore function to my hands. These are examination gloves. We don't have the kind of funds needed for single-use non-latex, so we go for longevity instead. After we're done with a particularly... messy... procedure, we use a sodium hydroxide solution to rinse off the pairs we do have. But don't worry, it shouldn't burn your skin too badly, long as I don't touch you for more than a couple seconds."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are a doctor. Your job is to not harm others."

"Oh, I see." He frowned and tilted his head at her. "Remind me again, what year is it? 2024? That means my medical license lapsed, uh... six years ago. Y'know, shortly after that niggling little part where half the world vanished. And saving all the people that were left over, that was an all-hands-on-deck situation. Things got ugly, if you'll recall. Besides, what do you call it when a surgeon cuts someone open with a scalpel? Surely you would think that was causing harm... but in the pursuit of reducing greater harm, when removing a tumor." He laced his fingers together tightly, securing the gloves about his hands. "Wonder how many you've got." He began slowly stepping towards her.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" she protested, and her legs uncrossed. "I wished to ensure I had your attention before making demands."

"Don't worry, you have it," Stephen assured her. "And you were right about one thing, this doctor doesn't make house calls. So glad to be hosting you today. You're my first patient in months. The last one still hasn't healed up quite right."

"I am no patient!" she said indignantly, shifting in her chair as he continued to advance.

"Then we have something in common, since I'm exactly the opposite of patient," he returned, and he cupped his hands toward each other. A crackling cat's cradle of golden dimensional energy appeared, and when he pulled his hands more broadly apart, it stretched with them. Orange sparks snapped from the strands. Stephen frowned. "Well, what do you know, there's still a little hydroxide solution on the gloves after all." He shrugged. "That's fine, it should all burn off pretty quickly."

She got to her feet. "Your Cauldron of the Cosmos!" she blurted. "It is a relic stolen from the pyramids of Giza--"

Stephen whipped one hand out; the strands of energy wrapped about the woman and sizzled as they touched her, eliciting a shriek. He closed to within inches from her face. "It's an artifact forged by Agamotto the All-Seeing approximately eight thousand years ago. I'd say try again but I don't think your clothes have that kind of time. Where's the submarine?"

A crease formed between the woman's thick eyebrows at the absurd question, but the heat and crackling from the energy whips surrounding her were beginning to convince her of the threat he posed. "I... I don't..."

"Sure, sure, you don't know." He dismissed the whips, then noted the burn scarring on her clothing. "Mmm. That'll be hard to get out. I might know a tailor or two." He gestured at the chair. "Take a seat or that pantsuit's going to look like it went through a king-size waffle iron. And I don't even want to think about what it'll do to your hair."

She glowered at him but did as directed. "What do you mean 'submarine'?" she asked.

"Well, if you don't know where it is, there's not a whole lot of reason for me to explain it to you, is there?" he responded. "Sure makes you look like a schlub, though. Obviously you're not in charge, you're just following directions from whoever it is giving them to you. Whoever they are, they need to up your clothing allowance, and update their K&R policies. It's in my favor, though, they couldn't send an actual professional to negotiate for the Cauldron. I could have given the all-American line... 'I don't negotiate with terrorists.' Definitely what a Sorcerer Supreme dreams of saying to someone." He waved a dismissive hand. "That's fine, though. I've got another movie line I can hand you. 'I've got ways of making you talk.' Impressed?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am no amateur. I have been immunized to truth serums and measures intended to force me to speak truth against my will. Even you cannot coerce me."

He scoffed and gave her a mirthless smile. "Truth? Who said anything about that? I want you to lie your ass off."

She frowned. "What...?"

He brought both hands up, fingers twiddling unsteadily in odd snaking motions, and gleaming neon-blue energy appeared in the air between them. His hands didn't meet -- one wrist hovered above the fingers of the other -- but the energy they conjured twisted unevenly in a warbling circle that settled about the chair. The thick strands of plasma braided around one another, and once the circle was fully enclosed, the space within was consumed with fierce blue light.

"A sorcerer of Kamar-Taj would refer to this as a Ring of Raggadorr. But a Dungeons & Dragons player would call it a Zone of Truth... with a Strange twist to it. While you're within it, you can't refrain from answering my questions, but instead of wasting my time trying to figure out whether you can actually resist a Zone of Truth, I've sealed you within a Zone of Lies. You're completely incapable of uttering the truth. And when I ask you questions, whatever the truthful answer is, you'll be giving me precisely the opposite one, or as close to the opposite as you're able." He flourished with one hand. "So, test question, do you know my name?"

"...no." The woman looked flummoxed at the answer coming from her own mouth.

Stephen smirked. "All right then, progress. Now, you're in charge of this operation, aren't you?"

"...yes."

"Where on the ladder are you?"

"The top."

Stephen chuckled. "Oh, honey. They really don't pay you enough for this gig, do they?"

"I am paid extremely generously."

"Yeah, that much is obvious."

She stood up from her chair and tried to take a step forward. The blue light surrounding her crackled much in the manner of a Star Trek forcefield, and she jumped back as if having been shocked. She cast a look at Stephen. "I wish to remain in this space eternally!"

Now Stephen had to raise a gloved hand to hide his widening smirk. "I'm considering it," he quipped. "This is a lot more fun than I imagined."

"I am also enjoying it immensely!" she shouted.

He poked a finger at her. "Try saying it with a sarcastic bend to it, if you can, I wanna see how deep this spell goes. Does it affect just your words? You're yelling so I can tell you're agitated, at least."

"I am not agitated! I am free to walk out of this enclosure at any time and I do not fear your powers!" She crossed her arms under her chest and glowered at the floor.

"Well, if this isn't a reflection of parenthood, I don't know what is," Stephen remarked. "But while this is entertaining, I have some actual work to do. So let's talk submarines. Your bosses work out of one, don't they?"

"...no."

"I see. And if I looked all over the world for it, there's only one place I would never find it. Where is that place?"

"...the Laurentian Abyss."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you telling me that I can find the submarine in the Laurentian Abyss?"

"No, that is not what I am telling you."

Stephen had to try very hard not to crack a smile. "How very Red October of you. I think the Cauldron of the Cosmos can probably help me along from here... though I'm curious why you would even want it at all. Is there anybody among your employers and co-workers in this little venture that could even use it?"

"To the best of my knowledge, everyone there could. The Cauldron is of no particular fascination or consequence to my employers. They are not at all fascinated by its purported abilities. They would prefer to have Wanda, as a person is far more stable a commodity than an inanimate object. Should you refuse to surrender the Cauldron, my employers are not prepared to brainwash her for their purposes."

He scoffed. "Thought so. You know, you actually make it a lot more convincing now that you can't even say it properly. Should've tried it like this before, you'd have gotten my attention even sooner. Tell you what, you can hang out here while I get this problem sorted out." He turned toward the east hall, which would eventually lead him to the portal door that connected to the New York Sanctum.

"Wait!"

He turned back to her with his eyebrow up again. "Yes, what?"

"I do not wish to know how you knew of the submarine."

This time both eyebrows went up and he rubbed his temple. "Vishanti help me, I'm actually starting to get used to this," he muttered. Then he looked at her more directly. "It's not what you lied about, it's what you told me truthfully. You said straitjacket and shock collar. That's how Wanda was kept secured when she was a prisoner aboard the Raft. The only people who would know that was a successful method are people who saw it in action. But the Raft is stationary. Eventually someone would come knocking. The only way to keep a prisoner like her off the radar is to keep her moving. And aboard an underwater craft, even if she breaks loose, where would she go? Especially as far down as the Laurentian Abyss. So... submarine made the most sense."

The crease in her brow only deepened further. "I understand completely how you were able to make such deductions."

"Yeah, sometimes I even amaze myself." He glanced to the other two sorcerers in the room, then gestured at the woman. "Make her comfortable while she's waiting. But you're welcome to have a little fun with that spell while it's still active."

Without another word, he stalked his way up the hall and found the entrance to the New York Sanctum. A variety of obstacles to the matter at hand pervaded his thought process. If the submarine was indeed in the Laurentian Abyss, it meant that it was so deep, opening a direct portal to its interior would be a death sentence to anyone aboard; the bends would see to that. It needed to be forced to surface, and its own crew made to decompress the interior. He chewed his lower lip in thought. How would he get them to do that?

He was five steps away from the Cauldron when he stopped in place and rolled his eyes. Duh. He'd seen the damn movie. Simulate a radiation leak. It's not as if he was a Master of the Mystic Arts and claimed control over a vast breadth of energies.

"Thank you, Tom Clancy," he murmured as he approached the artifact.

[pinkpatiencecreepers]

Alone In A Crowd

2

I sat on the bench in front of the bodega where I always did whenever I was eating something before going home or some place else. I finished the remainder of one of my sandwiches and I glanced at my watch. It was almost 10 pm and I had no plans, even though it was Friday night. But I didn't feel like going home yet. And somehow, I wasn't hungry anymore. So I lit up a cigarette and closed my eyes for moment, while the smoke filled my lungs and the cool breeze hit my face. I suddenly opened them when I felt someone sitting next to me. I turned my head and it was the same guy with the black eye.

"Hi! Thanks again for this", he said with an apologetic look as he held the bag of frozen beans against his face. "Hey you! It's nothing, seriously. I bet that thing is killing you", I gave him a shy smile before taking another drag of my cigarette. "You bet. This is what I get for being an idiot", he added and then cleared his throat when I said nothing back. "I, uh, can I borrow your lighter?". He looked a bit embarrassed but I just smiled at him . "Yeah, sure! There you go", I handed it to him and he quickly produced an almost empty pack of Marlboro reds from the inner pocket of his jacket. With the skills of someone who's been smoking for years, he didn't need his two hands to pull a cigarette out of the carton and light it. He just did it all in one swift motion. "Thanks!", he just said with the nicotine stick between his lips and extended his hand to give me the lighter back. Our fingers briefly touched when I took it and his were very cold in contrast to mine that were warmer from holding the hot plastic cup of coffee.

We just stayed there next to each other while we smoked our cigarettes and looked at the cars passing by. I wasn't uncomfortable, but after a minute or two I decided to break the silence anyway. "I don't wanna be rude, but may I ask what happened to your face? You said something about you being an idiot". "Yeah, uh, it's kinda a fucked up story. Let's just say I messed around with my bandmate's girl, and he beat the shit out of me. I don't know, I guess I deserved it". He explained and I nodded. I wasn't going to judge him and he was really cute. I don't blame him or the chick either. "I see. Well, at least he didn't break your ribs or your nose.", I said trying to look on the brighter, or the least shitty side of the situation. "Yeah, I suppose that could have been worse". He shrugged and exhaled the smoke he was holding in. "So, uh, are you in a band? What do you guys play?". I asked with a lot of interest.

At first glance, he seemed like a rock guy but you could never really know because basically everyone in West Hollywood had that rocker look, no matter if they were musicians or even digged the music. Sometimes guys and girls would dressed up like that to score free drugs and booze, or hook up with people from the bands just for the sake of being near someone they thought was famous. "Well, I guess I'm not in the band anymore. This shit was my farewell gift. But to answer your question, I was in London as their rhythm guitar player", he replied and pulled out another cigarette. I handed him the lighter again and he nodded. "Oh, that's cool! I mean, being in London, not the black eye. But what are you gonna do now? Find another band?". I looked at him with anticipation. "Yup, but I don't know yet. All I know is this shit hurts like hell and I'm fucking starving. But life is good, all is good, y'know?". He laughed at his own misfortunes and I mirrored him but then I stopped.

"Uh, here. You can have it. I guess you need it more than me right now". I smiled as I passed him the brown paper bag with my other sandwich. I didn't mind sharing but he gave me a puzzled look and shook his head. "No, no, I'm over stepping here. You already helped me and I just feel like a bum". "Hey, it's totally fine. You said you were hungry and I just happened to have this food I'm not gonna eat. I don't see what's the problem". I reasoned and he was finally convinced. I guess he was too tired and starved to be arguing. So he just looked at me with that same grateful expression and that big smile from earlier and started eating.

"Thanks again! You're definitely like my guardian angel tonight, y'know?". He said as he tried to cover his mouth full of food. But I didn't mind his lack of manners. I probably looked the same just moments ago in the bodega. "By the way. I'm Izzy", he added. "Yeah, whatever you say. Nice to meet you, Izzy. I'm Alice". I laughed and introduced myself. And just like that, we resumed staring at the cars in front of us, but now content in our company and kindness.

[iwantitiwriteit]

Love Lockdown - Part 2

Big Girl With a Brave Face

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: You brace yourself for your FaceTime with Chris.

Warnings: Angst, Pandemic backdrop, Profanity

Notes: More heart strumming feels! Read the previous part! Gonna try and put these up on Monday’s starting next week 8/10, along with In My Feelings Monday™, when my asks will be open for all your romantic musings! Let’s get sweet and sappy y’all! I know you wanna 🥰 

The sun shines down, a crisp wind whisking by you every so often; applause for your hard work in the garden. You found a circadian rhythm. Grasp, pull, dump. Grasp, pull, dump. It afforded you an opportunity to get lost in thought… and memory. 

You just don’t get it, do you?

Baby, I want to!

Why didn’t you say anything?

Would it have mattered?

I think we can both agree we need the space…

We need to talk…

I love you.

I love you too.

“Are you okay Aunty?” Iris’ innocent voice drifts into your trance but doesn’t break it completely.

You absentmindedly respond. “Uh huh. Why do you ask?”

“Probably ‘cos you're pulling at those weeds so ferociously I think you might’ve got a few good plants,” Ines answers for her younger sister, the teenage ‘tude snapping you to reality.

You assess your handiwork and sure enough, in your pile of weeds, some good plants lie there with them, undeservedly plucked from the earth. “Oh, my bad,” you sheepishly apologize.

“It’s okay. The only difference between a weed and a flower is judgment. Here,” Ines shuffles over to your spot. 

“Ines, you’re wise beyond your years, you know that?” You stand up, placing your palms on your lower back, arching and stretching in a moment of respite. Looking over your nieces tending to the greenery you botched, their youthful vigor bring a genuine smile to your face. Those have been few and far in between these days. 

“I know, right? Could you tell my mom for me?” she kids, making you laugh. “It couldn’t have been that long since it was you and Mama doing this,” Ines smirks at you briefly before refocusing on rerooting.

You chuckle, “Ha! Feels like a lifetime ago. But, yeah, it really hasn’t been that long. Guess I just kinda lost touch.”

“Do you miss it? Do you miss being here?” Iris asks. 

“Umm… honestly?” The both of them look up at you, eyes wide and expectant. “I thought I didn’t. L.A. can be blinding in that way. But now that I’m here, I feel a little more… myself. Not to mention that I’ve missed you girls soo much! C’mere!”

A niece under each arm, hugging your middle tightly, you can feel how much they’ve missed you as well. You want to be a better aunt to them. Your love for your family is as expansive as the family farm you marvel at in front of you. Acres of green going beyond the quaint garden near the house, with the barn just behind the rustic office and rec building where the farmers are currently gathered for lunch just a few feet away. But your feelings were much like half your sister’s employees as of late; they didn’t show, especially in crisis.

Through one of the windows, you catch sight of a familiar profile; hand to his temple pressing deep into his smooth, mahogany skin, thick, dark brows knitted together in concentration, plump lips puckered as he writes furiously, occasionally taking a bite of his sandwich. He must feel your eyes because he looks up to meet them, breaking focus from his working lunch. The hand that was to his temple is now raised for a tentative wave, just as the corner of his mouth is raised for a beautiful, sweet smile. 

Your shoulders tense, your wave is curt, and your smile is barely there. You avert your eyes not wanting to see the effect of your abrupt actions. 

“I know Keith is glad you’re back, too.” You look down to see Iris looking up at you, her 10 year old face contorted into her best suggestive look. 

Ines rolls her eyes at her sister’s antics, “Oh, stop it! She’s already got the most perfect, dreamy boyfriend, remember?”

“Well, I’ve never met him. Have you? How do we know if he’s even real?”

“She’s got a point. Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“If he thinks he's too good to come down south, meet your family, let me tell you something Aunty, that’s not the kind of man you should be with.”

“I don’t think Aunty had ‘take dating advice from a child’ on her quarantine to-do list. Maybe he’s just busy; he is a movie star— correction— a superhero! Superhero equals stable income, stable income means husband material. Simple math.”

“Well, Keith has a stable and would never be too busy for her!”

“Keith runs a stable… a horse stable. Not exactly a selling point, right Aunty?”

“Aunty, tell her she’s wrong!”

The girls get to bickering and you wipe your forehead, not too sure if it’s from the heat or the interrogation you’re enduring. You check your watch. 1:39 pm.

“Shit!” Your exclamation silences your nieces as they whip their heads towards you. “Sorry ladies,” you offer an apologetic smile for the obscenity. “I, uh, gotta get ready for a call. Let’s turn it in early, yeah?” They race in the house without a second thought, and you trail behind them.

You remove your shoes in the mud room, then stalk down the hall toward the main part of the house. You wave to your sister as you pass her home office where she’s pacing, busy on the phone, swamped in paperwork. She waves you over with a confused face and shrugs as she sees her girls buzzing around.

You go to lean in the door jamb of her office as she asks, “What brings y’all inside so early? Wasn’t expecting you to be back in for another couple hours.”

“I have that FaceTime call at 2 I gotta get ready for, remember?”

“Right, right… remind me again. It’s for a writing gig?” she asks, sifting through her mountain of papers, as distracted as she was this morning when you told her your afternoon plans.

“Uh, no. It’s um, with… Chris,” your voice trails off with each word.

Your sister whips her head around, interest now piqued. “Really? That’s good, right?”

You shrug and sigh, indifference in your expression, “It’s, y'know… whatever, Mina.”

Wilhelmina furrows her brows, “What’s wrong?” Before you could contemplate an excuse, she puts a finger up to you, “Yes, thank you, I’m trying to get in touch with…” she answers to the person on the other line.

Your watch buzzes with your 15 minute reminder for your FaceTime with Chris. “I gotta go,” you tell your sister, before turning to head upstairs. The ascension to the second level feels like a death march, the impending doom of your relationship finally setting in. Each step feels increasingly weighted. Once at the top of the staircase, you pinch the bridge of your nose as if that will alleviate your anxieties. 

“Let’s get you ready,” Wilhelmina’s maternal voice drifts to you as she comes up the stairs, melting your nerves a little. She shoots you a pity smile before ushering you into your guest room, where you make a B-line for the bathroom.

You take your time and delicately wash away the grime and sweat from your face. It’s like a Neutrogena commercial, the way you come up from the sink, staring yourself in the mirror. You take note of the creases in your forehead caused by your tense brows, the pain in your eyes, your overall sullen expression. And this feeling. This feeling is like being suspended mid-air, knowing the dreadful drop was any minute now.

You know very well who is in control of the drop. You just don’t know when you gave up that control to him. The only thing you can do now is go with grace. In an effort to have some sense of control, you did what anyone in your situation would do: You turned to Google.

“what to do when your boyfriend is about to break up with you” is what you typed into the search engine this morning. You felt like a teenager. Young and dumb. Like you’d never been in a relationship before. Like you’d never been broken up with before. None of this is new. And yet, it is. You hadn’t been here before. You hadn’t known this feeling before.

The feeling of knowing the one to make the dreadful drop happen is the same one that you love more than you knew was even possible, and damn did it hurt like hell. But could it have hurt more than knowing you’re the one that brought him to this point? Especially when you know these deep feelings are requited? The love is requited.

Who knows. You just file these feelings away for later in the hopes that it’ll inspire your pen. Right now it’s time to put on a brave face. You’ve gotten so good at it.

“So, what brought this on?” Wilhelmina inquiries after a few minutes of you lollygagging in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, umm… well, he called last night. It was the first time we talked since—”

“You got here.” 

“Yeah, but who’s counting,” your deadpan earns you a disapproving look from your sister. You’ve learned to ignore it. You check the time. 5 til. “Ugh, I don’t have time to pretty myself up. Breakups are ugly anyways; guess I’ll have to be, too,” you joke, leaving Whilelmina bewildered.

“Wait, what? You’re dumping him? I know it’s tough, trust me, I get it, but—”

“No... he’s gonna dump me,” you correct her.

“What would make you think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe cos he said ‘we need to talk… for real’,” you mock his deep voice; it’s how you read his text last night in your head, “and we all know what that means…”

“Hold up, it doesn’t necessarily mean that!”

“C’mon Mina! It’s textbook breakup prep!”

“Maybe for a teenager, but he’s a grown ass man. If he says he wants to talk, he probably just wants to talk.”

“Yeah, about dumping you…” Ines mumbles under her breath from the doorway. Wilhelmina stares daggers into her mouthy daughter, and she shrinks away to mind her business.

You continue to get ready, mainly focusing on laying your edges before finding a new shirt. “So, why would he suggest we quarantine separately knowing we had issues we were working on?” you debate your sister.

“Because like he said: you need some space. Totally normal for maintaining a healthy relationship.”

“Is it though? Cos when I say “I need space”, I’m thinking about making an exit. And that’s on a good, non-pandemic day. Hell, our issues alone would make me bow out. Now you add this stressful shit on top?”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Her simple question makes you stop in tracks, your brave face wavering for just a moment. “B-Because— it doesn’t matter. He’s ending things with me, in,” you check the time, “3 minutes. And I don’t blame him! I’ve been a mess lately! An emotional wreck lately! You should’ve heard me last night, it was gross!”

Wilhelmina starts to chuckle at your dramatics, but you can tell she’s laughing at you, not with you. “What’s so funny?”

“Sweetheart, you’d have to show emotions to be an emotional wreck. I think you skipped a few steps.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes as you peel off your sweaty shirt and toss it in the laundry basket. You take your wash cloth to dab your underarms before putting on a nicer top. A proper shower will have to wait til later.

“I’ll have you know that I do, in fact, have emotions. I just channel them into my writing, to avoid sapping them all over any- and everyone… like some people I know,” you quirk your brow and tilt your head in Wilhelmina‘s direction.

“Girl, whatever! From what you told me, Chris is as much a romantic as I am, maybe even more so. You don’t hate it as much as you let on. Just admit it.”

You slowly turn away from Wilhelmina to primp yourself in the full length mirror. She follows you, glaring at you in hopes she will break you down. You decide to throw her a bone.

“Last night, I told him how we should’ve been together right now. There was even a quiver in my voice because I do really, really miss him. It was all so, so...” Your sister’s hands are clutching her chest, eyes glazed like she was watching a romcom. She’d finally gotten through to you. “… so pathetic.” Or so she’d thought. The sound of frustration that came from her amused you greatly, your eyes now glazed from crying of laughter. 

“See, that’s what the hell I'm talking about! If he brings emotion— vulnerability— out of you, why do you resist? He’s worth keeping around, sis. I would think you: an artist, a writer for god’s sakes, would find some value in that.”

You stare straight ahead, fixing imaginary stray curls in your hair, and avoiding eye contact with Wilhelmina. She awaits your response, brows raised, neck craned toward you, hands below her chest with palms up, as if to say ‘Sooo...???’. You wondered how long she’d stay like that before you said something. “Are you done?”

Your sister sighs, and it’s quickly followed by ringing from your laptop. You both look in its direction, then at each other. The moment you’d been bracing for all day is here. You hesitantly move towards the chair at your desk where your laptop is sat. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Wilhelmina says before excusing herself. You almost didn’t want her to go. But you’ve got to be a big girl with a brave face.

“One last thing?” you twist in your chair to look at her in your doorway, “I know who made you believe that big girls don’t cry, but it’s bullshit. It’s good to feel. It’s okay to show it sometimes, too. Especially with the ones who showed and proved they won’t judge you for it,” she motions to your still ringing computer before closing your door.

You turn back to your desk, swallowing thickly. Here goes. You answer the call and Chris’ smiling face fills your screen. That beautiful face that’s worth doing right by.

“Hey baby! For a second there, I thought you wouldn’t answer,” he nervously chuckles. 

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He senses your apprehension. Even through a screen, he’s perceptive. Chris starts to small talk, rambling about work and the weather, intending to ease your guard down before getting to the tough stuff. But it’s absolutely painful pretending to be strangers. 

“Chris?”

“Yes honey?”

“I don’t wanna do this with you.”

Part 3

[super-unpredictable98]

Hard Candy (~Misfits AU~)

Chapter 23: Home is Wherever I’m With You

Warning: strong language, very light smut, mention of death and r*pe, alcohol.

(Hard Candy Masterlist)

- So Lyds died? - Nathan looked like he was about to cry, but he quickly collected himself - Fucking bastard... I'm glad he's dead. Should've kicked him more though, that little cunt. 

- Yeah - Curtis agreed - and one more thing. I didn't wanna have to say this, but... When you guys shag, be careful not to break Nathan's cock.

- Alright - I widened my eyes imagining what the fuck happened in that twisted timeline.

- She broke my cock? - Nathan whimpered.

- There was this whole thing with this girl who can heal people, she got empaled and died after Lydia forced her to heal you - Curtis tried to gloss over it.

- I killed a person... - I gasped.

- Hey, kids - Louise came into Nathan's room with a smile - you need any help? I can get Jeremy to...

- No! - Nathan covered his ears - I don't need the dog t'help me, thank you.

- So bloody-minded! - She laughed - Good luck with that, Lydia...

- Thanks, Louise - I bit my lip to hold my laughter - I feel like I'm gonna need it.

- We're almost done anyway - Nate zipped up the duffle bag - and I really don't know what you two are talkin' about, I'm an angel! 

- Angel? - I tugged on his cheek slightly as his mum left the room - You're a pain in the arse, that's what you are...

- And you love it - he kissed me with a loud "mwah".

- She might, but we don't - Kelly rolled her eyes - you're fuckin' annoyin', mate.

- Thank you, I love you too! 

- Why did you make us all come anyway? You have basically nothing left here - Kelly looked around the empty room.

- Is it a crime to wanna hang out with my friends? - Nathan asked dramatically - Celebrate the first night livin' together with my girlfriend?

- I'm not your friend - Alisha muttered.

- Yeah, me neither - Nikki agreed.

- Oh, stop that - his ego has been unbreakable since I invited him to move in with me - you're not lyin' to me, you're lyin' to yourselves... 

- Why so quiet, Si? - I joined him in the corner.

- It's just this whole “future me” thing and Alisha...

- Have you guys talked yet?

- Yeah, we're taking it slow.

- That's nice, I'm really happy for you guys.

- I just don't know what to do to become this person you expect me to become.

- Don't put all that pressure on yourself - I fixed his hair with my fingers - it's not  like you're gonna scream shazam and become someone else and there's nothing wrong with who you are now.

- Where do I start, Lyds? What did I do in your timeline?

- First thing I noticed was the parkour, maybe you can try this?

- Yeah, I guess I can...

- So, everyone ready? - Nathan picked up his nearly empty duffle bag.

We all said goodbye to Louise and Jeremy and walked back to our place while happily chatting and messing around. Fitting seven people in that tiny flat was a bit hard, but we made it work and everyone sat around the living room to have a beer.

- To not bein' homeless! - Nathan raised a toast.

- Cheers! - Everyone raised their bottles.

- So, how does it feel? - Alisha nudged my arm - Living together...

- It just feels right - I took Nate's hand - like we are where we're supposed to be, together.

- It's not that different for me - Nathan kissed the back of my hand softly - I've been spendin' all my time here anyway, so I'm just happy that we don't gotta commute to shag anymore. 

- I can't wait to do it - Alisha mused quietly - spend every second with the person I love.

- So, is everyone job huntin' right now? - Kelly leaned back against my couch.

- I s'pose - Nathan took a big swig - except for Lyddie, that lucky little tart. Her  job's perfect, it pays well...

- Not that well - I chuckled.

- Better than whatever I'm gonna get probably... At least I get the perks.

- What perks? - Alisha was a little scared to ask.

- Y'know, datin' a musician is great! She has really good rhythm, she's good at repetitive movements, she can hold her breath for a long time, very skilled tongue, and the callouses on her fingers feel amazin' when she wanks me off - Nathan smirked.

- Oh my God! - Simon winced, clenching his eyes shut.

- I'm sure you're gonna find something nice - I stroked his hair - I believe in you.

- Someone has to... - Nikki shugged.

——————————————————-

- Nate, can you get me that oatmeal? I can't reach it - the very next day I dragged Nathan to the grocery store to stock the house.

- Is that why you brought me? So I can reach the oatmeal? 

- I brought you so you can get what you like, the kitchen is yours too now.

- Revels! - He snapped his fingers at me.

- Sure, but how about some actual food? - I mocked - You know? Pasta, rice, meat, fruit... 

- Alright... - He pouted.

- What would you like? - I grabbed a few oranges, choosing carefully the juiciest ones.

- I'll get some potatoes.

- Why am I not surprised?

- Can't believe you just said that! You racist! - He pretended to be scandalized - I'm so offended!

- Oh, shit, get down! - I pulled him by the arm to hide behind the fresh produce.

- What? - He stared at me terrified - Who wants to kill us now?

- My parents are over there!

- Where? - He poked his head up and looked around.

- Right next to the freezer, the woman in the red blouse and the man who looks just like Simon.

- Oh, I see it now. But why are we hidin'? It's not like they would recognize ya...

- What if they do? Everyone says I have my mother's eyes.

- You might have more than her eyes by the looks of it, if you look like that in 20 years I won't be mad about it... Not one bit.

- Are you thirsting over my mum? You sleazy piece of...

- Hey - a voice made me turn around with a jump.

I tried not to scream as my younger self stood there looking at us with an  innocent grin.

- Lydia - Nathan tried to play it cool - hi.

- Hey, Nathan - she blushed furiously, unable to take her eyes from him - why are you hiding?

- No reason, Nate and I were just... Playing a game - I gulped nervously.

- Blossom? - My mom called.

- Here, mum - she waved and I was ready to kill myself, both versions - I was just talking to Simon's friends.

- Simon's friends? - Dad was over the moon with excitement.

- Hello, sir, ma'am - Nathan got up and pulled me with him, putting his hand out to shake theirs - I'm Nathan, Nathan Young.

- Such a polite young man - mom smiled and I nearly cackled.

- And who's this lovely lady? - Dad looked at me tenderly and I swear I could cry, I missed him so much.

- Lolli - I mumbled.

- Lolli... You look so familiar, have we met? - Mom held my hands.

- I don't think so, I'm actually new in town.

- That's so weird, your eyes are just... 

- She has one o'those faces, doesn't she? You just feel like you know her - Nathan wrinkled his nose playfully.

- Oh, I remember where I know you from! - Mom's face lit up and I nearly fainted - You're the girl singing in that video Simon was watching, with the guitar...

- That's me - I sighed relieved.

- Yeah, I do remember - dad nodded - you're an amazing singer.

- Thank you so much - I had to fight not to get teary.

- Isn't she? Did you know she actually wrote that song for me? - Nathan gloated.

- I did not... - I pushed him softly - My boyfriend is just too cocky for his own good.

- You two seem so nice, you should come over for tea sometime - mom has definitely the wrong idea about Nate, if she knew him at all, she'd want to keep him far away from her daughter.

- Yeah, for sure - I agreed - we should probably get going though, I have work soon.

We got out of there as quickly as possible, after Nathan got his precious potatoes. My heart has never raced so much and I literally watched people die right before my eyes.

- They like me, can't believe your parents like me... - Nathan was boggled as he put the groceries away and I drank some water trying to calm down 

- Yeah, what did you expect? If you were acting like yourself, that would be another story... But you were a pool of charisma and charm, of course they like you.

- Aw, you really think so?

- Don't make me say it again, you know it's true.

- But I love t’hear you say it - he closed the pantry and took me in his arms.

- Smug bastard... - I booped his nose - Now get out of here, I have work.

- C'mon, don't we have time for a quickie?

- I told you, Nats, seeing you acting polite turns me off... - I taunted.

- Don't sweat it, I can be as nasty as you want - his voice became hoarse - just tell me and I'll do it for you, y'know I have the talent for it...

- It does sound tempting, but can you wait until after class?

- Fine... Can I watch? Promise I'll be quiet.

- First of all, I think that's pretty much impossible, and second of all, you have to ask Elias, not me.

- Who's that?

- My student, if he's ok with you watching then fine.

- That's alright, I'll talk to the kid...

I turned on my heel as the doorbell rang, I ran to open the door and let Elias in. Nathan was clearly taken back, he probably didn't expect him to be an 18-year-old Scottish surfer with long blonde hair and quite a lot of muscles.

- Hey, Eli! This is Nathan.

- Her boyfriend - Nate was quick to state before shaking the boy's hand.

- Oh, yeah, Lydia told me a lot about you - Elias chuckled - nice to meet you, man.

- Do you mind if he watches our lesson today? - I asked.

- No, not at all. It's good for me to practice with an audience.

Elias sat on the chair in front of my keyboard and I stood by him as Nathan took a seat on the couch. He was really keeping the promise to stay quiet, that was a first... The only time I ever see him this quiet is when he's dead.

- Ok, did you practice the scales like I told you? 

- Yeah, I've been doing it every day.

- Good, let's see how Viva La Vida is doing. 

- I've been working on it - Elias grabbed his sheets - I think I'm able to play all the way through, without stumbling.

- Oh, show me - I leaned against the window - I'll sing all the way through, let's see if you can keep up.

Nathan watched everything in admiration, for almost an hour he barely said a word at all. He seemed so legitimately interested in what I was saying and doing, it made me feel like the smartest person in the world.

When we were done and Eli left, Nate quickly took his place in front of the keyboard, his fingers pressing random keys trying to produce a melody. I giggled quietly while I watched him working up the sounds.

- Would you like to learn? 

- I don't think I'd be able to - he looked up at me.

- Anyone can play, it's not as hard as it looks... - I pulled another chair to sit by him.

- Alright then, how would I start?

I placed my hands on top of his, making his fingers stay in the right position. 

- This is the central octave. Each note has a progression, like this: tone, tone,  semitone, tone, tone, tone, semitone - I pointed at the piece of paper in front of him - if you get the first, the third, and the fifth notes of this progression you get a major chord.

- Okay, so like this? - He awkwardly played a C major.

- Exactly, you're doing very well - I cupped his face and placed a kiss on his lips.

- Wow, you do that with every student?

- Yeah, how do you think I get them to learn so quickly? - I teased.

- Your methods are questionable, but they are efficient... - He kissed me back, this time running his tongue gently over my lips.

- No snogging now - I pulled away - first let's see the twelve notes in this chromatic scale, starting on C.

——————————————————-

Nathan has been the sweetest ever since he moved in, I have no words to describe how much I love to wake up in his arms every day, to cook breakfast together, to make the bed together... Every little thing I have to do is better when he's with me.

He's been leaving every day to look for a job. At this point, he was the only one who didn't manage to find anything, but I always made sure he knew it was okay and there was no rush. 

Of course my affirmations were getting less and less effective as the weeks went by and Nathan's frustration grew.

I heard the door slam and Nathan drop his keys on the table with a grunt, then steps towards the room and a sigh:

- I had an incredibly shitty day - I heard his voice - where are you? I need a kiss...

- I'll be right there with you - I shouted from the bathroom.

- Can't wait that long.

Nathan came in without knocking or even asking.

- Nate! I'm in the bloody toilet! - I laughed.

- Oh, stop that! You're takin' a shit, big deal... I just want a kiss.

- I'm not taking a shit!

- That's even a smaller deal then! 

He bent over and pressed his lips to mine before undressing and getting in the shower.

- What happened to you anyway? - I asked as I flushed.

- Let's just say the job huntin' is still not exactly goin' that well. Turns out you need experience to get hired in most places, but the only way to get experience is to work, so that's just a fuckin' vicious cycle.

Nathan turned the water on and hummed quietly as it hit him. 

- You need to be patient, Natty. 

- I wanna be patient, but I'm not comfortable with you payin' for shit all the time around here.

- Don't worry about that, I know you'd do the same for me.

- Yeah, but I'm a man, we're supposed to do that stuff.

I rolled my eyes as I shed my dress to get in the shower with him.

- What year is this? 1955? I'm fully capable of working and paying for stuff while you look for a job.

- I know you are, but... You deserve better than this - Nathan draped his arms around my neck and pulled me into a hug.

- I'm not with you just when it's convenient, I'm here to support you and help you through the bad moments too.

- I love you, y'know that?

- Not more than I love you... Turn around, let me wash your hair.

I poured the shampoo on my hands and rubbed them together before reaching for Nathan's curls. He sighed under my touch, throwing his head back.

- Y'know... Maybe havin' a shitty day isn't that bad when you're here waitin' for me in the end.

- I think you deserve a little spoiling after working so hard - I kissed the tattoo on his shoulder blade, then moved up to the back of his neck - I love those little beauty marks you have.

- Oh, do you?

- They're so cute - Nathan turned around to rinse his hair and I kissed the one he has next to his collar bone.

- Are you tryin' to tease me?

- Me? What do you take me for? - I kissed his Adam's apple, slowly taking it between my lips.

- Ah, you little minx - he twitched slightly, his breath hitching.

- I'm no such thing... What do you fancy for dinner tonight? - One of my hands  resting on his thigh, dangerously close to his cock.

- Anythin', I'm more worried about the Lollipop I'll have for dessert.

I made a point to not let things get heated until we were out of the shower, I absolutely hate shower sex... It feels horrible, I can never seem to orgasm, and it's wasteful as fuck.

- Feeling better? - I laid down on top of my towel.

- Much better, thank you - he shook his hair around like a dog - so now, where were we? 

Nathan placed his hand on my neck, letting the towel around his waist fall as he leaned over me.

- Don't you think we should get dinner started first? - I gasped at the feeling of his lips on my chest.

- Dinner can wait, don't you think? - He took my nipple in his mouth with a soft bite while pressing his boner against me - You can't just rile me up like that and expect me not to shag you senseless...

- I guess it wouldn't hurt to have dinner a bit later.

I ended up not having dinner at all that night, Nathan fucked me right to sleep, I barely made it to the bathroom and back. But I didn't sleep as well as I expected, I kept having those weird nightmares.

Ever since community service ended, my nights have been haunted by those memories: the dead people, the people who tried to kill us, all the times I had to watch Nathan die. 

Curtis told me that in the other timeline I had to kill him on live TV, I couldn't stop imagining how that was, how horrible and traumatic...

- Lollipop, Lyddie - I sat up, grateful that Nathan's voice woke me up.

- No, no, no! - I covered my eyes.

I was panting, coughing, sweating, shaking... Nathan pulled me close, kissing my temple gently and rubbing my chest as I tried to breathe normally again.

- It's alright, it was just a nightmare.

- It felt so real...

- I know, it was the one about killin' me again, wasn't it?

- Yeah. I just can't stop thinking about when the next weird shit is gonna happen to us, when are we gonna bump into the next superpowered freak who will try to ruin our lives.

- It's over, Lyds, we're just livin' normally now.

- It would be naive to think that, Natty.

- Why? It's been almost two months since we ended community service and nothin' else happened. 

- But it will, I just know it.

- I think you just have STD...

- What? - I pulled back perplexed.

- Y'know, when you go through war or some shit and then it sticks in your brain.

- You mean PTSD? - I cackled hysterically.

- Yeah, that one.

- Jesus, only you can make me laugh right now.

- Well, I'm glad I could be useful... Since you're up, are you hungry? I left some for ya.

- Nate, it's like 3 in the morning.

- So? It's not like your body can tell the time.

- I should just go ba... - I was interrupted when my stomach rumbled angrily.

- There's my answer then - he patted my stomach gently - calm down, little fella, I'm bringin' some food, no need to scream. 

I turned on the TV and rolled my eyes playfully as Nathan went to the kitchen.

- Thank you - I took the plate of bangers and mash from his hand, that's was  probably the only dish he could actually cook, it was delicious.

Nathan smiled while watching me eat, and let his head fall on my shoulder, observing me with a silly grin on his face.

- Good? - He pressed his lips on my shoulder.

- Amazing... But I won't be able to sleep after eating so much.

- Looks like we'll stay up all night then.

——————————————————-

By the time we managed to sleep it was probably around 8, I woke up to an empty bed and that made me slightly sad, but I knew Nathan was probably job hunting somewhere... Or at least that's what I thought.

As soon as I left the room to get something to eat, I heard Nathan playing the keyboard in the living room. He was slowly following the chords on a piece of paper, stumbling on the notes, and singing along:

- She's a, she's a lady, and I am just a boy. He's singing: She's a, she's a lady, and I am just a line without a hook. Oh, Baby, I am a wreck when I'm without you, I need you here to stay. I broke all my bones that day I fou...

- Nathan?

- Oh, hi - he turned to look at me with a smile.

- Where did you find this song?

- In your 2016 folder... 

- This was so beautiful, you're improving a lot.

- Thank you, professor.

- That reminds me, why are you home so early?

- Oh, I found a job, it's just temporary, but it's somethin'. I start tomorrow.

- Nathan! That's amazing, what are you doing?

- Handin' out flyers, it's not glamorous, but...

- Hey - I stopped him - doesn't matter, I'm proud of you anyway.

I called the others and told them to meet us at the bar where Alisha, Curtis, and Nikki were working to celebrate.

- So you're finally becoming a man - Curtis handed Nathan a beer.

- No, that happened about six years ago on a family campin' holiday with my mum's friend.

- Did your mum's friend bring her daughter too? - I asked mindlessly.

- Nope - he casually took a swig.

- Nathan... - I turned to him slightly worried, making sure everyone was distracted talking about something else - Did she get fresh with you?

- Yeah, she wanked me off under the sleepin' bag.

- You never asked for it, did you?

- No, it was a surprise.

- Were you alright?

- Sure, why d'you ask? - He snickered.

- You really don't see what's wrong with that situation?

- What you mean?

- Imagine it was a 15-year-old girl with a grown man, would you think that's ok?

- It's different, I'm a guy. Those things don't happen when it's a woman... Right? - His eyes filled with worry.

- Oh, Nathan - I held him, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the others or anything - I love you, you hear me? More than anything. If you ever feel like talking about it, I'll be here to listen.

He simply nodded and took a deep breath, before returning to his gobby self.

- Alisha and I also have something to celebrate - Simon blushed slightly.

- Oh, are you two havin' a baby? Can I be the godfather? - Nathan mocked - Which one of you is pregnant?

- Shut up - Alisha sneered.

- We're moving in together - Simon mumbled and the entire group exploded in  cheers. 

- That's so amazing! - I hugged him.

- See what I told you, Lollipop? - Nathan whispered next to my ear - Everythin' is fallin' into place, you have nothin' to worry about.

[canniballistix]

consider: Over the hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin as a complete characterization for Dean and his Happy Ending (tm) with Cas

In heaven, you have time to learn guitar.

It was a phrase that had popped into Dean's head one day as his fingers fumbled along the frets of the acoustic he'd picked up cheap.

He didn't mean heaven-heaven. At least he didn't think so. No, this was more like when those old-time Hollywood crooners would sing about heaven.

Maybe heaven was a feeling. Maybe it was a woman. For Dean, it was the open road.

Not the road-road. The idea of a road. Like that poem: two roads diverged in a wood, and Dean Winchester could at last choose which to take. He would take the road less-traveled-- at least by a hunter's standards.

He sat on the hood of the Impala. In the sun. The full, hot, direct light of it, feeling it bake his forearms and his cheeks as he plucked away at those shuddering strings.

His fingertips were delicate. Perhaps the most delicate parts of him-- never the target of violence and scarring, never hardened to a callous. He may have had the muscle for steel string, but his fingers cracked and bled and stained the wood.

The most wonderful bit was that, when he did begin to bleed, he could quit. He could put the guitar down and heal patiently, only to pick it up again later.

He could play the notes, but not the rhythm. That was a common issue of his. Everything rolled along so easy when he played slowly, but became a great muddled mess when he tried to play at speed. This song especially had him over a barrel; most difficult right in the beginning. With quick notes, meant to sound casual and not at all technical.

If he could just get to the meat of it, it would be all strumming away.

But he could wait. He'd get this part right, and then he'd be home free.

In heaven, you have time to learn guitar.

He plucked it again. Just the first few notes, quick as he could. Some were quicker than others.

"Agh, shit," Dean muttered.

He scooted back a bit on the hood, feet swinging freely over the asphalt. He bent forward a bit, scrutinizing his fingers as they struggled to slide along the strings. They plowed through it again, hung up in the same place as always-- though it was beginning to feel more familiar.

"Dammit." Dean chuckled to himself, then tried again.

"You're getting better at that."

"Christ!" Dean jumped a bit. He'd never be used to that, as much as he tried to be.

Castiel smirked. "Good guess, but unfortunately no."

Dean returned the easygoing smile. "That's only 'cause you've never heard this song," he said, gaze rolling back down to the strings as he played it again.

Cas leaned against the car beside Dean. He, too, peered down at the neck as Dean's fingers stumbled through the notes. "I'm sorry?"

"The song," Dean said, strumming over the strings very gently. "It's sounds good 'cause you've never heard the real one."

"Of course I have," Cas said. "It was on that tape. The Zepp Tracks tape."

Dean paused the practice to sift through his memories. "God, you kept that?"

Cas smiled and looked down at his hands. "Ah, well. A boy I liked gave it to me," he said coyly. "I couldn't get rid of something like that."

"And exactly how many times did you listen to that tape?" Dean asked. He was grinning like an idiot, now, though he feigned a focus on his playing. "I'm guessing more than once or twice?"

"Enough times to recognize the opening notes of Over the Hills and Far Away," he said matter-of-factly. "Even a little slow and a little off the beat. Is that too many?"

Dean shook his head. "No, sir. Not for any of the tracks on that tape," he said. "No such thing as too many."

"Hm." He nodded. "That's what I thought, too."

Castiel listened patiently as Dean worked through it again. And again. Over and over, the notes falling all over each other like crabs in a bucket. Getting closer all the time.

It was a beautiful day. A beautiful day for playing guitar and smiling and maybe, just maybe, singing along.

In heaven, there is time to learn guitar.

"You know," Castiel said at last, shifting ever so slightly, "if you wanted to learn faster, I could heal your fingers."

"Not the point, Cas," Dean said, jolly as always.

Cas tilted his head. "Isn't the point to learn?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Well-- sure, I guess. But…" He ran his fingers down the neck before dropping his hand to his knee. "I mean, I think the real point is that I've got time, now."

"Hm." Cas nodded slowly.

"I'm not… God, I'm not rushing to get it all in before I die," Dean said, though his words were choked off by something between a laugh and a cry. "Waiting around for wounds to heal is a luxury, Cas. I'm gonna enjoy it."

Cas scoffed. "That sounds more than a little masochistic."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's not, it's not. It's-- God." He lifted the guitar strap up over his head and set the thing down on the hood beside him. "Y'know who had callouses on his fingers, Cas? Johnny fuckin' Cash."

"And…" Castiel squinted. "You want to be like Johnny Cash?"

"Johnny Cash lived," Dean continued, unphased. "He's been everywhere, man-- and I wanna go everywhere, too."

"Dean, you just bragged to me yesterday about having visited a Biggerson's in every state."

"And I stand by that accomplishment," Dean said, chuckling again. "But I've done all that. I've done that stuff so many goddamn times. I've driven back and forth across this country, and I've died more times than… I dunno. Batman, probably."

Cas shook his head, but couldn't hide his smile.

"Y'know what I've never done?" Dean asked.

"What?"

"I've never learned to play guitar," Dean replied. "I've never tried to bake a pie. I've never, in all the time I've lived in that stupid library, read the Lord of the Rings-- and I've never once spent a guilt-free day in pajamas."

Cas gave Dean a sideways look. "These are high are on your to-do list, Dean?"

"Man, shut up…" Dean gave Cas a playful shove, and Cas accepted it faithfully. "You know what I'm saying. All my life, I've been one thing. And I've been it really, really well."

"That you have," Cas agreed with a bit of a nod.

"And the best part about being done is that I… I can be someone else." Dean looked down at his hands, at the unfamiliar cracks on the pads of his fingers.

Cas nodded. "I know you're talking about being a hunter," he said. "But I think that would apply to other things, as well."

Dean swiveled around to face the angel-- or maybe not-so-angel-anymore. Castiel cast a glance over his shoulder at Dean, now cross-legged on the hood of his beloved car.

Cas very subtly uncrossed his arms and rested one hand on the hood. Dean unflinchingly reached out and took it in his own.

"Oh, yeah?" Dean's fingers danced along Cas' much in the way they had leapt between the frets on his guitar. "Such as?"

Cas clucked his tongue. "Womanizer, perhaps," he suggested wryly. "Soldier. Martyr."

"And thank God for that, huh?" Dean leaned forward slightly, and pressed his forehead into the space between Castiel's shoulder blades.

They sat like this a while. Dean's fingers wormed between Castiel's, and they interlaced with practiced ease. The sun was warm on them-- enough to burn the back of Dean's neck, but he hardly noticed. Castiel was warmer than the sun, he thought.

"I was so tired, Cas," Dean whispered.

"I know."

"There were times I thought I--" He choked on the words. "But I didn't. I'm still here."

Castiel squeezed his hand gently. "I'm glad."

"I didn't think I'd be able to do it, y'know?" Dean said.

"Me neither," Cas said. "I didn't think I'd be able to, that is."

Dean lifted his head. "It's like coming home from a war, isn't it?" he said. "I read a great book about that once. Long time ago."

"Did you?"

Dean nodded, though Cas couldn't see. "I mean, I don't remember what it was called," he said. He ran his thumb over the back of Cas' hand. "But I-- I remember the guy who came home just drove around. All day, all night. Ate at drive-through restaurants and chatted up girls and listened to the radio. He didn't know what else to do with himself, y'know?"

Castiel chuckled. "Sounds familiar."

"Maybe."

Cas pulled his hand away from Dean's.

Dean leaned back a bit as Castiel turned to face him, both hands on the car's hood-- one on either side of Dean's folded legs.

They stayed here, frozen, for a very long moment. Hardly a foot between them.

"I'm gonna be okay though," Dean said at last, softly. "You know how I know?"

"How?"

"I have you," Dean said simply. "And we can be veterans of war together. You ever think about learning guitar? Or maybe banjo?"

Castiel sighed lightly. "I don't think you should read Lord of the Rings," he said.

Dean snorted. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"I don't think you'd like the ending."

"You've read it?"

Cas shrugged. "I know more about pop culture than just what you've taught me."

Dean let out a long, low whistle. "Look at the big man, over here," he teased, tugging gently on Cas' tie. "This guy knows the end of Lord of the Rings."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

Cas looked into Dean's eyes for a moment. It was a strange sort of look, like a man sizing up a show horse. It drug on for far too long, Dean thought. Far too long for Castiel to be so close.

"Cas?" Dean repeated.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Cas said.

Dean's heart caught in his throat. "Uh. That your way of asking permission or something?"

"I just figured…" Cas cleared his throat. "Well--seeing as I hadn't before--I should say something."

Dean nodded slowly. "You don't have to get all hung up on thinking about it," he said.

But, even if he had, it would have been okay.

In heaven, you have time to learn guitar.

[chipsfics]

Part 5: Basement

Part 5 is here!!

rated: PG (for injury and swearing)

~~~~

A few weeks later, Tissues and Yinyang had fallen into a sort of rhythm. Get up, get breakfast, sit in the front room and play video games- they still seemed closer than ever, although they weren't making any progress getting better at playing the games. Sometimes the ruckus from Yinyang's rage (mostly Yang's) would annoy the other residents at the hotel. Other than that, things had fallen into a nice, consistent normal. Boring, but normal. Mostly.

It was something small, but... Every odd night, if any thoughts at all, Tissues was thinking about that tiny door they'd found under the wallpaper. What else could the hotel be hiding? Between twisting orange hallways, leaky ceilings and peeling wallpaper- The hotel already seemed like the perfect place to house mysteries. That, or cockroaches. It was the first time in a long time that Tissues had something to think about, to worry about, to wonder about. Most of the time he was just concerned with surviving, any way he can, and keeping himself entertained cooped up while Inanimate Insanity draws closer to curtains. 

It was a bright pink evening, the sunset dazzling and painting the hotel's dusty windows like a canvas. A couple contestants were outside watching the sun go down, but Tissues was in bed, staring at the humming ceiling fan, as he often found himself doing. Around 7pm, if he had the mind and strength to be tossing and turning he would have been. That secret door was there all along, he'd probably walked past it a few times- What other secrets lie hiding, impossibly old, right under his nose, right under his feet? It made him shiver. He wondered if Yinyang thought about it as much as he did, or even at all.

Since their discovery, of course, everyone else in the hotel noticed the door too. The general consensus seemed to be "Huh, weird." OJ seemed a bit upset (mostly confused), but didn't feel like figuring out how to re-wallpaper the peeled area. And of course, nobody had figured out it was them who had uncovered it, or that it had previously housed those mysterious magazines. Tissues sighed, willing himself up into a sitting position and fetching his tattered old journal from his side table's drawer. Once he flipped to the first blank page, a thought hit Tissues sudden as a train and heavy as a bag of bricks.

"Does the hotel have a basement?" 

Tissues, his heart momentarily racing, grabbed his worn out ballpoint pen sitting askew on his bedside table, and quickly scribbled his chickenscratch between the snot-splotched lined paper of the cheap notebook, neglecting to write the date and filling up the page with his large, rough handwriting. 

"DEAR DIARY:" (he wrote in all-caps) "DOES THE HOTEL HAVE A BASEMENT?" (this is when he stopped for a moment, furrowed his brow and chewed on the pen's lid-) "IF SO, WHAT IS IT HIDING..? I KNOW THAT THE ELEVATOR DOESNT GO BELOW F1 BUT IVE NEVER TAKEN THE STAIRS AND THEY MIGHT GO DEEPER. I MIGHT INVITE YY TO CHECK IT OUT WITH ME." (YY is shorthand for Yinyang.) "ON SECOND THOUGHT, NO THEY PROBABLY ARENT INTERESTED IN IT. THE LAST THING I WANT IS TO BE ANY MORE ANNOYING THEN I ALREADY AM." (Tissues scoffed, and put his journal back into the cupboard.) Tissues flopped back down onto his bed and stared at the same old ceiling fan. A small black bug crawled across the lightbulb. Tissues sniffed. The wall clock tick-tocked until it hit 7:23pm. Frenzied thoughts bubbled inside Tissues' mind until they felt like they were going to boil over and out his ears. 

Once he reached for his water bottle and noticed his hand shaking slightly- He decided that tonight was the night. A determined but nervous feeling swept over his body as he huffed and forced himself out of bed and out the door- To the staircase. It was a plain, short walk down, carpeted stairs with nothing to trip or slip on- A short safe staircase. He gulped. Did he trust himself enough to make it down even these easy stairs? 

The dizzy, nervous feeling that made his stomach plunge the two story drop before he did wasn't helping much- He grabbed onto the handrail with a white-knuckle grip. He took a slow step downward, and his head spun- The staircase beneath him seemed to sprawl out into endless darkness. He wasn't about to give up, though. He shook himself off and continued walking down the stairs one step at a time, two steps per stair- Step, step. Step, step. He was making progress! Step, step. Step, step. Once he made it halfway down, he stopped to catch his breath, and.... Oh no. Sniff, Sniff.... He felt a sneeze coming on. Ah... Ah.....

ACHOO! 

Tissues stumbled back and attempted to hang onto the handrail- he tripped over the side and fell, for what seemed like ages, down, down, down, and rolled banging into every odd step on the way down.

"Oof.... Ughh....." Tissues forced himself up, bruised and tattered from his fall, and found himself on cold concrete. Had he ever been on this floor...? It took him a moment to readjust, but as he looked around, rubbing his sore head, he realized that F1 didn't have any concrete. This must be it. The basement.

~~~~

It was dusty and completely dark- cold with a chill that seemed almost too appropriate for such a spooky place. Tissues rummaged around inside his head to pull out his phone and flashed the light into the deep darkness- It cut through the inky blackness like a beacon. Tissues shone it around the room slowly and nervously- illuminating large shapes draped in old white sheets of fabric. Tissues' heart raced before he realized it was probably just furniture with a dust covering- Yeah, just furniture. He sighed. He crept into the strange and cavernous room- His small footsteps echoing through the basement, reverberating clear and crisp as the dark, cold air. He shivered. 

He more he looked around, the weirder the basement got. Cloth-draped chairs and couches and even what appeared to be a small TV set or strangely-shaped table seemed to be arranged as if whoever was using this room just... up and left. It looked like a living room for ghosts. The furniture itself also seemed to be localized around the middle of the room- The rest of the room seemed strangely vacant except for a few stray cardboard boxes stacked on one another.

"The basement can't just be this room, can it? It's an entire floor, is the rest just filled in? It can't be. There's got to be more," Tissues thought, circumventing the room once again, looking for a door, a bricked-off passageway, something that he could use to explore the rest of this strange place. It seemed, after a few minutes of looking around, to be a concrete prison. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Tissues froze. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Footsteps. Getting closer. echoing down the staircase, heartbeat racing, no way out but up. Between fight or flight, Tissues chose freeze. He stood like a deer in the headlights, holding his flashlight at the entrance, his hand shaking like a paint mixer. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Closer, closer, down the stairs, Tissues had no idea why he was so afraid- It was probably just another resident at the hotel. If it was OJ, he might've gotten in trouble, but some strange part of him felt like he was an intruder. Like whoever is coming down the stairs right now was following after him for a reason. As the shadow came into view, in a moment of pure adrenaline, Tissues flung his cell phone at whoever it was that was following him. It hit them straight in the forehead.

"Ow, what the hell?!"

Relief washed over Tissues as he immediately recognized the voice.

"Y.....Yinyang?" Tissues said timidly.

As the familiar face came into view, rubbing his forehead, picking up the cell phone that had gone skidding across the concrete floor moments before. 

"Of course you dumbass, who else?" Yinyang said, shining the flashlight at the bewildered, blinking Tissues. "What are you doing down here? Are you ok?"

"Umm oh. Ohhhh... You-" Tissues stuttered, blushing. "You came down here to check on me?"

"The hell do you mean?" Yang growled, "Of course I did!" Yin continued, walking up to Tissues and inspecting him closer. "You fell down 2 flights of stairs! Are you injured?"

From the sheer adrenaline of the situation, Tissues didn't seem to notice, but his knee was scraped pretty badly. "Ah... Yeah. A lil bit. My knee," He said, gesturing to his left leg. 

"You dumbass!" Yang cursed. "Why did you- Why did you try and go down the stairs alone in the first place? You know-" Yang sighed. "Why are you even in the basement? There's nothing in here but old storage space," 

Tissues sniffed. "Umm... well... ahh... umm..." Tissues seemed to be getting a little bit choked up. "Umm... y'know how we found the old- the little door? After we..." Tissues took a deep, shaky breath. "I wanted to see if the hotel had any more secrets like that. Yknow... cause, I have so much time to think, and it was just bothering me... I thought- It can't be just that, there's got to be more- I guess i just wasn't thinking." Tissues wiped his nose.

"Oh, Tissues..." Yinyang said, his voice soft. "We should go back upstairs. I'll get you patched up," Yinyang continued, patting him on the head gently. “I was worried about you!

"You're probably right..." Tissues sighed, and limped to the doorway, Yinyang letting him lean on his shoulder. On his way out, he leaned against the wall, and his fingers came into contact with something smooth and cool, completely different from the texture of the concrete walls. He froze.

"Wait-" He said. "I feel something." He continued, trailing his hand farther up and feeling something akin to a lightswitch. He flicked it on, and the basement was instantly illuminated- causing Yinyang and Tissues to squint and turn around.

"Huh. I found the lightswitch!" Tissues laughed, and scanning the room in the light, it didn't look as scary as before- and one thought was present in his mind. 

"Hey, this could make a really cool hangout spot if you just fixed it up a little bit." 

It was like another lightbulb came on dinging bright above Tissues' head.

As Yinyang worriedly ushered him back up the stairs and into his room, Tissues was busy smiling, ideas silently buzzing in his head as Yinyang cursed him out while tenderly wrapping blue bandages around his knee. 

The moment he left, Tissues pulled out his journal and hurriedly wrote something in big, messy lettering:

"BASEMENT SUITE...?"

~~~~

[screamxqueenx94]

Magic Bullet Part 2/ Teen Wolf Series Rewrite

A/N: I'm finally getting a chance to post this part! I've started working a full time job so I haven't been able to write, but during this time, after I post this fic, I will start posting my AU fic because I no longer have access to the show right now. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: violence

Italics= inner dialogue

"Italics with quotation marks"= lyrics

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

Stiles' POV

As Scott and Derek leave, Charli and I stay to clean up. I finish mopping as she finishes wiping down the table. I empty the bucket, clean myself up and head out to Roscoe when I see Charli ahead of me.

"Charli, wait up!" I call out, stopping her in her tracks as I jog over to her. I speak again. "Hey…" 

"Hey…" she answers back. 

"You were uh… you were pretty amazing back there. What with the research, and protecting me from Derek, even willing to cut off Derek's arm if Scott didn't arrive on time even though you're squeamish like me." I praise shyly, rubbing the back of my neck. 

"Just trying to help Scott." She assures me. 

"Yeah, but the way you handled everything, the way you just took charge, that was just… I can't even describe it. It was incredible!" I tell her, making her chuckle as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

Everything she does is so beautiful…

I look down, take a deep breath, and then look at her again. I'm about to say something when her phone starts ringing. She answers and walks away as I turn around to give her privacy. Is it really possible to have a crush on two girls? Am I being greedy? Does this make me a bad person? Am I overthinking this? I'm probably overthinking right? Yeah I'm totally overthinking--

"Stiles?" I suddenly hear Charli call out. 

"Huh?" 

"My dad called me and  he needs me home but my car was giving out on the way here, would you give me a ride home?" 

"Oh, ye--yeah. Totally." I answer back. I walk over and open the passenger door for her. She hops in and I hop into the driver side, start up the Jeep and head to our houses. 

As we drive down the road, 'Lucky' by Jason Mraz and Colbie Calliet was playing, making the moment kind of awkward. 

"Lucky I'm in love with my best friend"

I'm in love with my best frien--" 

My heart for yo--"

I switch the station only to have the  'Way I Feel Inside' by the Zombies come one. 

"Should I try to hide, the way I feel inside my heart for yo--"

Next station.

"But I'm falling in love

"How do I tell the love of my life, I'm in love with my best frien--"

Are you freaking kidding me? Moving on.

"I can't fight this feeling anymor--"

Stop it! Next. 

"But I'm falling in love with the best friend--"

Unbelievable! 

"We've known each other for a long long time, but I never really noticed all the magic in your eyes--"

So much panic right now!

"Accidentally in love--"

I just shut off the radio. I must've been obvious with my frustrations because Charli looked over at me with concern on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asks, putting her hand on mine that was resting on my gear shift. 

I look down, then at her hand, then back to her. When we make eye contact she quickly removes her hand with a red flush to her cheeks. She's so cute... The drive stays quiet until we reach my driveway. I turn off the car and look at her. 

"So… what was it like punching Derek?" I ask.

She half smiles. "It felt good. He's a jerk who deserved it. I don't care if he was in pain, he was horrible and I'm not okay with that." She answers, playing with her zipper on her jacket and occasionally making eye contact. 

"You really don't like him do you?" I ask.

"It's more like I don't trust him." 

"Yeah, but Scott needs him." 

"Not necessarily…" she trails off.

I look at her confused. "What do you mean?" 

She sighs. "I'm saying that, he doesn't really need Derek, just us."

"You really think we could help him?" 

"Sure, I mean we helped him figure out what he was, I'm sure we could help him control his abilities." 

She makes a good point.

"I'm all for it if you help." I tell her. 

"Really?" She asks.

"Yeah. I mean, why not?"

She nods. "Okay, I guess we'll be his teachers." 

"I guess so." I agree, smiling.

She smiles back. There's a short moment of silence.

"Well, guess I'll text you later?" She asks.

"Yeah, text me later." I reply back. 

"Well, goodnight then." She smiles as she gets out. 

"Goodnight…" I trail off as she gets out. I watch her as she walks away, watching her ponytail sway to the rhythm of her walk. God, she's fucking perfect…

I get out of Roscoe and go inside for the night. I don't bother to change, I just lay in my bed and think about Charli. I think about how to help Scott gain control of his abilities. I also think about how Derek is terrifying, but yet Charli was willing to beat the shit out of him just to protect me. There's definitely something off about her… yet it doesn't bother me in the slightest...

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

Charli's POV 

I look around to see that my dad wasn't home yet. Must be another late night at the office…

I take off my shoes and toss them by the door and start trudging up the stairs towards my room. As I turn my bedroom light on, I hear a voice.

"So I'm guessing he doesn't know?" 

I quickly turn towards the direction of the voice, fists up, ready to fight a bitch. I see Derek sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on his knees and has an eyebrow raised at me. 

"Derek! What the fuck are you doing here? And how did you even get into my house?" I interrogate.

"Your window was open…" he replies."We need to talk…" he continues.

I gotta start remembering to lock that window…

"Wh--what about?" I ask, not putting my fists down just yet. 

"About what you are… and most importantly what you want with Scott." 

I put my hands down slowly and start taking off my jacket. I hang it over my computer chair and walk closer to him with my arms across my chest. 

"You already know what I am, why talk about it?" 

"Because it's pretty suspicious how you just got here and are suddenly all buddy-buddy with Scott after he was bitten." He stands up to face me. 

"That's just a coincidence… however, what I want from him is what I already have, which is his friendship. I really need that." 

"Lonely after you killed you mom I take it?" He asks sarcastically, putting his hands in his coat pockets. 

"What did you just say?" I ask defensively.

"Isn't that why you won't tell Stiles what you are? Because you think he'll realize you're a killer and won't want you around?" He continues. Before he can speak again, I grab him by his jacket and slam him against the closet door, shattering the mirrors that the doors were made of. 

"How do you even know about that?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Word gets around… You think you're the only vampire to come to Beacon Hills?" He answers nonchalantly. "Everyone knows you did it, they just won't say anything because of your dad." He continues.

"You take that back!" I threaten through gritted teeth. Claws out, fangs out and eyes glowing. 

"Or what, you'll kill me like you killed her? Perfect, then Stiles will know who you truly are…" he smirks. 

"Oh trust me, he'll be thanking me for killing you. Everyone will…" I shoot back. 

"You had your chance to do that back at the clinic… why wait until now?" 

"Because now you have a fair chance to get your ass kicked…" I retort. 

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands up in surrender. I slowly retract my claws and fangs back as I walk back slowly. He tugs his jacket back into place and starts heading for the bedroom door. After he places his hand on the knob, he looks back at me. 

"Y'know, despite the fact that you nearly killed me twice tonight, I won't tell Stiles what I know…" he states. 

"Why's that?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Because you should be the one to do so." 

I point at my door and reply. "Get out…" he opens the door and walks out, but not before some parting words. 

"Oh, and one more thing Charli…" 

I look at him one last time for tonight. "... don't think for a second that he hasn't already googled your last name and realized it means bloodsucker in Hungarian."

"Bye!" I exclaim loudly, ready to throw a book at that stupid smirk on his face. He closes the door and leaves. Mangy mutt…

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

@softpeteparker @mummybear @ficus-fig @music-magic-mayhem @zenawa @stiles-o-dylan24 @cry-btch @maaariiiooo13 @sporadiccookiebagel @bewarethebees @inschi @wil2space @bansheeintuition @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @nicole-lynne @fullangelimagines @kingofmyimagination

[laytonsartblog]

How To Solve Everything

Little Spaces - Ch.2

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3

Warning: This story contains violence, gun related violence, gang related violence, starvation, hypothermia, dysfunctional family themes, dysfunctional domestic themes, poverty, and homophobia/transphobia. Read with caution and at a good time for you. Take care of yourself.

--

Logan has a schedule he dedicates his life to.

First, to wake up at five am.

Next, is to get in the shower without a bucket. Why without a bucket? Because he's damn rich.

Y'see, when you're one of the most successful people in the country of Loríses, running a multi-billion dollar corporation on affordable apartment living and clean energy resources and steady bank loan agreements, well... you can afford some time.

That, and clean water.

Once that's all done and good, Logan likes to relax and have a nice breakfast in his humble top-apartment as he watches the news from the table.

The time didn't really matter when he woke up or finished eating because he never booked (or more accurately put, was forced to book) a meeting or council accommodation or ribbon cutting or something before eleven am.

Breakfast was his only sanctity; he made sure to have plenty of it.

With the news and breakfast over, Logan would head out to work with his classic polo and tie with a briefcase in hand, then spend about eight hours basically running around heading between business meetings and stock readings and introductory openings and apartment gatherings and- well, you get the picture.

Without a hitch, Logan'd get home at around seven-thirty pm, have some sort of dinner out with colleagues he really didn't care for, and get home to either sleep or do his favorite kind of work; charity work.

In the charity work's case?; he wouldn't get a wink of rest.

Today, Logan woke up like he would any other day, perhaps a little later than he thought he would, but that was due to his one am adoption centre charity bidding auction last night.

When he went to check his phone for any messages from his secretary for the day, he found only two from the uptight woman:

You have the day off, Mr.Corbett.

Have a nice day.

Logan looked on in confusion.

I have the day off? Why? he texted back.

His secretary immediately responded with a simple,You haven't used your vacation days at all for the past year, Mr.Corbett. If you don't use them by the end of September, you lose them. I took liberty of letting you off for the next week.

Logan was about to fight back and tell her he's coming into work anyway, but he found she's a bit faster with her hands.

You need it, Logan.

Go visit that old lady down the street, in the bookshop. Her name is Mrs.Tamry. She's my mother's sister and owns the place. She could use some company today.

Logan groaned. He wasn't moving the stubborn woman and that meant he actually had to take care of himself. Woe is he.

Logan grumpily put the phone to his bedside table before face-planting onto his bed. He groaned some more, kicking his feet and punching his hands into the pillows. Perhaps childish, yes, but Logan was never really raised to do much else than work. He didn't know what else to do.

Logan remembered the Mrs.Tamry from his secretary's messages a few minutes after his tantrum and sighed as he flipped over on the bed, rolling out of it.

After a shower he went over to his closet and picked out something a little more casual- a flannel and finer jeans -before stuffing down some toast to head to this bookowner.

Logan would admit that the bookstore part of the old woman was interesting; he's loved being read to and reading stories ever since he could recount the ABC's. It was one of the few pastimes he could be shown doing in public: his public advisor had once told him it made him look both gentle and intelligent, and the ladies would love it. Logan had just told him that he didn't care about the ladies and continued on his way to his office.

Logan finally made his way to the shop. He rolled his eyes at the name: "Book-Ends and Seller's Beggining." It was charming, if not a little corny, and Logan wasn't sure if this was really worth his time, but then he saw the little old lady through the glass sitting by her lonesome and let out a breath of air.

Dammit. Why do I have to feel so guilty?

Logan pushed his way through the tall glass doors and looked his way around, noticing the high bookshelves and neat working stations. It seemed grandma kept up with the times as Logan noticed a small table with a few charging stations attached to it, and a couple of teens doing their homework while plugging their phones in nearby. A stack of laps for rent stood on a shelf near the station.

Logan heard the old woman laugh hoarsely behind him.

"Well, now I wasn't expecting such a dashing young man in my shop so early in the morning!" Mrs.Tamry teased, still laughing. She got up from her weaved rocking chair and instead shuffled her way over to a flustered Logan. "Got some good bone structure- although the hair could use some work. A working man, hmm?"

Logan stammered at the guiding, touching hands and expert eye. "Yes ma'am, I- I am a businessman," he squeaked out.

Logan was used to just saying nothing while out in public, or worse, hosting everything and never getting a break. Having this conversation, if not an awkward one, made him sweat bullets. It was unknown territory.

"A businessman, huh?" Mrs.Tamry sang. She looked him over a few more times, noting the sweaty palms and pale face, before hollaring over to the kids in the corner, "Does this man look familiar?"

The three in the corner; a smaller, but colorful child, a tall but scraggly young fellow, and a boy with a star for his shirt all turned their heads.

The colorful kid snickered. "Nah, he looks too nervous to be any big shot I've heard of," they chided.

"Yeah, and what would he be doing here of all places if he was?" the scraggly lad questioned.

"Hey, knock it off!" the boy in the star shirt huffed. "The guy's probably super sweet and here to pick something up for his wife where they'll read fairytales to their kids and it'll be really damn cute!"

The colorful child started laughing hard; so hard, in fact, that they started tearing up. The scraggly kid did the same. The star boy just crossed his arms, looking to Logan with a much more innocent view.

Logan was sweating so profusely he was afraid he was going to faint. Mrs.Tamry just watched with a crooked smile at their imaginations.

"I am right, huh? You're just a nice guy!" the star boy asked, leaning in. The other two troublemakers got themselves together enough to lean in too, giggling.

"Yeah, tell us! Who are you?"

Logan couldn't stop himself before he even knew what his brain and mouth were going to say.

"I-I'm gay."

Well that was certainly new.

Logan realized what he said and covered his mouth with his hand, shock covering his entire face. Oh now you've done it, he roared at himself, you've told three kids and an old lady you're a disgusting pansy!

But the yelling and the chastising and the kicking-him-out-of-the-store never came. The other children looked to him in absolute glee, and the old woman just snickered.

"So what, dude? I'm like... mega gay too," the boy in the star shirt joked. He easily smiled at Logan.

Logan couldn't tell if he was being encouraged, or if he was doing the encouraging to the boy.

The other two children looked between eachother before looking to Logan. "We're non-binary. We use they/them pronouns. Could you please use them?"

Logan just barely managed a nod, his nerves in overdrive. He just outed himself and now these brave kids were coming out to him too? It was a hell of a thing to wrap around his brain. "O-Of course I will," he managed through chattering teeth.

Logan turned to the old woman last. He expected her to throw him out at first, but now he realized that she knew all this time. Now he looked to Mrs.Tamry in fear. The fact she could figure something like that out so quick was something Logan wasn't prepared to deal with, shock after shock being ran into him in the past ten minutes.

"Young man, you realize that this establishment has a 'We Accept You' sticker on the front, right?" she giggled, patting his shoulder despite him being a tree and her a stump.

Logan looked back to the glass and saw a mirrored version of that sticker on the door; clear as day.

Logan slumped his shoulders. "Oh."

Mrs.Tamry took his shoulders and guided Logan over to a seat, sitting in the one next to him with a sigh. "Ooh, that feels much better on my back."

Logan just stared at her, sweating and shaking and why had I not fought my secretary on letting me work-

Mrs.Tamry clasped a hand on top of his fussing one and smiled gently. The wild side of her had been turned down, and now something much more sweet laid itself out to the scatterbrained gay.

Logan felt himself calm down just a little.

"Now now, I've been told by my niece that her boss was coming in today to spend his day off. I'm to assume that's you, right?" she gently asked. The hand on Logan's softly rubbed it's thumb against Logan's knuckles.

Logan calmed down just a little more.

His tongue managed to unstick itself from the roof of his mouth enough to let out a small, "yes."

He didn't know why he was so freaked. Usually when he got this nervous he'd just bury it down like he had been for the past thirty something years but in this place, it felt like no matter how hard he tried, he was forced to feel everything he was feeling. Logan did not like it.

Mrs.Tamry sighed and used her other hand to tap a gentle rhythm in Logan's arm, giving him something to hold on to.

"Y'know, I didn't expect such a good man like you to be holding back so much fear. I could feel it as you stepped through that door," Mrs.Tamry commented, trying to make small talk.

Logan avoided her eyes. "Well, I haven't got much of a place to let it out."

Mrs.Tamry kept the rhythm on his arm while she hummed.

"Well that simply isn't good!" she preached. "Tell you what, if you're feeling so scared and trembling like you are now, you can always come to me, y'hear?"

Logan nodded a little. He could feel himself slowly relax, coming down from being so flustered and flabbergasted.

New places, new conversations- in which he made actual conversations instead of one-sided invites -new people, new ideas, new everything! It made his brain go into overdrive and his nerves alight. Usually he was able to handle it, bury it deep for later, but here? It seemed he couldn't stuff the feelings down.

Maybe it was Mrs.Tamry's wild but motherly approach, or the bookstore's inviting nature, or the teens he talked to earlier, but either way, Logan just sighed.

He was okay. He was safe. He was okay.

Mrs.Tamry pulled Logan up and rubbed his back while she headed him in the direction of the laptops.

"Why don't you do yourself a favor and find a game to play or- or a messaging site to talk to someone!" Mrs.Tamry then giggled cheekily. "It seems you don't have many friends, so now's a time to start!"

Logan took a seat next to the three teens with an awkward smile and a wave as he opened up the laptop. It was a little out of style, but it seemed fine enough as Logan booted it up.

"We never got your name, sir," the star boy asked politely while Logan logged in.

"Yeah! Like for example I'm Joan and that's Talyn, and he's Thomas, so now you know us!" the newly named Joan called out, tipping their beanie like a celebrity.

Talyn nodded along, playing with their colorful hair. "Homework is getting boring, we wanna know you!"

Logan turned to the three kids with a reserved smile as he signed up for a messenger site called GetAlong.

"My name is Logan Corbett."

--

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[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 6: Dragged Away

(But they won’t push us down.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 6: Dragged Away

Word Count: 1823

Relationships: Moxiety

Warnings: Attempted kidnapping, unsympathetic Patton, mildly violent language, rape mention

A/N: yeah... sorry this is late. i’m uploading this in the car, and i’m exhausted, but i had to get it up, so.

The sound of Virgil’s shoes slapping on the pavement is certainly something that can be relaxing, a way to lull someone into a sense of safety. Each patter is like a metronome, a beat to a song that walking creates. Every step echoes in the emptiness, the open darkness of a city abandoned at night, and Virgil absolutely hates it.

He hates it because he’s not even supposed to be here, isn’t supposed to be pushing through the aching in his calf muscles just to get home quicker. He tried to finish up at work quickly enough to take the bus like he always does, but there was a pretty big spill, and he has to stay behind and clean it up. It’s too late for buses now, too late for comfort, and it’s all Virgil can do to not take off in a sprint.

He’s trying, he really is, but he’s never liked walking long distances, and the fact that it’s night time and nobody is around makes it a thousand times worse. He just wants to go home and sleep, cuddle with Patton and forget his weariness, but there’s still a few blocks to go, so he trudges on.

And the footsteps are his only guide again. The footfalls, sound of the soles and their meeting with concrete. The way the soundwaves bounce against the cold stone walls, clash against brick and fall right back. It’s almost like a poem, ticking syllabic through cool night air. And it is night, almost 2 in the morning, and Virgil has a feeling that Patton is going to be awake waiting for him when he returns. He’s figuring things out, trying to sort his thoughts and compartmentalize the split between work life and home life, and then the echoes multiply. 

They’re almost identical in their timing, at first, so close to Virgil’s own pace that he doesn’t even notice. It’s only when Virgil speeds up to get across a driveway outlet that the stark contrast of the echoing thumps on pavement while his own feet are completely off the ground makes itself prominent in the forefront of his mind, brings a growing anxiety to his conscious thought. There’s somebody walking behind him, someone following him, and Virgil’s heart rate quickens as he speeds up very gradually so as not to alert whoever is behind him. He doesn’t want to turn around, to tip them off that he’s aware of their presence, because that could cause them to speed up the process. Is he about to get kidnapped?

And then the footfalls behind him gain speed, too, rise to match Virgil’s new rhythm, and he’s positive that they’re gonna try to hurt him. There’s no other explanation; he’s walking alone, in the middle of the night, in a nearly abandoned, dilapidated part of the city, and there’s someone behind him going at the exact same pace and making the same turns as he is. This is a kidnapper. Or a murderer. Oh god, he’s gonna die. He’s gonna die and he’ll never get to see Patton again, never get to listen to his favourite music, never eat that one really good chicken and rice meal from the restaurant across the street--

Virgil is stupid. He must be stupid, because he does something stupid. Like an absolute idiot, he risks a glance behind him, tries to look and commit his attacker’s face to memory, and the guy dressed completely in black is way closer than it sounded. Virgil’s heart stops, and his pace stutters, and the man is lunging forward to grab him.

Virgil tries to let out a scream when the assailant yanks back hard on his arms, painfully twists them behind his back to keep him immobile, but his mouth gets immediately muffled by the man’s other hand. He’s strong, somehow able to keep him in place with a single hand, and Virgil knows that his own skinny, weak self doesn’t stand a chance. 

He struggles and thrashes as he’s pulled from the road, tears brought to his eyes as the dim yellow glow of the streetlamps starts to fall further and further away. He can’t breathe, the pressure on his throat from the man’s arm restricting his airways, but the panic is setting in and that certainly doesn’t help.

And then the adrenaline kicks in, a harsh rush that’s like a breath of fresh air. His systems are flushed with a solution of fearlessness and fire, and everything feels so much clearer. He can see, and he can breathe, and years of hearing Roman and Logan’s stories as first responders (a police officer and paramedic respectively) gives him enough forethought to act quickly. He can’t wait, can’t drag this out. He has to do something before the panic fills up his lungs again like a black sludge, has to fight before he’s left weary and exhausted and… dead.

With a strangled cry that doesn’t go far from his lips, Virgil throws himself forward just enough, and then uses the momentum to swing the heel of his foot back and connect it with the man’s crotch. He lets out a strangled yell, one that dissolves into an angry whine, and Virgil takes advantage of his pain to rips his arms from the stranger’s grip and kick back again to put distance between them. He manages to get him in the dick a second time, which, under different circumstances would be literally the funniest thing he’s ever heard, but he can’t bring himself to find any humour in it while he’s still in danger of being kidnapped or killed.

Running towards the street again allows him a moment to process, to reorder his frantic, frenzied brain. He knows he’ll be fine as his foot first hits the road, because he was a champion when he ran track in high school, and he can outrun anyone if he just pretends that he’s in a competition. The grey buildings around him turn into bleachers, the pavement underneath him turns to blacktop, and the streetlamps morph into the familiar feeling of the sun beating down on his face. He sweats now, too, both from exertion and fear, and his body is just a vessel for quick transportation again.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, can feel the yells of the sports fans ringing in his ears just the same as before, and when he realizes where he is, who he is, the familiar surroundings of his and Patton’s neighbourhood allow him to breathe a sigh of relief. He still isn’t really processing the whole experience well, and he’s sure he’s going to have probably a million panic attacks when the adrenaline rush has faded, but for now, he just pants hard, turns in the direction of his house, and runs. 

Bursting in the door and slamming it closed behind him gives Virgil an immeasurable satisfaction, borne from the almost victorious feeling of winning. He went through the ringer, rose up, and came out on top, just the same as when he used to run. He feels the same rush, the same jitteriness he used to get when he got first place in competitions. Virgil will freak out later, but for now, he's a winner, and he needs to tell Patton. 

"Virge, honey, you're so late coming home. Did something happen at wor-- ...Virgil? Why are you all sweaty?" Patton's sympathetic tone shifts into one of concern, a layer of worry embedded in his furrowed brows and slight frown. He rushes forward from the hallway to Virgil's side, gives him a once-over to check for any obvious injuries, and audibly frets while Virgil catches his breath. 

"I got-- almost got kidnapped, Pat, an' I-- I kicked him in the balls and ran away, it was awesome and-- and terrifying and I was s-so scared, I… it was so scary… I thought I was gonna d-die… I," Virgil whimpers, comes crashing from his high too quickly, and Patton is surging forward to gather his boyfriend in his arms. Virgil shudders at the touch, flinches for a split second, and then relaxes. His embrace is so warm, brings the tears out of his eyes with soft reassurances, and Virgil is sobbing. The tears soak into Patton's pajama shirt, bleed through to touch his skin, and he's rubbing Virgil's back soothingly. 

"Oh, Virgil, honey, I'm so sorry it happened like that. It's okay, it's over now," Patton murmurs. He guides Virgil's head to rest on his shoulder gently, cards through his hair with a muted pressure. It's always worked and a grounding technique, something that they've discussed and employed many times in the past, and Virgil feels touched that he's thinking of that even now.

"It must have been so scary, sweetie. I'm sorry. It… could have been scarier, y'know. You could've… been shot, or stabbed," Patton muses, and although Virgil understands that he's just trying to help in his own misguided way, his words only cause the anxiety to rear its ugly head once more. Virgil hums shakily, swallows around his residual fear to clear the vice around his neck, and clutches onto Patton's shirt. 

"Uh… yeah, Pat, but that… that isn't really helping right now. Maybe we can just… I don't know, watch a movie? I-- I need to take my mind off of this," Virgil mumbles into Patton's shoulder, sniffs as more tears leak over his lashes. 

"Yeah, I mean… you could've gotten electrocuted, or got your head bashed into the concrete, or maybe even got raped, poor thing," Patton continues, keeps talking as if he didn't even hear Virgil's request, and Virgil's brows pull together. The words send a wave of nausea rolling through him, force a gag out of him that he somehow manages to keep at bay. Patton's hand slowly comes up to rest on the back of Virgil's neck, a gesture of reassurance even as he starts squeezing, clutching a little too tight. "Honestly, it's a shame… I should've told them to do whatever they wanted with you, but you have to go and make things difficult, don't you, huh?"

And before Virgil can process this, before he can feel his heart leap into his throat and pull away, there's a sharp pain in his neck where Patton's hand resides. His muscles feel tired, so tired, and his knees give out within seconds. Patton manages to catch him, gently lowers him to the ground, and Virgil's head is screaming. He can only lay there, bore a terrified stare into his boyfriend, and watch and a spectator to the unknown. More tears spring to his eyes, and a scream tries to build in his dormant throat, and his fingers can't even twitch to move. Patton sighs as he picks up Virgil by the feet and starts dragging him towards the basement door, and Virgil's been knocked down to last place in the rankings.

[endangered-liaison]

Release

This darkness within you needs an outlet. A release.

((All of this is going under a readmore, because it’s...not worksafe. I’d tag it as just that, but we all know how Tumblr feels about all that.

Content warnings: explicit content, masturbation, technical selfcest, encouragement, dirty talk, thoughts of polyamory, Wyda having a whole host of Issues. And...vague cuckoldry fantasies??? Don’t ask me where that one came from, Wyda’s her own person and that person is a mess.))

_ _ _

Wyda can't sleep.

She tosses and turns, grumbling under her breath before resigning herself to simply staring up at the ceiling. It's no use.

Maybe it's the book she read before bed. Maybe it's the conversation she had with Hyrt, talking long into the night about aether and being and leaving her too wired, too aware of everything, to consider something as unimportant as sleep. Maybe it's the fact that Victoria isn't next to her for once, leaving half of their bed empty.

Maybe it's the fact that Victoria is staying at Max's place tonight.

Oh, no, nothing like that. Just a III Squad girl's night. Max had invited Vicky out for drinks in Ul'dah, and Wyda had opted to go home to the Mists. It's nothing untoward.

Probably.

That's probably the reason she can't sleep. Probably the reason her mind is buzzing. Filled with thoughts and what-ifs and a thousand ideas, each less likely than the last.

...would they kiss tonight?

Would they fuck?

The buzzing in Wyda's mind shifts. It's burning through all of her, now. Thrumming through her body as that last thought overtakes her. As her mind shifts to images of her girlfriend and Maxima, entwined. Max pinning Vicky down, all smirks and confidence and scratching, biting, claiming her.

Why doesn't that bother her as much as it should?

Can't sleep? Hyrt's voice asks, interrupting Wyda's out-of-control thoughts and dragging them back to the here and now.

"Aye." She tries to keep her voice steady.

There's a low chuckle through her mind, smooth and assured. Need a hand?

The words send a shock of feeling through Wyda's body, a lash of pure lightning that she does her best to ignore. That's not what Hyrt means. She means conversation, or something else to help her sleep. Hells, maybe she means a lullaby. Not...the other thing.

Not the thing it just so happens to sound an awful lot like. She doesn't have any idea of how Wyda is feeling, after all.

"I'm alright. I don't need you telling me bedtime stories just to get to sleep, y'know." There. Light and airy. Humorous. She even smirks as she says it.

That's not what I meant.

Wyda's breath catches, and she realises her hand has been teasing circles on her bare stomach, beneath her shirt. "W-what?"

I can help you, with what you're feeling right now. Hyrt's voice is calm, as always. Patient. If you'd like.

She hasn't...she hasn't done anything like this since before her coma. The mood hadn't felt right. The threat of death had been hanging over her and she didn't feel right to have any sort of desperate, clinging final night of passion with Victoria. And she certainly didn't feel right about getting herself off in that situation. And since her soul was reforged, she's just been...busy. The mood hadn't taken her.

But now, she realises, the mood is really, really taking her.

"What...what exactly are you offering, Hyrt?" She doesn't mean for her voice to sound so breathy as she asks the question. So desperate.

Encouragement.

Max's teeth, sharp and always more pointed than a hyur's should be, flash in her mind. Her tongue trailing over Victoria's pale, gently scarred neck.

Is that something you'd like? Hyrt's voice is quieter than normal. Closer. Like a whisper in her ear. Encouragement? Release?

Wyda's hips twitch. Her free hand reaches up to grip and grasp at her pillow.

There's no pressure. If you want to be alone for this, if you're uncomfortable, I'll leave you be. Retreat inwards, and try my best not to feel what you're feeling.

Feel what she's feeling.

Oh. That's right.

The two of them are connected. The idea that Wyda could have hidden this need from Hyrt is...ludicrous. Of course Hyrt is feeling it. Hyrt might well be feeling it more acutely than she is.

"T-tell me what it's like." Wyda manages to say, eye wide and breath shallow. "Tell me what you're feeling."

Desire, Hyrt says. I feel...I feel everything you do to us. Every touch, every building moment of want. E-every dip of your fingers, every brush of your hands over your skin. I feel it all. One of them makes a thoughtful, desperate little noise, but Wyda doesn't know who it was. But I can't control it, not like you can. It's all a surprise to me. All unexpected.

Wyda's hips roll, and she slips her hand beneath the waist of her sleep shorts. Her fingers brush against her thigh, and she bites her lip to stifle herself. She's so needy already. So wound up. How long has she needed this? How long has she been denying herself?

Hyrt gasps. L-Like a lover's touch. Not my own. It drives me wild.

She presses her fingers closer to her center and oh, there, she feels it. Something shudders in her mind, an unspoken, unheard noise that thrums in identical rhythm to her own desire.

A-ah! You drive me wild.

Wyda chuckles, low in her throat, and the sound morphs into a whine as her fingertips stroke over herself. "Aye?"

I feel...I feel... Hyrt stumbles and falters. Takes a moment, as if to compose herself. ...Need. She practically growls the word.

Wyda's fingers stutter in surprise at the intensity of it. Her forefinger brushes against her clit, and whatever noise she was going to make as a response shifts into a moan. Her hips buck upwards to meet her hand, gripping her pillow tighter.

She sees Victoria in her mind, above her. Chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Bucking on someone's fingers. Hers? Max's? Hyrt's? Wyda doesn't know any more. It's too much.

It's so much, it's been too long, and having this with Hyrt speaking into her ear, it's...

"Hyrt..." she groans.

That's it. You're doing so well. Hyrt's voice is strained, like a woman holding a heavy weight above her head. Like someone struggling to stay in control. Just like that. Are you ready for more?

Wyda nods, absently, before she manages to remember that it's her own fingers that she's pleasuring herself with right now. Her thumb settles against her clit, rocking back and forth as she effortlessly pushes two fingers into herself.

Hyrt keens. Yes! Yes, y-you're doing so well! Just like that, jjjjust like that. Keep going, keep going, please keep going...

Hyrt may as well have asked Wyda to keep breathing, or to keep her heart beating. She's too far gone. There's no way she's stopping. No way she's going to do anything other than grind against her hand, moaning and writhing and gripping her pillow like a lifeline.

She rolls on to her side, angling her hips just so, and stars dance behind her eye. She feels like crying, or screaming, or laughing. It's so much. So intense.

The Victoria in her mind cries out Max's name as she comes.

W-wyda!

All at once, she's struck by it all. Overwhelmed. Flooded by the sheer intensity of Hyrt's want for Wyda. Her need, and her love, and lust, and...and...

She feels everything.

And for a single, blissful, perfect moment, she feels whole.

[daddyfuckinlonglegs]

I’m catching up, I swear!

I’m behind, but I’m back on the kinktober train. Preston/Sturges for day 7′s Praise Kink. "Nice shootin', Tex!" Nate slapped Preston's shoulder, swinging his rifle to his back, crouching to stuff the raider's few useful possessions into his pack. “Right through the bastard. You're not just a pretty face after all.” Preston rolled his eyes, but he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. “No sir, not at all. I leave that to those better equipped for the job.” “Nonsense, Garvey. That last place, Tenpines? Gal there at the gate was more than interested. Shame that you're a... confirmed bachelor, and all. She was pretty.” “A what now?” Nate stood up, grinning. “Confirmed bachelor. A man who's not, uh, interested in getting married. For his own reasons. Usually another man.” “Oh.” Preston sighed. “I guess that's...” “Between you and me,” Nate leaned in towards him, “I don't think she was looking to marry you.” Preston laughed, blushing. “Well, with all due respect, sir, one of us has got to keep his pants on.” Nate laughed, and set off down the trail. “You ever let yourself live a little Garvey, you come my way, okay?” Preston shook his head muttering. “I don't think I could keep up with you, even if I was as, uh, motivated, as you are.” Nate shrugged and called over his shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

* The road back to sanctuary was shorter with company, for sure, and with Concord almost picked clean, it wouldn't belong before the town was up and running to rival Diamond City. Sturges was hard at work, slaving over a refrigerator out back of Mama Murphy's place, and he dropped his tools, wiping his hands on his overalls as the two men approached. “Well if it ain't the boys in blue. Brought me anything good?” Preston dropped a duffel bag to the floor, it clanged and rolled to one side, and Nate tossed his pack to Sturges. “Fill your boots, buddy, quite a haul today. Not much left except the roof tiles. Definitely enough to get that water pump up and running again. With power this time.” Nate rolled his shoulders, stretching them out now he was free of his pack. “Your man here sure knows his way around that musket.” Sturges caught Preston's eye, and smiled. “He sure does. Few other things to boot.” Preston looked at the floor, ignoring the comment. Sturges winked, and Nate chuckled and nodded his head towards the rest of the town. “You seen Piper around anywhere? Not to be crude, but I could use a little R&R, and, well, we got some catching up to do.” Sturges smiled broadly and nodded. “Yeah, last I saw her she was hovering around that Vault-Tec guy, mouth going a mile a minute. You'd be doing him a favour if you found her something else to do.” Nate smiled wickedly. “With her mouth? I'm sure I can think of something.” They laughed, and he saluted the two men vigorously, and sauntered away to find Piper. Sturges looked at Preston, raising an eyebrow. “He sure is in a good mood, huh? Almost feel bad for that girl.” Preston nodded, almost rolling his eyes. “He's... he thinks... he's got it into his head that I'm some sort of prude, all because there was a woman in Tenpines Bluff giving me the eye. And I wasn't interested.” Sturges leaned against the wall, close to Preston, dusting off the man's shoulder with one hand. “A prude, huh? And am I to take it you didn't tell him otherwise? You ashamed'a me or somethin'?” Preston shook his head, laying his hand on Sturges' broad waist. “Not at all, babe. It just didn't seem right to... lay it all bare like that, just to get him off my case. He's only teasing.” “Of course he is. I don't think you got anything to worry about with him, Preston. Saw him out back of the bar with that mercenary not two weeks past, and unless “hired gun” meant somethin' else pre-war, they were gettin' a lot closer than what I'd call professional.” Preston hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, you're probably right.” “No probably about it, sugar; he was on his knees in the mud, and that gunner boy ain't exactly quiet.” Preston blushed. “Oh. Well.” Sturges leaned close to his face, sweeping the lieutenant's hat back and drawing his thumb across Preston's cheek. “Can I get a little kiss now, or is that too much to ask?” Preston leaned forward, offering a chaste little peck on the corner of Sturges' mouth. He sighed, looking at Preston through raised eyebrows. Preston smiled and leaned in again, pressing their mouths together firmly, Sturges running a calloused hand around the back of Preston's neck and holding him tight. They pulled apart, and Sturges untucked a rag from his back pocket, wiped a smear of grease from Preston's chin. “See? Once you get past the oil, I ain't that bad.” “No, babe,” Preston shook his head, smiling softly, “you ain't.” * The night rolled in thick and fast, and Sturges curled next to Garvey's warmth, on the sofa inside their little room in the bunkhouse. The town was quiet, the lights out in most houses and the soft puttering of generators and turrets chirped through the air like stiff nocturnal birds. Sturges pushed a hand into the folds of his pocket, pulled out a little scrap of paper, examining it in the lamp light. He tugged a pencil out of the front of his overall and licked the tip, scribbling little check marks against a scrawled list, and Preston leaned his head against the mechanic's shoulder. “You just never rest, do you babe?” Sturges smiled, squeezing Preston close. “Can't, can I? Not when you work so damned hard all the time.” “Not much I can do about that, there's always someone who needs help.” Sturges shifted to face him. “It don't always have to be you that saves 'em, y'know. You ain't hardly around here anymore,” He feigned a little sob, “I been getting real lonely without you. “

Preston chuckled, kissing Sturges on the cheek. “I miss you too, y'know, but we've gotta keep going. The commonwealth isn't gonna fix itself.” Sturges sighed. “You're too damn good for this world.” He settled his hand on Preston's thigh, and let his own knees fall wide apart. “Maybe you could spend a little time fixin' me? I'm getting' kinda tired of being the...” he paused, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “...the handyman around here. Could use a second pair of hands.” “I can go one better, babe.” Preston laughed, sliding from the sofa, kneeling between Sturges' feet. * Sturges pressed his feet to the cold floor, wrapping his hands behind Preston's head and stroking the back of his neck, as the man pulled his mouth slowly up the length of Sturges' dick, sucking softly around the head and letting it slide from his mouth. Sturges shuddered, and Preston smiled, planting a little kiss on the inside of his thigh, climbing carefully onto his lap. Sturges whispered against his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Goddamn it sugar, I'm a lucky man.” He pushed his hips forward, teasing with the head of his dick pressed up against Preston's ass. “And you're the most beautiful thing I ever saw.” Preston blushed, Sturges continued. “Beautiful, and talented, and brave to boot. Where'd I get off, hitting the jackpot huh?” He buried his face in Preston's neck, bright warmth against his lips as Preston blushed harder. “Tell me how pretty you are, sugar, and I'll give it to you.” “Babe, don't make-” “C'mon, I'm asking nicely. Be good for me huh? Tell me how pretty you are.” Preston laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, you think I'm pretty. There, let me have it.” He ground down on Sturges' dick, and the mechanic pulled his hips back. “N'aw, that doesn't count, come on,” he squeezed Preston's hips, “you gotta tell me like you mean it.” Preston rolled his eyes, and shuffled nervously, wrapping his arms around Sturges' neck. “Babe, this isn't fair.” Sturges shook his head. “Just tell me, and it's all yours.” Sturges pushed his hips forward to emphasise the point; Preston leaned his face on Sturges' shoulder, groaning, rocking his hips slowly. “Mmm, okay...” he whispered, “I'm... pretty.” “That's right sugar, now say it again.” His dick was hard against Preston's ass, and his hand stroked slowly along Preston's dick. “I'm... pretty.” he mouthed breathlessly, Sturges' hand rough and tight around his sensitive skin. “Keep goin', baby...” Sturges pushed up into him in a slow, fluid movement, arching his hips off the sofa and closing his eyes for a second. Preston was tight, and Sturges moved slowly. “...you're pretty on top of me.” Preston gasped – this wasn't gonna take long, the hard length of Sturges' cock pushing deep into his ass, the hand wrapped in his hair, the hot flush of embarrassment across his face and chest. “I'm.... pretty, on top of you.” he mumbled. “And you're pretty around my dick.” Preston blushed harder, Sturges found his rhythm, pleasure rolling through them both in a warm wave. “I'm pretty around your dick...” “And you're pretty with it in your mouth.” “I'm pretty with it in my mouth...” “And you're pretty with it in your ass.” “I'm pretty... unh- pretty with it... in... oh go...in my ass.” Sturges hand moved faster around Preston's dick, wet and warm and tugging him firmly, rough fingers tight below the head, and it felt good, oh, so good. His face was warm, and Sturges kissed the redness of his cheeks. “Oh, baby, does it feel good?” Preston nodded, quietly. "You're so pretty when you're blushing.” Preston laughed “Babe, c'mon, give me a break...” “Say it sugar. I wanna hear you say it.” Preston grit his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. “...I'm pretty when I'm blushing.” Sturges kissed him, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently, sending nerves sparkling through Preston's body, then pressed his face back to Preston's neck, concentrating on his hips, bucking and thrusting into him, eager and close to the edge. “You're so pretty when you're getting fucked, darlin'.” “I'm pretty when I'm gett- unh, yeah – when I'm getting fucked. Oh, babe, right there!” His hands clasped hard on Sturges shoulders, Preston's guts clenched, the rolling, twitching pleasure in him building to a climax, his ass full and Sturges deep inside him,and his hand felt so, so good, wrapped so tight, and- and- “You gonna come, sugar? You know I like to watch you come for me.” His hips thrust up hard, Preston melting against his hot skin, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Sturges whispered. “You know you're just... so... pretty... when you...” Preston cried out, his orgasm breaking over him, Sturges voice in his ear, warm, white cum spilling across the mechanic's tight, rough hand, and he curled up, knees pressed under Sturges' shoulders. Sturges held him tight, cooing in his ear what a pretty, pretty sight he was, but didn't stop; steady, measure thrusts giving way to hitching, bucking curls of his hips, and Preston's soft, muffled, sounds in his ear, and the sticky, warm wetness of Preston's cum running slowly down onto his dick, and that was it, he slammed up into Preston and came undone, gritting his teeth, eyes closed, holding his breath, letting a little puff of air escape his mouth, holding Preston silently as he filled his ass with cum. He shuddered, and looked at Preston, their eyes meeting, soft and satisfied, still wrapped together. “Dammit, sugar, we don't gotta leave it so long next time.”

[mwelxn]

Last week, ex-Guns N' Roses guitar slinger IZZY STRADLIN' gave PAUL ELLIOTT exclusive details of exactly what went down with his shock departure from the former Most Dangerous Band in The World. In part two this week, Izzy previews his Stones-influenced upcoming debut solo LP 'Ju Ju Hounds', and reveals that yes, he DID almostjoin forces with this week's K!cover stars The Black Crowes!... By Paul Elliott Kerrang! Magazine - Sept. 1992 "...And that goes for all you punks in the press / That want to start shit by printin' lies / Instead of the things we said / That means you, Andy Secherat Hit Parader, Circus magazine, Mick Wall at Kerrang!, Bob Guccione Jr at Spin..." - 'Get In The Ring', Guns N' Roses Although Mick Wall no longer works for Kerrang!, Axl Rose's anger at the publication has not abated. Guns N' Roses' outspoken frontman routinely bitches about Kerrang! when the band play in London, Presumably, the root of the problem was a feature of Wall's on the Rock In Rio festival in which he accused GN'R of aloofness. Kerrang!gave Guns N' Roses their first British magazine cover in 1987, but Rose chooses to remember only one comment from one journalist. And that, it seems, is the bunker mentality behind the Guns N' Roses/Kerrang!/'Get In The Fucking Ring' feud. Former GN'R guitarist Izzy Stradlin' is equally bemused by it all. "I just write songs," he shrugs, grinning. "I honestly don't know what that was about or what was said. Axl was mad at Kerrang!, right? There were so many things that pissed him off..." It's said that Bob Guccione Jr, editor of US rock periodical Spin, was baited by Rose on 'Get In The Ring' simply because Spinprinted the contract which Guns N' Roses attempted to force on all journalists interviewing the band. The contract sought to censor the press. "I didn't even know about this contract," Izzy protests, "so when I heard Axl was mad about it, I was going, 'What?'! "If I were a journalist I'd probably just tell somebody to shove it up their ass too, cos I guess that'd be like somebody telling a musician how to write a song. "I wasn't aware that Mick Wall was one of the guys in that song. The only one I knew about was Guccione. I was sitting back in Indiana watching MTV and I saw that thing about Axl challenging him to go fight, and Bob said, 'Okay'. And I didn't hear anything else about it! "Axl's real critical of himself, and his anger seems to propel him in a lotta ways. That song 'Get In The Ring', I really love a lot of the lyrics just cos they're really aggressive. Axl played guitar on that track as well, that was the first time I saw him play electric guitar, and he did pretty well. I was digging it cos it was good punk energy. But with all the names at the end I was thinking, shit! I wouldn't have slagged people off on my record." - Izzy's Record, his first since quitting Guns N' Roses, is titled 'Ju Ju Hounds' and is as cool a rock 'n' roll record as anyone has made in the last 10 years. Like The Black Crows', Izzy's music is simple, intuitive, soulful. Both he and the Crowes have covered reggae standards, but where the latter play a lot of blues, Izzy's more of a punk. Axl calls 'Ju Ju Hounds' "Izzy's Keith Richards thing", which is as good a description as any. Izzy's LP has the same lazy charm as Keef's 'Talk Is Cheap'. "I read what Axl said," nods Izzy. "I think Keith Richards is great, but I don't think he has any songs that play as fast as 'Pressure Drop' (Izzy's souped-up cover of the Toots and The Maytals classic, also recorded by The Clash). I wish he would - It'd be great to hear him do that. "I called Keith last week; he was in the studio. I'm gonna try and hook up with him in New York sometime. There's a part of me that wants to take a tape of my record along and play it for him, and there's another part that's going, 'Fuck it, I'll just say hi and listen to his record'." Izzy's such a big Stones fan, there's still disbelief in his voice when he speaks of his friendship with Keef and fellow Stone Ron Wood, who guested on 'Ju Ju Hounds'. "We got together with Woody in LA. We did an old song of his called 'Take A Look At The Guy'." - A Stones CD plays as Izzy talks. The album is 'Black And Blue', one of the Stones' most laid back and most underrated works, featuring classic heartbreakers 'Fool To Cry' and 'Memory Motel'. plus the reggae number 'Cherry Oh Baby', covered by UB40. "I got into reggae partly through the Stones," says Izzy. "I guess it just bled over from stuff like 'Black And Blue' - it's killer. The thing I love about reggae is that it's not technical music where things are perfect; it's very freeform, just a groove. You can lay on a beach or a couch and just absorb it It slows down your heartbeat too, those drum beats and the slow pulse of the bass. It's like a tranquilizer. " 'Pressure Drop' is in this great movie called 'The Harder They Come', starring Jimmy Cliff as a ghetto kid who goes big time with guns; he shoots his way to the top. It's really cool. "There's an energy about 'Pressure Drop' that I love, the rock-steady rhythm. It's very loose, but at the same time it gets the point across." - Guesting on 'Pressure Drop' and on 'Can't Hear 'Em' (a reggae number of Stradlin's which features on the 'Pressure Drop' EP released this week, a month before the LP) is reggae star Mikey Dread, who worked with The Clash on their 'Sandinista' LP. Izzy met Mikey through bassist Jimmy 'Two Fingers' Ashhurst. "Jimmy saw Mikey play in Chicago and got hold of him the next morning. It turned out he was in the hotel right across the street from the studio we were using. We were just gonna do one song dub, but we ended up recording four songs with Mikey, for him. Jimmy and I played bass and guitar on them. Mikey did his rap thing on 'Can't Hear 'Em' and I think he sang some backups on 'Pressure Drop'. His guitar player did a reggae rhythm, real quiet, just a plunky, straight-through thing." Was Mikey surprised that a former member of GN'R loves and can play reggae? "I don't know but it was a trip working with those guys. Mikey had worked with The Clash before, so he must've been familiar with our style." So he didn't think that the way you speeded up 'Pressure Drop' was sacrilegious? Izzy smiles, "His first comment was, 'Y'know, man, this was a big hit in England'. I'm supposed to look him up when I get to New York. He's gonna take us to some place to get us some suits made - they do 'em overnight." - The whole of the 'Pressure Drop' EP has a raw feel evocative of Guns N' Roses' debut EP 'Live Like A Suicide'. 'Came Unglued' is as fast and lean as the obscure GN'R tune 'Shadow Of Your Love', while 'Been A Fix' has the hangdog vocals and fuck-off riff of late '70s Stones (it's also reminiscent of Aerosmith's 'I Wanna Know Why'). "Basically, I just wanted to get back to what really gets me off, just a basic rock 'n' roll band, a couple guitars, drums and bass. Simple. "The album's better, I would think, it's more mixed. The EP's just got three slammers on it, and a reggae song. The album's got a couple of acoustic songs, a coupla slammers, some basic rock tunes and one reggae song too. "The title of the LP came by accident in the studio. I was singing a backing track to something, and when I played it back it sounded like I said, 'Ju ju hound'. It doesn't mean much really." - Before Izzy began recording his album and EP, his name was linked with The Black Crowes, who at the time had not announced a replacement for Jeff Cease. So was he offered the gig? "I don't think so," Izzy shrugs. "When I left LA after I split from GN'R, I went on a road trip to New Orleans. From there I called my brother and he told me I'd got a fax from Rich in The Black Crowes. I had no idea their guitar player had split. "I stopped by Rich's home and he said, 'Maybe we should get together and write some songs'. I said, 'Let me take my stuff back to Indiana and get my house in order'. I love The Black Crowes, but because it was immediately after GN'R, I don't think I was ready to make any quick moves. I thought I'd just go and ride trials for a while. "I just wasn't interested in playing guitar at that time. I don't think I touched a guitar for about a month. I was getting off on riding, but, it got cold, Winter came, and I was sitting in a room with a guitar in the corner and it's like, 'C'mon, play me'! Once I started playing again I thought, this is the one thing that seems to make sense. "I started putting a band together in January. I was sitting in Indiana thinking, fuck, man, how do I find musicians? I couldn't just run an ad in the local trade paper. You wanna find somebody you can relate to, and the guys I got are all seasoned, proven. "I hooked up with Jimmy in LA. I'd known him for years, when he was in The Broken Homes. Once we'd got a drummer, Charlie Quintana, we'd recorded these basic tracks, so I asked Jimmy what Rick Richards from the Georgia Satellites was doing. Jimmy told me the Satellites broke up. This is how outta touch I am! "Rick's playing is so natural. I'll just throw out a coupla chords and he'll bounce stuff of it. He knows how to make it work." - Album and EP feature a number of guest musicians, including backing singers the Waters Sisters, who lift the chorus of 'Can't Hear 'Em' in much the same way that the I-Threes sweeten classic Bob Marley tracks like 'Could You Be Loved'. Barbara and Joy Richardson do likewise on The Black Crowes' 'The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion'. "The Water Sisters did 'Knockin' On Heaven's Door' for GN'R. Man, they can sing," Izzy adds with a smile, "but I can't see us going out on tour like that. I think we'll keep it real simple." Izzy's keeping everything simple these days. Guns N' Roses are no longer The Most Dangerous Band In The World, but they'll never be free of the controversy and all that bullshit. Stradlin' is, and he's happier for it. Simply, he's happy just to be back playing rock 'n' roll. It's all he ever wanted to do anyway.