#this truly was our end of the beginning beginning of the end

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

[dgrailwar]

Round 8, Day 1 - ALL TEAMS (but mostly Team Pretender) - [ TRUE NAME DISSOLUTION ]

Team Pretender chooses to trigger the Pretender's True Name Dissolution! Oberon's gameplay style, personality, skills, and perhaps even the current state of the Grail War will cha--

"Ahh… you're sure? This would be a pretty nasty spoiler… I mean, might spoil things in a pretty nasty way."

"Well, if you say so. Let's put up a curtain, just in case anyone wants to remain in this illusion of bliss."

Ah. So you decided to keep reading? Good. I hope you're ready. Because in exchange for visuals, you'll have to live with words.

You watched as the form of 'Oberon' began to decay, his form withering and rotting away into dark, pulpy matter. The process was vile and agonizing, the smell of sloughing sinew and blackening bones filling the forest. The bugs crawled to the disgusting carcass, worming their way in, making nests and feasting greedily as the fairy king dropped to the earth, his body no more than a dark puddle that slowly grew in size, before rising.

Rising, and rising.

A swarm of darkness, rising and rising.

A vile king, an abyssal worm, rising above the digital space.

An empty entity that loathed existence itself. An eternal pit that swallowed worlds.

And as naught but innocent bystanders, the Masters could only watch in horror, for how could they have known this would happen?!

Hah!

Yeah, right. That's horseshit.

Of course they knew what would happen. They just didn't care. Not about the others, or how things would change. That's human nature, you know? Ruin things because it seems interesting at the moment. That's the simple fact of the matter.

They probably looked on proudly. 'We did it!', they would declare, 'We summoned such a mighty and powerful Servant, and none will stand in our way', they probably proclaimed. Or, perhaps even more naively (and perhaps even worse), 'Our friend now has the power to win'! Blegh. Anyways.

Then, as the audience is given a beat to grapple in the horror of the scenario, in a manner of surprising comedic timing they would check their Command Spells… and they would be gone.

'Gone? How could they be gone?', would be the question buzzing in their minds, panic beginning to settle in. Of course, the answer was simple.

That giant abyssal creature did not exist, and yet did exist. A 'hole', only truly meant for a Lost World.

Anyways, do you want a big explanation on how each Servant suffers and dies under the curse, and how the Grail crumbles and withers into itself, reverting to nothing, and how the magical energy suffused by this dark entity breaks free from this digital prison, dooming this world? I mean, I could. Sure.

But why bother? It's basically settled. Here.

What was that thing that Shakespeare had Puck say at the end of that bullshit play?

"If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream."

It's over. You can leave now.

The dream is done.

The Abyssal Wyrm comes and everyone dies. Meaning you've reached a...

I said you can go.

Leave, shoo. Go away.

There's not much past this, so bye.

…Hah! Fine. I lied. I mean, obviously. What a shit ending that would be otherwise. Let's keep it 'sporting', then. This whole farce makes me want to puke, so I need to let out my anger on someone before this ends. Ah- wait, this is narration. No more 'I'. Let's stay detached, lest this become a monologue.

Now, let's settle the matter of where this story stands.

There was the melting, the decay, the ruination of the idea of 'Oberon'. Check.

The insects feasting, nesting, and crowding on his decaying body, a ritual to send his body to the earth, and arise anew. Duh.

The vanishing Command Spells, as you realized that your connection was nothing more than a scam. Of course.

The giant abyssal creature looming over the horizon. Obviously.

That stuff happened. Remember it.

But the Servants didn't die (yet).

The digital space wasn't swallowed by darkness (yet).

All isn't lost (yet).

Those were lies. Though, if I'm the one saying it…

Ah, whatever. Now... how did these sort of things go for the others? Right, right.

Behold, the vile king of the abyss. He who resides wherever 'emptiness' lies. The wrath of the Planet, given form and cursed with eternal loathing and hollow truth. He who only should have existed within the confines of the Lost World, as he has no role within human history. He, made of lies, sheds his farcical shell. He who makes you go 'Oh, we, uh, should have summoned the Archetype of the Planet for this one' with dumb mouths agape!

Behold, the end of worlds and dreams. The one who fells the morning lark. The one who consumes the evening shroud. The one who devours the twilight.

Behold--

The Extra Class of Endless Deceit, Pretender!

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 16/34 - mailbox

[Read on AO3]

Once, when Dana was twelve and already filled with the ferocious independence of a teenager, she tried out for the school play and was cast as the lead role. This, of course, she told absolutely no one.

She was lucky neither of her brothers was at the same school at the time, or her secret wouldn’t have lasted a day. Instead, she claimed to have joined an after-school study group, and simply told her mother to pick her up an hour later, please and thank you.

This went on for about a week, until one night after she’d gone to bed, Maggie went into her room to check on her. Her strong-willed youngest daughter had fallen asleep on top of the open script book, halfway through meticulously highlighting her lines on the page.

The jig was up.

Maggie debated the merits of waking her and dragging the truth out into the open. ‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,’ she might say. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

But then, Dana could never be forced to do something when she wasn’t good and ready to do it. Maggie knew her daughter well enough to know that.

In the end, she left the bedside lamp on, left her daughter untucked on her bed, because even the slightest thing out of place would tip her off—maybe even force a confession out of her. Maggie didn’t want that.

Dana would tell her someday. When she was ready. Until then, she’d continue on as if she were none the wiser, supporting her in whatever way she could from a distance.

She finally came clean the morning of the big play, which was admittedly later than Maggie had expected. Looking back, though, perhaps she should have known. Dana was always a stubborn one. 

“Mom? You know how I said I joined that study group?”

Maggie had acted surprised, but made sure to show her enthusiasm. She had shown up to the play with a bouquet of flowers to give her afterward, hugging and kissing her with all the sincerity and pride a mother ought to have.

Dana had performed brilliantly, and although she decided that acting wasn’t for her, she had at least tried something new. That was a lesson Maggie had always tried to impart on all her children, but it was Dana that seemed to take it to heart, sometimes to the frustration of her parents. 

Strong-willed and independent, that was their Dana. She’d face the unknown, even if it scared her. Only, she’d do it by herself without ever asking for help. That was her way.

Later—years later—she told Maggie that the reason she hadn’t told the truth from the beginning was that she was afraid she wouldn’t be any good, or that people would make fun of her. There’s an inherent insecurity that comes with trying something for the first time, and Dana dealt with that by hiding herself away until she was absolutely certain she could do it. The play was just one example. There were countless others throughout her childhood that she could point to. Even her move from medicine to the FBI was marked by the same pattern.

And now, staring at the mailbox in the lobby of Dana’s apartment building, Maggie gets the distinct impression that she’s in another such situation right now.

She sighs.

‘Dana Scully,’ the mailbox reads. With Fox Mulder’s name tacked on at the bottom.

She’d tried calling first. Really, she had. After the last time, she truly didn’t want to drop by unannounced. But no one had answered, and all she wanted was to bring by an early birthday present before heading out to San Diego for the next month, so here she was.

She’ll have to just mail it. Just like she’d let the highlighter marker dry out, left without a cap on all night long when Dana was twelve, now she would leave her daughter to her secrets, having the faith that she would entrust her with them when the time was right.

There are a number of reasons Fox Mulder could be living at her daughter’s apartment.

Selfishly, Maggie hopes and hopes it’s for the reason she’s always thought it could be, if only her daughter and that partner of hers would finally open their eyes.

-.-.-

“Hi sweetheart. I thought I might stop by, if this afternoon is alright with you. I have your birthday present. I’m leaving to visit Bill and Tara tomorrow, you know, so I just want to make sure you get it. Call me back when you get a chance. Love you!”

The answering machine beeps, and Mulder looks up from his place on the couch to see Scully looking ghostly pale.

“That was from this morning,” she says, worrying her lip between her teeth as she glances out the window at the darkened street outside. “I don’t know why she didn’t call my cell. I hope she didn’t stop by.”

Mulder wonders, sometimes, if this secret keeping thing is worth the anxiety Scully suffers over it. In his opinion, definitely not, but it’s not his decision to make.

“I haven’t seen a gift laying around, so I think we're still in the clear,” he supplies helpfully, hoping that will be enough to appease her for now.

It works, at least a little. She shucks her coat and collapses beside him on the couch, heaving a tired sigh. Working late on a weekend isn’t her favorite perk of the job, Mulder knows, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

Hence his desire to find replacements for them both. Sure, he might have blindsided her with that part of the plan during their interview, but that’s only because he knew she’d have fought him on it if he had brought it up. No matter how many times he tells her he’s okay with stepping back from the X-Files, she still doesn’t fully believe him. Well, what’s new?

“I should probably call her back,” Scully says unenthusiastically, lifting the phone from its cradle. 

While it rings, he reluctantly gets to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for the both of them.

“Hey, Mom. Just returning your call,” he hears her say a moment later. “No, I was at work. We got called in to help with another unit.”

Mulder tosses a bowl of chicken and rice into the microwave, then gets out all the fixings for a salad.

“You didn’t come by, did you?” Scully asks as evenly as possible.

He can’t hear her mother’s response, but he can tell by the softening of Scully’s posture that her answer had been a favorable one.

“Yes, that's fine. If you want, I can drive you to the airport tomorrow. You can just give it to me then… Are you sure? Well, alright. Say hi to Bill for me. Bye, Mom.”

Mulder sets the salad bowl on the kitchen table, watching her worriedly as she hangs up the phone. “All good?” he asks.

Thankfully, his words seem to snap her out of the tense position she'd been sitting in. “Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “She already scheduled a taxi to pick her up in the morning.” 

That wasn't really what he was asking, but he's treading into dangerous territory if he wants to push her much further. Scully makes her way over to the table and takes a seat, still apparently lost in thought.

The clink of plates and silverware being set out fills the silence that falls between them. He really doesn't want to ruin their evening after a long and somewhat stressful day at work, but he can't stand to just sit and watch her worry. Maybe he can try just one more time to get her to see the light.

“Scully,” he starts carefully, absentmindedly trailing his finger through the condensation on his water glass to avoid her stare. “I really think you should tell your mom.”

If the atmosphere had been tense before, that's nothing compared to how it is in the wake of his words.

Immediately, she freezes, her fork poised above a piece of chicken. He goes back to eating solely to have something to do with himself other than stew in the hot waves of anger he feels radiating toward him. He won't look at her. That will only escalate things.

“I thought you were with me on this, Mulder,” she says after a moment, her tone dangerously low.

Yeah. He had been. In the beginning, before they really started this process. 

But now, things had been moving along pretty smoothly, and even Scully had been uncharacteristically optimistic lately. They've met with a birth mother, for goodness sake, passed through meetings with the agency like seasoned professionals!

He'd been a fool to think that would be enough for her to loosen up a little.

“I know it's not my place to say one way or another what you should do,” he says, chancing a look at her and wincing at the hurt look on her face. “But, Scully, how long can we put this off? We'll be parents in a few months, don't you want her to be a part of this process?”

“You don't know that,” she says loudly, her eyes flashing in alarm. “You have no way of knowing that this will work out. Nothing is set in stone.”

Does she not think he'll wait as long as it takes to make this happen? If Krista doesn't work out, they'll just wait for another birth mother to come along. It isn't the end of the world.

“Then, when?” he asks impatiently, pleading for an honest answer from her lips.

Scully's eyes harden. He can see the effort it takes for her to steady her breathing. Her piercing stare causes a sinking sensation in his stomach, and he knows what's about to happen before it does. 

Her jaw tightens, and she gets to her feet, her chair scraping harshly against the floor, all without breaking eye contact.

“Come on, Scully, wait,” he tries, his shoulders slumping. She stalks off without another word, leaving her half finished meal to grow cold on the table.

The door to her room slams shut behind her.

He tosses his fork onto his plate in frustration, the metal clanking sharply against ceramic. Dinner is over, and his appetite is gone anyway. With his elbows perched on the table, he drops his head into his hands.

He's tried to see this from her perspective, but it's hard to be the driving force of optimism between the two of them all the time. He just wishes she could let herself believe, not only when they get good news, but all the time. There's so much happiness waiting for her if only she'd open her mind a little. He’s waiting for her.

He pushes his chair back, grabbing her plate and glass of water and trudging toward her bedroom door.

“Scully?” he says softly, tapping lightly on the door with the glass. His forehead comes up to rest against the door frame, and he listens carefully for any sign of her. 

Nothing. 

“Scully, I'm sorry,” he tries. “I didn't mean to upset you, I just—” The right words feel just out of reach, and so does she. He closes his eyes, shaking his head regretfully. “I just hate seeing you so anxious. I want to help, but…”

He trails off. Sighing, he sets the plate on the ground outside her door, the glass standing beside it. Half full, he notes.

“I'll leave your dinner out here, for when you’re ready,” he says, loud enough that he knows she can hear. Then, “I'm sorry.” 

That's the last time he ever brings it up.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[spnfanficpond]

April 2024 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Nominated by @charliethealpaccaso

Contentment Is A Pearl Of Great Price by ravelqueen (AO3)

This fic captures everything that makes transformation scary but fascinating to read from start to finish. The mental change later on during the fic, Sam has to deal with as the new part of him takes over. It leaves you on the edge of your seat as we have no idea if he will ever be human again or if he will lose himself and his humanity forever. I wish more people would try their hands at more transformation fics, as there are many interesting topics to choose from when creating a fic like this one.

~*~*~

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

God Save The Queen, And Her Handmaids by darali_starscream (AO3)

I have attempted to think up a scenario in which Charlie Bradbury might sit on Dean Winchester's face to no avail. This isn't what you think, I promise—there is no universe in which I'd be OK with a true Charlie/Dean pairing, but this works and it works well. BJ riffs on the spectrum of attraction and sexuality here. The pairing in Charlie and her girlfriend who is bisexual x Dean, and it's a very satisfying little story.

Sleeping Arrangements by @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis

This is very cute and even sexy without being smutty.

~*~*~

Nominated by @zepskies

The Dangers of Hope by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

I had never read an "Endverse!Dean Winchester" series before, but this one completely blew me away -- from world-building to the overarching story to the romance itself. Beginning to end, it's beautifully written.

~*~*~

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

Living His Gray Flannel Life by @samanddean76

Warnings to start - As there is prostitution in this one, noncon must be mentioned. Also, this is a Wincest fic, so, you know, incest. That being said, this story is told from Jimmy's POV, so the Wincest of it all is less Wincesty. Which is right up my alley, man! This is the perfect amount of Wincest combined with outsider POV, where the outsider loves what he's seeing as much as we do. I can't say more for spoilery reasons, but know that there is delicious pining, sweet smutty smut, a fascinating monster, and fantastic side characters. I read it twice just because once wasn't enough!!

~*~*~

Nominated by @salt-n-burn-em-all

House Song by @accordingtothelore

Dean protects Sam from being killed by other Hunters and their dad. Starts Gen, does not stay that way. I just loved everything about it. Fabulous art in the last chapter.

~*~*~

Nominated by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

What happens in ApocalypseWorld… by masoena (AO3)

This is such an interesting aspect that I’ve never read for a/b/o. **SPOILERS** The moment Dean and Arthur step through the portal everything changes and the world heavily influences their biology. I loved how, of course, Ketch knew exactly what was happening, which really makes me wonder about wtf Ketch has been through. I really wanna know more about that dynamic change and I hope they really do write more. This is also one of the few stories I get to read a soft!Ketch. I love, love soft!Ketch. Gotta check them out.

Second Chances by @mayalaen

First, I am not a fan of incest. Second, I was really surprised how much I enjoyed this because it isn’t tagged. Finally, I love poly fics. It’s so hard to find a poly fic that isn’t just PWP/smut. I really enjoy how the premise is getting Sam to relax and teach him how to handle his health while managing school work in a healthy way. I really like how the relationship between Cas and Sam is setup, Dean gets introduced, and then all hell breaks loose in the different relationship dynamics. The thing is there isn’t an emphasis on their brotherhood and sex. This is NOT a wincest smut story. It’s a story about Sam learning how to be a healthy adult while finishing college and finds a place where he is wanted and feels like he belongs. I also absolutely love the dom/sub and domestic discipline aspects of Cas and Dean’s relationship. It’s really a background aspect until it isn’t. I highly recommend the read even if you aren’t a wincest or wincestiel fan. The plot is written and integrated so well with the character development for all three main characters. It really took me by surprise. I couldn’t put it down.

(Divider by @glygriffe)

THANK YOU ALL, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

- From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, and @heavenssexiestangel!

[mettywiththenotes]

THE BEGINNING AND THE END

THE END AND THE BEGINNING

WHEN THEY MET AND HOW THEY ARE NOW

FROM HOW THEY STARTED OUT TO THEIR CURRENT DEVELOPMENTS

THE FACT THAT THESE MEMORIES ARE PAIRED TOGETHER, WITH IZUKU IN TOMURA'S POV AND TOMURA IN IZUKU'S POV, WITH HOW THEY SAW EACH OTHER

I'M GONNA THROW UP (POSITIVE)

[gogandmagog]

“A love story with a psychological interest … a rather doubtful experiment with a public who expects a certain style from an author."

— Lucy Maud Montgomery, the Selected Journals of, on the subject of 'Kilmeny of the Orchard'

[leapingthroughworlds]

i'll never get over just how much we keep on cloning the same very tropes within potters and malfoys/blacks ships like,,,,,, it started off with drarry, then came scorbus, and now jegulus is all over

no shame tho, truly hilarious if you ask me

[thedeadthree]

IOVANNA DAYNE, hotd 🔮 | CALLA TARGARYEN, hotd 🌞

OLGA LITVINCHUCK, tlou⚕️| IRYNA PASTERNAK, tlou 💀

MARTA CHAYKOVSKI, fhr 🕸 | UNA ULLER, hotd 🐍

IRINA RURIK, vtm 🥀 | NYNANE SELWYN, vtm 🩸

TAGGED BY the darlings @morvaris, @leviiackrman, @detectivelokis, @corvosattano, @confidentandgood, @shadowglens, @nightbloodraelle to make the dears in this picrew! ty so much! <3

TAGGING: @risingsh0t, @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @kingsroad, @jendoe, @phillipsgraves, @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @denerims, @marivenah, @florbelles, @arklay, @unholymilf, @adelaidedrubman, @aartyom, @roofgeese, @nuclearstorms, @noonfaerie, @shellibisshe, @girlbosselrond, @fragilestorm, @yennas, @leondaltons, @malefiicarum, @anoras, @minaharkers, @loriane-elmuerto, @jacobseed and you!

[scereplop]

losing my creation

It feels so uncanny that just a few hours ago I was writing like a dam had opened inside me and the words of ages before my time flowed out in incessant cascades upon the page. A whole world had been made known to me and I was forced to let go of it too soon and I will never get to lay eyes on the map that was so graciously revealed to me ever again. I've never been separated from a piece of my writing so permanently before and I despise this feeling. I think I left a part of me on that paper and now I desperately scramble to fill the hole it left I can only reconstruct the vague shape of it from a fading memory. It feels so misshapen. It feels so forced. It feels like I am only drawing the gap larger the more I scratch at the wound.

How do I relive it? How do I experience that inexplicable experience again? I want to try but the fear of failure holds me back.

I do not want to believe that I have lost my child before I had the chance to get to know it. Why won't the necromancers tell me their secrets?

[aroacehanzawa]

The Half Life of Valery K by Natasha Pulley would be so good if it was good

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 15/34 - nature/nurture

[Read on AO3]

Krista is a lovely young woman. In her second year at Georgetown, with plans to get a Master's and a PhD after her undergraduate studies, having a child really isn't in the cards right now, nor would she be able to financially sustain the situation in a few years time. 

It turns out, the previous couple she'd selected ended up getting pregnant themselves and had to back out, which was just an added stressor for Krista who was trying to focus on her studies, knowing finals season would be approaching sooner than later.

Mulder and Scully are more than willing to step in, and by all accounts, their meeting with her went… well.

Really well, honestly.

Scully had bonded with her over their shared Alma Mater, and even happened to have taken the same introductory physics class as her with an ancient professor who is somehow still teaching after all these years.

Mulder, on the other hand, shares her interest in sports. It seems Krista had been quite the track and field athlete in her high school years, and also won State as the pitcher for her varsity softball team her senior year. 

They left the meeting feeling beyond hopeful, something they were unaccustomed to but were slowly beginning to come to terms with, finally.

“I think she really liked us, Scully!” Mulder says, glancing at her excitedly from the driver's seat of the car on their way home. “Can you imagine? If this works out, in less than six months, we'll be parents!”

“It's a scary thought, isn't it?” Scully asks, unable to suppress her own smile.

Scary, and about a million other things, Mulder thinks.

“The good kind of scary,” he says decidedly, and he delights when she nods in agreement, setting aside her skepticism for a moment.

“Yes.”

The drive back to their apartment goes quickly. The place near campus where they'd met up for lunch isn't far from her building at all, and if it had been a little warmer out, they might have even walked. Mulder puts the car in park and circles the vehicle, holding out his hand for Scully after she closes the passenger door, and her hand slides easily into his.

This is something they do now—holding hands. At some point in this process, the occasional gesture of comfort had turned to a casual, almost everyday thing, and Mulder isn't going to complain.

Maybe it was the need to keep up appearances as a married couple that made them do it. After all, in certain areas of their lives now, it's expected. With the adoption agency, with the birth mother… Their relationship, while close, is not one that fits into the mold of the wider public. It's easier to express it in this way for the benefit of others, rather than their usual way of showing affection.

On the other hand, maybe something between them really had shifted. He wouldn't soon forget how Scully had leaned on him, both literally and figuratively, after Pfaster. A year ago, he's not sure she would have trusted him like that, and in hindsight, she was right not to. He hadn't yet earned her trust back, and he'd regret ever breaking it in the first place for the rest of his life.

But she trusts him now. She lets him hold her and care for her and believe in her—believe for her—like he's always tried to do.

He will always consider standing by her side to be one of his greatest accomplishments in life. More than anything he has gained from his time on the X-Files, he has gained a friend. Someone who truly understands him.

He doesn't know what he could have done to deserve her. 

Maybe he will always battle these feelings of unworthiness, thinking he could never be enough for her, but it's far too late for him to let go now. Losing her would end him. It's why he had been hesitant to accept her proposal to try IVF in the first place. Every curveball life throws at him is just another thing that could potentially rip their relationship apart. He tries his best to keep those “surprises” to a minimum, but every so often, the opportunity presented is too good to pass up.

Sometimes, he has found, it's worth the risk.

He hopes it will be, in this case. They're so close to achieving what she—they— have longed for for so long, but there's still room for error.

The best he can do is keep moving forward. Stay the course, and pray for fair seas up ahead.

He thinks her father might appreciate his sailing analogy, but then again, he probably would have hated him regardless of his use of sea-based figurative language.

In the hallway, an older woman smiles at the two of them, and Mulder forces a polite smile back at her. He knows what her neighbors must think. They've seen him around for years, and he's even met a few of them in passing. But now he lives here, and his name is even on her mailbox next to hers. There's not much he could say to dissuade their gossiping at this point.

Scully opens the door, turning on a few lights as they shed their coats and put them away. The adrenaline that had fueled them before in what was possibly the most important meeting of their lives has left them exhausted, and he happily follows Scully toward the couch in the living room.

A lazy day is just what they need. Things are out of their hands now. After weeks—months —of preparation, they have done all they can. Now, all there is to do is wait.

It's almost routine, at this point, when they share a couch. Scully curls up under a blanket, her head against a throw pillow, while Mulder fishes the TV remote out of whatever crevice he inevitably left it in last time. He has to move her feet a little to sit down, but as soon as he's situated, he lets her rest them up against his leg.

She's somehow always freezing, but he doesn't mind.

He sets a Knicks game on the screen at a low volume and leans back, his head lolling against the backrest.

There’s something about staring at the swirling patterns on the ceiling that lends itself to deep contemplation. The muffled sound of the TV does too, but maybe that's just a him thing. He closes his eyes, thinking through the day's events. Thinking of the future.

“I feel for anyone in her position,” he says, the thought escaping him and breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen. He can sense Scully is still awake though, so he continues. “It can't be easy to give up your own child, especially when the circumstances are out of your hands. But, in this case…” 

He's thought of this a lot, lately. About how one person's misfortune may well be another’s salvation. It's a hard dichotomy to grasp.

“Well, it's a good thing for us, anyway,” he finishes, placing a hand over Scully's ankle. “We might actually get a chance to do this.”

“I hope so,” she murmurs into her pillow.

He opens his eyes, glancing down at her in her restful state.

“We will. I have a good feeling,” he says with all the confidence he can muster. It feels odd, this hope, but it's as real and true to him as the love he carries for his partner. “Wow, it's been a while since I've said those words.”

She breathes out an amused chuckle, curling further into the cushions before she responds.

“For once, I'm inclined to believe you.”

His lips curl in a smile and he playfully tickles her foot. 

“I've never been so happy to hear you say that, Scully.”

He knows he should let her sleep, but there are just too many thoughts running through his head that he can't restrain himself. There's a whole world of possibilities about to open up for them. It's exciting and terrifying all at once, and she knows he’s a compulsive talker in those kinds of situations.

He's thankful that she hasn't grown tired of him already and moved to her bedroom to take a nap instead. If they were really husband and wife, that wouldn't stop him. He'd still be able to talk her ear off all night long if he wanted, or until she kicked him out on the couch.

“I can tell you want to say something,” Scully says knowingly, smirking up at him out the corner of her eye.

She knows him so well.

“You think I could coach little league?” he asks, speaking his thoughts aloud. “I mean, I know the kid’s still like the size of a banana, but in a few years’ time—”

“I think that's a great idea.” She turns slightly, adjusting her position so she can see his face properly, and the ridiculousness of his own question causes his cheeks to redden. But Scully takes him seriously. She always does. That's what makes her different from everybody else.

“We have a lot in common with her, you know,” he says, his fingertips massaging unconsciously into her lower calves. “With Krista. Brainy and athletic, all rolled into one. It'll be like having our own little über Mulder-Scully.”

“Don't make me start a nature versus nurture argument with you,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I'm a psychologist, Scully. I could make a pretty strong case either way.”

She smiles, shaking her head in what he likes to think can be called fond annoyance. They fall silent, eyes locked in a gaze so heavy that he starts to feel a little drunk. The way she mesmerizes him might be worthy of opening an X-File someday. Just to investigate.

“We might have just met our baby, Mulder. Isn't that crazy?” she says, shifting the conversation suddenly in a more serious direction. There's awe in her voice, and he feels it too. “To have been within five feet of this person we'll know and love for the rest of our lives?”

It isn't like Scully to be so optimistic. She's always lived her life believing that to speak your deepest desires aloud is to make yourself vulnerable. Part of him is surprised that she's not being more cautious now with getting her hopes up, but seeing her this way?

He likes it. He likes it a lot.

Maybe he's finally rubbing off on her.

Her arm pops out of her blanket and she reaches for him, drawn to him like a magnet. He happily entwines his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand.

“I can't wait, Scully.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[bloodthrrsty]

          LEAGUE HUNTER,  CECIL  KROWLE.  a  soulsborne  original  character,  covering  themes  of  gore,  horror  of  varying  kinds  and  degrees,  nightmares,  trauma,  and  self  loathing.  PLEASE  READ  MY  RULES  BEFORE  YOU  INTERACT  WITH  THE  MUSE.  some  content  here  will  be  triggering.  it  goes  without  saying  minors  that  follow  me  will  be  blocked  on  sight.      muse  and  any  personal  art  here  are  made  by  bun  or  RHYS.

CAARD( WIP )

ABOUT  THE  MUN:  I  am  Rhys.  They  /  Them pronouns  please.  I  am  an  artist,  and  i  struggle  with  anxiety  and  other  illnesses.  I  also  work  when  I  can.  So  i  tend  to  be  pretty  slow.I  am  well  over  18  years  old.I  ask  that  any  art  I  make  not  be  reposted,  reused,  or  altered.

NO  MINORS  ALLOWED:  My  blog  is  going  to  have  adult  themes.  Not  just  nsfw,  but  also  in  the  existential,  horror,  gore,  and  various  forms  of  abuse  mentions  and  trauma.  So  please.  I  ask  that  minors  do  not  follow  me.

THEMES  adult  18+  content,  abuse,  murder,  torture,  death,  existentialism,  body  horror,  cosmic  horror,  classic  horror,  psychological  horror,  mentions  of  suicide  and  death,  snakes. each  will  100%  be  tagged  accordingly.  if  i  ever  need  to  tag  something  particular,  please  feel  free  to  ask  me  about  it.

SELECTIVITY:  i  am  mutuals  only  in  regards  to  threads,  and  require  plotting  to  write  anything  at  length.  however,  i  do  accept  asks  from  anyone  and  everyone  that  wishes  to  send  them  in. This  is  for  my  own  comfort.  Do  not  get  impatient  with  me  or  push  me.

[pepprs]

i don’t know how to explain that since march 2020 with each new horrible thing happening in the world i shrink further and further into myself and away from connection and hope

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[evilmario666]

"Ayo Mr. White! I just heard this phrase; The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas. You're smart 'n shit, do you have any idea what that means, bitch?"

"Jesse, we - fine. I might as well explain, we're done cooking for Gus for today. You heard a line by the famous German author Hermann Hesse; specifically, from his 1919 novel 'Demian'."

"Demian? I thought that was just the name of that gay little bitch from the gacha game Skinny Pete likes."

"Jesse, you imbecile. You went through all your big years of high school and you never once listened to a Hesse lecture?"

"Demian follows the story of Emil Sinclair, a boy in Germany who slowly finds himself falling into the 'world of evil'. It all begins when another boy of his school, Franz Kromer, tempts him into keeping money from his family. An older boy, Max Demian, takes up for young Sinclair and drives Kromer away.

Years go by, and Sinclair, who grew up Christian, finds himself filled with desires he finds sinful; he blames Demian for this, and he hates himself, too. How could he have fallen into this world of evil, after all? All he wanted to do was thrive, why was that so hard?

As it turns out, he just needed to break free and accept himself for who he was. He needed to thrive to the beat of his own heart and live for himself, not for any god nor for his father or mother.

In the end, Sinclair and Demian reunite, and Demian departs as they enter war with a kiss. He disappears, yet Sinclair sees features of his friend and guide in himself in the mirror.

The novel has themes of Jungian and Freudian psychology, Catholic guilt, and self-liberation.

There, was that satisfactory? Or were you dozing off and not applying yourself, just like in class?"

"Damn, bitch. That's a lot to take in. I guess I'm a bit of an Emil Sinclair myself, Mr. White."

"In the end, Jesse, we must listen to our own hearts. We can't truly sort most things into 'good' and 'evil'.

And... I don't want anyone else to domineer over you."

[ghostfacd]

YES I KNOW THAT HE’S MY EX! | TOM BLYTH

pairing. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

summary. you knew tom was your ex, and that you should probably stay away, but that’s never stopped you before

part 1 | installment of this au (please read for more context!)

ynuser :)

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user1 im loving the aesthetic

user2 THE BIKINI TOP IS SO CUTE

user3 put them toes awayyyy

rachelzegler i pay attention to things that most people ignore (this isn’t your car.)

➥ user4 PLEASE?? not rachel using yn’s own lyrics on her

➥ user5 IS THIS TOM’S CAR??

user6 i may be delulu but those r tom blyth’s mfing hands.

user7 he has her hair tie on; i repeat, tom blyth literally has yn’s hair tie on

When Tom had messaged you saying he wanted to talk, no matter how much you knew it was a bad idea, you decided to agree to it anyway.

The breakup had ended pretty badly. Although it was an agreement between you and Tom, that didn’t mean that’s what the both of you truly wanted.

The reason the two of you broke up in the first place was that Tom was talking too much about your future, which wasn’t a bad thing — but it overwhelmed you. You weren’t ready to settle down, not yet, at least. You and Tom had only been dating for a few months, and although it was all sweet and loving, you knew that getting engaged this early was like asking for a disaster to strike.

He was upset. Clearly. He loved you, you loved him, so why was it such an inconvenience for you to agree to take the leap in your relationship? That caused a blown out argument between you two, and by the end of it, you had agreed breaking up was the right thing.

You had a acting and music career to focus on, and Tom had an acting career that was just at the beginning of its success. You felt that it wasn’t right to put a distraction into his life.

“Is this a bad idea?” You ask breathlessly as you pull away from the kiss. You can’t help but stare into Tom’s eyes, which held a language of their own.

“Maybe,” he says, wiping the corner of your mouth. “But who cares?”

Who cares. Right. Well surely, it was a bad idea to meet up with your ex, much less kiss him, and although alarms were baring in your head that you probably shouldn’t—you go in for a second kiss, this time, Tom doesn’t let you go, cradling you close to his body.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to take the next step in our relationship, I’m fine if you’re not ready yet. I just want you, okay?”

And how could any girl possibly reject Tom Blyth when he’s begging so prettily? Certainly not you.

tomblyth and ynuser both posted an instagram story !

ynsbiggestfan THE GIRLS AND I AFTER SEEING THE STORIES ON INSTA

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user8 IM ACTUALLY DYING BC NO WAY WAS THAT A COINCIDENCE

user9 they’re connected they cant be far away from each other

user10 she’s my Heather 💔💔

➥ user12 fr i wish tom was that inlove w me

user13 so this is why rachel said that wasn’t yn’s car

➥ user14 ITS ALL MAKING SENSE NOW

sean.kauf photo dumpy

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ynuser pic creds ?? 🤬

➥ sean.kauf 🤓🤓

user15 wait im confused, is she together with tom again or is she with sean..

user16 Ykw i cant even be mad, if i was as hot as yn, i’d have two bfs too!

➥ user17 REAL SHIIT

tomblyth fun fact: the 2nd pic is sean third wheeling after forcing me and yn to speak to each other

➥ user17 TOM CONFIRMED IT IM DEAD

user18 all the yn haters must feel stupid asf rn after accusing yn of being with sean

➥ user19 literally cause all 3 of them are literally close 😭😭 like why would sean date yn, he’s literally friends with tom

user20 if yn isn’t dating sean let me have him omg

ynuser yes i know that he’s my ex but can’t two people reconnect !!!!!

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user21 this took the cake.

user22 time to cry again bc tom blyth is off the market

user23 she got him wrapped around her finger FR

user24 THE THIRD PIC OF THEM 🥹🥹

user25 THE CAPTION OUUU GIRLY IS BRAVE

tomblyth i only see you as a friend (the biggest lie i’ve ever said)

➥ user26 I CHOKED

➥ user27 THEIR SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGERS ARE CRYING RN