#yellow lighting is my new nemesis

[ofnailbatsandaxefives]

In the source link you will find #102 gifs of Toby Wallace in St. Elmo (2016) Toby is 27 but was 21 at the time of the short film. He is white (British-Australian  of English, Scottish, and possible Dutch descent) . Do not use in gif hunts or make icons. Remember to please like and reblog if you decide to use.

[finniestoncrane]

Okay hear me out: new goon/right hand interview, with AK Scarecrow. I read your chapter two of "Your One True Nemesis" (a superb story btw) and couldn't help but get curious about how you would portray the interview process with Crane instead of Edward (he's living in my head rent free, I'm so sorry ;_;)

But please don't feel pressured - if you don't feel like it, you absolutely don't have to write it. Your well-being comes first! ^///^🧡🧡

Competency Based

Arkham!Scarecrow x GN!Reader, word count: 2.1k losing my mind a little bit over this 💀 i'm so sorry this is longer than expected lmao but i just... where i knew i would be angry at eddie and his fast-paced bullshit, i knew it'd be a slow, psychological torture with a calm and collected jonathan. also i named it after my nightmare, competency based interviews, because they are what i fear the most. seemed appropriate 🧡🎃 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: interrogation vibes, threats, weird flirting from an old man, discussion of phobias/fears, smoking, sorry there's no smut but i find this intensely fucking erotic so warning for that i guess

A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flooded the beige room with a dim and sickening yellow light. It would have perhaps felt sterile, clinical, at one point, before the pervading scent of black mould, the source of which outlined the cracked tiles on the floor. Walls which were stained with almost artistic formations of dripping, torn wallpaper so precisely reminiscent of some forgotten, horror B-movie that it might well have been staged. The desk, chipped on the edges, the plastic veneer giving way to the rotting chipboard underneath, scratched and etched on top, sticky underneath. One chair, empty. Metal, rusted at the joints, the screws threatening to turn to dust with a single touch, the other chair, in a similar condition of disrepair and notably uneven on the floor, occupied by you.

And there you sat, nervously twiddling your thumbs, sweat forming on your palms, a metallic taste plaguing your tongue as your heart refused to calm down, to stop thumping in your ears to allow you at least the safety of being able to hear him coming. You were nervous though, and noticeably so. Despite the week you had spent preparing, staring at images of Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, from newspaper clippings, screenshots from the news, on the websites, pro and against his particular brand of psychology based morals and ethics. Yet you knew, deep down, nothing could prepare you for sitting across from him, staring at him.

There was nowhere else to turn. Bridges were burned. Doors were closed. And Scarecrow’s power, his gauntlet encased grip on Gotham growing tighter every day. You needed this job. Better the devil you know, and everyone knew Scarecrow.

So deep in thought were you, that you hadn’t heard the door open, and you’d mistaken the subtle creak of the leg brace he wore for the movements of your own chair under your uneasy jittering. The buzzing of the light covered his breath, the drip, unplaceable, covered his steps, and not until he was passing your peripheral vision like a nightmare on the edges of your reality were you fully able to comprehend that he existed, in reality, your reality, in an enclosed and possibly inescapable room.

Without speaking to you, Jonathan sat in the chair opposite, the legs scraping along the tiles, your blood chilling in your veins at the sound. Clearly, and without even realising it, you had made a face, disgust or distaste, perhaps discomfort, at the noise. When you opened your eyes, having plunged yourself into darkness to satisfy the need to expunge the curdling sensation from your body, you caught Jonathan’s eyes. As you opened your mouth, willing an apology out, he spoke first.

“My apologies.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, trying to suppress the shuddering exhale.

Impress him. Without letting him know how much you need this, how much it means to you. You are strong-willed. Brave. Stoic in the face of stress and even fear. You are perfect for him.

Your affirmations calmed you down, but only slightly, and only for a few moments before Crane spoke again.

“Thank you for attending. Your interest in the position, in any position, is greatly valued. I’m familiar with your previous work. It’s… a pleasure… to have you here.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t necessarily surprising that he would be aware of you, of your notoriety. You’d worked for them all, a valuable asset, trustworthy and skilled at what you did. Realistically, it was only a matter of time until your paths crossed. And still, you felt a flutter in your stomach, recognition from Jonathan Crane himself flushing your cheeks a, hopefully, dull pink.

Reaching across the table to initiate the introductions formally, you offered your hand. Your right hand. Only noticing this first mistake, likely to be the first of many, as he flexed his own right hand, the needles on the edge of the gauntlet twitching as the almost luminous orange liquid was jostled around in the vials.

“Perhaps we can leave the formalities for now.”

Offering a weak, polite smile, you put your hands in your lap under the table, nervously wringing them, hoping the motion wasn’t visible in your upper arms. You paused to wonder why he had chosen to wear the gauntlet to the interview, but he interrupted your internal panic.

“Why are you scared?”

“W-why am I… now?”

He nodded, silently, drumming his fingers on the table, the threat of the unholy screech of metal against metal as the needles, rusted and overused, traced over it, light enough that they remained as silent as Jonathan did.

“I’m… b-be… it’s…”

Raising his left hand, holding his palm flat to you, he mercifully let you stop stammering for the right words.

“Please. I only ask because in your time, you’ve come across larger men. Stronger men. Men with tempers far less balanced as mine. Sionis, Dent, Nigma. Each of them with something more dangerous than I have. But…”

He spread his hands apart, displaying himself, open to you.

“…here we are. Shall we get to know each other better?”

“I already know you pretty well.”

“Quite. And while I know of you, I don’t know what’s inside. What lies within you. What could be stirring within the mind of someone so strong, strong enough to associate with men like me, but not strong enough to answer a simple question.”

As you looked at him, eyebrow raising as though pulled by a string attached to his own sense of curiosity, he asked you again.

“Why are you scared?”

Swallowing your fear, suppressing it, the need for protection and stability in employment usurping it’s position at the forefront of your mind, you took a breath and licked at your lips, noticing that Crane leaned in lightly as your tongue flitted out and quickly back in.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. But that doesn’t answer the question.”

“Maybe you exude fear. Maybe you’re surrounded by a cloud of toxin, enough to have anyone in a state of lingering, but barely effective, terror.”

“An interesting theory, but not the right answer.”

“You can’t know that.”

You jumped at the sound of his leg brace creaking, a squeak and a loud crack from the hinge.

“Not if you don’t tell me the truth. I can’t really know anything in that event.”

“I need this. Fear born of necessity. Dread that I might make a mistake.”

The corners of his mouth, albeit stitched together and crooked, turned up into a slight smile.

“I like that answer.”

“I’m glad.”

“It serves its purpose, to an extent. Feeds the ego. Unfortunately for you, it is the id that I am intent on reaching, of digging my fingers into. Should you let me, of course.”

“And if I don’t?”

Jonathan’s clouded eyes focused on yours, his dulled pupils seeming to sharpen as he honed in on you, a glint of something beyond them that you couldn’t quite place, or didn’t have the confidence to admit to.

“What else frightens you?”

“Like… in general?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, boot clad foot tapping in the air.

“Heights, failure, the dark. Nothing… nothing abnormal.”

He shook his head and you laughed a little at the way he seemed to disapprove of your answer.

“Honestly! Nothing really scares me all that much.”

“Lies.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“I… what? No, of course not. But… around the toxin… it’s ok?”

He struck a match, holding it against the slightly crushed cigarette he now held to his mangled lips.

“Maybe… it’s more exciting that way though, don’t you think?”

“And you need my permission?”

He leaned into the table, elbows hard against the surface, and exhaled, a plume of acrid smoke floating towards you, clouding your own vision as you imagined his was.

“It’s only polite.”

You watched him, the way he held the cigarette between his slender fingers, chipped nails stained yellow, knuckles darker, calloused. You studied them so thoroughly you could almost feel them on you. Grazing over your neck, romantic, dangerous. Implied eroticism through the sheer terror of him. Clearing your throat, you refocused just as he resumed his questioning.

“Have you ever felt the effects of my toxin?”

“Never.”

“Would you like to?”

“Out of curiosity… probably yes.”

Crane smiled, blowing the remaining smoke upwards, his cigarette all but a stub.

“Your preferred method?”

“There’s choices?”

Jonathan stood up, suddenly but not quickly, a small movement of his knee to loosen it before he walked to the wall, putting the cigarette out against it and letting it fall to the floor, beginning to walk towards you languidly, until he was behind you, pacing back and forth, a surround sound effect as the heavy steps of his boots echoed around you.

“There’s always a choice.”

He spoke from behind you, but you remained still in your seat, staring forward at the wall, focusing your attention on the burn mark on the wall, your eyes boring the hole further into the wood beyond the charred paper.

“What would yours be?”

“I…”

You had no idea how to respond. There was every chance that your selection was going to lead to a violent nightmare within the four disgusting walls of the room you were in, those same walls seeming to get closer to you, creeping inwards, threatening to swallow you. But you couldn’t stay quiet.

“What would you recommend, Doctor Crane.”

“You’re asking for a prescription?”

“I’m asking for your valued opinion.”

He laughed, a sweet sound, almost. Higher in tone that his speaking voice, warm in a way that made you feel safer, reassured. An effective placating tool.

“Well, there’s the gas. A traditional method, if not slightly more ominous given the connotations. But that’s not always a bad thing.”

The boots, heavy on the ground, seemed to scuff more the longer he paced, only on his left leg though, as though it were growing more and more difficult to keep up with the movement. But you doubted he was the kind of man who would be willing to accept his constraints.

“Dust, pills, tabs, all previous transgressions I have experimented with, which I would be happy to synthesise again if you so choose.”

Considering the implications, you could feel the sweat forming on your palms again, your brow hot, cheeks flushed, chest heaving as your heart beat rapidly within the walls of your ribcage.

“But, for me, I’ve found the most effective method is my preferred in fact. The one I would recommend…”

Standing directly behind you, a position you could feel, instincts buried within your primordial brain causing the hairs on your neck and arms to rise, he leaned in, body against the chair you sat in. As the metal of his brace scraped against the leg of the chair, your breath hitched when you felt the almost imperceptible cold tingling of metal against your skin.

Out the corner of your eye, you could make out his arm, the gauntlet, orange, black, browns, flesh, the scent of oiled metal and leather, the pressure of the tips of the needles against you. Becoming still, solid, though your breath quivered as it escaped you in hushed, slow exhales.

“…it’ll always be the needles. Intravenous, muscular. My toxin coursing through your body, bringing forth what you’re truly afraid of.”

Leaning in further, the needles creating light scratches on your skin, but not far enough into the flesh to cause any immediate effects, he whispered into your ear.

“Why are you scared?”

As your eyes began to water from the stillness with which you held your body, you urged your mouth open, letting the words fall out clumsily, but honestly.

“I’m not.”

A soft, crackling laugh hit your ear along with the heat of his breath. As quick as he had appeared by your side, he was gone, the threat of the needles removed from your person, and you slouched in your chair momentarily before straightening up and clasping your hands on the table top.

Jonathan made his way back around the table, sitting back down in the chair, stretching his left hand out onto the table.

Smiling at the gesture, almost an inside joke between the two of you, you took it in yours. Warm, dry, his grip pleasant and civil until you felt his fingers tense around you.

“You will be though.”

Tighter, until you felt a dull pain begin to throb in your knuckles as they pressed into each other.

“After all, that’s the business I’m in. That we are in.”

[yet-another-heathen]

Unrest - VI

1,183 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, worlds that are as vivid and alive as the characters, and the agonizing loss being dragged away from home into a life you never asked for.

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Content Warning | epic worldbuilding, multi-character argument, discussion of murder, generational trauma, decision to enslave a captive, xenophobia (this is a very light one)

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen

“That isn’t what I would call ‘powerless’, Al-Mantaqi,” the Quartermaster interrupted, “Sick or no, hurt or no, there is no mistaking what the dirtblood’s voice means. I have already broken up two fights in the last hour, and tensions are only getting worse. It cannot stay here.”

Ifyaa shifted uncomfortably, irritation written all over his face, “Just what do you propose we do with it? Dump it back into the desert and leave it to die in the wastes?” His eyes narrowed. “Or would you rather an execution so the crew can watch? That would be sure to settle their nerves."

The tip of Adrsiae’s blade ground softly into the wooden table as the twisted the hilt the other direction, so deep in thought that she didn’t seem to realize the damage she was doing to her prized desk.

Hidhialial held Ifyaa’s gaze, and then sighed. He readjusted the swords at his belt and wiped a hand down his face. 

With a small gesture of soreness, he pulled out another chair and settled stiffly into it. For once, he looked tired enough to show his age. “You know that isn’t what I want.”

A long moment of unbroken silence passed around the table.

The Captain spoke for the first time since they had entered her cabin, “Keeping a Son of Solomon aboard ship paints a target on our back that our entire world will turn its eyes to." She looked up at Hidhialial. “Including some powers that we would rather not have looking.”

"It's too late to keep the news contained. Everyone aboard already knows what we've found." Ifyaa pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish we'd learned about it before exposing the whole crew. All hope of keeping this quiet just died between our teeth."

"There's nothing to be done for it now," Hidhialial said quietly. "If news gets to the cities, we'll have sentinels breathing down our backs within a fortnight. And if news gets to other ships? Well. The Oryx is fast, but a sparrow can only outrun a hawk for so long."

Adrsiae's voice was hard, "Killing it may be our only real option."

Hid sighed, closing his eyes. "No. I don't think it is. Not unless we want to be drowning in worse nightmares in another few decades."

"What do you mean?"

A look passed behind Hid's eyes that was almost one of pain. He didn't want to speak of this, every one of them could see it on his face. "They're coming faster every century. A millennia ago there were none. Now? There have been three in my lifetime alone, and that's only counting the ones we know about." Quietly, "Kill one, and two more are born. We can't keep on like this. With every death, history grows closer to repeating itself."

For a long while, that suggestion sat heavy over the four of them. That was a silence that was hard to break.

“Then we take it to Bu Mahmata,” Yeezumon said. All eyes, even the Captain’s, turned to him. The marigold-yellow fabric of the human’s turban spun through his hands, idly brushing over the embroidery at the edges. “The nobles would pay half the city to get their hands on it, and from there we can take our leave of the matter.”

“The Holy City is more than five months’ sail from here. If the crew doesn’t turn itself inside out by then, certainly other ships would have their claws in us by the time we see the city walls.”

“Do you really think the crew would so readily betray us?”

For a long moment there was silence. 

Adrsiae closed her eyes. “As much as I see these people as family, fear has a terrible way of leaking through the cracks. We cannot go forward under the assumption that the discovery will stay quiet.”

“Then we’ll offer them a share,” said Yeezumon. 

Ifyaa looked toward his husband, alarmed. But Yeezumon placed a hand over his to quiet his protests, and then continued. 

“One part in sixty to each of the crew members. For a Son? That is the same as almost five year’s pay to each of them, and I think you will find even the more contemptuous a lot more likely to hold their tongue for that much gold.”

The room went quiet, considering their offer. All was still, and eventually Hidhialial looked toward his Captain.

“It could work,” he said softly. “It incentivizes each and every one of them to keep their tongues under lock and key, and may even be enough to quell some of the tension.”

“But what is to be done with the human in the meantime?” Ifyaa asked. “We can’t just lock it in the hold. If we do, it will be broken and insane by the time we make it to the Holy City. Even a Son can’t be sold in that kind of condition.”

“For now it is in no condition to go anywhere but the infirmary and our cabin," said Yeezumon. "It may not be possible to keep it entirely out of sight, but at the very least we can keep it contained."

“Do you think that will be enough to satisfy the crew?” the Captain asked Hidhialial.

He let out a soft grunt, settling back into his chair. And then he conceded, “There is only one way to find out.”

She gave him a small nod. Then she turned to Yeezumon. “You do realize that as soon as this is offered to the crew it would become blood-bound. Are you prepared to uphold that promise?”

Yeezumon looked toward Ifyaa. What seemed like worlds passed between them, before Ifyaa gave his hand a small squeeze. Then he let out a breath and turned back toward his Captain.

“I don't see any other way out of this. And if the crew is going to be risking their lives, they deserve a share. I'm sure.”

She held his gaze for another long moment, then gave a small nod.

“So be it. I will leave the negotiation of rules between the two of you. Bring them to me before you share them with the crew. Ifyaa, it will fall to you to keep it alive between here and Bu Mahatma. Whatever resources you need, take them."

He touched his fingers to his temple. "Yes, Captain."

"Good." Adrsiae sank back in her chair, finally pulling the dagger free of her table. "Now get out of here, the lot of you. I need time to think."

They obeyed. Just before Yeezumon followed the others out, the Captain called after him.

The weight of those words was not lost on him. He let out a slow breath and touched his fingers to his temple. "Yes, Captain."

"Yeezumon." She was watching him from her chair. There was an intensity to those copper-grey eyes that had never before been directed at him. “The crew will hold you to your promise. But remember, I will be holding you to it as well.”

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[heisendaddysimpswritings]

𝑩𝒆 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑶𝒃𝒆𝒚— 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

summary: your birthday came and your mother invited every lord to a party — including her arch nemesis heisenberg. but what she didn't know about was your growing interest for this mysterious man.

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pairing: Karl Heisenberg x fem!Dimitrescu!Reader

word count: 1361

tw: royal au

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It was a snowy winter evening, like so many have happened the days before. The lights in the village were dimmed, almost none of them existed at this time of day. Only in the big castle on top of a near mountain some lights still shone and that not without a reason.

The crying of a newborn echoed through the hallways. A new life saw the light of the day. It's name chosen from her mother was (name). She was later to be known as the fourth princess of the Dimitrescu family.

And this is the story about said girl. About her love for her family and her obedience towards her mother but also about the lust of a young woman and the desires she had. Only the gods know how her story will end.

....

"No not like that! The sigils have to be on the outside of the chairs!"

As you entered the big dining room you saw your mother, the current Lady of the Dimitrescu House, scolding one of her servants.

"(Name) my darling! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be up in your room with your maids trying on dresses?"

"We're finished already. I've chosen the red one."

And that wasn't a lie. In your whole 18 years of life you've never lied to your mother. Not even once. Not even a white lie.

"I'm glad you did! It's my personal favourite!"

You smiled, crossing your hands behind your back and walking up to her to inspect the table.

"Do we really have to hold a banquet for my birthday?"

"Of course we do have to! It's your 18th birthday after all! Everyone must see my now grown-up little (name)!"

You sighed and didn't say anything about it anymore. You knew your mother. She loved to celebrate herself and her family. Especially infront of the other Lords and their families. Especially infront of a certain family.

....

The evening came and so did your guests. One family after another arrived in Dimitrescu Castle, getting guided by servants into the dining room. There you and your family awaited the Lords' families, ready to greet them as soon as they set foot into the room.

First came the Beneviento family — the parents and her two daughters, Donna and Claudia. Your mother greeted them as if they were her own family. She often told you that the Dimitrescus and Benevientos were close with each other for decades.

After them the Moreau family with their son Salvatore. They and your mother had a relationship on buisness level, the greeting being more formal than the one before.

And as last did Lord Heisenberg. As always he was alone and came late to the celebration. Your mother despised him. For her he was the walking pest. "Man-thing" she'd always call him behind closed doors.

"Lord Heisenberg, I feared you wouldn't come anymore!"

"Initially I didn't want to but I just can't say no to a free meal with wine!"

His yellow eyes gazed over to your figure, you greeted him like all the others. He ignored this and proceeded to sit down at the table. Despite knowing he didn't, you felt like he never stopped fixating your body with his eyes.

The meal went on without any more comments of Lord Heisenberg, only your mother and the other families did small talk. Not even when your mother called out for a toast he said something, just raising his wine glass like everyone else did.

Despite wanting to he drew all your attention towards himself. You knew nothing about him. For you he was a big mystery, a man who didn't like to talk and even less about himself. You wondered how he was when he's all by himself. You wondered if he was like your mother or if he was different. You couldn't help but wonder so much about Lord Heisenberg.

The whole dinner got to much for you, you've never liked them and now even less. Even when it was over and everyone was just sitting at the table and talking you need a break. You need fresh air.

"Excuse me."

Wirhout explaining where you're heading to you stood up and left. Your mother followed your smale frame with a questioning look.

You went down the hallways until you finally reached your favorite spot — the balcony facing towards the village. You opened its doors and stepped out into the fresh evening air, goosebumps covering your skin and cheeks and nose turned into a rosy color. You rubbed your hands together and breathed onto them, hoping to get at least some warmth like that.

"I didn't think little miss (name) would flee onto a balcony."

You jumped and turned around, wondering who had caught you. Your eyes widened when you saw who was standing in the door frame.

"Lord Heisenberg, you scared me!"

He didn't say anything as he approached you, only a smirk plastered his face. He took place next to you, his back leaning against the railing, each of his elbows resting on it next to his, compared to yours, big frame. You turned towards him, leaning your hips against the cold stone.

"Why are you here lord?"

"I could ask you the same little miss."

You didn't know if you liked the nickname he gave you or not. He took a cigeratte and lit it, taking a pick huff from it.

"I needed to smoke. What's your excuse?"

You watched as he put the cigarette onto his lips, taking another huff from it. Your eyes wandered from his lips up to his scarred face, wondering how and why he got them. Wondering if it hurt much. Wondering if they still hurt.

"I just needed a break. I don't like those big gatherings."

Heisenberg laughed. You looked at him with a questioning expression, wondering what's so funny about your answer.

"As part of the Dimitrescu family I rather thought you're like the rest of them. More party-loving."

"I'm not. I'm rather by myself. In my room."

"You're one! A Dimitrescu who hates social gatherings and is introverted, something I thought I'll never see!"

He took a last huff of his cigarette before he rubbed its lit tip onto the stone and then threw it down the balcony.

Before you could even say anything or react he put one of your hair strands behind your ear, his gloved hand lightly touching your soft and cold skin, resting on it for a bit, his thumb grazing over it. You felt your face heat up, a blush crept onto your cheeks. Without any further words he let go of you and disappeared.

In shock of what happened you stood on the balcony for some more time until one of the servants found you and guided you to the entrance hall were your mother and sisters were saying good bye to the Lords, but one was missing. Lord Heisenberg already made his way home, not even saying goodbye to you.

Finally everyone was gone and you could slip into your nightgown, letting yourself fall onto your bed. As you sighed the memories of your interaction with Heisenberg. You again felt your face heat up and caught yourself thinking about things that could have happened instead of him just storming off. Unholy things that could have happened. You kicked your feet and put your hands over your face, trying to hide the deep red blush on the face as if someone would come in any moment.

You wanted to see him again. You needed to see him again. You needed to know more about him and why he did this. You just had to. But you knew it was nearly impossible. Your mother wouldn't let you go out of house, especially not if you told her you're going to visit her arch nemesis. Even less if she knew what he did, the only thing she'd do would be killing him with her own hands. You needed a plan. A plan to somehow sneak out and see him.

For the first time in your life you were dedicated to do something — even if it meant disobeying your mother.

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𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔

[laurasanchez36]

Ilana Summers My NEW MSA OC

Full Name: Ilana Summers

First Name: Ilana

Last Name: Summers

Nicknames: Princess of Heaven (by The Guardian Spirit Angels), Ilana (by her friends), Sweetheart (by her parents), Little Sis (by her siblings)

Gender: Female

Profile Pic

Age: 6

Blood Type:

Occupation: Princess of Heaven Kingdom

Past or Actual Occupation:

Favourite Shows/Games: ___/___/___

(___,___,___)

Favourite Food:

Instrument: Angel Harp

Favourite Animal: Peacock (Her pet's named "Luz")

Family Members Relatives: Eveyln Summers (her mother), Mark Summers (her father)

Other Family Members Relatives: Zoe Summers, Abbie Summerstar, Jackie Summers, Nick Summers, Trevor Summers and Madelyn Summers (her siblings)

Species: Human/Angel/Fairy Hybrid

Friends: Mystery Teams, Girls' Clue Club Team, Mr. Bunny (his former Pet), Maisy Pepper, Lilah Mcgee and her friends, Emmett Murphy, Lilah's Family Mcgee

Enemies: Spooky Grimm (her arch-nemesis), Darkest, Ravette, Cinder-Night, Shaw and his other army (His minions dark ghosts), Reverb,

Alignment: Good

Likes: Maisy Pepper tells her about her stories, Lilah Mcgee was a savior of humans and innocent ghosts, Saving Lewis Pepper from getting mind control by Spooky Grimm

Dislikes: Spooky Grimm mind controls Lewis Pepper as a dark ghost prince, Her family and friends gets in danger

Hobby: Hanging with her friends

Goals:

Weapons:

Powers and Abilities: Light fire power, Light Magic, Light Powers, Teleportation, Supernatural strength, Guardian Angel Powers

Skills and Abilities:

Skin Colour: Warm Ivory

Eyes Colour: Cream Yellow Colour

Hair Colour: Cream Yellow Colour

Clothes:

Shoes:

Accessories:

Hair Styles:

Nationality:

Sexuality:

@sfcabanasstarcgs and @mysteryideasgroup

This one sounds like Hollow (From The Friends We Left Behind), Angel/Devil Dog (from Gregory Horror Show), Blue Fairy (from Disney) and The Collector (from The Owl House)

[prototypesteve]

What are embalmed Coelancanths? or whatever I can't remember how to spell it (from your bio)

I literally had to turn on all the lights before typing this, the thought of… them… terrify me that much. I’m not joking.

At the Vancouver Aquarium, since I was a kid, they’ve had this embalmed giant fish, from a species who was thought to be extinct, but was rediscovered sometime last century. Anyway, it was on display in a glass case, in a preserved state. It was dead, and dark yellow, and its eyes were gone and it was in this permanent roaring pose.

I got lost in the aquarium as a kid and rounded a corner and came face to face with it. It was a real-world monster, and it horrified me.

Anyway, years later, as an adult I was back there with friends, and we went around another corner as there it was and I was re-horrified by it, and couldn’t enter that entire wing of the aquarium.

Since then, I’ve made multiple attempts to approach it over the years. No luck. Literally paralyzed with fear.

This summer, I tried again, and went around the corner where my nemesis was… but there was just a Coke machine. Which should have relieved me, but instead I was doubly terrified, because it meant the fish could be ANYWHERE. So I carefully retraced my steps, so I wouldn’t go anywhere new and run into it and have an episode. I made it to guest services and asked if they knew where the coelacanth was.

(It’s pronounced SEE-lah-kanth BTW)

And the woman who answered looked really confused, so I quickly explained why, and she explained, “Rest easy. It’s gone. It fell apart last during the pandemic.”

And when I clearly went through about 50 emotions at once, she realized I wasn’t joking about being terrified of that goddamned fish.

(Large generally freak me out, but that fish in particular is at the very heart of all my fears. I can run from or fight back against anything else that scares me—I’ve run into wolves and bears in the mountains, and literally been mauled by dogs—but that thing immobilized me, and took sometimes a half hour of conscious choice to even try to look at it. The thing with mammals and birds and reptiles is you can kind of get a read on what they’re thinking. They emote. They have body language. Not the case with most fish. They’re unreadable. I find that terrifying.)

[pigeonwhumps]

Brynn and Gemma

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

@extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @actress4him

Brynn and Gemma's relationship over the years.

Brynn's supervillain whumper is now called Sovereign.

2.3k

CWs: mentioned controlling whumper, broken ankle, muzzle, touch-starved, implied abusive parental figure/child abuse (no explicit minor whump), past parental death, mentioned betrayal, self-esteem issues, internalised ableism (courtesy of Sovereign)

"I am–am B–b–black D–d–d–death, and I wu–will r–r–raze your city to–to the g-g-ground an-and ru-ru-rebuild it as-as m-m-my n-new p-p-palace!" shouts the small figure squeakily, and Gemma bites back a laugh, grateful that the kid can't see her face properly. They have a mask made from black sugar paper and a black tablecloth as a cape. A hawk is hovering just above them.

"Isn't that Sovereign's line?"

The kid puffs out their chest. "It-it's m-m-mine n-n-now. I w-work w-w-with him. An-and y-y-you'll n-n-never d-d-defeat us!"

They kick forward sloppily, and Gemma backs up, dodging the blows easily. The hawk swoops forward, and Gemma pretends to fall.

"You're right, kid. You're very strong. I can't defeat you."

"Ha-ha! M-m-me an-and Ho-ho-horus are st-stronger th-than you!" The kids holds out their hand. "H-h-h-however, I-I am a b-b-benevolent v-v-v-villain an-and wu-wu-will not k-k-k-kill you."

Gemma takes their hand and pulls herself up, pushing off the ground slightly so they don't try and take all her weight. Well, that line isn't from Sovereign.

Speaking of the supervillain...

"Br- kid, what are you doing out here? Home, now. It's well past your bedtime."

"B-b-b-but–"

"No buts. I'll play tomorrow."

Gemma can almost see the kid's pout under their mask as they stomp off. She has a million questions, none of which her nemesis will ever answer.

"My apologies for the child. Shall we get on with it?"

_

Brynn digs her hand between the bricks, scrambling to find enough purchase to keep herself upright. It doesn't work, and she can't put any weight on her ankle, dropping to the floor of the dingy back alley.

She needs to get back, but she doesn't want to crawl the whole way.

"Hey there. I saw your fall earlier. Do you need help?"

Bryan turns around to see a woman standing at the end of the alley, silouhetted by sodium-yellow streetlights. She narrows her eyes as the woman takes a step closer, hands in the air.

'Horus,' she thinks in her hawk's mind, 'investigate.'

Horus swoops forward, circling the woman, who watches him calmly. Brynn doesn't get any sense of imminent danger from him, and she doesn't really react, even when he perches on her head. Horus thinks she's no threat. A civilian, then?

"Can I help you?" asks the woman, and Brynn nods, watching warily as the woman approaches. She crouches in front of Brynn and pulls out a torch. In the light of it, she can see the woman putting the pieces together, realising who she is. Will she leave now? Swipe out in disgust and try to arrest or kill her?

To Brynn's surprise, she does nothing of the sort.

"You're Black Death, huh? Nice mask." Brynn flinches internally. It is certainly not a nice mask, but Sovereign doesn't trust her to stay silent without it. She can't correct the woman though, not without cutting her mouth open on the spikes – and even then, sound probably wouldn't come out. "I'm Gemma. What have you injured?"

Brynn points at her ankle, and Gemma examines it, wincing. "That's a nasty break. I'll splint it for you, but make sure you get it treated properly later, yeah?" Brynn nods, already knowing she won't. Gemma pulls out a first aid kit and cleans Brynn's ankle with antibacterial wipes, her touch gentle as she splints it.

The care brings tears to Brynn's eyes. The last time someone was this soft with her, she was much younger, Sovereign had just taken her in. He's not like that anymore, though, when he even bothers to treat her. And no-one else ever comes near.

She doesn't need care, she's not a baby anymore, but it's nice.

"I'm just going to find you something to use as a walking stick. Take some painkillers from the first aid kit if you need them." Brynn nods, and as Gemma strides off, pops two pills out of the packet, swallowing them dry.

She leans against the wall and watches Gemma for a while, stroking Horus absently. Who is this woman? Why is she so willing to help? Brynn's done terrible things, not at her own behest, sure, but nobody knows that. She still did them. Why's Gemma helping?

"Alright, this should do. Try it out."

Brynn takes the stick and levers herself to her feet, putting all her weight on the stick and her good foot. She doesn't fall this time.

She signs a quick, "Thank you." Gemma smiles.

"Glad I could help. Anything else?" Brynn shakes her head. "Okay. Well, take this, in case you ever need anything."

Gemma hands her a slip of paper, with an address and phone number on it. Her address? Why would she trust a villain with her address?

Brynn thanks her again and stows the paper in a secure pocket. She'll just have to make sure Sovereign doesn't find it.

It seems to burn a hole in her pocket as she limps off, and all through her meeting with Sovereign. As she collapses onto her bed, splint gone and a new pain in her ankle, she knows she can't leave. Sovereign would be sure to hunt her down if she did. So there's no point in keeping Gemma's address.

She does, though, slipping the little piece of paper under the mattress. She's not sure why she doesn't just throw it in the fireplace, let it go up in smoke, but for some reason she can't bring herself to get rid of the one piece of evidence she has that people will, occasionally, be kind.

_

Gemma resists the urge to get up as the kitchen window slides open further and a person drops inside with a small thud.

The little thief's back.

She hears rustling outside her bedroom, and knows that when she goes out in the morning, she'll see an empty plastic box that held snackd from last time they 'burgled' her, slightly rumpled bed clothes on the sofabed, and a wide-open window. Possibly a few feathers too.

She worries about Black Death, sometimes. They've gone from an excitable, dramatic small child to a wary young adult who barely talks. And who sometimes ends up in a near-stranger's house for food and sleep. She thinks Sovereign probably has something to do with it, given that they're his sidekick. It's worrying.

But she can't confront Black Death. She doesn't think they're ready to leave him, and she doesn't want to accidentally chase them out of the only place they're definitely getting food and rest from.

She just hopes they get the courage to ask for help sometime.

_

Brynn bites her lip as she hears the key turn in the lock. Gemma's here.

She was nervous enough about tonight anyway, but now she thinks this might be the same Gemma she's been stealing food from for years. The woman who helped her out, before she'd realised it was a bad idea to let anyone except Sovereign help. And now... she has to own up, right? To stealing? But what if Gemma hates her for it? The team all look up to Gemma, what would happen to her then?

"Hi Gemma," says Lian, out in the hallway. "Kai told you we have someone new, right?"

"Yeah. He and Aaron are still buying snacks, by the way, I came on ahead. She used to be a villain's sidekick?"

There's a glimmer of hope in Gemma's voice, and Brynn wonders who she's hoping to find. Can't be her. She feels a little guilty, for not being the person Gemma clearly wants.

"Yep. Sovereign's, as a matter of fact. Her alias used to be Black Death."

Gemma gasps. "She's here?"

Morfydd gives Brynn a knowing smile, and she squeezes further into Phoenix's side. She's not scared, far from it, she just... wants Phoenix. On Phoenix's other side, Santhiya groans as they fall onto her.

Oops.

Gemma enters the room then, and Morfydd gets up, running to her and throwing their arms around the retired hero. Gemma chuckles lightly, stroking Morfydd's hair.

"Missed you too. Been a hell of a fortnight, I'm guessing?" Morfydd nods. "Do you and Lian want to come and stay over soon? Get away from it all." They nod again, clutching Gemma tightly. Brynn looks away guiltily, aware that it's her sudden move that's caused all this. And what Sovereign wants her to do will make everything worse.

Eventually, Morfydd pulls away and sits on Lian's lap, where she originally was before Gemma arrived.

"Why does no-one here ever use furniture?" she asks, sounding faintly amused, before turning to Phoenix and Santhiya. "Hey Phoenix, Santhiya. How are you?"

"I'm controlling my powers well, and me and Phoenix went on another date!" replies Santhiya excitedly.

"Finally," mutters Lian. Santhiya flips him off cheerfully, contentedly sitting partially under Phoenix.

Phoenix kisses the top of Santhiya's head, then gives Gemma an exhausted smile. "It was a good date. I think I understand why everyone was so concerned when they first met me now. I'm good, though. Kai says having someone to look after is good for me, and I agree. This is Brynn."

Brynn shies away as Gemma focuses on her. "H-h-h-hi."

"Hey there. You're the newbie then, I take it?" Brynn nods. "Please say you're the same little thief whose ankle I treated a few years ago."

"Y-y-y-yes. Y-y-y-you wwwww w-w-want me to-to be?" Brynn's perplexed. Why would Gemma want to see her again?

Gemma shrugs. "You vanished, I was worried about you. Did I have a good reason to be?"

Brynn shakes her head. "I-I-I'm f-f-f-fine. I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry I st-st-stole f-f-from you."

"It's fine. I wouldn't have left the window half-open and snacks packed into tupperware if I didn't want you taking them, would I?"

Oh. Oh. Brynn's heart swoops. Sovereign was right. She really is thicker than two short planks.

"Oh. Of c-c-course. Sh-sh-sh-should've known I'm-I'm to-too stupid t-t-to b-b-b-break in." She takes a deep breath, trying to stop the incessant babble that comes out whenever she's upset. If she can't even speak properly she's not fit to speak at all.

"Hey. That wasn't what I meant, little thief. You broke in successfully the first time. The sofa was slept on and some food gone, and there were hawk feathers left behind. Deductive reasoning. It was only after that that I started leaving the window open for you. You're not stupid, far from it. You're just very brave."

"D-d-desperate," she corrects, heart in her throat. "I wu-wu-was d-d-desperate, n-n-not brave."

"Mm. You were both, I think. Do you want a hug?"

Brynn nods, ensconcing herself in Gemma's arms. She hasn't been hugged like this since her parents died, and she finds herself relaxing involuntarily.

That is, until Morfydd speaks, soft but amused.

"Does this mean that Brynn's the child you told us tried to fight you dressed in a sugar paper mask and a tablecloth?"

Brynn goes bright red as the others giggle, pressing closer to Gemma to hide her face. Damnit.

"Yep. That's Brynn."

_

Gemma looks up and covers Brynn's old mask with a tea towel when she walks into the room, wrapped in a green fuzzy dressing gown. Now Sovereign's in jail, Brynn's finally had a chance to collect the rest of her old things, and the mask is frankly horrifying. Gemma's not sure why she chose to keep it, given the obvious fear it inspires in her, but she doesn't plan on bringing it up unless Brynn does.

"Hey. Come and have some food." Brynn pours herself a small bowl of coco pops and takes a seat, the overlarge dressing gown making her look tiny. "How are you doing?"

Brynn nods. "Ffffff f–f-f-fine. I–I–I llllike th-th-the bu-bu-bu-bed." She inhales a spoonful of cereal. "Wu-wu-wu-when you ff-f-fixed m-m-my an-an-ankle, Ssssssss Sovereign re-re-re-rebroke it. I-I sh-sh-sh-shouldn't have g-g-got help f-f-from an-anyone bu-bu-but him. So-so I d-d-d-didn't kn-know h-h-h-how to-to lu-lu-lu-leave. I'm-I'm s-s-s-sorry."

Oh, god. She should've gotten Brynn out of there years ago, damn letting her make her own choices.

"Hey. It's okay, Brynn. Sovereign was my nemesis for years, and although I didn't know just how awful he was, I know you didn't have a choice. In fact, you're the one who defeated him in the end."

"It-it wu-wu-wu-wouldn't have b-b-been necessary if-if I w-w-wasn't a-a c-c-coward. C-c-can't I j-j-j-just h-h-hand m-myself in-in?"

"No. That's why you're staying with me, to stop you from doing that. It's why Phoenix tied you down at first. You're not going to prison, I don't care how much you think you deserve it."

Brynn squeezes her eyes shut, tears spilling out from under her eyelids. Gemma squeezes her hand gently.

"I m-m-miss them. Ph-ph-phoenix th-the m-m-most."

"You can call them if you like. You won't be disturbing them, if they're busy they just won't answer."

"I'm sc-scared," she whispers. "Y-y-y-you d-d-d-didn't see th-the others' ffff f-f-faces. Th-the b-b-betrayal. Wu-what if th-they– wu-what if Ph-ph-phoenix an-and San-santhiya are-are are-are-are-are–"

Gemma waits, but Brynn just slams her mouth shut and shakes her head, unable to go on. "You won't know until you speak to them, and you have to speak eventually. If it helps, I don't think Phoenix has it in them to hate you."

Brynn picks her phone up and unlocks it with shaking fingers. She stares at the screen, unmoving.

"Do you want me to give you some privacy while you call?" asks Gemma quietly. Brynn shakes her head, squeezing Gemma's hand in a death grip.

Eventually, she presses call, then puts it on speaker. The phone barely has a chance to ring before Phoenix picks up.

"Hello? Brynn?"

"H-h-h-hey."

"Oh, thank god, you're okay. You haven't handed yourself in. How, um, how are you doing?"

Phoenix sounds exhausted but happy to hear from one of their partners, and Brynn smiles tentatively, loosening her hold on Gemma.

Gemma's relieved, and not just for the regaining of feeling in her fingers. It's good to see Brynn smile and talk. Gemma hasn't seen enough of that.

[bambiesque]

New thread for McCoy!Doctor.

Serial: Time and the Rani - I still feel bad for Colin Baker. Quite enjoyed the Rani pretending to be Mel. I'm seriously impressed by Bonnie Langford's lung capacity - that girl can scream - and running through quarries ability.

Serial: Paradise Towers - Richard Briers taking a break from being good for few weeks. I think Bonnie Langford would have made a good Doctor, tbh. This season is kind of a slog so far.

Serial: Delta and the Bannermen - This one I like. The holiday camp with yellow coats. All the Welsh characters are amazing. Random Ken Dodd. It's bonkers but lovely with it.

Serial: Dragonfire - I will miss Mel. I liked her despite the odd introduction. But this was a good start for Ace. The second half of this season was definitely better than the first and I am enjoying McCoy!Doctor.

Serial: Rememberance of the Daleks - A great serial with lots of fun callbacks to the shows history. Some great supporting characters and a creepy little girl. What more can you ask for?

Serial: The Happiness Patrol - Lots of pink and a monster that looks like Bertie Bassett. Lots of interesting politics. I enjoyed it.

Serial: Silver Nemesis - That was a bit of a mish-mash and probably the weakest Cyberman story of all (so far).

Serial: The Greatest Show in the Galaxy - There are far, far too many clowns in this story. Maybe this is where my aversion to them started. Nope, nope, nope.

Serial: Battlefield - The Brigadier. I have missed him. I enjoyed this serial. I liked Ace getting a girlfriend. Wish Shou Yuing had stayed around tbh.

Serial: Ghost Light - I really liked this serial. A nice spooky ghost story, some Ace backstory, McCoy!Doctor being both a dick and a good egg.

Serial: The Curse of Fenric - Vampires, Vikings, Lesbians. It's a great story. I think if the past few years had been more like this season it may have survived. And speaking of...

Serial: Survival - The last Classic Who serial and the Master is back because he's the best. I feel bad for Ace's cheetah gf. It's quite an epic ending.

McCoy!Doctor Era Round-up

Favourite Companion: Ace.

Least favourite Companion: None

Favourite Serial: Battlefield / Ghost Light

Least Favourite Serial: The Greatest Show in the Galaxy

McCoy!Doctor's stories got better as the show went on. I think rather than cancel it they should have tried a different showrunner but obviously there was lots of politics going on that ruined it for everyone.

So, I'm finished with the Classic episodes. On to the movie!

Current Doctor standings

Davison

Pertwee

TBaker

CBaker

McCoy

Troughton

Hartnell

Current Top 10 Companions (no change)

Jo Grant

Tegan Jovanka

Barbara Wright

Vislor Turlough

Sarah Jane Smith

Nyssa of Traken

Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart

Leela

Romana II

Zoe

[sinvulkt]

Angstpril: 12. CONFESSIONS - post order 66, scel & sin

@whumpril - 12.  | Toxic |

I had been observing Aheka, Rema and Scélérat from the shelter of a tree, when the latter told the former two something that made them go back to the cave. An instant later, Scélérat stepped up to my hideout. He looked up at the branch I was perched on, and sneered. 

"Do you even feel remorse for the blood staining your hands?"

I jumped. My feathers bristled and a chill ran down my spine. Very little could sense my presence when I decided to hide it. How had he found me? I shifted on the branch, focusing on my former nemesis.

"Do you?" I retorted.

"Everyday."

I stumbled in surprise, almost falling off the branch. It was enough for Scélérat to turn his lightsaber on and cut the branch down before I could react. I fell heavily to the ground. 

I repressed a groan as I struggled to untangle my various limbs, discovering new bruises at each shift. Scélérat stepped closer, lightsaber in hand, and I doubled my efforts to stand back up.

"You know what I am," I hissed to win time. "What you were." 

What he wasn’t anymore, a small voice inside me whispered. But the theelin had always been the better soul between us. Scélérat’s blade raced towards my neck then froze, ensuring I couldn’t move. I was trapped, half-lying on my back with my wings trapped under me, the tip of my tail stuck beneath Scélérat’s feet. A grounded bird is a dead bird, my memories always said.

 "Go on Scel. Kill me," I dared. 

My corrupted yellow eyes stared into his gray ones. From such a short distance, the plasma tingled my skin. I smirked. 

His wrist twitched, lightly burning my skin. For one instant, he seemed to burn with the desire to obey. It didn’t last long before he turned off his blade and stepped back however. His gaze turned away from me.

"It’s not what Aheka would want."

I scrambled back to my feet, putting a safe distance between us.

"Since when do you care about what others want?" I scoffed. My heart raced from the near-death experience I’d almost suffered, and my breaths were short, reduced by the ache blooming over my ribs.

"Since when do you not?" Scélérat retorted. 

He did not make a step to stop me. I froze, wondering if he was truly letting me go. Would he really let a DarkSider wander so close to the group under his wing? Apparently, he did. My tail lashed in frustration and worry. I would have to double check on Aheka and Rema, if their assigned protector was so useless.

Or he thinks I am so weak I am no threat at all, the Dark whispered in my ears. My spine tensed at the thought, and my ears flattened in aggression.

“You’ll regret letting me free,” I hissed.

I wasn’t weak.

But Scélérat stayed relaxed despite my threatening stance. The Dark spun around us like a hungry ghost, but he brushed it away like it was a simple breeze. My feathers bristled as he turned his back to me, until I realised he was looking at the cave entrance. 

"You should come home,” he softly said. “They miss you." 

There was no doubt about who they were. 

I didn’t know what Scélérat had told them to make Aheka and Rema go back to the cave, but it surely was not that I was here. My heart clenched at the thought of seeing my Master and Flock-sister again. I missed them as well.

There was a shift in the Force, and I was suddenly all too aware how light Scélérat’s presence was compared to mine. Like a burned animal, I scurried away, my own presence hiding in somber coverts.

Darkness stained my mind and blood tainted my hands. Unlike Scélérat, there would be no redemption for me. I would just dig a hole into their gentle little nest, settle into the warmth like a parasite leech, and suck all their happiness away. 

"They should forget me,” I told Scélérat. “You of all people should know better than to advise them otherwise.”

For their own sake, I couldn’t come back.

Scélérat growled, and I sensed his frustration peaking. I stepped back as his lightsabers turned back on, the white and blue blades sending eerie shadows over the forest ground.

“I should take you down right now and bring you to them,” he snarled. In this instant, there were two Dark presences swirling around the tree. It didn’t last long however: a whoosh of calm came out of nowhere and swooped over Scélérat. He wavered, bringing his weapons down. "But you need to come by yourself.”

I tilted my head, intrigued, and slightly envious despite myself. Had he already bonded so strongly with Aheka, that she could calm his mood in such a fashion? Or had the soothing wave come from somewhere else?

Silence settled, and I realised Scélérat was waiting for an answer.

“The person they long for was an illusion,” I whispered. 

Shame curled in my heart at the admission. How did it feel, I wondered, to live without a mask? The world was a game: it had been one from as long as I could remember. A cruel, twisted game, whose rules were contained in the lashes that beat you. Scélérat understood, once. 

“Then let them meet the person behind it.” 

I flinched.

Perhaps he still did understand.

“Are you sure?” I smirked, stepping back into the game. My tone turned malicious, and I stepped closer despite the danger, tail lashing behind, to whisper “I remember you wishing you never saw her.”

Scélérat froze. 

Nothing could soothe those old wounds that built the twisted bridge between our two souls.

Satisfaction sent a purr throughout my chest. Suddenly my mood was lifted, and I danced within the volatile currents of the Dark. Scélérat trying to convince me to stay? Now that had been hilarious. I had made my point, proved there was no equal on this ground, and achieved victory.  

Scélérat had better learnt the lesson however. No threat should approach the nest, much less a Darksider. Much less someone toxic.

My wings sent a powerful flap, and I raised into the air before more could be said and the balance switched again. 

“Hope you never see me again.” I waved as Scélérat flinched. “Have fun living your dream~”

And protect it properly.

I flew into the air, raising my neck for more of the cold breeze to soothe my burning thoughts. Next time I checked on my Flock, I would have to be more careful not to get caught. 

Each wing flap took me both further and closer away to what I wanted. The wind rolled under the massive appendages, muscles beating the very substance that made the atmosphere. What was power, but safety? What was warmth, but the promise of endless suffering? What was Freedom, but a fate of loneliness?

Somewhere, at some point, destiny had been twisted and our roles reversed. Scélérat’s upright soul had turned Dark, and my twisted one had been kept in the Light. But with Order 66, everything had been set right. Scélérat was with his Master and I… I had always belonged to darkness.

 (So why did my throat choke on overwhelming sadness?)

[xaq-the-aereon]

Crossover idea: Justice League / Masters of the Universe

Allow me to sum up the idea:

The Green Lantern Corps receives word of a major offensive by the Sinestro Corps upon New Genesis and Apokalips. Though the attack was repelled, the New Gods and Darkseid's forces have been utterly decimated, to the point that Highfather has called for help. The method by which they entered the New Gods' worlds was traced to a location at the center of the universe...a world known as Eternia. Various members of the GL Corps, alongside the likes of Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, and others Boom Tube to this location. It is here they discover that the Yellow Lanterns are under new leadership: as it turns out, one of Sinestro's rings had found Skeletor and recruited him into the ranks. His first great act of inducing fear caused a large number of the Yellow Lanterns, including Sinestro himself, to literally die of fright. His second great act was to consolidate most of the newly-dubbed Skele-Corps' power to himself. The Justice League and GL Corps arrive at Eternia to find it utterly devastated. Castle Greyskull lies in ruins, and survivors are scattered. Worst of all, their greatest champion, He-Man, is lost to them; among the wounded of their last battle is Prince Adam, severely injured, fear-stricken by Skeletor's new power, guilt-ridden over surviving a battle that claimed so many of his friends and family's lives, and despondent over the destruction of his sword.

The GL Corps wastes no time in mounting a large-scale counteroffensive, citing their oaths with their batteries in order to fully charge their rings but even with the help of the League and the surviving members of King Randor's forces at their side, the conflict is brutally lopsided. Evil-lyn's magics, augmented by the Yellow Fear Element, devastate the Justice Leaguers, including Superman. One by one, the Green Lanterns are defeated, their Rings attempting to find new bearers only to be destroyed by Skeletor and his forces. All but one, which finds its way back to the cowering prince. It speaks brokenly to him, its power running low, and tells him that he has been found to show great courage. He argues with it at first, but his thoughts turn to everyone he loves, both surviving and lost. They turn to the Green Lanterns, courageously citing their oaths as they prepared for a battle they knew they could not hope to win. "Ring power at 0.2%..."

He knew that, at the very least...he had to try.

As the last of the ring's power flickered, he slid it on, picked up what remained of his sword...and, against all the fear enveloping his soul, made his oath.

"In our brightest day, or our darkest hour. Over evil's shadow, my light will tower! I will not yield. I will not cower!" He raised the remains of the Power Sword to the sky in his ring-clad hand. "BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL!" In the distance, Skeletor watched a familiar sight flash on the horizon. A bolt of lightning he knew all too well, which only ever preceded one thing...

And then another, this one hued green, struck the ground in front of him, and in its wake stood his hated nemesis, clad in an emerald-hued variation of his armor, and with a fully-reforged sword in hand. "Ring power levels beyond calculation." "I HAVE THE POWER!!"

---SCENE---

... ...What can I say, the idea of Green Lantern He-Man just feels kinda awesome.

[halcyonramblings]

Letters I Can Never Send, No. 7

Dear D,

March 2nd, 2012 is a day that will forever live in my mind as the start of one of the most horribly surreal expanses of time that I have ever endured. Starting out as an unseasonably warm, sunny morning, nobody would have believed that with the end of that day would come the end of our small hometown as we knew it.

You were still painfully absent from my life, still out chasing after my strawberry blonde, artsy nemesis. I was still texting Devon but becoming increasingly creeped out with every message exchanged. During the course of our online courtship, it had come to light that Devon was twenty-two years old, had actually dropped out of college, and was about to be evicted from the dilapidated apartment building across the street from campus. Completely disregarding the fact that I was underage and still living under the roof of my parents, Devon had begun pestering me to come to his apartment to watch a movie; naïve as I was then, I knew full well that watching a movie was just a euphemism for what he really wanted from me. Regardless of all this, I continued to text him out of boredom, but deflected his attempts to meet up again.

The second morning of March was a Friday. That spring had been an early one; the daffodils bloomed in late February, temperatures averaging in the 60s and 70s. Also unusual were the weather patterns we had been hit with - severe storms one day, sunshine the next, a rogue dusting of snow the day after that. On March 2nd, I left for school as the weatherman tracked the latest storm system, cautioning our empty living room of the possibility of hail, wind, and tornadoes for that afternoon.

At school, it was rumored that they were going to dismiss us early in anticipation of the severe weather. Kids were rowdy in the halls, stomping milk cartons to make them pop against the peeling tile floor, cracking jokes about tornadoes in trailer parks. Sure enough, just before lunch, the vice principal announced over the intercom that school would be dismissing at 1:00. Nobody considered that we were being sent home early for good reason; we celebrated all the way to the waiting buses, the student parking lot.

Back at home, I headed straight for the basement workout room. My parents had begun to monitor my exercise, limiting me to thirty minutes a day and only if I ate what they considered to be an adequate dinner. Since they were still at work, I used the opportunity to get a nice, long run in. I put on The Killers’ “Sam’s Town” album and listened to it all the way through, twice, as my feet pounded away at the treadmill and my abs burned from dozens of reps on my mom’s Ab Lounge.

I was out of the shower and heating up a Lean Cuisine in the microwave when my dad’s truck came thundering up the gravel drive. He came inside talking on his flip phone, telling my mom to get home as soon as possible as he switched the TV over to the local news station. On the screen, the evening weatherman gestured to a green, yellow, and red-splotched map of our state, coolly explaining, in his suit and tie, the difference between a watch and a warning.

By the time my mom arrived home, the radar had become more red and yellow than green, with spots of purple beginning to infiltrate the map. The colors had begun to take on a swirling pattern in a few locations. The weatherman had shed his coat and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Watches had turned to warnings in some places; he was speaking directly to certain towns, even specific neighborhoods, urging people to take cover. I stepped out into the yard and was struck by how eerily quiet it was - no vehicles on the road, not a bird in the sky, not even a dog barking in the distance. The leaves hung as still as frightened rabbits; the sky took on a green tinge, the clouds forming a harsh line just above the treetops. I snapped a picture of the clouds on my iPod touch, shuddered and went back inside.

I don’t know how much later it was; it may have been ten minutes, may have been an hour. The sweaty weatherman had loosened his tie, his hair disheveled, bangs hanging limply down the center of his forehead, when he began to name off communities that were frighteningly familiar. It became hard for me to sit still; I would get up, pace around the room, stare out a window, sit back down. Finally, I wandered over to the big windows overlooking our backyard. I can remember calling for my dad as I stared at it, a massive, black cloud shaped like a cone. “Is that a funnel cloud?” I asked him.

“Yep, that’s a funnel cloud.” He squinted his eyes as he watched it, then sudden realization dawned on us both as we saw a large tree come out of the ground, roots and all. “That’s not just a funnel cloud,” he breathed in disbelief, “That’s on the ground! Get downstairs! NOW!”

The next few minutes came as a series of disjointed scenes: racing down the basement steps as the lights flickered and went out; huddling with my mom underneath my dad’s desk, screaming prayers at the top of my lungs, crying out to God or whoever was listening to make it stop; the sound of a freight train barreling past the house, rattling its windows and its very foundation; jumping out of my skin as baseball sized hail smashed through one of the basement windows.

When it was over, we crept up the stairs, half expecting to see open sky as we emerged. Miraculously, it was our kitchen, just as we had left it. The house was completely intact. Our barn wasn’t so lucky, and neither were the massive pine trees that lined our driveway, but we still had a home. We would soon learn that we were very fortunate compared to many of our neighbors.

The town was decimated - homes reduced to toothpicks, businesses destroyed. There was no electricity, phone lines were dead, cell towers down; no way of knowing who was alive, who was dead, and who lay injured beneath the rubble. Rescue efforts started, the national guard came into town, a caravan of tan Hummers lumbering past our house.

It didn’t take long for my dad to get the generator up and running; it didn’t produce enough energy to power the whole house, but at least we were able to have a few lights, the fridge, TV, and internet. I was finally able to log into Facebook, let my friends know that I was alive and make sure that they were all okay. I hadn’t been online for five minutes when a chat window appeared.

S! It’s you. Holy shit, it’s you. Jesus Christ, thank God. Are you okay? Are you hurt?

So that was what it took. A natural disaster, you thinking that I was dead. Three weeks of radio silence, and now here you were, no mention of hipster girl. It was as if she had never existed. Suddenly I was the center of your world again, and as much as I didn’t want to trust you, you re-established your place as the center of mine.

[separatist-apologist]

Don't Blame Me

They Say She's Gone Too Far This Time

Summary: Elain Archeron is certain Graysen Lockhart is the love of her life. She'd stake her life and her reputation on it, and could not be swayed…until visual proof of his constant, unrelenting cheating is sent to her in the undeniable form of pictures and screenshots. Humiliated and angry, Elain vows revenge the only way she knows will get under his skin.

She decides to sleep with his arch nemesis, Lucien Vanserra.

Part 1: For You, I Would Cross The Line

AO3

A decade of love ended with two simple words. Hey girlie. Elain sat in LAX’s terminal staring at the notification on her phone, a pop-up from a stranger on Instagram. It was the first of a series of messages, each longer than the last.

You don’t know me but I know you, the next began. Elain cleared it with an immaculate nail, painted yellow for the upcoming Easter holiday. There was another waiting.

Told me he was ending things, that it was just a matter of breaking his lease

She cleared that message too, ignoring the message over the loudspeakers. Around her, figured blurred into lines of colors, people moving through the airport for flights, towards lives that mattered, that had meaning.

A new message begging to be accepted popped up on Elain’s screen, obscuring the engagement photo of her and Graysen. Ten years, encapsulated in one photograph. The two of them, grinning ear to ear. The picture was retouched, airbrushed, and had been slapped on a million fliers, shoved in mailers, and splashed over billboards. Consistent. Reliable. Family Man. Graysen Lockhart. And Elain, his pretty, smiling fiancé, showing her ring off to reporters and baking fucking pies while he—

I have pictures.

Elain cleared that message with a furious swipe of her thumb, for all the good it did. Screenshot after screenshot after screenshot poured in, barely visible in the little icon and yet Elain knew what she would find if she looked. Every light night she’d happily gone to sleep believing he worked, every business trip he took, every time she went out of town to visit her sisters…Elain knew she’d find Graysen making the rounds.

There are more of us…but they’re afraid to text you. I could add you to the group chat—

Elain let out a soft scream, drawing the attention of the flight attendant waving people through the gate. She needed to get in that line if she planned to go back to D.C. Elain should have boarded ten minutes earlier, had remained glued to her chair, staring at her phone. Her entire life was Graysen. They owed a townhouse together, were six months away from a wedding. The idea of flying back home where he’d surely be waiting made her feel sick.

Blowing things up might cost him his career. Half the seats in their state were up for election and Graysen was supposed to be campaigning for another four years. Elain had taken a break from driving through endless sleepy towns to see her younger sisters new baby and had planned to rejoin him.

I’m sorry.

Elain laughed dryly. So was she. Still paralyzed with indecision, Elain was saved by God or fate or the universe, whatever strange force watched her in that moment. A new message, one that came through her regular phone and not Instagram, from a pretty, blonde face she recognized.

Arina. Elain’s best friend in the entire world despite her marriage to a Vanserra, and utterly unaware of what Elain was going through, sent her a quick, pleading text.

I know you’re on your way home right now BUT please please PLEASE consider ditching Graysen for a couple days and helping me plan Eris’s birthday party. PLEASE. Elain, no one throws a better party than you. This is me, begging on my knees. Graysen will live but I will not if Eris manages to outdo me. I will have to exile myself from both my marriage and my life.

Elain liked to keep things quiet. Her life was private…until it could be exploited. And Graysen had taken everything, every cute story, every soft memory, even their proposal and turned it into something he could make profitable for his career. And Elain had allowed it with a smile, had been more than happy to stage her engagement knowing full well he intended to propose, in an effort to maximize the public’s opinion of him.

Without her, what was Graysen? He was a loser, she decided angrily, rising to her feet. Her feet ached in heels, worn with her tight pants and even tighter—yet modest, of course—top, so when people took photos of her reunion with Graysen in the airport, she would look perfect. She wouldn’t embarrass him. They would maintain that flawless reputation of pretty people in love.

Elain accepted the Instagram messages after buckling herself into her oversized gray seat, paid for with Graysen’s airline points, tucked safely away in business class. The tiny, round icon of her smiling face slid to the bottom, letting the other woman know Elain had seen those messages.

Elain, like she did everything else, took meticulous screenshots of everything. She saved every photo, creating a little folder on her phone labeled Arina Birthday Party, knowing full well every picture she saved went straight to their shared icloud account on their shared computer in their shared home.

And as the flight attendant made the rounds, asking people to put away their devices, Elain paid the absurd twenty dollars for inflight wifi before returning a message to the interloper. The homewrecker. The woman she ought to hate.

Please don’t tell him you told me. Add me to the group chat.

The plane roared forward, all sound but that of the engines filling Elain’s head. It settled her, giving her a moment to stare out her little window and appreciate the sunny view of the pacific ocean. The plane would circle back, crossing over mountains and plains, before landing in the swamp Elain called a home. The entire time she’d been with Feyre, her sister had pleaded with her to move to California. Feyre modeled in Paris and Milan, had married a handsome Silicon Valley type who had a lot of handsome friends. Feyre had already successfully set Nesta, their eldest sister, up with Rhysand’s best friend. Why not Elain, too? Wasn’t Elain tired of the cold and the wet and the humidity? Didn’t she want sunshine and soft sand?

And Elain had laughed at the absurdity of it all. Sure, D.C. was cutthroat but Elain was above all that. She had love, she was happy. Let the rest of the city squabble and fight—she’d always been content to watch, certain her and Graysen were better than all the rest of the slime that slithered through the halls of the capitol.

Clouds covered Elain’s view of the ground, drawing her back to her phone. In the group chat, seven different people began offering apologies and explanations. These girls were friends, she realized. Perhaps not at first but they’d become friends through their realization Graysen was lying scum and their own hurt feelings. They’d met more than once, for drinks and then regular brunch as they debated if they ought to tell Elain. She swallowed her anger because their hurt was, of course, valid and they’d all known. The entire time, they had all known she was there and had only thought to tell her when it became apparent Graysen was never going to leave her.

Elain turned to Arina, the only person she could trust.

Of course I’ll help you. Question, though. If you ever caught Eris cheating, what would you do?

Arina’s answer took longer than it might have. Elain blamed the spotty wifi for that .While she waited she ordered a drink—vodka tonic, which she shot without touching the tonic, before ordering another. The stewardess arched a brow but said nothing, merely handing Elain two more mini bottles and walking away before Elain could order a third.

I’d fuck his mom and destroy his life, in that order. Why?

Elain scoffed, her fingers hovering over the glass screen to tap her response. She couldn’t sleep with Graysen’s parents and she certainly couldn’t destroy his life. She wouldn’t know how. If she left him, Elain knew he’d figure a way to spin it. Graysen was the master of spin. He’d make her into some bitter ex or worse, paint himself the heart broken ex-fiance pining for his heartless love.

A Washington Post article popped up in her notifications. Lucien Vanserra pulls ahead in Prythian City by six points, giving him a sweet lead ahead of the debates.

Elain blinked, opening the article to read. She kept careful tabs on Lucien Vanserra. Their state had two available Senate seats—Graysen occupied one, and Lucien the other. The pair hated each other. Lucien was from Vanserra money, so old it could be traced back centuries into Europe. Arina had told Elain the Vanserra’s were in line to the British throne distantly, and she’d been required to invite more than one Duke scattered about Western Europe, some of whom sent very nice gifts.

Graysen’s family was also wealthy but the money was newer and Graysen used that to his advantage. Lucien could never pretend to be a down home country boy but that was Graysen’s entire image. Elain knew Graysen had attended the same Ivy, had grown up in a sprawling estate with ocean access, and had attended the finest private school’s money could buy. But to the voters who saw pictures of him in scuffed up boots on John Deere Tractors, Graysen was just like them. A working man, a man of the people. And Lucien? He was an outsider, a traitor from the city with money that only cared about protecting the stock interests of his wealthy pals.

The truth was more complicated. Graysen certain did his fair share of protecting the wealthy at the expense of the working class just as Lucien had championed fair wages and capping housing costs.

She sat there, settled in her seat, mind racing. Destroy his life.

Lucien Vanserra would keep his seat, but Graysen’s was in doubt, contested by a bartender named Jurian Iring. Vanserra was helping him raise money but with his own campaign to run, he’d need help. She could help. Graysen wouldn’t have to know. She didn’t have to end things now. Elain could wait, could bide her time, could collect information and quietly pass it along to Jurian’s camp and watch Graysen’s campaign crash and burn. She could choose how to leak his multitude of infidelities, so they had the maximum impact and force him into corner of her own design.

Elain looked back to her phone, at the picture of Lucien Vanserra waving to a crowd of his supporters. Broad hands, brown skin and that Vanserra red hair tied off his face. He was broad, his musculature unhidden in his crisp, expensive suit and his features were just as elegant as his older brothers though softer somehow. She cocked her head, her anger sharpening into something else. Something darker, uglier.

Revenge.

Elain would destroy Graysen’s life and fuck his nemesis while she did it.

LUCIEN:

“What are your thoughts on the internet?” Vassa LaFlamme asked Lucien mere seconds before he stepped out of his office doors.

“Good for some things,” he said quickly, snapping the door shut behind him. Vassa was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. He regretted offering his assistance to her boyfriend Jurian, who was still unbelievably working his day job and had left campaigning largely up to the wide-eyed naivety of Vassa. She was a fire-bird and yet Lucien could not be her mentor, not when he had his own campaign to run.

“I got a DM today about Graysen from an unverified account. Looks like it was created this morning,” she added. Lucien glanced down, snatched the phone from her hand and read the message. It was just as Vassa said—no profile picture, no pictures or anything that would prove it was anything but a pornbot, with a downloadable PDF. Any other time, Lucien might have dismissed it. Swearing he’d buy Vassa a new phone, he clicked the link on a hunch. In his line of work, a dead profile usually meant someone high up was trying to make waves—or ruin a life—and didn’t want to risk getting caught. He prayed for a sex scandal and instead found a schedule of events Graysen was attempting to nail down for the final leg of his campaign. All in smaller town, towns Lucien might even skip in favor of bigger voting blocs.

It meant Graysen either assumed those places would vote in his favor or that hitting the more rural parts of the state would make up his deficit. “Well?”

He handed it back to Vassa. “Looks like someone wants to help. Maybe he fucked over his campaign manager or one of his volunteers. If you beat him there, you might have a decent chance of swaying some undecided voters.”

Jurian was persuasive when he got on a stage and Vassa wasn’t a polished politican’s wife. If you set her beside Elain Archeron, Vassa, while beautiful, looked absolutely normal. It was obvious Vassa did her own hair, that her clothes were purchased in places anyone could buy them and when Vassa smiled, it didn’t seem practiced in a mirror. Jurian and Vassa were the polar opposite of Graysen and Elain, D.C.’s stepford couple.

The problem was getting Jurian out of the cities and into the rest of the state. Jurian had hung his hat on the liberal parts of the state outvoting Graysen, tired of his pandering. He underestimated how deeply entrenched rural politics tended to be, how conservative the east coast still was, and that he was another city outsider. Lucien was just barely tolerated, a liberal Vanserra always mucking about. His family name helped. Jurian had none of that and needed to assure the rest of the state they would not be left behind if two liberal senators represented their interests in the capitol.

“Can I trust it?” Vassa asked, her cerulean eyes somehow bluer beneath the harsh fluorescents overhead. Bouncy red curls offset golden brown skin and a constellation of freckles. Vassa didn’t belong somewhere as profoundly ugly as D.C., though Lucien did not have the heart to tell her. He certainly preferred Jurian to the smug preening of Graysen, at any rate.

Lucien shrugged. “If I knew the answer to that, I’d run this place. My advice? Go with your gut. If you think it’s legit, beat Lockhart to every place he’s planning on attending either with volunteers knocking on doors or with Jurian himself talking to people. No matter what, though, you two need to leave Prythian City.”

Lucien’s phone rang, ending his talk with Vassa. She seemed to understand her time with him was at an end, peeling off at the end of the hall while Lucien paused. Eris. His brother only called when he needed something. Lucien hit the green button and loosened the blue tie wrapped too tightly around his neck. “What?”

“What’re you doing this weekend?”

“Drinking in a hotel bar,” Lucien replied automatically. He’d be campaigning right up until election day. “You want to join?”

“Do they even have bars in a Best Western?” Eris replied dryly.

“Fuck you, Eris.”

“It’s my birthday, asshole. Arina is arranging something, and I need you to be here for it. Father is coming.”

“Your father,” Lucien corrected automatically. “Not mine.”

“You have his last name, that makes him your father. Don’t make me face him alone or I will send the press the nakedest baby picture I can fine—”

“That will only help me,” Lucien shot back, his stomach tightening at the prospect.

“Yes, I have heard about the finsta,” Eris replied dryly. “Arina is monitoring it with glee. Will you come or not.” “Yes, I’ll come but if you think I’m going to speak to Beron, you’re wrong.”

“He wrote your campaign that very generous check, did he not?” Eris questioned a little too slickly. Lucien’s hand balled to a fist at his side before he took a breath. It was late and in his wing of offices, Lucien was the last to leave. It wasn’t usually like that for him and today he was grateful no one but the sanitation worker was there to see him quietly losing his temper.

“You know I have no idea what or who is giving me money,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Ah, of course. Politics is so famously free of money’s influence. I’m sure this was just a good faith donation from a constituent.”

“If he’s hoping I’ll do him a favor he can get fucked—”

“Calm down, baby brother. I never said that. Don’t let him rile you before you’ve even seen him?” “Why bring it up at all?” Lucien demanded, well aware that Eris loved to cause problems for the simple joy of it.

“Ever since mothers fair was revealed, you pretend you are above us all. You aren’t, and I intend to make you remember it. See you this weekend. Bring Arina a nice bottle of wine for her troubles. She’ll have to arrange another seat for your last-minute arrival.” “Tell her I’m coming,” Lucien snapped but the phone went dead, leaving Lucien angry in the middle of the nation’s capital, holding his phone like it was a lifeline. He ran a hand over his face, catching a hint of rough hair ghosting his cheek.

Everything is fine. Your life is fine, he reminded himself. He would shave in the morning, just as he always did. He was a man and Beron could not hurt him—not anymore. Not with his money, not with his words, and not with his fists.

But just to be sure, Lucien changed course for the gym.

Just to be safe.

ELAIN:

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” Graysen asked Elain as she folded another of his shirts, setting it neatly into his suitcase. “Surely Arina can live without you.” “I promised,” Elain replied, holding firm when she knew any other time she would have rushed to join him. “And besides, no one wants to see me. You’re what everyone has come for.” His cheeks flushed with pleasure. Graysen stood in their bedroom in front of a full length mirror she’d driven over sixty miles to buy. Vintage, in its ornate frame, with glass made over a century before. Elain had hung a strand of pearls from one of the corners to soften the burnished edges and even then, as Graysen admired his own reflection, Elain admired her handiwork. She’d designed a life, had turned the once empty brownstone into a home, for all he cared. She could hardly stand to sleep in her bed knowing he’d brought so many other women into it, staining her sheets not just with the act itself but with the lies told.

She intended to change them out entirely when he was gone. He’d never notice. She was merely another piece of decoration in his life that he could appreciate when he needed to, only to forget when it no longer served him.

“I hate the thought of you spending the night with a Vanserra.” Graysen turned to look at her, unaware the tight, slinky black dress she wore, with the draped sleeves and low neckline, served a secondary purpose. His words were double-edged. Elain had told Arina everything, had shown her the pictures, the texts, and most important, had shared her plan. It was risky—Arina was a Vanserra and might very well balk at Elain’s plan to involve the youngest silbing in her revenge plan.

But Arina had merely played along, suggesting Eris invite Lucien to offset Beron’s surprise attendance at the party he certainly had not been invited to. Elain could do the rest. Lucien might not like her but men were stupid and Elain was pretty. Let him think he was getting something over on Graysen. What did she care?

“It’s only Eris,” Elain reminded Graysen, trying not to shove him away when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “And he is very married.”

“Mm,” Graysen murmured, pressing a kiss against her mouth. He could be so sweet. It messed with her, had been all week since she’d returned. She wanted to pretend she’d never seen any of those texts, wanted to go back to how things had been before. “I can’t wait until that’s me.”

She hated him for making her love him. Elain smiled, swallowing her hurt while he caressed her face. “Elain Lockhart. My beautiful wife.”

“Soon,” she lied. “Only six more months.”

“Where are we with that?” he questioned, releasing his hold on her to zip his suitcase on the bed. “I haven’t heard you mention much about it.”

“There’s not much to say,” she lied again. She’d put everything on pause, unsure if she was better off cancelling her deposits or pretending things were fine and eating that money. She didn’t want to waste anyone’s time—and the date she held for the cathedral downtown was coveted. Someone else was surely dying for her early afternoon Autumn wedding.

“Mom says you haven’t responded to her text about a dress,” Graysen accused, glancing at her. “Are you still angry about what she said at Christmas?”

Elain crossed her arms over her chest, letting him see, just for a moment, how furious she was about everything. He didn’t blink, didn’t react. “You mean when she called me fat?”

He sighed, exasperated. “She didn’t call you fat, she just thought you were eating a lot and was concerned about your health. You took it the wrong way. Please text her, okay? Let her make it up to you—” “By shaming me into losing ten pounds for a wedding dress?”

Graysen slammed his bag to the floor. “Don’t cause problems for me right now, okay? I love you, baby. Call my mom. It’s one day at the expense of a lifetime of happiness. Punish her through her credit card but don’t punish me. I don’t want to be in the middle of this cat fight.”

He kissed her cheek and Elain fisted her hands at her sides to keep herself from punching him in the gut. “You’re under a lot of stress,” she murmured. “How can I help?”

“Want to suck my dick?” he asked, his tone light as though he were joking. She hated him for daring to ask her such as thing, when she knew the second he got on the road he’d be texting some new girl who wasn’t part of the group chat, who didn’t know what a liar he was…who would be all too happy to fall to her knees and suck him off the second she arrived to the hotel he was staying at.

“You should have asked sooner,” Elain replied sweetly, kissing his cheek. “You’re going to be late.” “When I get back,” he decided, as if there was a chance in hell. “I’ll be thinking about it all weekend.”

She had no response to that, so she only smiled, smiled until her teeth ached and her cheeks hurt. Graysen continued to talk right up until the car taking him to the airport arrived, unaware that Elain was privately plotting his demise in her head to get her through the interaction. She counted silently to one hundred once the dark door closed after him, just in case he came running back in for headphones or a charger and then, once she was sure he was gone, let out a scream the neighbors almost certainly heard.

She wanted to trudge back upstairs to the bedroom, bury her face in the cream sheets, and sob until there was nothing left. She hadn’t let herself cry—Elain knew if she let go of her anger and gave in to her sadness, acceptance would follow. She’d tell Graysen everything and lose her advantage. He’d spin things to his advantage; he’d salvage his career and he’d get to go on with his life as though he’d done nothing wrong.

She couldn’t stand the thought of it, so Elain took a breath and fixed her hair. She blew a controlled breath through perfect, red lips and smoothed a hand over her flat stomach until she felt calm again. Graysen would not return until Monday evening. It was Friday. For three days she’d be free of his presence, of his lies.

And in the strangest turn of events, Elain almost felt free.

LUCIEN:

“You hardly needed me for this, brother,” Lucien complained, raising a crystal glass of whiskey to his lips. Beside him, Eris looked around the room of mostly Arina’s friends, one hand on Lucien’s shoulder. Lucien supposed Eris did not have time for friends as he headed the family business. Beron had been ousted half a decade earlier for fraud and, despite the utter scandal, had merely paid his fine to the securities department and gone about his life as if nothing happened. He had an absurd presence on twitter and an almost cult-like following. He also had not come, despite his threats.

The party was winding down and Lucien regretted the wasted day no matter how many of Arina’s pretty friends had been giving him fuck me eyes all night.

“No, but it did feel like old times,” Eris admitted with an easy smile. He clapped Lucien on the shoulder, walking him from the large living room towards the connected dining room. The pair paused in front of the wall-length windows of Eris’s penthouse that overlooked the city. Eris truly was king up here, surveying his domain with satisfaction. Lucien wondered if his brother ever felt pleasure at what he’d obtained. “Besides. You made my wife incredibly happy. She likes you.”

“A moral failing,” Lucien joked. He was just as fond of Arina despite the absolute insane decision on her part to marry Eris in the first place. Arina was nice, she was normal. She liked to cut down her own Christmas trees, she knew how to cook for herself and had once forced Eris to return a necklace when she learned how absurdly expensive it was. Lucien had heard a rumor Arina made Eris take her to Olive Garden every year for their anniversary and he believed it, though Eris had never admitted the truth of it.

“Stay the night. Let Arina make you breakfast and then continue your tour of fuck all nowhere,” Eris continued dismissively. “Or better yet, drop out and come work for me.”

“I’ll stay the night,” Lucien agreed. “But only because the bar in my hotel is probably closed.”

“Smart man. Ayva is out there, if you’re looking for something to do…Arina invited her specifically for you.” Lucien rolled his eyes and waved off his brother, heading down the hall for the bedroom he typically occupied. He’d dumped his bag on the bed earlier to mark it just in case a horny couple decided to take it upon themselves to find more private accommodations.

Lucien flipped on the light, surprise to see Arina had covered the once white walls in a blue floral wall paper he quite liked and Elain Archeron sitting on the edge of the bed, massaging one of her feet with a perfectly manicured hand.

“Wrong room,” Lucien informed her, gesturing towards the bag she’d tossed gracelessly to the floor.

“I thought it looked cheap,” she replied without moving. Elain kicked her other shoe off, as if daring him to do anything about it. Was she drunk? Lucien couldn’t recall a single instance in which he and Elain had ever spoken to each other, a feat considering they’d both been in Eris and Arina’s wedding party.

“Graysen let you off the leash tonight?” he bit back, catching how her eyes flashed defiantly. She rose, all five feet of her without her absurd shoes and Lucien had the sense he ought to shut the door behind him, if only to keep someone from seeing him get slapped.

“I am his good little pet, aren’t I?” she murmured when she reached Lucien, looking up at him through thick, dark lashes. She was gorgeous, cheeks flushed, brown eyes sultry. “What would he say if he knew you were here right now?”

“You’re drunk,” Lucien guessed, suddenly unsure what else he could say. She laughed dryly, fingers reaching for the button of his jeans. He stilled.

“Would it matter if I was?” she questioned, undoing the metal clasp with one hand. Well practiced, his mind screamed, staring at pouty, red lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked instead. Because Elain was right—he didn’t care if she was drunk or not, just like he didn’t care if she was engaged. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, pushing them down his knees.

“I’m off my leash tonight, remember?” she murmured, cupping his cock through his underwear. Lucien exhaled softly, hardening beneath her soft hand. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.” “If you think I’m going to stop you, you’re wrong,” he told her, reaching for her hair as she pulled him from his pants. Elain’s smile was almost cruel, so at odds with the endless pictures she’d seen of the bright, friendly woman supporting Graysen in a Chanel pantsuit.

Elain sank to her knees, pumping the length of him once. “When did I ask for a gentleman, Vanserra?”

Fuck her, he thought as arousal spiked through him. His grip on her honey blonde hair tightened and the moment her lips slid around the tip of his cock, Lucien shoved, forcing her to take far more than she meant to. Elain gagged, hands braced against his thighs.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he groaned because despite the intense dislike he felt for her, her mouth was utter heaven. Her tongue slid along the length of him, lips wrapped around her teeth and despite her initial discomfort, she adjusted quicker than he’d expected. He could not picture nice, polite Elain taking anyone’s cock, and certainly not like this. Her cheeks hollowed, creating the most delicious friction and Lucien closed his eyes for a moment.

Her teeth scraped roughly against his skin. He jerked, looking back down at the furious expression blazing from her eyes. Elain pulled back, letting him keep his grip on her hair, still fisting the length of his cock she could not take in her throat. “Look at me or finish yourself,” she demanded roughly. His balls tightened and Lucien could only nod, guiding her back. He repaid her by pushing her further, delighting in the gagging that erupted from her own mouth as she struggled to adjust. He knew he was big and liked to imagine she wasn’t used to a penis so large, and certainly not one being shoved so inelegantly into her mouth. There was something primal about it, watching her on her knees, practically subservient before him, her mascara streaked down her cheek, head bobbing as he kept her in place. His whole body was hard, tighter than a bowstring as she sucked, her saliva pooling from her lips and dripping down his sac. Any other woman would have been given a warning but for Elain, he merely held her still so he could fuck her throat, delighting in the way she gagged. It was music, in a way, to debase her this way. And when he came, he said nothing at all. She squealed, pushing back but Lucien held her until he’d pumped every last drop down her throat.

She looked up at him with more of that blazing hatred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Lucien felt the most terrible urge to taste her, then, and, pressing his luck, reached for her. She scrambled to her feet and, hand raised, slapped him roughly across the face. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

He gestured down his body, his cock still twitching and swollen, her lipstick stained along his skin. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that hitting him only made him want her more. What the fuck was wrong with him.

“Give me your phone,” she demanded and wordlessly, Lucien handed it over. A moment later, Elain had typed in her phone number though instead of putting a name that would note her, she’d put a small, pink flower. She sent herself a quick text and then tossed his phone at his feet.

“You couldn’t hand it to me?” he asked, yanking his pants back over his hips.

“Get it yourself. I decide how this goes. Not you.” “What makes you think I ever want to see you again? I got mine,” he shot back with a smirk. Elain only smiled and collected her shoes, as if she knew what a liar he was.

“See you around, Vanserra.”

And she left him, half hard and feeling stupider than he ever had in his entire life.

ELAIN:

Elain was curled on the sofa when Graysen returned, her phone tucked beneath her thigh. She heard the door open softly and close softly. His bag thunked to the ground. Elain waited for him to tiptoe through the foyer into the living room where she waited. “You’re awake,” he said, clearly surprised. And she was. Any other night, Elain would have been in bed by eight in order to be up at four am for the gym but she’d made an exception. She wanted to know how late he’d been sneaking in and at one thirty am, Graysen had finally snuck his way in, smelling of J’Adore.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Elain murmured with mock sleepiness. That was half true. She couldn’t sleep knowing he was out with another woman not using protection. “It’s been a long weekend. How was the trip?”

“Awful without you,” he lied, keeping his distance. Hidden in the dark, Elain wondered what other tell-tale signs she’d find if she turned on the light and looked for herself. She merely curled her legs beneath her body, reaching for her phone. “Fucking Iring beat me out there, the prick. I’m gonna need you next weekend. “Of course,” Elain agreed sweetly. “I should have told Arina no.”

That pacified him. “I should shower. Meet me in bed?”

Elain rested her head along the back of the cushioned tan couch and nodded, her hair spilling around her face and Graysen, thinking he’d gotten away with something, continued up to the bathroom where he’d scrub away the evidence of his crimes.

Elain pulled her phone from beneath her and scrolled through her contacts, looking for the little fox emoji that denoted Lucien. He was an ass, choking her on his dick and still it had been almost fun. Certainly gratifying, in its own way. She’d masturbated to the thought of blowing Lucien just as Graysen had begged her to a few hours before.

5am? She texted, unsure what she even wanted from him. He didn’t seem like a particularly kind or generous lover and it occurred to Elain if she was going to cheat on Graysen, she might pick someone who could actually make her come. She’d been faking it for years, getting off only when Graysen felt like going down on her, which was infrequent at the best of times. She’d told herself it was the tradeoff for love, that you either got mind blowing sex or the love of your life, but never both.

Still, she’d fake it with Lucien to one day rub this whole thing in Graysen’s face. She could get on top and control the entire thing. Use him just as surely as he’d used her, she decided. What did she care what he thought of her touching herself while he fucked her? It made Graysen insane—he swore it would upset any man.

Lucien sent back an address and nothing else, as though he’d made his peace with the situation. Satisfied, Elain turned off the television, straightened up the living room, and made her way into the bedroom upstairs. She passed the bathroom where Graysen showered, his bodywash overpowering the lingering perfume she’d smelled when he came in.

She was in bed, back turned to him when he came in. She felt him slide in, felt his hand on the middle of her back.

“Baby?” he whispered. She almost scoffed at his audacity but instead focused on keeping her breathing even. Graysen leaned over and Elain continued to feign sleep, eyes closed, until he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade and settled back to his side of the bed. She was fuming, so angry she was sure she’d never sleep.

She was startled when her alarm jolted her awake at four am, cheerfully reminding her that Elain always got up at four am so she could make it on time to her hot yoga class. Graysen groaned, flinging an arm over in Elain’s direction. She pushed it back, silencing her alarm and headed for the shower. Still holding her phone, Elain realized she had a notification.

Lucien, ten minutes earlier, had sent her a sweaty, shirtless gym picture. Elain, ignoring the way her whole body tightened at the sight of glistening abs, responded with one word.

Gross.

He was hardly gross. He had the biggest penis she’d ever seen in her entire life, a low bar considering she’d only ever seen two. He was in incredible shape and there was something appealing about a man with discipline, who got up early like she did to work out. Graysen preferred to run and was often dieting, which meant Elain, too, was running and dieting. She hated running. Elain liked weights, she liked dancing, she liked anything but the monotony of running. Graysen thought weights made women too bulky and dancing was too slutty.

It was a reminder that Graysen controlled every aspect of Elain’s life, from the color of her nails to the kind of clothes she wore and everything in between. Elain wasn’t allowed in anything too short, too low cut, that showed the barest hint of skin. That included shorts to work out in, it included bathing suits on the beach, and it often extended to even the lingerie she wanted to wear. Someone might see her buy it and think she was the wrong type of woman.

What would he think of her now, carefully soaping her body only to send a strategically posed, low light selfie straight back to Lucien? There was no way to know the pair of wet tits belonged to her and though Lucien was a bastard to be sure, he didn’t seem like the kind of asshole who’d leak the pictures.

His response was instant.

Hurry the fuck up.

It only slowed her down. Pleasure coiled through her all the same and Elain took her time drying her hair and curling it, applying a thin layer of make-up, and all the other stupid shit she did because Graysen demanded it even though going to work out in make made her skin itch. Her workout would be different, and she thought she quite liked the sight of her lipstick smeared over Lucien’s cock, besides. Maybe she’d take a picture of that, too. Maybe that would be the picture she showed Graysen, when this was all over and she’d completely blown up his life.

Graysen didn’t budge by the time Elain left, her tennis shoes laced up, her bag tossed over her shoulder. The only difference between today and any other was her lack of kiss—she always kissed him on the cheek before she left, just in case anything happened. Murmured an I love you he never returned. She doubted he noticed the difference, was grateful for the quiet.

Just like Elain, Lucien lived in Georgetown. Why shouldn’t he? A Vanserra living in the historic neighborhood was practically a right, a king come to claim what was his by birth and blood. It made sneaking around much easier, when she merely had to jog four blocks down. Lucien’s home didn’t share a wall and wasn’t a townhouse, a fact Elain was immensely jealous of. Three stories of gorgeous white stone and Victorian architecture, bathed beneath the early glow of the morning sun, left Elain momentarily stunned on the sidewalk. Remembering she was supposed to be at yoga and not at a Vanserra’s, she jogged up the steps, hands gliding up the old iron railing and wondered who had once lived there before him. Who else had walked those steps?

He opened the arched door before she could knock, dressed casually in black basketball shorts and a blue v-necked t-shirt. She’d never seen his hair loose around his face—it had always been neatly pulled back but in the doorway it hung damp and thick around his handsome face, making him seem rougher and almost rakish by comparison.

He gestured for her to step inside, further impressing her with a modern, bright interior that utilized the high ceilings and large windows to maximize the amount of natural light pouring in. She wanted a tour more than she wanted to fuck him in that moment but Lucien, unaware or unconcerned with her interest in his décor, merely gestured for her to follow him up dark hardwood stairs.

And she did. She hadn’t come to compliment him, after all. His bedroom was a little darker, the curtains pulled against high windows, his duvet a blood red that wasn’t totally at odds with the cream of his walls.

“Get naked,” he said the moment he’d shut his door. “I only have an hour.” “I’m sure that’s plenty of time,” Elain sneered in response, pulling her tank top over her head. Lucien’s expression darkened but he didn’t argue. He also didn’t take a piece of his own clothing off, a fact she didn’t realize until she was shimmying out of her leggings.

“What about—” she began but he growled softly, shoving her to the bed and yanked roughly, stretching the seams. She gasped, worried he’d rip a hole if he wasn’t careful. He took only a moment to look at her, a hungry gleam in his eye, before he reached for her wrist and yanked her back to her feet.

It occurred to her only a moment later that she’d very explicitly told him they would do things her way or not at all. He’d heard her and perhaps interpreted it to mean she would decide when while he decided the how. Elain began to protest his wordless manipulation of her body until he was flat on his back and she straddling his chest.

“Lucien you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, pulling himself further down, arms grasping her thighs. He yanked and Elain gasped again, this time from the feel of his tongue dragging up her pussy. The pads of his fingers dug into the bone of her hip, holding her so tight she wasn’t sure how he was breathing. She fisted his hair just as he had done the weekend before, deciding he didn’t care. Let him suffocate, if he wanted to say that kind of shit to her.

And oh God, she had to use her other hand to hold the head board. Her hips rolled against his face of their own accord, urging him on though he had set a very polite, almost leisurely pace. She remembered what he’d said only a minute before. I only have an hour.

An hour. If she could get Graysen to spend more than five minutes between her thighs she considered it a win and Lucien was bemoaning an hour. She could not imagine it, was sure she’d come even if he changed nothing about how he currently stroked against her.

“Turn me around,” Elain gasped, practically writhing when he switched between long, broad strokes of his tongue to short, faster flicks. He said nothing though he paused for a moment and then, with a slowness that made her scream softly, delved into the opening of her pussy, fucking her with his tongue. She hated him, hated him for how good he was with his mouth and how bad she wanted to come. “Lucien, let me suck—”

“Fuck, Elain,” he groaned, letting her climb off his face long enough to reposition herself, his hands frantically pulling his shorts from his hips. He was achingly hard and utterly erect—the sight of his bobbing cock against his abs thrilled her a little. Graysen had told her eating her out did nothing for him, made him so soft he needed to stroke himself while he was down which he found distracting.

Lucien hauled her back against his face without warning and she squealed in delight, sighing at the feel of his fingers spreading her apart. It took her a moment to remember what she was supposed to be doing. She reached for his cock, pumping twice with her hand to get a feel for him. Lucien’s breath quickened, hot against her cunt and Elain moaned softly, grinding against him.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that shit,” he told her, mouth pressed against her body. She wasn’t sure if she meant the stroking of the grinding of her hips and as a test, she did both, first her hand, and then her lower body. He groaned against, losing his rhythm for a moment.

“Suck my fucking cock, Elain,” he ordered and Elain had never been so aroused in her life. She ought to have told him no, but Lucien’s tongue was back in her pussy and Elain was building too hot, too fast. She sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth, her mind focusing on taking as much of him as she could, to see if she could take more than before. It gave her something else to focus on, beside the throbbing pleasure between her legs.

“You’re only pretty when you’re sucking me,” he told her, his words panting and muffled. She would have laughed had she not had half his cock in her throat. She raked her teeth up the skin of his shaft in warning, a reminder to shut his own mouth if he wanted to finish at all and Lucien seemed to understand the message.

He couldn’t hold her head against him as he pulsated closer, the vein in his cock raised. She knew he was about to come, had figured out his tell—his hips began to thrust upwards, trying desperately to fuck all of her. What would it feel like to actually have every inch of him in her, pumping desperately, madly?

Elain came for the first time in a year, grinding hard against her face. She let herself be loud, let herself press against him, use him for her own pleasure just as she said she was. He didn’t mean anything to her, was merely an object for her to use. The feeling was clearly mutual as Lucien pulled her off him just in time to coat her in his come. She punched him hard in the thigh, using her other hand to wipe his emission from her throat.

“I get it now,” Lucien panted, grinning ear to ear as he looked at her. “Why the press is always calling you beautiful.” “I hate you,” she replied, standing quickly. He didn’t stop smiling. He merely gestured towards the bathroom door at the far end of the bathroom.

“I know you do. Go clean yourself up.”

And Elain did exactly as she was told.

LUCIEN:

“I can’t stand them,” Vassa hissed, arms crossed over her chest as Elain and Graysen swanned into the little auditorium. Graysen and Jurian would face off in a series of townhalls. Lucien understood Vassa’s frustrations—Elain was a veteran when it came to greeting constituents. When Vassa came in, she’d barely spoken to anyone, focusing on getting things set up, still leaning the ropes. Elain immediately began greeting the people seated on benches around the circular stage, eyes bright as she inquired after their lives and heard their problems. Lucien knew without a doubt Graysen would never have gotten half as far without Elain baking pies and kissing infants and remembering the names of a seemingly endless stream of strangers.

He resented Graysen for it almost as much as he disliked Elain for her willingness to play along. What did she get from the whole thing? Did she imagine she might one day be First Lady? That hitching her wagon to someone like Graysen would one day pay off for her?

Lucien let hismelf imagine her covered in his come, messy and disheveled and so fucking hot. Where was that woman, he wondered? The Elain he saw now wore a bright blue pencil shirt with a modest jacket, a silver bracelet that matched the delicate chain around her neck and the gleaming diamond on her finger. It occurred to him that in the time he’d spent with her, he’d never once seen her wear her engagement ring.

Not a hair was out of place, her lips the perfect shade of pink, her eyeshadow creating the sweetest, doe-eyed effect. Graysen approached in his navy suit and placed a hand on her back. Elain turned and offered him a beaming smile…until he looked away. It was only a moment but Lucien, so busy studying her in his resentment, caught the hatred that flashed over her features before she caught herself. It was the briefest flicker, hardly anything at all.

“I’ll bet he’s fucking women all over the state,” Vassa, unaware of Lucien’s obsession, continued whispering from her spot in the stands. He was there as moral support, sitting in the front row beside Vassa just opposite of Elain and Graysen. Elain took her seat, smoothing the back of her skirt before sitting and tossed a pretty curl over her shoulder. Graysen said something to her and her smile tightened for a moment but she smiled in agreement all the same. Graysen joined Jurian on the stage, preparing to be mic’ed up and flipping through his note cards in his jacket pocket.

“You think?” Lucien murmured. “You don’t think Elain unplugs him when the night is over and puts him on a charging dock?”

Vassa giggled. “If anyone gets put away, it’s politician’s wife barbie. She’s too perfect. I’ll bet she’s pent up as fuck.”

Lucien couldn’t comment on that, though Vassa wasn’t wrong. She sucked dick like she needed it to breathe. He couldn’t think about that or he’d have an erection in the middle of what promised to be a very dry town hall. Lucien had given Vassa the run down earlier—he personally thought townhalls were preferable to big debates. People were obviously preselected ahead of time and each candidate had a sense of the questions that would be asked, but there was an intimacy to them that made viewers and participants feel like they knew a candidate better. It let candidates show off more of their personality, of their values. Jurian needed people to see he had more in common with them than Graysen, who was guaranteed to come off too polished, too slick no matter how back woods he wanted to portray himself.

And Elain, in her thousand-dollar shoes, did Graysen no favors in this venue. Lucien supposed she existed simply to make other men jealous, to perhaps make them think subconsciously that a man with a woman like that might rub off on them in some way. As though there was anyone half as beautiful as Elain anywhere else.

Her eyes met his, that practiced smile shifting into something else. Her gaze drifted towards the hall and Lucien didn’t dare believe she’d chance such a thing. He was merely thinking with his dick while she was letting her mind wander. Still, it was him who stood even as Vassa looked up at him.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Totally fine. I need to take care of something really quick,” he added, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Jurian is going to be fine. This is where he shines.”

Vassa nodded, curls bouncing sweetly. She was exactly what she needed and if Jurian ever got smart and hired an actual campaign manager, Vassa could give Elain a run for her money. He’d try and sell Jurian on the merits of that later. He turned towards the aisle, nodding at the same people he needed to vote for him before pushing through wide, double doors. There was a dressing room between where he sat and Elain sat—small, practically a closet all things considered, but he didn’t need a lot of room.

What he needed was a condom and to get that, Lucien had to run from the purple carpeted lobby to the parking lot, trying to remember where he’d left his car, fish his keys from his pocket, and pull the yellow foil from his glove box. He slipped it into his pocket, walking back to the glass doors of the auditorium. He could hear the booming words of the moderator welcoming guests and hoped the dry political droll wouldn’t permeate through the walls.

Lucien considered, for one brief moment, this was all in his head. That he’d imagined Elain’s desire from across the room and was walking to that dressing room, the same he’d once spent a terrifying ten minutes standing in before his very first town hall, to find it empty.

Lucien yanked the door open and Elain grabbed his tie, dragging him further inside. The door slammed shut behind them and Lucien couldn’t help himself, leaning to kiss her.

“Not my face,” she snapped, her fingers pressed to his lips.

“I’ll bet you’re a shitty kisser anyway,” Lucien lied, hiking her skirt towards her hips, mouth finding her arching neck.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“I hate Graysen as much as you do,” he couldn’t help saying. Elain fumbled with the belt of his dress pants, yanking too hard. Lucien didn’t care, rubbing himself against her slim leg as he hauled hre against a small table shoved against the wall. He meant to bend her over it, but her skin was so soft and smelled sweet, like honey and jasmine and Lucien needed to lose himself in it. He was cognizant of her hair, burying his hair in the soft strands for only a moment.

“You’re not running against him,” she reminded Lucien, dragging him back to the present. Right. They weren’t friends—she was going to marry his worst enemy.

“I’m here to support Jurian,” Lucien told her, taking step backwards so he could pull his cock from the opening in his pants. He had no intention of getting naked or being caught with his pants down.

Elain hopped off the table, hips wiggling as she shimmied out of a pair of lacy, hot pink underwear. Her eyes darkened at the sight of the condom in his hand, watching as he ripped the corner with his teeth.

“Turn around,” he told her, pocketing her underwear. She was so obnoxious, the way she watched him over her shoulder with those big eyes, as if daring him to do anything about it. Knowing they could get caught, that anyone might walk in on them. How would she explain it? Elain Archeron, soon to be Lockhart, caught fucking a Vanserra?

Why did the thought making him so hot? Lucien rolled the condom over already straining cock and pushed the hem of her dress up over the perfect curve of her ass. He ran his hand over her skin before slapping hard, the sound ringing over the muffled conversation humming in the background. The print of his hand immediately reddened against her fair skin and Lucien couldn’t help his smile, satisfied.

She merely wiggled her hips invitingly, spreading her legs, still incased in those black heels, wider apart. “Tick tock, Vanserra. I don’t have all day.”

He wrapped a hand around her throat, brushing his lips against her ear. “When we get home, I’m going to make you regret this moment.”

“I regret every moment I’ve spent with you,” she replied sweetly, pushing her hips against his straining erection.

There was clapping in the background, acknowledging Elain’s sharp wit and Lucien could appreciate the humor of the moment. He snapped his hips, sliding into her without warning, without an ounce of sweetness. She gasped, gripping the edge of the table. “Ass,” she whispered, as though he were the problem. Lucien knew, the moment he was fully incased in her body, that it was she who was the asshole. How could she not have warned him, he wondered? Dizzyingly, Lucien rolled his hips, forcing himself to stay silent despite how tightly she gripped him. She felt like a second skin, the heat of her body seeping through the condom until he could all but imagine what it would feel like to fuck her raw. He held her hip, yanking her against him until Lucien could hear nothing but the sound of their combined breathing and the slap of their skin.

“Can you come like this?” he asked her, reaching for one of the curls of her hair.

“Does it matter?”

He hated her in that moment. He tugged her hair until she leaned backwards, looking up at him and, ignoring her earlier request, kissed her because he couldn’t stop himself. Like everything about them, there was nothing elegant or nice about it—the kiss was bruising, his tongue in her mouth, her teeth biting too hard until he swore he could taste blood.

“It always matters,” Lucien swore against her lips, releasing her so he could focus. If he kissed her again, he might be tempted to seek out her taste where it was stronger, to bury his face between her legs and let himself enjoy her until she was writhing and bucking against him.

She exhaled roughly when he snaked his hand between their bodies, cunt clenching tightly around him. “Tell me what you fucking need,” he growled, rubbing her clit until she practically dripped around him, her whole body a vice, sucking him deeper. She came with a sweet whimper, the feel of her convulsing around him emptying his mind of all other thoughts. He came almost regretfully, knowing the moment he finished his wild, primal pumping he would have to send her back to Graysen.

Elain all but shoved him off her, pulling her dress back to her knees. “My underwear—” “It’s mine,” he interrupted smoothly. “I’m not giving them back.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you going to smell them later?” she taunted, raking her fingers through her still immaculate hair. He took a step towards her, wiping a bit of smeared lipstick from her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m gonna use them to masturbate tonight,” he replied. “Want me to send you a video.”

Her eyes burned with hatred. Elain reached for the door handle as Lucien quickly zipped himself back into his pants.

“Send me the video, Vanserra.”

Elain snapped the door shut behind her, leaving him grinning like an utter fool in her wake.

ELAIN:

“How the fuck is he always one step ahead of me?” Graysen raged, turning the television off to pace across the plush white rug in their shared living room. “Someone is telling him something, I just know it.”

Elain didn’t look up from her phone, staring at a series of filthy texts from Lucien. “Maybe you should vet your volunteers better.”

“Its like he’s in my mind. I say I want to go to a soup kitchen and there that bastard is, photographed by the press—” “You left last weekend for Our Little Sisters,” Elain reminded him, looking up from her screen with a frown. “What happened?”

Graysen paled for a moment, caught in a lie he’d obviously forgotten about. “I told you, he beat me to it.”

Elain looked back at her phone, knees pulled to her chest. Come over.

“You could still go,” she reminded Graysen stone faced despite the arousal currently pulsating through her. “Good deeds aren’t a first come, first served sort of thing. Pick an organization in a county you haven’t visited yet.”

She wondered if he was considering which of his mistresses he’d told all this to that might be blabbing. He began to pace again, brown eyes stormy, his handsome face ugly with anger. “It’ll look cheap in comparison. It’s just one thing of a long list. Someone has betrayed me—” “Vet your volunteers better. It’s the same staff as before,” she reminded him, fingers flying across the screen.

You sound desperate.

Graysen ran a hand down his chin. “Do you have plans tonight?”

She frowned, once again forced to look at her fiancé. “No. I thought we were staying in?”

“What about Arina? You haven’t seen her in forever.” “Her and Eris have been in the Maldives for his birthday.” “They’re back though, right? You should visit her.” His desperation infuriated her, so transparent she had to work to keep her expression thoughtful.

“It would be nice to spend some time with her.” “Spend the night, even. Have a girls night. You’ve been working really hard, Lainey. On me. Take my card and really go crazy. Spa, drinks, dinner, shopping, whatever you want.”

Elain glanced back at her phone, to the new message waiting for her.

Desperate to see you covered in cum.

She plastered a smile to her face. “You spoil me.”

“You deserve it, baby. I mean it. You’ve let me drag you all over without any complaining. Have a nice night with Arina.”

“What will you do?” she asked, rising to her feet, well aware he was about to lie to her face. Would he see his mistress? Graysen crossed the room, holding her face in his hands.

“Work. I’ve got to figure out how to bury that piece of shit. It’s going to be a boring night staring at my computer.”

“You work too hard,” Elain told him too sweetly, her mind wandering to every filthy thing she’d do to Lucien as repayment for this moment. “I’ll miss you.”

He slapped her ass. “Go have fun.”

Elain put on a slinky red dress and a pair of matching red heels with absolutely nothing underneath. She concealed that fact in a long jacket, buttoned over her breasts so when she came to see Graysen he didn’t notice her nipples poking from beneath the silky fabric. Not that he looked in her direction at all. It was ridiculous to think he was staying at home, in his button up blue shirt and his navy dress pants. He had his watch still on, for fucks sake. He was clearly waiting for her to leave.

And she did, unbuttoning the beige coat as she walked the four blocks to Lucien’s house, each step freeing her of her resentment. By the time Lucien pulled open the door, wearing only a pair of long, athletic pants loose around his hips, Elain was almost excited.

“You’re overdressed,” he commented, eyes immediately zeroing in on her breasts.

“It’s called a gift, and you’re welcome,” Elain retorted.

“To see your tits through clothes? That’s only a gift to someone whose never seen you naked. Take your dress off…but keep the shoes.” “You’re a pervert,” she accused, sliding the dress tortuously slow over her skin, reveling in the feel of the fabric against her overheated skin. Lucien watched hungrily, not moving from the foyer. 

“Did I steal your only pair of underwear?” he asked, reaching for her now naked body and skimming his hands over the sides of her skin.

“I couldn’t risk you keeping them,” she replied.

“Answer me one thing, Elain Archeron,” he began, his mouth so close to hers she could taste the alcohol he’d been drinking. “When you’re done punishing Graysen for whatever fuckup he’d=s committed, are you going to marry him?” “Jealous?” she taunted, eyes searching his.

His eyes flashed with heat. “Yes.”

She didn’t let him say another word in the wake of that admission. She should have left him entirely. It was too far, to admit there was something at stake for him. This was supposed to be meaningless, punishment for every wrongdoing of Graysen’s. Instead, Elain grabbed Lucien by the back of his neck, kissing him roughly. She was stupid, thinking she could walk away. He was utterly electric, his hands pure heat as they hauled her into the air.

Fingers rubbed between the globes of her ass, his mouth bruising. Elain dragged her fingers through his hair, pulling through thick tangles. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms around his neck as Lucien walked them up the steps, never breaking the kiss. She was grateful for his athleticism in that moment, certain she would have died if he set her down, if his clever fingers stopped their expert, soft touches.

He dropped her to his bed, his heady, masculine scent enveloping her. She yanked at his hair, unwilling to give him a moment to say another word that might betray whatever feelings were bubbling in his mind. As far as Elain was concerned, she had a plan and Lucien asking if she intended to marry Graysen would only fuck it all up. He knew what this was.

She pushed desperately at his pants, not wanting to think about anything but his cock buried inside her, of the oblivion fucking him brought. He kicked them off, panting over her before trailing a series of punishing, bruising kisses over her skin, sucking against the skin of her breasts so hard she was certain there would be tell-tale purple bruises in the morning. She didn’t care. She raked her nails roughly against his back, hoping she might scar, wanting to hurt him for scaring her.

His cock slid through the slick folds of her pussy, reminding her she’d always meant to be in charge of their sexual interactions. She shoved him off her roughly, straddling his hips before he could stop her. He misunderstood, groaning his approval and trying to haul her up over his face but Elain slapped his hand off her. She centered her body over her cock, taking the base of it into her hand, and guided herself down.

“Look at me,” he demanded when her eyes shuttered. “You’ll look at me when I fuck you.” “I’m fucking you,” she reminded him breathlessly, rolling her hips quickly, desperately. They moaned in time, his broad hands spanning her ass again, practically holding her over him, his pace just as frantic, just as needy.

“Please, Van—”

“Say my goddamn name!” he all but yelled at her, reaching for a strand of hair and yanking until her face was mere inches from her own. “Say my name, Elain. Look at me and say my name.”

Their eyes met, her hips frantically meeting him thrust for thrust. The pain only made her wetter, made her want him more. “Lucien,” she whimpered. “Please, I—”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Elain and Lucien froze, looking behind them at the crisp, stunned figure of Eris Vanserra. Eyes wide, pale-faced, Eris seemed genuinely surprised, maybe for the first time in his life. “I don’t know which of you is dumber right now. Get fucking dressed.”

Elain slid Lucien from her body, wrapping the blood red blanket of his bed around her as Lucien very quickly dressed. He looked wild and a little afraid, yanking a shirt from his desk against the window over his head.

“Stay here,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

Something was bubbling in her chest, something Elain had kept buried for far too long. When the door snapped shut behind her, she stood with a numbness she hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling. She pulled open his dresser drawers, pulling on a pair of blue basketball shorts and one of his t-shirts before sitting on the floor, her back against his bed. Elain drew her knees up to her chest, waiting for Lucien to return.

The door opened and familiar blonde hair and green eyed peeked in. Arina, hurried and clearly worried, quickly slipped into the room. Arina, who had known about this plan the entire time, even if Elain had never shared the specifics, who had likely been waiting for Eris in the car when he stopped by to see his younger brother.

Arina, dressed in a beautiful blue dress, sat on the wood floor beside Elain and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Graysen has been sleeping with other women behind your back, Elain,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

And the tears Elain had been so desperately trying to keep at bay finally erupted from her chest. She buried her head in Arina’s shoulder, her sobs loud enough to interrupt the sound of Eris yelling at Lucien downstairs. “No. I’m not okay.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you ever want to do a "Top 10 home gardening tomato cultivars" segment, I'm here for it. (My folks mostly plant Early Girls, but they have a ridiculously short growing season up there. I grow Sweet 100s, because they taste good enough and I gave up on growing anything other than cherries due to bastard squirrels who like to take exactly one bite out of larger tomatoes.)

OH

IT IS NOW TIME TO INFO DUMP

CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED

Ok so the actual thing with tomatoes is there are- checks google- about 10,000 tomato cultivars out there and every single one of them is different, so you should tailor your tomato breeds to what you actually want to do with them.  10K is a lot a breeds to break down, but fortunately, there are ways to Do That:

1. Determinate vs. Indeterminate 

Determinate tomatoes grow to a genetically predetermined size and start fruiting.  Pros: Tends to have a short time between planting and fruiting, don’t get bigger than a certain size if you only have so much space. Cons: Once they’re done fruiting, that’s it. you really only get the one crop out of them.  Also tend to have sad, watered-down flavor.

Indeterminate tomatoes grow as big as the space will let them, and start fruting when they get around to it. Pros: Maximum Plant for minimum investment, which can be like 10x as big as a determinate plant. Will KEEP fruiting until it gets too cold, so if you can get it in a pot you can move inside you could potentially still be harvesting tomatoes after thanksgiving like my MIL was this year.  If you live somewhere warm like SoCal or AZ, you could keep it alive all year. Cons: MUCH longer time between planting and fruiting.  Indeterminate tomates Get there when they get there. Also may be more prone to disease and pests than the more-modified determinate plants.

There are determinate and indeterminate tomatoes in all 5 of the Greater Tomato Archetypes.  Speaking of:

2. The 5 Tomato Archetypes

I’m so good at segues! 

So tomatoes come in 5 basic types, each which is generally better for something culinary than the others.  You CAN substitute different types of tomato but your food generally doesn’t come out as good.

1. Cherry: Cherry tomatoes produce fruits that are about the size of cherries.  Some people put Grape and Saladette tomatoes in here but they are WRONG, both of those belong in the “Round/All-Purpose” group because Cherry tomatoes specifically have thinner skins, more soluable pectin, and more dissolved glutemates, which means they cook VERY differently.  Cherry tomatoes also produce a shitload of fruits at a time and might be some of the heaviest producers.  Tend to be more heat-tolerant. Good For:  Fresh tomato sauces (i.e. takes less than 20 minutes to make), salads, snacking on directly off the vine like you are a small tarsier discovering a hidden bounty of fruit.

Top reccomendations are: -Indigo Cherry or Dwarf Black Krim if you can find it. I always reccomend dark-pigmented tomatoes as I find they have better flavor, pest resistence and UV tolerance. Taste fruity but not over-sweet and Very Tomato-y.  -Sweet 100/Super-Sweet 100/Sweet Millions: All varietals of the same mass-producing Cherry Tomato. Makes absolute buckets of Tomatoes, sweeter and more fruity than the Indigo cherry, good disease resistence and long growing season.

2. Paste: Paste tomatoes are thin-skinned, meaty and soft tomatoes that... well, they make good tomato paste, the basis for all long-cooking tomato sauces and recipies. They tend to be kind of Oblong and sometimes grow in fun extras like lil tomato “dicks” or weird cthulian shapes, but this doesn’t effect the flavor or nutrition There’s a shitload of great varietals in this category, I’ve yet to hear of a Bad Paste Tomato, just Less Excellent ones.   Good For: Long-cooking Tomato-based dishes like: Bolognese, chili, ketchup, BBQ etc.  Also can and freeze well.

Top Reccomendations are: -Amish Paste: MEATY, and well-suited for growing in a variety of conditions.  Paste is smooth and velvety.  Good for Chili, BBQ and Bolognese. -Opalka tomato: Russian Tomato, little more on the acidic side, grows well in places prone to surprise late frosts.  Paste isn’t as smooth but very thick. makes great ketchup. -San Marzano: THE tomato for making Marinara Sauce (also does good bolognese). Sweeter and lighter, with a slightly runnier paste that clings well to pasta. cans and freezes excellently, does well in places with HOT summers.

3. Beef: Beef tomatoes are BIG motherfuckers that kind of take a long time to grow but are very rewarding.  Beef tomatoes are firm, have a very solid meat and are best eaten raw, typically sliced onto a sandwich or seared under a broiler for a NZ Mousetrap. Not only are the fruits big but so are the Plants, so they take a long time to reach maturity and the fruit takes FOREVER to ripen but if you like a sandwich, they can’t be beat.  Also they look hella impressive on instagram. They also tend to be more prone to Blossom End Rot (which is just a calcium deficiency- just make sure to fertilize with some eggshells and don’t over-water them), and despite the size, don’t tolerate cold well. Good for: Slicing on sandwiches, eating raw like you’re biting into the still-beating heart of your nemesis and enjoying that sweet, sweet revenge, searing quickly under a broiler or putting on a Kabob.

Top Reccomendations Are: -Brandywine: Hefty, great fresh tomato flavor, and PINK.  -Big Zac: Goddamn Massive Tomato. A Real Heckin’ Chonker. meatier flavor and lots of firm flesh with few seeds. -Beefmaster: One problem with Beef tomatoes is that a lot of them are heirloom varietals that aren’t as widely available. Of the ones that are easy to get your hands on, Beefmaster is the best, but it lacks the flavor punch of Brandywine or Big Zac, but it’s not a BAD tomato.

4. Round/Early/All-Purpose: The Workhorse of Tomatoes, the Round Tomato does it all- sauces, salsa, sandwiches, salads, and snacks.  But it doesn’t do them quite as well as the other, more specialized tomatoes.  Also, some of these tomatoes have been Over-Worked and bred to fruit early and transport well, at the expense of it’s Flavor.  I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU, EARLY GIRL AND BETTER BOY, YOU FLAVORLESS TENNIS BALLS, YOU INSULTS TO THE MIGHTY HOUSE OF NIGHTSHADES. Love yourself, don’t get Early Girl or Better Boy. If your season is too short for anything but the earliest of tomatoes, it may be better to grow Something Else than put all that effort in for Disappointment. That said, there are many types of Round/All-Purpose tomatoes that haven’t been overbred into corporate blandness, and I can reccomend them in good concisence if you’re not totally sure what you want to do with your tomatoes: Good For: Indecisive people, people just learning how to grow plants, using one plant for a variety of purposes, people who are not yet prepared to enter the world of Tomato Opinions. Top reccomendations are: -If you really must have an early-fruiting tomato, the Wayahead is an heirloom that people swear comes in early with good size, flavor and firm structure.  I have not personally tied this varietal but people I trust like it. -Black Krim: GOD-TIER TOMATO. It’s got it all- flavor, high yields, firm structure, pest and disease resistence, fucking purple stripes. Cans Well, Freezes well, seeds well and breeds true. Fuck yes. Other tomatoes fucking WISH they had what this Hot Bitch has. -Invincible is a damn-hard-to-kill tomato that isn’t very large but fruits reliably and preforms well all around.  it also ripens 3 fruits at a time so you’re not constantly overburdened with Tomato.  Probably my top pick for beginners that need an Emotional Support Crop.

5. Fun: This is not, strictly speaking, a traditional type of tomato, but I feel like it’s an important category for people who want to do something different or really enjoy all Tomatoes have to offer. Good For: Trying new things, taunting the garden gods with my hubris, showing off at the garden FB group, discovering new flavors of plant.

Top Reccomendations: -Mr. Stripey:  it has a goofy name, it’s yellow-and-pink striped, and it smells and tastes almost exactly like pineapple, but it doesn’t try to digest you back.  I love it. -Japanese Truffle: Dark Brown tomato that looks like someone tried to make ferro rochers at home and bungled it, and has a LONG maturation time, BUT it’s got a chocolately flavor and even at maturity has green insides which give it this. Lightness?  it’s hard to describe but it’s a fascinating flavor. The plant also is more branched and elegant than most tomatoes. Very different, very cool. -I have not personally tried Cherokee Purple but I have heard good things about it. We’ll see how it does in the garden this year. -Tomatillos and Ground Cherries:  Not actually tomatoes, but closely related. Neat herbaceous sort of flavor, like thyme but to the left.  Also comes in a fun Organic wrapping paper. -Ketchup ‘n’ Fries: a Sweet 100 tomato top grafted onto Kennebec Potato rootstock, so it grows both tomato AND potato!  Grafting was invented prbably about a week after the concept of agriculture was, and consists of taking two or more closely related plants and taping a cutting of oone into a hole in the other until the plants heal together.  Like that one gorilla-dude from Umbrella academy, but without the angst.  You can get them pre-made or attempt to make them at home if you’re feeling adventurous and are OK with potentially killing a bunch of starts while you learn.

Good Luck and Happy Gardening!

[earnestly-endlessly]

*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?

Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.

Exes to Lovers AU

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity

Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.

Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo

Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity

Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Symphysis – ikeracity

Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.

Call/Response – phalangine

Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.

Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black

Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…

Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.

Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?

Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia

Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.

Shop Space – Caradee

Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.

How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...

Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem

Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.

Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination

Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.

Right?

Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee

Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem

Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame

Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.

It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity

Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.

Second chances are wonderful things.

My heart above my head – annejumps

Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe

Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden

Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.

Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.

Note: Unfinished

11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria

Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.

Moon Song – ikeracity

Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.

I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.

Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity

Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire

Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.

A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo

Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r

Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, something like that."

Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.

Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.

They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.

The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).

[f00tball-imagines]

Mirrorball - Neymar Jr.

Player: Neymar Jr. (with a guest appearance of Marco Reus)

Word count: 415

Prompt: “Could I request Neymar x mirrorball ? Love youuu <3” (Request by Anon), “Can we get some more Marco? Maybe with a song of your choice? x” (Request by Anon), “After your BEAUTIFUL Ivy fic, could we get a story where the reader is cheating on Marco? Preferably with Ney? 🙈💖” (Request by Anon)

A/N: I’m pretty proud of killing three birds with one stone with this story! 💁🏼‍♀️😂 But poor Marco got dragged once again, someone should request some fluff about him (#marcoreusdefensesquad) 😂 This imagine was inspired by Mirrorball by Taylor Swift and is part of my Folklore / Evermore series, a project with the talented @alltoolewin 💗✨ If you guys have any more requests (for our Taylor Swift series or in general), please let us know! 💖😊

Red lights. 

I've been spinning underneath the chandeliers for what seems like an eternity or two by now. "What a shame!" someone hollers in a thick German accent. "Yeah," someone else shouts back. "They didn't deserve it."  Purple lights.

I'm leaning against the bar in a champagne-colored dream of tulle. This is Berlin. Not Paris. Not London. Or New York. This is Germany after losing the World Cup to Brazil. I'd better be wearing black. Head to toe. An umbrella in one hand. Marco's fingers curled around the other one. Who the fuck is Marco, anyways? 

Yellow lights.

I'm sipping away on a drink of wine, staining the crystal glass with magenta. I'm preparing to drag my lips across someone else's skin. Berlin is for lovers. And Marco is a loser. There is a reason why he's a loner this evening. Why he's perched in the dark with a beer and none of his friends around. Manuel is busy talking to one of the not-Marcos, Mario is getting wasted on the hard stuff. Marco doesn't have a team anymore, it seems.

Green lights.

He's been eyeing me up with liquor-colored orbs. With his lips wrapped around a hot pink straw. And a grin that turns my legs into spaghetti. "Hey," he says. He doesn't sound like those locals. "Hello there. Good game." Of course he doesn't. He's the reason why those locals are all up in arms tonight. He's so unlike them. He's the quiet after the storm. He's so far above everyone in the room. In every sense. "Thank you." He makes the T and the H sound strange. "Hush," I say, putting a finger up to his lips. I could've gone straight for the kiss, but no. I know, Marco has said it's time to leave. To me. To Manuel. To Mario. To Mats. To everyone who was listening. But, still, here I am. Spinning in my highest heels. To celebrate Neymar's victory. Instead of drying my boyfriend's tears. 

Lights go out.

The street is empty, and so is the parking lot. I speak to him in a mixture of English and the most basic Spanish that I've learned back in tenth grade, and he looks at me with feelings. He understands - and he's always listening. Instead of drying my boyfriend's tears, I'm out here, turning his opponent into his nemesis, trying so hard to keep him entertained, to get him to laugh at me. But I'm a natural at that, I suppose.

[montmartre-parapluie]

So, someone has been Lurking a round the Shadow and Bone fandom - mostly inspired by the fabulously talented @orlissa’s and @jomiddlemarch ‘s glorious fics, which give a GREAT nod to a more historically grounded Grishaverse. And... I do keep going to Pinterest and staring at pretty gowns, (coincidentally in shades of gold and black)... so...

Oh, what the hell. I make no apologies, people. This mad historical fashion dump is my ‘give Alina ALL the imposing gowns and elegant outfits’ -and possibly a shadowmancer husband post...

A Radiant Ballgown - Literally!

First off, I COULDN’T pass up this gown! It was designed by Charles Frederick Worth for an 1883 fancy dress ball in New York for one of the Vanderbilts, who appeared as the personification of “Electric Light”.

This was a very cutting edge costume for the time. The dress even came equipped with a battery to power an electric torch carried in one hand.

(But who needs batteries when you’re a Grisha Sun Summoner?)

It’s a glorious combination of butter yellow and white silk, with hints of lustrous black velvet at the hem. The spangled gold embroidery all over the gown would glitter under strong light - which is just PERFECT for a Sun Summoner to wear whilst demonstrating her powers. It’s also no bad outfit to wear if you have Unresolved Sexual Tension with your shadowy nemesis whilst dancing in the midst of a decadent Lentsov masquerade ball. This gown sort of begs for that kind of high-melodrama!

Keftas Galore...

Now, I don’t know whether I’m subconscious channelling some ‘last days of the Romanovs/Anastasia’ vibes when I think about keftas for Alina...

(Not ... quite what I’m going for)

but... I ended up looking at Paul Poiret Edwardian evening coats for inspiration, and oh my goodness, the sheer luxurious drama of them all!

Grisha keftas... because they’re worth it. (The one on the right feels very ‘Decadent Tango with the Darkling’ to me)

I mean, if you’re going to have to rule as a benevolent dictator with your shadowmancer husband after overthrowing a corrupt regime in order to protect Grishakind and Ravka, you might as well look amazing while doing it, right? In colours which show how you “balance” each other out...

The gorgeous yellow velvet robe on the right looks like maybe the costume designer from Shadow and Bone used it as inspiration for Alina’s gold kefta? either way, the black appliqué is GORGEOUS. And I would wear it in a heartbeat.

Plus, if you couple them with the breathtaking Mario Fortuny gowns of the late teens/early 20s, it gives a gorgeous look that very much plays into the ‘Sankta Alina’ image...

They come in gold and black, for choosing your look: ‘Sun Summoner’ or ‘Dark Bride of the Starless Saint’.

I have to admit, my shipping brain chose these last couple of fluttery dressing gowns for the fact they would be very tactical for persuading Aleksander to stop working on his battle strategies and come to bed.

I’m sorry. i’m trash.

A massive, massive thank you to all the wonderful fic writers out there!