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spookyspecterino · 2 years

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A Friendly Auction

Tangerine x !GN Reader x !Platonic Ladybug

Word Count: 4.5K

SFW; Language, Jealousy, Possessiveness (all from our best fruit boy)

After being out of commission for a little while, you're getting back into the industry by attending a job auction. You see some familiar faces.

A/N: *speaks into the mic* Hi, did anyone order a *checks notes* jealous Tangerine, and a bestie named Ladybug?

There were a few requests for these, I combined some themes but will definitely be doing more. I have unlocked an addiction to jealous Tangerine and writing a platonic Ladybug is really fun too.

Tall industrial buildings, most of them vacant or under construction, lined the sides of the street as your car flies down the empty road. Coasting through the rundown, abandoned side of the city, pot holes dotted the asphalt and you had to swerve to avoid them. Only sounds of the engine and wheels on pavement fill the small cabin. On the passenger seat beside you was your cellphone, a half empty pack of cigarettes, and an auction invite. Flashy gold lettering on thick paper caught the light of the afternoon sun through the window, shining in your peripheral vision.

Refusing to look at it, but picturing it clearly in your mind anyway, you muttered under your breath. “Fucking ridiculous.”

When you had received the invite along with instructions, you wanted to throw it away, act like you had never gotten it. A job auction? Are you joking? Your boss, a woman you highly respected and had worked with for years, was sending you to do errands for her.

“Just scope it out; see who’s bidding. Think of it as a way of getting back into the swing of things.”

Yeah. Not insulting in the least.

Slowing the car, you turned down a narrow, patchy road, squeezed in between two brick buildings. At the end of it was a guarded security gate blocking off a much wider section of an empty lot in front of a two-story warehouse.

You rolled down your window as your car crawled to a stop, leaning on your forearm to stick your head out. Three heavily armed guards were coming out of the little hut positioned at the side of the gate to meet you. There were more inside, two sat in front of monitors; they were armed to the teeth as well.

Cheerily, you greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon!”

Their faces never lifted from a deep-set scowl.

The one closest marched up to your window and barked orders at you. “Please step out of the vehicle with your invite.”

Well at least he said please.

Over the next few minutes, you stood outside as they inspected your invite, patted you down, and searched your car for any weapons. They even had a dog sniff you and the car’s undercarriage. That was new; security had gone up since the last time you had come to one of these things.

Not that you could blame them. Maintaining peace in a neutral zone where all criminal families (and a bunch of no-good contract killers) could meet, had to be one nightmare of a job. Those that ran the show at least mitigated the risk by choosing who got an invite. Reputation came into play no doubt—generous donations helped too.

Satisfied that you weren’t trying to sneak anything in, the guard motioned for you to go ahead, keeping your invite. That’s too bad, you wanted a souvenir.

Only a few other cars were in the lot when you parked. Every single one of them nice, probably worth a small home; your car was no exception—fitting in is preferrable for this line of work. You parked away from the rest, maintaining the space like everyone else. Checking the time on your phone, you were pleased; even after the long security process, you were early by 25 minutes,. Being early was good, especially when some mob bosses considered tardiness a personal insult.

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes off your passenger seat, you got out and leaned up against the car door. No one would appreciate you smoking inside, and this would give you an opportunity to see whoever showed up next.

It wasn’t long before someone did, and they parked right next to you.

“What the fuck…” You murmured, lit cigarette hanging between parted lips. Then, the car door swung open and you were greeted with a goofy smile and a head of blond hair.

Ladybug flew around the side of his car, throwing his arms out wide. “Holy shit! Welcome back to the land of the living!”

A smile instantly lit up your face as your old friend walked up and embraced you heartily.

“You call auctions living?” You laughed, speaking into his shoulder as you returned the hug.

“Aw, come on. It has to be better than the hospital, right?” He pulled away, checking you over with a hand on your shoulder. “How long did they keep you?”

You huffed, flicking your cigarette ash onto the pavement. “Three fucking weeks, I was going stir crazy!” Giving a wave of your hand, leaving a fading trail of smoke behind, you add, “I started smoking so they would let me sit outside a few times a day.”

Ladybug’s laugh was infectious, and it was enough to lighten your mood; you were suddenly glad you came.

His hand left your shoulder as he leaned back against his own car to face you. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good!” You motioned to your right leg, lifting it a little. “Sometimes I’ll get the odd phantom pain, but other than that, brand new. Ready to start working again.” You motioned toward him with a wide smile. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been looking around for grab and go jobs, I’m tired of shooting people—tired of getting shot at.” He pauses to ask with a raised brow.“Are you bidding?”

“No, not today. Boss lady wants me to ‘scope it out’. I guess she thinks this’ll get my foot back in the door.”

He grins, sensing the impatience in you. “That’s good!”

You only shake your head and groan.

This turns his grin into a wide smile. “Don’t try to rush back in so fast. Take some time to relax. Recovery is important.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from disagreeing. The only thing on your mind after months of doing nothing was holding a gun again. Your hands itched for it; fingers impatient to pull a trigger. You wanted to go after targets, travel to new locations—not sit endlessly on your couch, smoking and waiting around for your next doctor’s appointment.

Giving you a look, one that suggested Ladybug knew exactly what you were thinking, he continued on. “Don’t be like that. I was worried! When I found out you were in the hospital I was shocked—didn’t think anything could take you out.”

More cars were parking now, some distance away. Their owners exited and headed straight for the entrance. A lot of the faces you didn’t recognize, only a few were vaguely familiar.

You scoffed lightheartedly. “A broken leg didn’t really ‘take me out’. It’s not like I was in a coma or anything.”

Those were small lies. It hadn’t been just a broken leg, and you had been in a coma, but only for a day or two. Which, in your opinion, shouldn’t really count. It was more like an extended nap.

Ladybug sounded curious. “Wasn’t it worse than that…?”

Taking a drag from your cigarette and blowing smoke to the side, you attempted to brush his prying off casually. “Says who?”

He shrugged with another one of his goofy smiles. “Heard it through the grapevine, I guess.” He watched as more people exited their cars and went inside.

You groaned through another drag of your cigarette. “Oh, God. People were talking about it?”

“Yeah, of course! A contractor as good as you gets put in the hospital? Disappearing for months? That’s news.” He waved a hand, standing and motioning for you to join him as he started toward the entrance. “You should have seen the other contractors scramble to pick up the jobs you had left over.”

You dropped your cigarette onto the pavement and snubbed it out with a foot, then joined him.

“Sounds worse than it was.” You mumbled.

He shrugs. “I think it was a wake-up call.”

“How so?”

“You’re someone who’s been in the business for years. When people looked at you, they saw how you managed to thrive for so long in this profession. It gave others hope that they could do the same. And then, boom, just like that—you’re gone.”

Frowning you looked at your friend. “That’s part of the job.”

“Sure, sure. That’s something we all say countless times, and we all act like we know or understand what it means…but when it happens, it still rattles nerves.”

You fell silent, contemplating this. On the other end, as the one ‘disappearing’, you didn’t think much of it. You were hurt and now you’re back. It was just the way of the job; you’d seen this happen to others many times.

As you and Ladybug made your way across the lot, two acutely familiar faces got out of a car a small distance away. Despite all the talk of being a professional, your stomach did a flip.

Trying to keep your voice down, even though they were too far away to hear anything, you pointed a look toward them. “I didn’t know The Twins were desperate enough to go to job auctions now.”

Ladybug looked in their direction, speaking carefreely as he openly stared. “There’s big money in this. Connections. A lot has changed since the last time you’ve been here.”

Lemon was exiting the passenger side closest to you and Ladybug, he smoothed out his jacket as he stood, eyes on the people entering the building ahead. Tangerine was coming out of the driver’s side, wearing his usual suit attire with slick-backed hair. He was frowning deep enough that you could make out the lines on his forehead. He looked to his brother but caught sight of Ladybug still staring at them, then his eyes snapped to yours.

His whole demeanor instantly changed—forehead lines disappeared and his eyes widened. Jesus, it even looked like he straightened his back. He must have said something to Lemon, or maybe his brother saw the change, because a second later Lemon turned to look too.

Ladybug laughed, observing your carefully neutral expression. “Uh-oh. Do I detect a little drama?”

You only turned away and grumbled something incoherently. The tall, glass doors to the warehouse were nearing. Inside you could see people milling about.

He bumped your arm playfully with an elbow and leaned in a little. “You know, rumor has it they were involved. Or at least, one of them was involved.”

You tried to hide a smile as you bumped him back. “Involved in what?”

“In what happened!” You could feel his eyes roll. “Don’t try to play dumb with me, you know I can see right through it.”

You hummed, reaching for the door and holding it open for him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

As Ladybug passed by and into the warehouse, you saw Tangerine watching you closely as he and Lemon were walking over from their car. You caught Tangerine’s eyes for a few heartbeats, trying to suppress a smirk. It was a look with meaning behind it. Before Lemon could lean over to say something to his brother, you broke the eye contact and went inside.

Ladybug was waiting a few steps away; he had seen the interaction and was deadpanning. “You couldn’t be any more obvious if you tried.”

In contrast to what the outside of the warehouse looked like, the inside was like a luxury ballroom in a hotel. Rows and rows of comfortable chairs all faced a lacquered wooden stage with a mahogany podium. The wall behind it was filled with a long digital screen that had yet to display anything.

People stood in groups among the chairs and along the rows talking idly. You could plainly tell who was a boss, an underling, or a contractor. It was all given away by the amount of people they were surrounded with, their clothing, or how they carried themselves. As you entered the room, a few heads turned to take long looks.

Ladybug came to a stop at the end of a row and turned to you, leaning his head forward to try and keep his voice down. “I know you enjoy playing with your food, but when are you gonna eat?”

“Weird analogy, Ladybug. I’m not a cannibal.” You teased back.

“Stop dancing around the subject.”

“Well, this isn’t grade-school, we can’t just casually go out for burgers and a malt.” You glance around the room as it continues to fill up. The auction would be starting soon. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but our profession involves killing people; that complicates things a bit—and you don’t know the whole story.”

Ladybug chuckled shaking his head. “This must be serious. In all our years as friends, you’ve never avoided talking about someone this much.” He put his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing playfully. “Just promise me, when you two get married, I get to be your maid of—”

You interrupted Ladybug, sucking a quick breath through your teeth and placing a hand on his chest. The Twins were walking up. Tangerine’s eyes looked at your hand on Ladybug’s chest and those deep forehead lines returned as his brow furrowed. You dropped your arm from your friend’s chest, noticing Tangerine’s eyes trailing the movement.

Ladybug beamed. “Well, helloo—”

Ignoring him completely, Tangerine gruffly interrupted; addressing you. “Good to see you back in the field.”

The corners of your lips twitched, fighting to keep an even face. “This isn’t really the field. More of a playground.”

His mustache twitched as he blinked and stammered out, “Well—uh, it’s good that you’re back. At least.”

Lemon made a face at his brother before asking you politely, “How are you feeling?”

Turning, you gave him a smile. “Great, thanks for asking.” Tangerine’s eyes could have burned a hole through you.

Tangerine opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by someone on a speaker asking for everyone to take a seat. The auction was officially starting.

Ladybug spoke up, pointedly sarcastic. “Nice talking to you.”

There was a gentle tug of encouragement on your arm as he moved toward a nearby row of empty chairs. Tearing your eyes away from Tangerine, you could have sworn that his eye twitched a little.

“Christ, what did you do to him?” Ladybug whispered into your ear.

You leaned in to whisper back as you sat down beside him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he somehow managed to look like a kicked puppy and a psychopath, at the same time.”

At the opposite end of your row, on the isle, The Twins were taking their seats. It had you facing them anytime you turned to talk to Ladybug, and Tangerine was facing you anytime he turned to talk to Lemon.

Had he purposefully done that? The idea almost makes you snort, but you catch yourself.

You blinked, focusing on your conversation with Ladybug. “I didn’t do anything.”

At the end of the row, Tangerine was turning and talking with Lemon. His eyes flickered to meet yours several times. You sat back in your seat to face the front, staring straight ahead and resisting the temptation to look over.

Ladybug hissed. “Uh-huh. Is that why he positioned himself to be able to watch you from the end of our row?”

Unable to control it this time, you snorted and brought a hand up to cover the laughs that followed. He also started to snicker and laugh. Thank God you were in the last row sitting behind everyone. Leave it to Ladybug to bring out the un-professionalism in you.

As the announcer began speaking, the screen lighting up with an introduction, you wiped at your eyes, trying to dry the tears and focus. It lasted about 10 seconds before Ladybug was hissing again.

“He keeps looking this way.”

You grumble back, keeping your face toward the front. “Ignore him.”

“He’s staring at me with those psycho eyes. Like he’s thinking about killing me.”

“He probably is. Just keep acting like you don’t care, maybe Lemon will slap him or something.”

“If you two could just fuck already, it would make everything a lot easier—”

“That’s not how I do things, Ladybug.”

“Yes, that’s right. You enjoy driving men to the brink of insanity, first.”

You whipped your head to look at him, about to come up with a retort, when your eyes met Tangerine’s. Yeah, he was definitely still looking this way.

He frowned at you a little, no doubt wondering what you were over there talking about in the middle of the auction. You frowned at him back, clearly sending the message of ‘mind your own business’. His head tilted to the side a little, eyes flickering to Ladybug and back to yours. And that’s when Lemon looked at Tangerine and shoved him back to sit properly in the seat.

As you also sat back, Ladybug triumphantly whispered, “Told you he was staring.”

The next 30 to 45 minutes of the auction was much of the same. Different jobs up for grabs flashed across the screen while members in the audience raised little auction cards to signal that they wanted to bid. You watched and committed to memory the most sought-after job and by which group. Naturally, since you were unable to participate, it was a complete fucking bore.

During a particularly long bid, going between two mob families for over 10 minutes, you lean over to Ladybug and whisper, “I’m going to the restroom. Let me know who wins this job.” He gives you a nod as you stand to leave.

Making your way down the corridor to the bathroom, the sound of your shoes clicking against the marbled floors bounces off the walls and back to you. It’s no surprise that the bathrooms are just as nice, spotless and adorned with fancy soaps and towels. So much money for a place that’s only used, at most, once a month.

Exiting the bathroom while smoothing down your shirt, you startle a little as you’re greeted by Tangerine’s intense blue eyes. He was casually leaned up against the corridor wall.

“Tangerine.” You greet, fixing him with a cool, even stare.

Something akin to amusement flashes in his eyes as he looks you over. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You huff, purposefully relaxing your shoulders as you lean back against the doorway. “Not scared, you just surprised me. Didn’t expect to be followed to the bathroom.”

He pushes off the wall and takes a step closer. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Your eyes narrow, but there’s a hint of a smile on your lips. “About what?”

“I wanted to make sure you were doing alright…”

You could feel another question lingering in the air. “I’m doing good, Tangerine.”

His jaw clenched once, then twice. “Are you here to bid on a job?”

Slight annoyance spread into your words. “No, just browsing. I’m ready to get back out there, except my boss thinks I’m prone to shattering.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Please just…take it easy—at least for a little while.”

You give a firm shake of your head. “Between stewing in my apartment and going to physical therapy, I’ve been ‘taking it easy’ for seven months. That’s long enough.”

“If you push yourself too far you might end up getting hurt, again.”

You gave him a look, “I’m only going to get hurt if someone hits me with another car.”

The words sting him, even though you hadn’t meant them to. His eyes turn pleading. “Are you still upset?” He shakes his head, letting out a deep breath. You thought you saw wetness in the corners of his eyes before he blinked it away quickly. “You know I still feel terrible, it was a complete accident, love.”

It really had been an accident. Both working on the same job, but with limited communication, left windows for mistakes. So, when you came sprinting out of an alley and into the road while Tangerine was trying to find the right building the target was in, neither of you had time to react.

There’s a vague memory of him holding your hand in the backseat, wiping hair and grit off your face, as Lemon rushed to the emergency room.

You attempt to say something, a gentle smile peeking through, but he’s already speaking again. “Look, what more can I do to make it up to you? Name anything you want—it’s yours. Flowers? You want more flowers, like the ones I sent you in the hospital?”

He had sent countless bouquets of the most gorgeous flowers you had ever seen, every day like clockwork, for three weeks. By the time you left the hospital, your room had more color in it than you had ever seen. Each came with a hand written note from him. Some were pages long about how awful he felt and how sorry he was. You kept every note; they were on your bedside table.

Shaking your head, “No, no flowers. They were nice though; the notes were too—thank you.”

While he seemed momentarily pleased by that, his eyes flicked around the room, trying to come up with more things to give you. “Jewelry?

“No, really it’s—”

“—what about clothes?”

You take a step toward him. “Tangerine—”

“Your car out there’s nice, but I’ll get you a bloody new one. How about that? A little ironic, sure, but—”

“Tangerine!”

When he stops to fix you with round eyes, you laugh gently. “You don’t have to do anything, I’m not upset.”

His shoulders relax, an invisible weight dropping away. He closes the distance between you to under an arm’s length. “You’re sure? I mean, I’d really be happy to—”

Placing a hand on his chest, your laughing response is good natured. “I’m sure. You’re right it was an accident—no hard feelings.”

He’s smiling back now, infected by the sound of your laugh. A large gold-ringed hand comes up to wrap around yours on his chest, pinning it there. It’s warm. “Honestly, it’s a relief to see you again. I was so worried, all this time.”

Playfully, you asked, “You were worried I was mad at you this whole time? Seven months?”

“Sort of—yes, but more at the idea of you not coming back. Thought maybe you’d get offered a cozy desk job and like that more.”

“A desk job? And give up all the excitement? Not in a million years.” While chuckling at the idea, you miss the way his eyes soften and his hand lightly squeezes yours.

His eyes watch you gently. “It sounds silly now, yeah. Especially after seeing you again; I’d almost forgotten how lively you can be.”

With a hum, you stepped forward to look up at him, you were very close now. All it would take was to stand up on your toes and… “Was it boring without me?”

Tangerine seemed to notice the closeness as well, his breath was shaky. “Absolute torture, love.”

You brought your other hand up to rest against his chest. His heart was racing.

Moments before you were about to close the distance to his lips, he cleared his throat gently. “I just have one more question.”

Frowning a little at the way he looked suddenly perturbed, you asked, “What is it?”

“Who’s that fuckin’ prick you walked in with?”

The tiniest snort left you before you could hold it back. “Ladybug?”

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck what his name is. What’s he doin’ bumpin’ elbows with you?”

Something about Tangerine’s accent getting thicker as he became more upset did things to you. Trying to hold back a few giggles, you spoke plainly. “He’s an old friend of mine—a colleague.”

Tangerine looked at you closely, as if this was a very serious matter, but there was a hint of a smile behind his eyes. “Oh, are you havin’ a laugh? I haven’t seen you in forever and you come in with some fuckin’ bloke, carryin’ on back and forth, as if that doesn’t drive me completely mad.”

By this point, you are laughing which only spurs him on. “Well, I’m glad that you’re havin’ a grand time of it. I’ve been in complete agony. Seven whole months, love. That’s how long I’ve had to wait to see you—and you walk in, smiling at him, and not me—"

The only thing that shuts him up is when you press your lips to his with a smile; whatever he was saying died off with the smallest of whines. You feel his strong hands move to wrap around the small of your back, pulling you closer as he moves his mouth back against yours. His mustache scratches your face but the warmth of his lips on yours drowns out the feeling.

He speaks in broken sentences between kisses, murmuring against your lips with a growl that vibrates through him. “Don’t ever—put your hands—on his chest—again.”

When Tangerine feels your slow smile through the kiss, he tries to pull away and give you another warning, but a gentle bite on his lower lip stops him.

You whisper a cheeky, “Yes, sir”, that has him groaning into you, his lips turn feverish. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip.

You’re about to open your mouth for him when you hear a loud cough to the side, down the corridor. Instantly you pull away, face flushing a scarlet red. You would have jumped back if Tangerine’s arms weren’t stubbornly still wrapped around you.

Ladybug watched with raised eyebrows and a grin, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Auctions’ over.”

Tangerine’s words angrily drown yours out. “Oi! Can’t you see we’re busy? Fuck off, ya cunt.”

Unwrapping his hands from around your back, you chide softly, “Be nice to Ladybug.”

His fingers grasp at your clothes, tugging in protest, as you move away and walk toward your friend. His glowering eyes burn into your back as Ladybug waggles his eyebrows.

With one last adoring look at Tangerine, that sends his heart fluttering, you wave. “I’ll see you around.”

. . .

“There a reason why you’re keen to rip the handle off that door, mate?”

Lemon eyes Tangerine closely as his brother yanks open the passenger side door, but says nothing in response. They stand on opposite sides of their car in the lot. From his side, Tangerine can see you chatting with that blond prat by your car.

When Lemon is met with silence, he tries again. “Did you get a chance to talk, at least?”

“We talked, yeah. It was good.”

Lemon wasn’t convinced. “Then why does it look like you’ve got a thunderstorm over your head?”

Tangerine doesn’t hear him as he watches you hug Ladybug goodbye. Lemon’s eyes follow his and suddenly he understands. He makes a noise. “Oh, come off it. I told you, they’re nothing more than friends.”

As you open the door to your own car, Tangerine catches your eyes. Pausing, you give him a delighted smile, then disappear as the door closes.

Lemon sighs, getting into the car. “You’ve got to talk to someone about your jealousy. I’m serious.”

As he ducks to sit down, Tangerine shoots back. “I don’t usually have a problem, it’s just the way that muppet grins—”

The Twins arguing is muffled incoherently to the outside world as Tangerine slams the door shut.

🍊 Tag list: @whatiswrongwithpeople @marquisdefrenchfry @everythingisspokenfortbh @titaniusanglesmith @sjprongs @piechans @cherrygayness

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #ladybug #ladybug bullet train #bullet train #gn reader

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kuragesil · 7 months

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o potatus et molassus

grow, tiny seed. you are called to the trees.

WARNINGS: book 7 spoilers, inspired by over the garden wall (you don't need to see it to understand this fic, but i highly recommend! but be warned i did take inspiration so it might be slight spoilers for the show), a bit of body horror?

NOTES: hi! so, i had this fic in the works before i watched otgw, but i watched it all yesterday and it is amazing. please listen to potatus et molassus before/while reading (here!), as it's the main inspiration behind this fic. but anyways, i wanted this to be longer but my writing blog is still under construction & i wanted to get this out before halloween was over so it's a bit brief and the ending is pretty abrupt! it's highly possible that i'll come back to this to revamp it & my blog theme.

AND FINALLY: this fic was also inspired by @llondonfog & @serenescribe 's diasomnia fics! both of their works are lovely & they both have wonderful writing styles, and their works have inspired me to try to branch out into horror (despite being scared of Everything Ever). please go check out their fics!

my main blog: @valleyofliyue

BRIAR VALLEY IS ALIVE.

The swaying of the leaves, the dancing of the flowers and the rushing of the waters—all of it is Her body, just as any typical fae has blood running through their veins and organs pumping throughout their being.

The Valley remembers everything. Every footstep set upon Her soil, every house built upon Her land and every tree torn from Her roots—every blessing and transgression is etched and carved into Her skin and memory, only to dull with Time Himself.

She is greater than any book or scroll — for when it comes to history, She is history.

Every fae knows this. He knew this. Lilia knew this.

As he ran through that dark and dense wood, he cursed himself thoroughly, wondering why he pretended as if he didn’t possess such basic knowledge.

Clutching a beautiful, wondrous bracelet made of acorns, he ran and ran—ignoring the burning sensation in his legs yelling at him to stop; to give up this human.

He reckons it’s the General, still humiliated and scarred from events 400 years ago—it’s ironic, how the spirit haunting him the most was a pathetic soldier he loathed to remember.

The rain came down hard and cold, pricking his flesh, trying to draw blood from his skin. He ignored it, he didn’t care. He had no time to care—when Silver, his son—!

Lilia stopped in his tracks abruptly, hands shaking at the sight before him.

A boy—his boy—being hugged to death by the branches of the Yew trees; sticky black sap dripped from wounds where blood should be bled. Silver’s once soft and pale flesh was turning a dull, muted brown that was bumpy and rough. Gentle, kind aurora colored eyes—more gorgeous and glittering than the biggest gemstones—had lost their light, losing their innocent sparkle.

But the most eye-catching part of this horrifying display was his hair.

His moonlit white locks were transforming back to their original state—that golden sunshine spreading throughout the whole head. Lilia has his own bias, preferring the moonlight as Silver’s crown instead of the sunshine.

(For the moon crown is a clear sign that this boy is his own, his son.)

However, Lilia isn’t one to reject all other options when laid out before him, he admits that the golden locks were not a bad look for Silver, either. If Silver had a normal childhood as Prince of the Land of Swords, he would never have become a Blessed Child of the Night—something Lilia often wonders if that would have been better for the boy in the long run.

A wonder that has his heart tighten at the reality before him. For Lilia knows this has cemented his long and deep-seated fear.

She knew.

The Valley knew. She knew that Silver was of the same blood that had ravaged Her lands and ransacked Her flora and fauna—actions that left Her barren and violated, actions that were deemed unforgivable. Never mind the fact that Silver was innocent to all of that, never mind the fact that he was not his family.

No, Silver was a remnant of evil, and must be taken care of; his crown of moonlight reverting back to his crown of sunshine was just a reminder of his wretched lineage.

The ground below Silver lowered deeper, capturing his limbs and sinking him underneath the surface. Lilia panicked, using all of his strength and magic to tear away at the branches and pull his son out of this trap.

“Silver…! SILVER! SAY SOMETHING!” he roared with desperation.

The boy squinted at his father, trying to open his lips ever so slightly; tiredly trying to think of something to say to him.

“... t… F….” he rasped. He took a sharp intake of breath all of a sudden, and Lilia thought his heart would burst.

He could see a branch growing bigger and bigger inside of his son’s mouth, twisting and curling as it rose up the surface, as if to taunt Lilia. As if to punish him for taking in the son of the enemy.

Still ripping the branches off of the boy’s body and attempting to pull him out of the soil, he looks around in desperation, as if She would set Silver free from this undeserved judgment.

“Please… PLEASE! He… he’s been a babe for four centuries, but he’s only been a boy for so long! Don’t punish the innocent!” Lilia pleads, lungs being pushed to their limit; the retired general thought he would start coughing up blood.

Lilia hoped that The Valley would relent, releasing Silver from Her grasp and returning him to Lilia’s—the place where he belongs.

The Valley looks down upon the two traitors.

She makes her final decision.

#milie writings #twisted wonderland #silver twst #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland fanfiction

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ricky-tiki-tah · 2 months

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GFTTBP Timeline

(Subject to shifting around slightly)

1983:

July

- Freddy stops the bite of 83, Evan lives.

- Evan has the nightmares of fnaf 4

September

- Charlie Emily dies.

- Fredbear Diner closes.

October

- Freddy’s Pizzeria opens just in time for Halloween.

1984:

April

- Elizabeth dies at Circus Baby’s opening.

- Circus Baby’s becomes a rental place instead of an attraction.

1985:

Feb-June

- Five children go missing at Freddy’s Pizzeria.

August

- The pizzeria closes in August.

1986:

May

- Construction for Freddy and Friends Pizza Place begins. The toy animatronics are not possessed, but the children from the original animatronics can manipulate them. It takes a while for them to learn this though.

June

- Mike turns 16 and takes an almost 10 year old Evan away from the Afton house, hiding out in an old abandoned house.

- Freddy gets a job at the nearest grocery store to pay for food.

1987:

July

- Freddy and Friends Pizza Place opens.

August

- FazMike takes a job at Freddy’s Pizza under the name Fritz Smith (They are not the security guard).

- Jeremy Fitzgerald also takes a job at Freddy’s, starting with day security guard.

- Jeremy meets FazMike there and after Freddy runs a background check, moves in with the “Smiths”. He learns who they actually are and stays anyway.

September

- Jeremy is moved to night guard after the old guard quits. Freddy warns him to be careful of the animatronics.

- Jeremy gets bit on the shoulder by Mangle and is fired for tampering with the animatronics.

- Mike sets fire to the pizza place.

- Freddy goes back to the grocery store.

November

- Now healed, Jeremy takes a job at the coffee shop a block from the house.

1988:

- Over the course of the year, Mike and Jeremy become a couple.

1990:

April

- With two full time jobs, FazMike and Jeremy are able to get a two bedroom apartment.

September

-Evan starts highschool.

1994:

June

- Evan graduates

August

- Mike finds out William has disappeared at some point earlier in the year.

September

- The FazMike and Jeremy snoop in the old Afton house.

- Finding strange notes, Mike gets a job at Circus Baby Rentals.

- FazMike gets scooped.

1996:

September

- Evan takes the night shift at the old Pizzeria under the name Mike Schmidt. It is not open, but the company still hires night guards.

1998:

August

- Henry sells the copyright to FazEnt and disappears.

November

- Construction starts on Fazbear Frights.

1999:

March

- Mike gets the job at Fazbear Frights from the opening, using the name Fritz Smith again.

2004:

February

-Mike meets Henry again, introducing him to the family.

- Mike and Henry open up the fake pizzeria to lure the scrap animatronics, burning the pizzeria to the ground afterwards.

2006:

- Construction for the pizzaplex begins.

2010:

- Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex opens

2011:

- Mike and Evan get jobs at the pizzaplex as technicians and security.

2013:

August

- Security Breach (Evan is 37 now. Greg is 9)

September

- Freddy starts homeschooling Gregory. The kid has missed a lot of school and would not do well going to school so Freddy teaches him at home.

#gfttbp au #glammike au #glammike #michael afton #glamrock freddy #jeremike #jeremy fitzgerald #evan afton #fnaf gregory #fnaf

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hlizr50 · 1 year

Text

Welcome back to the ACOTAR Writing Circle, organized by the incredible @azrielshadowssing!

For part two I was tasked with continuing the Feysand fic the story starts when it was hot and it was summer and by @damedechance (read part 1 on tumblr or on AO3) and boy did she know what she was setting me up for. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm that slow burn kind of girl, but we are in full banter and smut territory already for part two!

That being said, this fic is now officially NSFW!

You can check out the master list for this writing circle here and see what everyone is writing! Part 3 will be posted in two weeks!

One week.

Seven days.

One hundred sixty eight hours.

Ten thousand eighty minutes.

As Feyre lay sprawled on the tile clad in nothing but a bralette and panties, she contemplated trying to math out just how many seconds she’d been sharing this apartment with Rhys.

“No,” she chided herself, cursing to the empty, heavy, oppressive summer air. “Rhysand.”

She gave up on figuring out how many seconds had been in that week. Math wasn’t her strong suit, anyway.

It had become increasingly difficult to hide behind her crumbling wall of practiced distaste for the beautiful man. Which was why she’d been avoiding him for nearly three years. Feyre had come to know what lay behind that infuriating arrogance and smooth calculation once before.

At least, she thought she had. And then she’d slept with him, like an idiot.

About a month after she’d returned from her beach vacation with Mor, where she’d met the tall, dark, unfairly attractive man and had finally succumbed to the urge to jump his bones, Feyre had been giddy at the prospect of attending his company’s autumn banquet. She’d tried to keep her enthusiasm in check; she and Rhys – Rhysand – hadn’t exchanged more than adoring smiles and casual kisses before they left the beach house in separate cars, keeping their dalliance a secret. But it had been the best sex she’d ever had, and she saw those incredible luminous violet eyes in her dreams more often than she cared to admit.

When he strolled through the ballroom wearing an impeccably tailored suit and a bowtie, her mouth had gone dry as a desert. He’d looked like a movie star, with all the confidence that he so rightfully possessed, and the tall, striking redhead with her perfectly manicured fingers tucked into the crook of his arm was a fitting, beautiful, disgustingly perfect pairing.

Even now, as she did her best to cool herself on Mor’s living room floor, her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was glad she could blame it on the sweltering summer and the broken AC. She had been a fool; one of those silly girls she’d always felt sorry for in college, panting after a pretty boy who had made no promises and had gotten what they wanted. When Rhys had come to greet her and Mor, she’d thought perhaps there had been a flicker of surprise, perhaps regret. But she knew the latter had just been the crushed hopes of a plain girl who had little to offer a man such as that.

Especially in comparison to Amarantha.

Her hair was silken waterfalls of wine. Her skin, pale and smooth and pristine. Feyre hated the way her ruby red, pillowy lips seemed to tick up, as if she knew the thoughts and despair that was racing through Feyre’s mind. Her dark eyes seemed so deep and empty and soulless, and Feyre found herself delighted that the woman had at least one singular imperfection.

Since then, the young artist’s walls had been solid as steel and black as onyx, constructed from avoidance and distraction. Tamlin had started as a rebound, but he had taken care of her in all the ways she had dreamed a man would when she was toiling to make ends meet for her family, working full-time as she struggled to finish high school. While her father wasted away under the blanket of his despair and his perceived shortcomings.

Tamlin should have been everything she wanted – everything she could have ever dreamed. His family was wealthy, and he was an up-and-coming attorney at his family’s prestigious law firm. Feyre had wanted for nothing when she had been with him, at least as far as worldly possessions went. And the sex was good… not like the night she’d had at the beach with Rhys. But she could live with that.

Things had started to go sideways when Mor had reached out to her about a job; she’d wanted to revamp her entire office and thought custom art pieces in the lobby, hallways, and conference rooms would be a nice way to keep the environment exciting and positive. Feyre had been so excited to tell Tamlin – her fiance of a few months – about the amazing opportunity.

But he’d only frowned and asked if she thought that was a good idea. After all, she had to start planning a wedding, and he had a lot going on at the firm. He’d need her support, when he was available to receive it within the constraints of his increasingly busy schedule.

And not that she’d needed his permission, but she had assured him that she could make it work. She could negotiate a reasonable timeline with Mor that would ensure that she wasn’t frantically working late into the night, and she could do most of that work from home. So she would always be there, in the apartment they shared, when he returned at the end of the day.

Things had only gotten worse from there. It was as if that first pursuit of her own dreams threatened him. He became increasingly controlling, demanding to know what she was doing at all hours of the day and night. If she didn’t answer his texts immediately, though she was often covered in paint, he would call incessantly and send line after line of cruel, pointed words to the tune of the happy chime of her phone. Tamlin knew exactly where to strike, too. He took care of her. She wanted for nothing. Didn’t she remember where she’d come from? How hard it had been to slave away to keep herself and her family housed and fed? Didn’t she understand that he just wanted her to live in comfort and be happy and not have to do that again?

She’d endured it all, had adjusted so many parts of her life, because he had a point. And she believed that somewhere, deep down, he did care. He thought that love meant shielding and protecting and preventing, meant providing ease and comfort. Feyre could understand that – she sometimes wondered why she didn’t feel like that was what she needed – but to her, love was encouragement and a safe place to land, in case the risks you took didn’t pan out. She’d thought she was making it work.

Until he started coming home later, but without the expectation of dinner being ready for him. Until she noticed a sickly floral perfume wafting from his hamper of button-down shirts. Until the red smudges on the collars were too numerous to ignore.

All of the names he’d called her. All of the insinuations, the anger, the yelling and the deadly silence. Feyre had endured it all, had changed so much about herself and her life and her dreams to try to make it work. Because Tamlin was right, in his way: he took care of her and she should be grateful for that.

But when the towering blonde had just huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head and all but blamed Feyre and her “silly little art projects” for his infidelity, she’d thrown the colossal diamond engagement ring in his face.

And now she was here. On the smooth tile floor of Mor’s apartment, willing any modicum of chill from the stone into her body. Because the air conditioning was still broken after a week.

“Well this is unexpected.”

And just like that, she was frozen. Dread prickled her flesh, the goosebumps rising over her entire body. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath. If she freaked out, he would only respond with that infuriating grin. She couldn’t let Rhysand know that he could get under her tingling skin so easily. So Feyre relaxed, willing her limbs to stay spread wide even though all she wanted to do was cover herself, and sighed.

“I’m not sure why. We’re on the top floor, in the middle of the summer, with no functioning AC. We’re basically next to the sun. Clothes aren’t practical.”

“Indeed.”

With the rustle of fabric that seemed to roar in her ears, Feyre knew she’d made a mistake. Her eyes flew open just in time to find Rhys pulling open the front of his charcoal button-down, revealing a chiseled landscape of abs and pecs and ink. Heat flooded her, and not because of the summer air, as she took him in. His body sure hadn’t gotten any less delectable. Damn him.

“What are you doing?” she asked before she could stop herself. God, she was an idiot.

“You said so, yourself,” he crooned in response, draping his shirt over the back of one of the barstools. “Clothes aren’t practical.” He practically sauntered toward her as her lungs struggled against his attention. The quirk of his lips was so damned sexy that she hated him for it, and she tried to cling to that disdain, even as her insides twisted with a want she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Instead of pouncing on her, Rhys allowed himself to fall into the armchair to her left. Feyre couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed. As if he could sense her inner conflict he smirked down at her, violet eyes twinkling like jewels bathing in firelight.

“Ask me why I didn’t take off my pants.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and then willed them shut, trying to calm her racing heart and roaring blood. But her newfound roommate wasn’t content to let her be.

“I didn’t take them off, Feyre darling, because then I’d be completely naked. And I’d hate for you to feel like you’d have to remove those lovely underthings to even the playing field.”

She groaned, doing her best to ignore that he’d just informed her that only a few steps and a thin layer of fabric separated him from her. “Why are you so annoying?”

“You mean undeniably charming? It’s a curse, truly.”

“Yes, you are a curse,” she grumbled back, rubbing her hands over her face. “I think you’ve decided to stay here just to make me miserable.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I told you that there are some major plumbing updates happening in my house. I scheduled it like this because I knew I’d be able to stay here,” he explained.

How convenient for him. On the contrary, it had been a total accident that she’d found herself single and homeless the day Mor had left.

“What?”

Her heart stopped and her eyes burst open, her gaze immediately snaring on his. Rhysand’s jaw had gone slack and disbelief painted the features that were usually so carefully controlled.

She’d said it aloud. Oh, God, how was that possible?

Feyre scrambled to her feet, desperate to make a run for it, but Rhys met her chest-to-chest in the space between his chair and the couch. And she couldn’t take her eyes off of that broad expanse of tan skin and swirling tattoos, lifting and falling with the breaths that she could feel skating over her disheveled hair. It was fine that she was staring at his bare chest, because that meant she wasn’t looking at his face or into his eyes.

She cursed the world when she felt gentle fingers curl under her chin and lift, forcing her hand. The stare she met was not arrogant or mischievous, nor was it clouded with pity. No, Rhysand’s incredible starlit eyes were dark with intensity. Stormy with something she dared not try to identify.

“Single?” His voice stuttered, as if he could hardly breathe. Feyre gave a half-hearted shrug and jerked away from his hand.

“Tamlin was cheating on me.” Might as well not beat around the bush, though she didn’t feel the need to explain that she’d stuck around for the lies and the name-calling and the snide remarks about her body and her appearance and her work and… everything. Feyre bravely snuck a look back at Rhys, who was still just regarding her intently.

“And homeless?” God, why was he so intent on her laying herself bare at his feet? Didn’t he know how beaten down and humiliated she was already? Her shoulders sagged as she sighed again, her feistiness and annoyance replaced with exhaustion.

“Well, Tamlin’s name is on the lease, so…”

She didn’t have the strength to say anything more. Not to this perfect specimen of a man who could have anything he ever wanted at any time. A man who hadn’t wanted her. All of her bravado had faded away, and she realized that she was practically naked before him, both physically and emotionally. Taking a step back, Feyre folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” she whispered, turning to flee.

She’d only made it two steps when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She spun, ready to ask Rhys what the hell he wanted now.

And then his lips were on hers.

Rhysand was kissing her. And she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The hand that had been so forceful, had spun her around, now cupped her nape with such tenderness as his lips and his tongue set her aflame.

No matter how loudly and forcefully her mind screamed that letting this happen was not a good idea, Feyre couldn’t bring herself to care. Not with the warmth of his palm leaving a trail of goosebumps down her back. Not with the way his heaving, muscled chest rose and fell beneath her hands. Not with the way he was kissing her, as if she were his salvation.

Rhys moaned against her mouth as he lifted her thighs, sweeping her .up against him and his obvious need without breaking the contact between them. Feyre was too enraptured to even squeak in surprise. And then they were moving, even as their tongues danced and their fingers squeezed. She had the fleeting sensation of a bead of sweat crawling down her spine, but it was quickly replaced by the sudden free fall of Rhys tipping them over onto a bed. The heat of his skin radiated into her, boiling her blood as need roared through her veins and pooled in her core. She was caged beneath him, and in the back of her mind the last crumbling vestiges of her self-preservation were calling out to her, rambling through a list of reasons that this was a mistake that was going to end up with her crushed beneath the weight of this man’s saccharine smile again. But all of that fell away as his open-mouthed kisses started moving up her jaw and then followed the path of her heartbeat down her neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Fuck, she was a goner, for sure.

And so her hands found the ridges of his obliques and trailed over the rippling muscles of his abs and up over his chest. As his mouth moved lower, she wrapped her arms over his broad shoulders and sighed, awash in the sensation of his soft lips on her burning flesh. His journey continued into the hollow between her breasts, still covered by flimsy lace.

“Can we take this off, Feyre, darling?” His question vibrated through her breastbone and sent shivers to the tips of her toes.

Feyre couldn’t recall ever having ripped off an undergarment with such urgency.

And when she was bare beneath him, his eyes had turned dark and stormy and desperate. “Fuck, you’re even more gorgeous than I remembered.” The way he whispered the words was nearly reverent, and they washed over her like a spring morning mist, chasing away the sweltering summer and leaving her skin prickling with anticipation. Rhys lowered his dark head and tongued at one of her nipples, his large palm sliding over her other breast. Feyre arched up into his sensual touch with a stuttered gasp and slid her fingers into his thick, midnight hair. It was so soft, so at odds with his hard body and his wicked mouth.

He sucked her nipple between his teeth and gave her a nip, and she yelped, surprised and delighted at how the short, sharp sting made her inner muscles clench. Soon the infuriating man shifted his attention, laving his tongue and lips over the other nipple whilst gently pinching and pulling at the one that was now standing at attention.

After another playful bite, the wetness of his mouth moved away from her chest, and Feyre felt bereft from the loss. But that trail of fire, ignited by his lips and teeth, moved down her stomach. Lower and lower and lower. Until she felt his fingers curl under the band of her panties. Blinking her eyes open, she lifted her head and gazed up at him, his unspoken question blazing in his starlit eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” she breathed. Rhysand’s lips tilted into a devastating, devilish lopsided grin as he chuckled.

“Nothing at all,” he crooned in response. Then he slowly peeled the veritable scrap of fabric down over her legs, his gaze keeping her pinned and breathless. Feyre could feel the color bloom upon her cheeks the further down he got, until she was fully naked on the bed and he had lifted himself up onto his knees to take her in.

She couldn’t help but notice the way his slacks were tented in front, the considerable bulge only making her blush more. But she grinned lazily. Satisfied.

Tamlin had been critical of her body, though most of the time not pointedly. But he did love control, and that included watching her like a fucking hawk when they ate meals together. His comments about needing a wife who stays trim – who could easily shop at all the high-end stores that only sold sizes 2-4-6 – had eroded her self-esteem somewhat.

But the way that Rhys was looking at her now made her feel like the sexiest woman on the face of the planet.

“Oh, Feyre, darling. You look absolutely delectable,” he murmured softly, his tilted grin widening into a wicked smile. Rubbing his palms together, he made a show of licking his lips. Feyre would have rolled her eyes if she hadn’t been paralyzed by the implication of his words. “I think I’d like a taste.”

Rhys moved with surprising speed, and she barely had enough time to suck in a breath before he pounced on her, quickly hooking his arms under her thighs and diving in to feast upon her.

“Oh, my God!” Feyre gasped, her hands fisting desperately in the sheets. Rhys let out a feral growl that vibrated against her clit and sent her eyes rolling.

His mouth was unrelenting, his attention ferocious. Rhys ran the flat of his tongue over her sex and flicked the tip of it over the tiny bud that was swollen and needy and sensitive. He took his time to pleasure her in every way, plunging his tongue into her and fucking her with it, then pulling out and sucking her clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Feyre’s hurried breaths and gasps had grown into moans and cries and curses, her hands desperately searching for something to hold onto, to keep her grounded. Her fingers would sink into Rhys’s hair, then she would flail and clutch at the sheets, then she would lift her arms and grip the pillow above her head. But nothing could stop the torturous pleasure as her body wound tighter and tighter, this infuriatingly skilled man bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Rhys!” She could barely speak with the way her muscles were clenching and spasming. “Oh, fuck! I –” Her words pulled apart and mixed into an unintelligible scream as her orgasm surged through her. Rhysand’s tongue on her clit sent wave after wave of pleasure through her body, and he kept licking and sucking at her as she fell from the precipice. Feyre wasn’t sure that she could breathe or think as her sight and smell and touch and sound were overwhelmed by the ecstasy that his mouth was wringing from her.

Her eyes were watering when Rhys finally took mercy on her, her chest heaving with deep, panting breaths. Feyre watched with a bleary gaze as this sex god stepped off the bed and hurriedly removed his pants. When his length sprang free, hard and proud in front of him, she could only manage a fleeting thought that he hadn’t been bluffing before. She must have been staring, because his smug, smooth voice drew her out of her haze.

“Like what you see, Feyre, darling?”

She scowled. “It’s… fine,” she grumbled.

“It’s fine?” Rhys balked. He crawled back onto the mattress and then slowly, languidly prowled over her prone form. When they were face to face, his arms caging her at her shoulders, he lowered his head. His words seared the shell of her ear. “I’m fairly certain that you know that my cock is much more than fine.” He pressed a deceptively chaste kiss against her jaw, then another on her cheek. When his mouth met her lips, he plunged his tongue between them, igniting the passion and desire that was still simmering after her mindblowing climax only minutes before.

Rhys pulled back, breathing hard, and stared into her eyes. “I’m all too happy to remind you how much better than fine it is.” Stars danced in her vision as he thrust into her, seating himself to the hilt. She’d forgotten how big he was, how deliciously he filled her – enough to steal her breath. Her back arched as her lungs kicked back to life, just in time for Rhysand to lift his hips and then push them back against her, burying himself deep inside her again.

And then he unleashed himself upon her.

Feyre’s breathing hitched and her voice cracked as she yelled any number of colorful words and cried his name as he pounded into her, her arms hooking around his neck and clinging to him. Her feet hooked around his thighs, opening herself further to his punishing rhythm. Fuck, she’d missed this: this deep, sensual connection of bodies and pleasure. Tamlin had never been able to make her feel like this. Hell, he’d hardly had the desire to try.

Rhys captured her lips in a hard, searing kiss. He pulled out of her and she whimpered at the emptiness she felt. But it was only long enough for him to grab her legs and bend them back toward her chest, pinning her knees down on either side of her torso. When he plunged into her again her eyes rolled back into her head, the intensity of the sensation almost too much to withstand. Rhys fucked her in deep, long strokes, drawing a tormented wail from her lips at the base of every thrust.

“Fu – uck. You – you’re s-s-so deep,” Feyre stuttered around the impact of his body against hers. Rhys hissed a laugh between clenched teeth.

“And how does it feel, Feyre?” he growled. “Does it feel fine.” He punctuated the abhorrent word with another stroke.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped. “Oh, fuck, Rhys!”

“Tell me, Feyre. Tell me how it feels.”

Her vision was blurring as he pounded into her, the noises coming from her mouth things she didn’t even recognize. He was driving her mad, keeping her dangling perilously over the cliff’s edge. But the fall was just out of reach.

“Rhys! P-p-please!”

“Tell me how good it feels, Feyre, and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life.” Somehow he still crooned the words, as if he were still in full control over his body and his mind. God, the power of his arrogance was truly mythical, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything other than claiming this climax.

“It – it feels – fuck!” She moaned again, desperate to get it out. “It feels… amazing. Rhys, please. Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and with the next surge of his hips he released one leg and circled his thumb around her clit.

Feyre screamed, but it was shredded and raw and broken. Broken like the rest of her shattered mind as everything unraveled and she was carried away in the unstoppable current of her orgasm. She felt Rhys, hard and thick inside her as he plunged in and out a few more times before unleashing with her name on his lips. He fell between her quivering legs, his cheek resting upon one of her breasts as they both came back to earth. In an instant the adrenaline disappeared and her muscles all seemed to fail. Her body went limp as her hand found the soft hair at Rhys’s nape. Her breathing grew deep and her eyelids grew heavy, and then she drifted to sleep.

~~~

When her blue eyes blinked open, Feyre was alone in the bed, and she couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that stabbed her in the gut. But as she blinked at the clock on the opposite nightstand, it read 8:03am, and she leapt from the tangle of sheets.

She was going to be late for work.

Her shower was quick, not allowing any time to ruminate over Rhysand’s departure without so much as a, “Thanks for a good time”. Perhaps, once again, it hadn’t been as meaningful to him as it was to her. It was exactly what her subconscious had tried to tell her the night before, but she was too desperate for him to listen.

Feyre’s sour mood lifted, however, when she finally made it into the kitchen and found a coffee mug – stamped with a scripty Hello, darling – on the counter next to a note:

You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to wake you. Obviously, my FINE cock really tired you out last night.

If you need to stay home, I’ll be glad to inform my cousin that you were simply not ready for my sexual prowess. Just let me know.

I won’t be back until late tonight, but I wouldn’t mind finding you sprawled out on the floor again. Or maybe on the table? My own personal feast, perhaps?

~Rhys

God, he was going to be even more insufferable, now, wasn’t he?

Feyre shook her head, unable to stop herself from snickering, and made herself some coffee and packed her lunch. Then she carefully made her way down the many flights of stairs. If she fell down the steps, Rhys would give her endless grief about not being able to walk the day after they had sex. She was not willing to endure that.

She was breathing hard by the time she made it to the landing and walked out the door, and the summer sun was already beating down on her. Her car was just around the corner, though, and then she would have sweet, sweet AC once more.

“Feyre.” The voice stopped her in her tracks and stole the air from her already struggling lungs. All she wanted was for her feet to keep moving, but they were frozen in place. When she heard her name again, her body turned in spite of her better judgment. And there, not ten feet away from her, stood a tall, perfectly groomed man with a green sport coat and glossy blond hair. Feyre lifted her chin, determined not to let him see the anxiety that rattled in her bones.

“Tamlin.”

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #feysand #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #feysand au #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhysand acotar #smut #banter #acotar fanfic #acotar #fanfiction #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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lpdwillwrite4coffee · 7 months

Text

Okay y'all. This is the story of how I owe $17,000 to the guy who propositioned me during family night at a local brewery and now I'm committed to bringing sensible wine options to his house for Thanksgiving.

Our tale begins like most do - panic crying in the living room while my house floods. Because of a freak polar vortex like day in February, my old drafty house and the rust bucket of a boiler in the cellar created a horrific one-two punch that ended in me nearly freezing to death in my own home and almost all of my heating pipes cracking and leaking, flooding my first floor and basement. It was terrifying, beyond stressful, and most importantly to this story, expensive.

After 2 and a half months of living in a hotel, battling insurance companies, daily anxiety attacks, and having 4 grand of insurance money stolen by my bipolar, narcissistic mother, I hit my absolute fucking limit. Friends of mine who are much better off financially than I have ever been in my life offered to help me out of the dark, lonely, and cold hole I'd wound up in. Three text messages and a lot of tears later, I was in possession of a check for $17,000 and had an official start date for construction. Praise Dolly.

A hop, skip, and a jump through time and we're now in July. I'm paying my friends back in monthly installments and trying not to crumble from the knowledge that it will take me 4 or 5 years of consistent payments to get out from under this loan. But at least I have heat. It's the little things I guess.

My friend, let's call him Mitch, and his wife, who unfortunately shares my name but for this we'll call her Lucette, are kindly checking in on me and inviting me to coffee/dinner/drinks to hang out. Things seem like they're back on track to being normal.

Lucette gets a new job that requires a ton of travel, so I don't see her as much as I do Mitch, but that doesn't bother me, as Lucette and I were never particularly close and spending more than an hour of time with her makes me feel like a dirt poor 19 year old who showed up to a nice dinner party in paint stained jeans and a ripped band tee. We are not energetic or socioeconomic equals.

One weekend, Mitch and I get drinks just to catch up, and he tells me that him and Lucette have made the decision to try out ENM (ethical non-monogamy). They've been married for 7 years, have had a bit of a dry spell due to pandemic close proximity, and there's just the general vibe that they want to try new things. I get it! And I'm encouraging. Life is too short for bad sex, I tell him, and he's thankful I'm not judging them. We have a good laugh about it all - particularly the bit about them seeing my profile on Feeld, as they have one too - and after another beer, I go home.

This is probably the part of the movie where the music changes, warning the viewer that some event is looming and possibly dangerous for our protagonist. If only life had such a soundtrack I could hear.

Throughout the summer and into September Mitch and I see more of each other and I take notice of the uptick in chill weekend day drinking and texts. Nothing about it feels off or motivated by anything other than being bored and wanting to hang out with a friend. And because I know about his ENM journey, I think there's the appeal there of getting to speak freely to someone who won't wrinkle their nose and make jokes about bringing pineapples to neighborhood BBQs. In a stunning change of mental pace, I don't overanalyze it. Perhaps this was a mistake.

One morning I wake up a text from Mitch cancelling plans. I'm secretly thrilled - I didn't want to shower that day anyway. But I can also tell something has gone horribly wrong on his end, but he doesn't say what, so I just "yeah, sure, let me know when you're free next" my way out of the conversation.

When we do talk next, he tells me why he cancelled. Lucette cheated on Mitch during a work trip. They'd established rules within their ENM arrangement that she broke. And she broke them loudly, multiple times, and with her iPad still logged in and left on the kitchen counter in full view of Mitch. Horrible words are said, declarations of 'the best sex of her life' are sent to several group chats, pictures are seen. It's bad.

Mitch is unwell. I comfort him as best as I can and he tells me that he and Lucette aren't pulling the divorce lever yet, but he's still heartbroken and scared he's going to lose his marriage. I feel awful for him. I offer to buy him another beer. He shows me the texts he saw. It's officially A Lot.

From that day on, I become his "my wife cheated on me with the guy she told me not to worry about" therapist friend who he can unload on and get sympathetic words in return. I've been imprinted on by the depressed baby bird hatched by infidelity and low self-esteem. It's not the first time, and I'm certain it won't be the last.

Tell me, how's that soundtrack only you, the audience, can hear? I bet it's tense and full of cello.

A few weeks later, I get a head cold. It's not the end of the world but it's annoying. I'm fevered, stuffy, exhausted, and I have not a drop of soup or broth in my home. Mitch sees my Instagram story about being sick and offers to bring me soup. "Aww, that's so nice of you, thank you." "Of course! I'll go get it and be right over." "Awesome! Just text me when you drop it off." Thirty minutes later my doorbell rings. My dogs bark their heads off. I'm a little annoyed. The bell rings again. I see Mitch's car in my driveway. I mutter to myself about why he didn't just leave it on the steps as I go to the door. I look disgusting and I'm flushed with a solid 100.2 fever, but I guess I'm having face time with Mitch now. I open the door and he hands over the soup almost immediately, but with an odd look on his face. I thank him and ask what I owe, but he refuses for me to pay him back. I thank him again. He doesn't make a move to leave. I tell him I'd invite him in but.... *gestures widely to the PJs I've worn for 3 days in a row and the broken capillaries in my nose and the dogs still barking behind the second entryway door* He smiles awkwardly and says it's okay. He still doesn't leave. "So... how are you, Mitch?" His shoulders slump. "I'm not doing great."

Ah. There it is. Mystery solved. My time has been bought with soup and he's lingering to collect on it. So I lean on my door, sniff back a disgusting level of mucus, and brace myself for whatever is about to be said. Turns out, Lucette couldn't stop texting the Best Sex Ever guy and possibly is fixated on him due to some weird aging hot girl nonsense. Mitch tells me he and Lucette are separating. She's sleeping in her home office. The mess got messier. I tell him I'm so incredibly sorry, this is awful, etc etc etc. He stays for 20 minutes to tell me all of this and get as much of a pep talk as I can muster while trying not to sneeze directly in his eyes.

In the interim, I've gotten several strangely loaded texts from Lucette, telling me she's glad Mitch has me and that she knows he values my friendship and advice on things. Alexa, play "She Knows." But I keep things as vague as possible, because I don't want to shove myself even more in the middle. I didn't choose to be imprinted on, but I can choose not to encourage a more permanent bond. Call me a wildlife rehabilitation center.

Being sick takes me out of commission for a while, and I have to reschedule multiple things, including getting beer with Mitch. That doesn't deter him from messaging me of course, but I don't see him for a couple weeks. When I'm feeling better, I tell him we should check out a brewery we've never been to before and we set a day.

This is probably the part when the audience yells as the protagonist not to go. Don't get in the car. Stay home.

Ah, to not be a participant in the narrative.

I get to the brewery and immediately I notice 2 things: 1, it's family Sunday Funday, and 2, the vibes around Mitch are........uncomfy. I turn into a socially anxious motormouth. I can't stop talking about literally everything that doesn't matter, including the child at the table next to us playing a solo game of Uno and the 80's music playlist. I order my beer and finally force myself to chill tf out. Maybe I've picked up on a vibe that has nothing to do with me. Maybe he's just feeling weird. Maybe I'm just insane. All of these options are valid.

Halfway thru our drinks, Mitch brings up the odd texts from Lucette. "I think I know why she was being weird with you." "Oh? Why?" I sip my beer and wait. He says, "So, back when Lucette and I decided to open up our marriage, we had a discussion about who we'd see ourselves dating..."

Hey audience, how's that music crescendo?

I blink. Mitch gestures with his beer. "And obviously, your name was at the top of my list."

And because I'm the definition of smooth, I practically shout, "REALLY???" so loudly 5 people turn around and look at me. Mitch doesn't even look away from me. Instead, he stares deeper into my eyes and asks, "Do you ever see that becoming a possibility?"

Me. Dating Mitch. After months of supporting him through a painful, messy separation that hasn't even really become official. After knowing way too much about his sex life. After all the sad boy memes and depressed 1am texts he's sent. After being forced to read his angry, sexually charged break up poetry in front of him 2 beers in at the bar.

AFTER I HAD TO BORROW $17,000 FROM HIM AND LUCETTE.

I verbally flounder for a painfully long 12 seconds while watching that little girl beat herself with another Uno Reverse card, and finally land on a gentle but firm rejection of the idea. I don't have a chance to mentally process all the messed up parts to this messed up puzzle in the moment but when I get home it starts to click.

They had that conversation in the spring. Around the time that I had to borrow the money in the first place. And while I don't have proof, I can almost guarantee that Lucette vetoed Mitch's suggestion of bringing me into their situation, and now that they're breaking up, he feels like he can take a swing at it (pun? unintended?)

Which means that every single interaction, every single conversation and hang out, every single dollar bill I borrowed is colored with the knowledge I now possess which is that Mitch, for however long, has wanted to fuck me. He's wanted to fuck me so. Goddamn. Bad.

Audience, I bet you're the star at your optometrist's office with all that 20/20 vision. I'm honestly jealous.

No wonder Lucette was sending probing texts with the energy of "I know you know, and now you know I know." No wonder Mitch attached himself to me like a duckling trying to cross a busy road. No wonder both of them were so earnestly checking on me when I first moved back into my house. NO WONDER MY SUBCONSCIOUS MIND HAD BEEN SCREAMING "YOU'RE IN DANGER GIRL" FOR WEEKS.

And before ALL of this, Mitch had organized Thanksgiving at his house since Lucette would be out of town, and one of his friends created a list of what people can bring. I signed up for wine, since it means I don't have to cook. And when this entire thing came to a head, I started to write an "I'm bailing" text to Mitch. But before I could pull that trigger, our mutual friend messaged me to say how happy she is that I'll be there and that she's missed me.

So now, after finding out that Mitch has wanted to get his dick in me for months (if not longer) without even considering the power imbalance of me owing him SEVENTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS, I have to pick out a sensible red and white wine and show up at his house at 2pm on Thursday.

Audience. Reader. Friends. I am.... stressed. And in serious debt.

And apparently hot enough to possibly instigate an argument between spouses.

Cue the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving song. This year I'm grateful for autonomy and friends willing to come up with a code word in case I need to escape quickly.

#ohhhhhhhhh this is bad bad badbadbad #“obviously” SORRY??? OBVIOUSLY????????#OBVIOUSLY YOU'RE AT THE TOP OF MY LIST #WHAT LIKE I'M FRESH MEAT ON YOUR GROCERY LIST???#WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK #this is edging closer and closer into financial abuse territory and I HAVE to get out from under it #he didn't even think about how bad this could be for me #or how uncomfortable it would make me #and here I am just trying not to freak out about owing them money for the next 5 years of my life #AND HE GOES AND PROPOSITIONS ME #I can't #this is too much #god this sucks #what do I even do now??#this was not the holiday I anticipated #storytime #tumblr stories

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call-sign-foxtrot · 2 months

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A Neo-liberalistic Nihilistic Manifesto

Economic Policy meets Existential Despair

In this grim guide, we'll delve into the depths of neoliberalistic nihilism and explore the realities of navigating the market-driven hellscape. In this journey through the corners of capitalism, where the only certainty is uncertainty, and the only currency is cold, hard cash. History? A meaningless series of market fluctuations. Morality? A subjective construct hindering your consumption choices. Truth? Fungible and for sale to the highest bidder.

Step 1: Embrace the Market Abyss

In this wild west of capitalism, the invisible hand of the market reigns supreme, guiding through the chaos of supply and demand like a blindfolded stumbling through a minefield. Forget about regulations or ethical dilemmas – profit is the only compass you need. The market will definitely reward your...gestures vaguely...audacity with untold riches (or bankruptcy, but hey, it's all meaningless anyway). But in this world, failure is but a temporary setback, a stepping stone on the path to greater success. After all, what does it matter if we lose it all, if the game is all that matters?

Step 2: Find Meaning in Materialism

In this world devoid of inherent meaning, material possessions become our gods. So go ahead, splurge on that designer handbag or the latest iPhone – they're the closest thing to existential fulfilment money can buy. With each purchase, we are not only filling the void within, but also contributing to the great capitalist machine that powers our world. And in doing so, we are becoming the ultimate consumers, the apex predators of the consumerist jungle. Just ignore the sense of emptiness that creeps in when you realize that no amount of consumerism can fill the void within. So why not treat yourself to that dopamine rush you get from scoring those limited-edition drops? It's basically the same feeling as finding true happiness, only slightly less sustainable and much more expensive.

Step 3: Exploit, Exploit, Exploit

In the pursuit of profit, nothing is off-limits. Exploit cheap labor in developing countries? Check. Dodge taxes like a like a ship vanishing into fog? Double check. Destroy the environment faster than you can say "climate change is real"? Triple check. In the grand scheme of things, morals are just roadblocks on the way to wealth. "This all sounds so...unethical." And you're right. It is. But in the world of business, morals are just a luxury that only the weak can afford. So, if you want to make it to the top, you'd better be prepared to leave your conscience at the door. Who needs a clear conscience when you have a yacht? Or a private jet? Or a mansion on a hill?

Step 4: Rinse and Repeat

Congratulations, you're now a card-carrying member of the neoliberalistic nihilist club! But remember, the journey is never truly over. As you navigate the waters of late-stage capitalism, always keep one eye on the bottom line and the other on the abyss. Who knows, maybe one day you'll achieve true enlightenment – or at least a slightly bigger offshore bank account. Perhaps we will find the freedom we so desperately crave – or perhaps, more likely, we will find nothing at all.

Step 5: Await the End

Now all that remains is to await the inevitable collapse – the final unraveling of civilization as we know it. Embrace the pain, the anguish, the existential despair – for in the depths of suffering lies the only semblance of truth we will ever know. Let it wash over you like a tidal wave, drowning out the hollow echoes of consumerism and capitalist excess. For in the end, it is our suffering that defines us – not our fleeting moments of happiness or success.

Disclaimer: This is Satire. Repeat: "There is only the market, and the market is good..." (except when it isn't, but hey, that's the thrill of the gamble, right?).

#neoliberalism #neoliberal capitalism #nihilism #nihilist #satire #rules #neo liberalistic nihilism #just a few thoughts #the markets

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muchamusedaboutnothing · 2 years

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Heart of a Hunter Act VII - Ch. 8

Characters: Dean x doctor!Reader, Sam Winchester

This story is Act 7 of a saga.

New to the story? Get caught up on the Heart of a Hunter Saga here.

All your favorite Winchesters are alive, in spite of the curse that nearly took them from you. After coming so close to losing the only family you have left in this world, you’re taking matters into your own hands. There’s a witch to hunt.

Series Warnings:

Character injuries/sickness - Take note that no one is excluded from this.

Canon-typical violence and language.

Lots of whump.

Lots of caring for hurt characters.

Smut (18 Only. NSFW. You were warned.)

Angst.

Fluff.

Medical talk. Is that even a warning

Image Credit: bing image search, google image search, @gaywitchtwins , @bowleggedean

Wordcount: 1959

Chapter 8

It was nearing six in the morning when Dean called you back.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“Nope,” you said with a yawn. “I’ve been sitting in this hospital parking lot all night. Tell Sam and Addie thanks for packing me a supply of caffeine and snacks. I’d have passed out hours ago if they hadn’t.”

You could hear the smile in his tone when he spoke again. “Anything interesting?”

“The demon-priests stayed inside the hospital for another couple of hours last night after I called you. Then they walked right back across the street to the shop. I’m certain there’s a back door I don’t have a good view of from here, but I haven’t seen anyone else come or go since then.”

“No sign of the witch then?”

“Not yet. The locator spell doesn’t show she’s moved at all, does it?”

“Nope. Sam and I just did it again before I called. She should still be right there in that spot. Apparently she’s just being a recluse about it.”

“Did you and Sam find anything to connect the patients who are being possessed?”

“Unfortunately they don't seem to have much in common aside from the fact that they don't have any family."

"No one to miss them," you thought out loud.

“One was a lost cause. No one expected them to have any quality of life after the injuries he’d suffered. Brain damage of one sort or another, among other things. There’s an article about him with a picture. Sam’s emailing it to you now, at least that way you might recognize the one if you see him. The other guy was in a medically induced coma, but he was expected to recover. Doctors seemed to think his prognosis was good. They were just giving his body a chance to heal. I didn’t understand enough about the jargon I read to explain it to you better than that. He’s probably toast now, though.

"We tried to look into the churches nearby, too, but so far nothing specific that would lead us to believe the demons are doing more than just trying to pass themselves off as priests while they're visiting the hospital. Not like they could actually step foot in a church anyway.”

“Right,” you agreed. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’ve had a long night,” Dean said after a few seconds. “You need to get some sleep. Chances are the demons won’t be so active during the daylight hours anyway.”

You heard Jonah start crying in the background, and Addie and Sam both trying to soothe him. The sound nearly broke your heart. “How’s he doing?” you asked, feeling your voice crack a little as you spoke.

“Just misses his mom,” Dean said. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry about us. Just watch yourself. Promise?”

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to collect yourself. “Promise.”

You sat in the hospital parking lot in your truck until eight in the morning when the construction crew showed up to work on the witch’s shop. That was when you decided to follow Dean's advice and get at least a few hours of shut-eye. After the long drive and staking out the witch's shop and the demons in the hospital, you could definitely feel the weariness settling in.

You checked into a motel, parked your truck in front of the door, and brought your bags inside. Then you set to work with the little routine involved with trying to safely get some sleep while hunting on your own. You dead-bolted the door, tucked your handgun under the pillow, and, after a brief debate in your head, decided against changing into something more comfortable. You were only hoping for a couple of hours - it was more of a nap really - and you had to be ready to jump and go at a moment's notice.

You slid off your extra flannel from your shoulders and draped it along the bottom of the bed before pulling off your boots and setting them nearby. Your jeans and t-shirt acted as somewhat of a barrier between your skin and the scratchy motel sheets as you climbed inside the bedding and tried to get comfortable.

There was just an emptiness in the room that was unsettling. You chalked it up to your instincts being in overdrive since becoming a mother, but you couldn't help yourself.

You wished Dean was there weighing down the mattress next to you, his body throwing off that subtle heat that always warmed you. Hell, you even missed Sam's soft snores from across the room where he should have been. Hunting alone sucked. But this wasn't just any hunt. You were working to remove an immediate threat to your family.

It was insurance.

Thankfully, you did manage to squeeze in some sleep and woke naturally at one o’clock. It took a moment to orient yourself, to remember you weren't in the bunker, and then you crawled out of the bed and pulled your gun from under the pillow.

You did a chamber check and a magazine check before tucking it into your waistband holster. You brushed your teeth, ran a comb through your hair, and threw your bag in your truck again to make sure you had everything you needed at all times before climbing behind the wheel.

You knew you'd most likely be coming back to shower and change and take advantage of your former career to get you inside the hospital, but for now, it was all about getting some coffee and staking out the Witch's new shop again.

With gas station coffee in the cup holder and a doughnut in hand that would make your goal of getting your pre-baby body back take longer than you cared to admit, you sat in your truck where you could watch the shop and the hospital entrance.

A pair of over-sized sunglasses made you feel at least somewhat incognito as you perused the article and photo Sam had sent.

Dean and Sam had been researching the miraculous recoveries of the hospital patients until late last night, and then Dean had had his nose in a book in the morning before catching up with you on the phone. After lunch, he'd pulled out his laptop and dug into research again, a pile of books stacked next to him for quick reference. Except this time the research wasn’t about the hospital patients you’d called about previously. Once they’d realized there wasn’t a lot of information to be found about them, Dean’s focus had shifted to a more lofty goal.

"Dean," Sam said, sitting down at the table across from him. "I'm still not sure it's even a good idea."

"And letting my wife go after this witch alone is a good idea?" His eyes snapped up to stare at Sam over the screen.

"I know it's hard. I don't like letting her go at this alone any more than you do," Sam said. "I love her, too. You know I do. But this is what she asked us to do. The witch becomes a whole new level of dangerous if she thinks we're coming after her."

"She only asked us to stay behind because she didn't know how to keep the witch from tracking us."

Sam sighed heavily. "Yeah, well, we don't know how to do that either."

"Not yet. But there's got to be a spell, or - or a talisman or something that can hide me from the witch. Stop her tracking me."

Addie approached with Jonah in her arms and a bottle in one hand. "Okay Dad, time to take a break from research," she said to Dean as she placed Jonah in his arms.

"Hey there, Buckaroo,” Dean said to his son. “Have you been good for Addie?"

"Of course he has," she gushed. "But he needs some father-son time. Almost as much as you do." She held out a bottle and Dean closed the laptop with a hand before accepting it from her. "Bottle time, and then a nap. And that last part is for both of you."

"Nap?" Dean scoffed. "He might, but I - I don't need-"

Addie put a hand on her hip and stared him down. "Oh yes, you do. You were up half the night doing research, and new dads are already sleep-deprived. You know better than to miss a chance to play catch up. So either put him down in the nursery and hit the sack, or let me or Sam take him to get him down when he's done eating so you can get some rest."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Addie wasn't having it. "I mean it, Dean. I don't care if you're a big, scary hunter. You need sleep. Give him his bottle, then nap time for you both."

Dean seemed to realize he was fighting a losing battle. "Yeah, okay," he said, suddenly sounding a lot younger than he was.

Addie watched with a smile as Dean carried Jonah out of the room.

Dean settled down on the sofa with Jonah tucked up in one arm. He offered Jonah the bottle and gazed lovingly at his face while the baby began to drink. "I'm glad you're back to eating so well, Buckaroo," Dean said softly. "We all just want you to be strong and healthy. Whatever else you decide to be in this life is up to you. We’ll always have your back. No matter what."

Jonah sucked his bottle, big eyes staring up at his father as he spoke to him.

"Y'know, your mom is taking on a witch right now to keep you safe. To keep us all safe. I don't know if you know this yet, but your mom is a bad-ass. We're lucky she's on our side."

Jonah guzzled formula as Dean watched him. He shifted his fingers onto his son’s chest, feeling the little flutter of his heartbeat against the pads of his fingers and smiling to himself.

It didn’t take long for Jonah to finish the bottle and Dean sat it down on the side table. Jonah whimpered as Dean shifted on the couch, holding him snug to his chest as he put his feet up and leaned back against the armrest in an attempt to settle in and get comfortable. Jonah yawned, followed by a pathetic little squeak and a soft cry. Dean patted Jonah's back softly. “I know, son. I know…. I miss her, too.”

Dean hoped if he played his cards right, the baby might nap for at least an hour. He rubbed Jonah’s back gently with a hand and hummed a Bob Seger song. He felt the soft motion of Jonah's breathing beneath his hand and couldn't help thinking how close you'd all come to losing him.

It caused a gnawing pit to grow in his stomach to think about what would have happened if you hadn't caught onto what was going on with Jonah's heart. If you hadn't been so observant and thorough and downright brilliant. Hadn't so diligently cared for your newborn son, giving him what he needed to keep fighting while you'd all desperately searched for a way to break the curse.

And because of it, Dean's family was still intact, and Dean knew he'd do anything to keep it that way.

When he finished humming the Seger song he moved onto a Zeppelin one before he was convinced Jonah was soundly asleep on his chest.

Dammit if Addie hadn’t been right. Dean could feel the exhaustion settling in his bones. Double checking that Jonah couldn't roll away first, he closed his eyes and fell asleep with the most delightful little weight on his chest, heartbeat to heartbeat with his son.

Act VII Masterlist.

You can find the Masterlist for the Heart of a Hunter Saga here.

Please consider supporting my writing by buying me a coffee. In my case, it’s Dr. Pepper, but a little caffeine goes a long way when it comes to writing and posting this labor of love.

Tags are currently closed. Message me if you’d like to be added to the tags for when it opens again.

*HOAH Text divider by the brilliant Talesmaniac89

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#Heart of a Hunter #dean x doctor!reader #spn series #dean x reader #spn reader insert

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101flavoursofweird · 1 year

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Emerald Trio Week: Day 5 - Nature

Spoilers: Some for For the Future, and for Watching and Dreaming

Set: After Watching and Dreaming

Warnings: Odalia gets a mention… and Willow’s sentient orchids causing chaos, trying to eat people (though not in great detail)

Note: I’m not saying Willow’s family’s house was destroyed during the final battle, but for this premise, let’s say their house was destroyed.

Description: Willow plants her sentient orchids in her new garden… Poor Hunter tries to help.

If there was any upside to Willow’s family’s home being destroyed during Titan-Belos’ rampage, it was that their new house had a garden.

Their old house had been located right on the edge of a steep cliff. They hadn’t had room for a garden out back or out front.

At most, they’d had some shrubs out by their fence and some pine trees overlooking the house.

Inside, Willow had kept some potted plants in her bedroom, on her windowsill, and down in the kitchen.

The lack of a garden had never really bothered Willow; any plants she left outside would have withered in the boiling rain, anyway!

Besides, there had been plenty of space for Willow to grow things in the Plant Homeroom at Hexside…

That was, until her classmates started hiding from the Collector’s star-spies at school.

They had cleared out the flower beds in the Plant Homeroom to grow vegetables— Mattholomule’sidea— but Willow’s orchids hadn’t taken kindly to that.

Willow was shocked to hear her plants had gained sentience while she was away in the Human Realm, but she wondered if this might have had anything to do with how much she’d missed her dads.

Maybe all that pain she’d kept buried for months had manifested in her orchids, causing them to run amuck…

As soon as she had a free moment— and some free space— Willow came up with a plan to deal with her monster plants.

“Here you go!” Willow brought the orchids to their new home, on the edge of Blight Manor.

It had been Amity’s idea; she’d wanted to give Willow’s family part of their land, near the forest. The rest of the Blights (barring Odalia) had readily agreed.

Willow’s parents had refused to take the offer for free, though. After some discussion with Alador, they had decided to pay for the (rewired) Abomatrons that helped build their new house.

Dad had grumbled that he didn’t need the help— He was a Construction witch!— but his limbs still felt stiff after being a puppet, so he’d caved in.

Between the Parks, the Blights, the Abomatrons, and Mattholomule (who might have felt guilty about uprooting Willow’s orchids), they managed to build the new house within a week.

It practically looked identical to their old house, as Willow’s family had hoped it would.

They had filled it with possessions salvaged from their old home, along with some replacements from the Blights. (“ We don’t need this anymore!” Emira had said, cheerfully handing them a pink tea set that had once belonged to Odalia.)

In all her wildest dreams, Willow had never imagined her family would become neighbours to the Blights.

She had shared a bedroom with Amity for months in the Human Realm, so it was nice that Amity was still close by— about thirty steps away.

Luz often visited Amity, so that made it even better!

Gus needed no incentive to invite himself over to Willow’s house. Though, during the construction stage, Gus had claimed he wanted to ‘check on Mattholomule’ all the time.

And then there was Hunter. Willow had worried he would distance himself from them (from her) after everything that had happened… but he still wanted to be with them (with Willow!).

Some days he would drop by with Darius, who was ‘making amends’ with Alador. Today was one such day. Hunter— along with Gus— would get to witness the rehabilitation of Willow’s sentient orchids.

The three orchids scuttled after Willow on their spider-like roots as she led them out to the garden.

(Her new garden— oooh! She was going to make it even sprucier than the Nocedas’ garden!)

Hunter was waiting for them on the overgrown red grass.

His face lit up at the sight of Willow, but his smile became a little strained as the orchids followed her.

“H-heeey, Captain!”

“Hey, Hunter!” Willow waved at him. One of the orchids copied her, waving a root at Hunter. Hunter gave the plant an awkward wave in return.

“Where’s Gus?” Willow asked, checking the waist-length grass in case she’d missed him.

Clover buzzed disapprovingly from Willow’s shoulder.

“He went to talk to… Mattholomule?” Hunter said, confusion and suspicion in his voice. “I swear, that kid is stalking me! First with Steve when we were training for the Emperor’s Coven, then at school, now here…”

Willow chuckled. “Matt’s making some ‘finishing touches’ to our house… and he likes having a reason to see Gus.

Hunter muttered, “Does he really need a reason…?” but he suddenly closed his mouth. Hunter went pinker that the petals on Willow’s orchids.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Willow told him softly, taking his hand.

One orchid stretched out a leaf catch Hunter’s other hand.

Willow slapped the leaf away. “ No.”

Clover buzzed around the orchid’s flower head, scolding it.

“I guess we should, uh, show these guys their new home?” Hunter stammered.

The orchids nodded eagerly.

Willow guided them down to the end of the garden— as far as they could get from the house— where the pine trees began.

At least if her orchids did escape, it would most likely be into the forest, away from civilisation…

And, if Odalia tried to sneak back in through the forest, the orchids would make a meal out of her. Win-win!

Willow pointed to a patch of ground, where she had outlined a rectangle and cut the grass.

“While I keep these three distracted, can you dig the flower bed?” Willow asked Hunter.

“Sure!” Hunter’s response was so quick that Willow knew he would take any job over watching the orchids.

Clover went to grab one of Dad’s homemade shovels from the house and passed it to Hunter when she returned.

Hunter glanced down at the spade, then back up at Willow. He smiled wryly.

“This is…” His smile vanished, along with whatever he’d been about to say. “N- never mind!”

He dug out the grass and the soil, lightning-fast, while Willow chatted to the orchids.

Within minutes, Hunter was standing next to a mound of soil and an empty flower bed.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect!” Willow chirped. She directed the orchids towards the flower bed. “In you go, babes!”

The orchids looked at each other. The largest one snapped its jaws.

Willow frowned. “Don’t make me tell you twice…” Clover droned angrily and stung the largest orchid in the head.

“You can either stay in my garden, or I’ll let Eda the Owl Lady turn you into mulch,” Willow threatened.

Much to Willow’s relief, the orchids complied and crawled into the flower bed.

(Really, she hadn’t wanted to see them turned into mulch!)

With Hunter’s help, Willow pushed the soil back into the flower bed, covering the orchids’ roots. They gently patting the soil down around the plants’ stems.

“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Willow cooed to them.

The orchids grumbled to each other. The largest one was in the middle, with its smaller companions on either side.

“At least they’re safe now,” Hunter murmured. Hefelt safe enough to stand next to the orchids since they were confined to the soil. “And so’s everyone in the Boiling Isles…”

“Right!” Willow agreed. “I’m just going to get them some water—“ She turned her back for a second to grab the watering can.

Behind her, Hunter shrieked. Willow whirled around.

The largest orchid had scooped Hunter off the ground with its jaws. Hunter’s long legs were flailing in the air.

Clover buzzed with rage. Before Clover could launch herself at the orchid, Willow said, “W-wait!Attacking them isn’t going to help Hunter. We need—“

“Willow, what’s going on? We heard screaming!” Gus ran out to the garden.

Better late than never, Willow thought. She explained, “It’s my orchids from school— one of them got Hunter—“

“I can SEE that!” Gus yelled, yanking out his staff.

Matt was right on Gus’ heels, but he froze when he saw the monstrous flowers. He pointed a shaking finger at them. “They’re… they’re BACK! And they’re EATING PEOPLE—“

“Not on my watch!” Gus leapt onto his staff and flew up to the lead orchid. “Hold on, Hunter! I’ll get you ou— AAAH!”

One of the smaller orchids took a snap at Gus.

“GUS—!” Matt fell to his knees and wailed, “NOOOO…!”

Gus narrowly dodged the orchid’s jaws, but he almost fell off his staff.

From inside the flower head, Hunter let out a muffled scream.

Willow winced; she was going to rescue Hunter, but they needed to stay calm.

“Get back, Gus!” Willow ordered.

Gus retreated, landing next to Matt. Matt grabbed him.

Slowly, Willow crept towards the orchids. She said to them, “I’m sorry you got uprooted from Hexside—“

“I’m sorry too!” Matt yelped. Gus shushed him.

Willow continued trying to pacify her rouge plants. “It was a mistake, but those were crazy, desperate times…”

The smaller orchids snapped at Willow— as if they were giving her a warning— but Willow didn’t react.

She placed her hand on the lead orchid’s thrashing stem. “I lost my home too,” Willow whispered, “and my parents, for a while— but we’re back together now and we have a new home.”

She turned her head to her family’s rebuilt house, smiled, and looked back at the orchid. It had stopped thrashing beneath her hand.

“You can all stay with us, if you want… but no more biting people, okay? Can you let my friend go?”

The lead orchid made a sound like a sigh. It lowered its head and spat out Hunter. Willow caught him. He clung to her like a cleaver, shivering.

Clover brushed her head against Hunter’s cheek in an attempt to comfort him.

“Thank you!” Willow said to the orchids. To Hunter, she breathed, “Sorry about that, Hunter… Let’s get you a warm drink.”

“S-sounds good!” Hunter said.

She turned and carried Hunter towards the house.

“You too, Gus and Matt,” Willow called over her shoulder. “…Unless you want to keep hugging out here with the orchids—?”

“Coming, Willow!” Gus shoved Matt away from him. Matt shoved him back as they made their way into the Parks’ house.

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stormxpadme · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 No. 12 - What could go wrong?

1962

"Come on. What could go wrong?"

"I have a list. It's alphabetized." One of these days, Charles would find out what in the world had possessed him to lose his heart to a fucking lunatic.

"Stop obsessing." Said lunatic didn't take his halfhearted protest too seriously. With a careless wave of his hand towards the door of their new underground weapon, Erik pushed all of the locks into place, making sure no one would get the stupid idea of checking what the two of them were getting up to at their mansion's currently biggest construction site. Then he clenched his hands around Charles' shirt again to pull him in for a greedy, almost brutal kiss, restless hands busy tearing on buttons and zippers and fabric before pushing under Charles' underwear to take his behind in an unambiguous grip, which had every lingering worry about possibly still awake students or staff starting to fade.

There shouldn't be a lot of either around at this time anyway; their school was still small and building. For the moment, they were only taking in the worst emergencies, and not a lot about that would change before the beacon that was this huge, perfectly spherical room in their cellar would be finished, before Charles could target the people in his mind that Erik and he wanted to offer a safe home and job here.

Cautiously sending out a general wave of mental sensors, Charles indeed couldn't find a lot of the minds located in the Institute so far still busy listening to the radio or lost in some book, and none of them on this floor. Fine, yes. They could probably get away with this. And maybe they deserved it, too, after spending the last few weeks almost nonstop down here, long after their teaching units had ended. Besides, it'd been far too long since they had a little privacy … Charles would still have been more comfortable if they'd moved things to one of their apartments. "Erik …" As his lover finally pulled away from that fierce kiss, he managed at least to get out a hesitative whine, only for Erik to give Charles' slightly swollen lower lip an admonishing bite next and push him back against the unforgiving reinforced steel of the door vehemently.

One hand moving to the front of his pants, he grabbed Charles in that delicious, clever way, almost too tight, moving slow but with that perfect little twist against his sensitive head every time, the fingertips of his other hand busy stroking Charles' thigh, his chest, finally stopping at one hardened nipple to give it an equally unforgiving pull and twist.

Charles soon had an increasingly hard time remembering what they'd just been talking about. Overwhelmed by his lover's sudden impatience, especially since Erik hadn't been particularly interested or affectionate since Charles had returned from his unexpected little trip to space, his own attempts of pulling on his lover's tight black shirt to get it out of the way didn't help a lot. He ended up holding on to the far too long hair of Erik's neck instead, burying his face against his partner's neck with small moans on his lips, ignoring the salty layer of an evening full of labor and exhaustion there, relishing in the long-missed scent lying underneath instead, his other hand finding its way to his lover's firm behind. His cock, throbbing in heavy need under Erik's relentless motions, strained against his lover's palm with a jerk when he allowed himself to lose himself to memory for a moment, of the night before his departure, of all the hours he had spent spoiling every inch of his lover's tall, lean body with his lips and tongue, slowly thrusting fingers and a well-placed thick ring in the right spot edging him on for hours before Charles had finally fucked them both into oblivion … Somehow he doubted, that was where things were heading tonight, even before he sneaked his hand under Erik's clothes, playful fingertips dipping into the heat of that sweet cleft … Only to be stopped short by an invisible hold on the watch on his wrist pulling him away. "I thought we agreed, no powers in bed," he smirked at his lover, before showering that heavy flush of need on Erik's tanned face with yearning kisses, a need that stopped at very little to be satisfied unless there was a clear signal to do so. One that Charles had no interest in giving tonight, with the initial reservations overcome.

"We also agreed we'd give that whole monogamy thing a shot," Erik replied calmly, never stopping that almost leisurely up-and-down motion of his fist or taking his other hand away from where it was raking harsh lines through the faint fuzz on Charles' chest, leaving more than one thin stripe of red from long nails on its path. The irritation about the just as stupid as unfounded accusation immediately bubbling up again in Charles and almost putting an end to every game of passion only had that self-assured grin on Erik's lips grow further. "Oh, I know. You wouldn't have come back if you did. Just making sure …" He let go of Charles unexpectedly, leaving him exposed, hard and leaking to the cool underground air for a second before nudging his legs impatiently part with his knee to touch him somewhere entirely else, using the remarkable amount of thick white slick his administrations had already produced. The brief sensation of being dowsed with a bucket of ice water immediately gave way again to that deep emptiness in Charles' groin. "… that's not gonna change anytime soon."

"Stop being ri …" But Charles forgot what he was about to say for the second time tonight. Even while his eyes, clouded by irritation and lust at the same time, found his lover's, he could watch Erik fall to his knees in front of him with a smooth, easy motion betraying how much more time than him his lover found in between both their new duties in this house to keep himself in shape for a battle they were both, somehow, still hoping would never be needed to be fought. Or maybe it was just Charles, still clinging to that illusion getting harder to uphold by the year, with the numbers of mutants on the rise too quickly for the public to ignore it any longer, no matter how passionately conservative media and outlets like the church still tried. Humanity hadn't exactly reacted kindly so far to realize that the rumors were true, that they were indeed not alone on this planet and had not been for a long time – maybe never. For Charles it had been a no-brainer, accepting the partnership of a race even stranger to both their groups on Earth, overviewing their progress from millions of lightyears away, silently and without any bigger intervention than the occasional technological help. Such an alliance was exactly what they needed right now for their mission to keep the peace, and Charles could not allow petty feelings of possessiveness and envy over it being him, welcome on that first diplomatic visit in orbit, and not his partner, to get in the way of that.

Apparently, though, he had indeed underestimated how much that absence, those ties that Charles had forged with the Shi’ar's Empress, on a wholly platonic level, of course, had really hurt his lover. And Erik had never been one to go down without a fight even when none was needed. "What?" Seeing the completely dumbstruck look on Charles' face, Erik nestled his face close against his loins, leaving provocative little licks and nips there that only left Charles even harder to the slow caress of his palm, more open to his circling fingertips gently starting to slip inside. "Any more objections, Professor Xavier? I'm pretty sure you're the only person I ever met who needs to be begged to let someone suck them off."

"You don't kneel," Charles somehow managed to choke out, far too caught for many words between lust, and growing helplessness regarding that painful chasm that suddenly seemed to grow between Erik and him – or was maybe only becoming harder to ignore, now that they were both too busy to spend half of their day fucking the problems away –, and the desperate wish to keep everything important to him together at the seams, because with how the world had started to spin around them suddenly, they'd need all the purchase they could get. It should be him, finding ways to demonstrate to his lover that nothing had changed, that Charles' full devotion was only Erik's, still, in spite of a couple of differences of opinions and a beautiful stranger from another world offering him a heart he was not worthy of by a long shot. Not Erik trying to appeal to him in a thousand ways that had never been necessary for Charles to sell half of his soul to this man. "You never kneel …"

"Wrong," Erik said softly, a carefully probing finger going deeper, sparking that overwhelming, urgent passion raging in Charles' cells anew with a single targeted touch, a first, playful lick of tongue over the head of his straining length drawing an uncontrolled moan from Charles' lips. "I don't bow. And I hope I'll never see you do so either."

Charles didn't get a lot of chance to ponder that answer any further because his lover was swallowing him down to the root a moment later, an invisible hand fumbling with something from his jeans pocket, and then that touch between his legs was smoother, expertly stretching muscles that were only too willing to give in. Aroused grunts around Charles' lengths when his hand clenched down on Erik's dark hair once more, pulling him close again and again, mixed into his own noises of lust. The stuffy air of their not yet ventilated new lair of triumph was thick with sweet salt and want and oil soon. Charles had no resistance left in him when Erik finally pulled away before that growing urge of pressure in his loins could get too bad, sitting back on the ground just as smoothly and pulling Charles down against him, his jeans and underwear long out of the way, his length straining untouched with the same desire that was burning in Charles' body. They fell into each other as easily as they'd found each other back then, shallow obstacles on the way quickly kissed away, calling out each other's name in that natural connection of their souls that Charles' powers had created on day 1 all by themselves, trembling hands holding on to wherever they could reach while the storm that was their mutual attraction wrecked through them. Charles' knees were hurting and his neck was soon covered in bite marks from his lover's feeble attempts of keeping his moans from echoing through the emptiness of the sphere which meant a scarf instead of a tie tomorrow, and he needed, needed Erik to touch him again, right now, because the angle was alright but not perfect … But then Erik kissed him again, licking into every corner of his mouth, pulling him harshly against his thrusts with his large, strong hands back on Charles' behind, and he was pretty sure, this was the best fuck they'd ever had so far. He never got tired of looking into his lover's wide, bright eyes in moments like this, enjoying that so rare uncontrolled expression on Erik's chiseled features, but the day had been long, and at some point, his muscles were tiring, his body wound up to a string ready to tear but never enough to actually fall apart. While he clung to his lover with his arms firmly wrapped around Erik's shoulders, allowing him to fuck up into him the way he needed it, until Erik spent himself inside him with a last lustful grunt, a few quick strokes finally pushing Charles over that edge as well … That was when Charles' lids fell close.

In the darkness inside of his head, life fell into pieces.

He didn't know what was happening, though he thought he could hear Erik shout out to him, fearful, and worried, with his voice and inside his head, but the screams and cries of the dead were louder. He thought he could feel a hand trying to grab him when he stumbled away but his skin was numb in ice-cold shock, and his muscles were quivering, but he needed to get away from wherever that overwhelming, cruel chaos inside of his head was coming from. He had no orientation though, his eyes saw nothing, even wide-open, but blood and violence and rage, rage, rage … Then he was falling, the air pressed from his lungs when he hit something hard immediately instead of breaking every bone of his body and his neck instead from losing balance, somehow, on the long ramp extending from the door that was the only place of purchase in Erik's and his new pet project. But somehow, something had caught him, cool smoothness against his half-naked body letting him know Erik must have pulled one of the large metal plates off the wall that he'd so arduously installed there in the last few nights to save his stupid behind, and that, finally helped Charles snap out of it. His head was swimming when he managed to blink his sight free and he could feel blood pooling above his collar, an unpleasant pressure in his stomach letting him know, he would spend the short rest of this month in bed probably. But at least he could see again though the sight of Erik's shocked, pale face right above him was not exactly one he cherished.

"Charles, what …?" With his senses coming back to life one by one, he could hear that agonizing trembling of deeply rooted care in his lover's voice, too, and somehow managed to reach out a shaking hand to Erik's shoulder, holding on to him and letting him know, it was alright, it was over, at the same time. Erik let out a chopped, uneasy breath and pressed his lips to the back of his hand for a moment, already busy helping him pull his clothes back where they belonged so they could get out of here. "Charles, what is it? What did you see?"

"I saw us burn." With Erik's help, Charles managed to sit up, somehow, in spite of that annoying dizziness. He buried his face against his palms but quickly took them away again, forcing himself to look straight ahead, for fear of another forceful intrusion like that, the moment he let his guard down and lost focus on anything, anything else but those awful images he'd just been shown. "Everyone. Here. On Earth. In the universe. Everywhere."

Erik folded his hands behind Charles' neck, pulling him close against his shoulder so he had something to brace himself on and to be shielded from the bright neon lights of the sphere even when he didn't dare close his eyes again. Charles felt that Erik was shaking as well. There was not a lot that could give his lover respect but people, beings with powers similar to Charles' own were always on top of that list. "What was that? Who was that?"

Charles raised his shoulder in a small shrug because there wasn't much else he could do, not after that promise he'd given before leaving Lilandra, and also, there was no reason to immediately suspect the very worst, right? That was more Erik's specialty. "Another mutant, I guess. A very powerful one. And they had some very disturbing fantasies, that much is for sure. I … I never want to see something like that again, Erik." That he could say with the necessary firmness and honesty in his voice again, quickly brushing aside that other subject because the fastest and surest way of making sure Erik stopped asking the wrong questions was giving him something else to worry about. It maybe wasn't entirely fair but when it came to subtle manipulation, Charles had learned from a master. "We need to start over." He forced himself to take another look around the dark blue tiled room, ignoring the painful throb of one bitch of a concussion behind his forehead with gritted teeth. "We've got it all wrong. I don't need this room as an accelerator. My powers are strong enough, the moment I open them, the moment I'm not taking care of and someone takes hold of it."

"Then what do you need?" Erik softly pulled him close again, calloused fingertips on Charles' temples massaging the worst of the headache away. He didn't sound overly enthusiastic about throwing away everything they had come up with since Charles had come back from his trip with a whole folder of ideas and layouts, but at least he also didn't press that other subject though Charles' had little illusions Erik didn't know he'd just bluntly been lied to. The realization that there were secrets between them now that were necessary to ensure the safety of Earth was the reason tonight could have happened in the first place.

Charles liked it as little as his lover did, but they'd had that discussion before, and in this respect, his decisions had been made. They had other, possibly far worse things to worry about right now. Charles couldn't risk being assaulted by another, possibly far stronger mind in his home where there would soon be dozens of helpless beings seeking shelter from the world living, ever again. "A way to let go, but in a controlled way. Getting out to mutant world what I can offer it, without opening my own mind. A shield to the in- and outside."

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was the one feeling like his damn head would be exploding any second but let out a resigned sigh. "You owe me so much coffee."

"I think that won't be a problem." Charles regarded his lover with a grateful, increasingly exhausted smile when Erik picked him up from the ground and carried him towards the door. The tiny pieces of both their hearts that this new conflict had caused to splinter off remained behind in the building site of what was soon to be Cerebro.

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@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

#no.12 #What could go wrong?#x men #fic #nsfwhump #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #cherik #charles xavier #magneto #stormys fanfics #long post #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022

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glitterynostalgia · 1 year

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Below is a short story I wrote. I originally wrote it as a play Junior year and thought it would be fun to rewrite as a story:

“At Your Own Risk”

It’s a sunny June day in Vegas. We are here for my cousin’s boyfriend’s 21st birthday. She invited me and my sister, Chelsea. My cousin, Tara, and her boyfriend, Mason decided to go watch a movie while my sister and I shopped around. It’s semi annual sale season which is very important.

“First day in Vegas has been pretty relaxing actually. I didn’t know their outlet mall was so lively.” I comment.

I feel as I’ve seen everything already. Yet something catches my eyes. There’s a dark, mysterious looking building. In big red letters it reads “Lucy’s Luxaries”.

“Maybe, we should check this store out!” My sister Chelsea acknowledges.

“That feels like a dumb opening of a horror movie move.”

“I thought you wanted this summer to be about adventure, Yasmin.”

Chelsea gives me a look and walks in anyways. I try to grab her but she yanks her hand. I miss when she was 5 and I could easily pick her up and run. I decide to follow her. I mean if ghostface or Pennywise is in here, i can probably take them out.

As we walk in, I feel chills through my spine. There’s mysterious red handprints on the wall and ominous piano music.

A woman in a long black dress then walks over to us. I want to think maybe this is just like a Spencer’s or Hot Topic.

“Welcome girls, Come on in. Everything is 50% off. But both of you should be aware of one small thing.” The woman smiles.

“What thing?” I ask concerned

“ Don’t dare go through the painted line at the back”

Chelsea rolls her eyes and smiles a bit.

“Why? Is there construction or something?” Chelsea asks

“Not necessarily but we just don’t want a repeat of the incident.”

“Um what incident?” I question

“Let’s just say it’s called Lucy’s luxuries for a reason.” the woman insists.

“Oh I get it. This is money laundering. Well we aren’t snitches. I actually would love more money as well” Chelsea insists.

The woman grins, very sinister.

“No but you don’t want to make mother Lucy upset.”

I now feel this is the cue to run. Chelsea, however, starts laughing.

“Ok. First of all, Lucy is the most unscary name on the planet. Second, I am not scared of whatever you are trying to pull!” Chelsea insists.

“‘Chels! Don’t say that. Who is Lucy? What is the incident?”

The woman gives Chels an evil look and explains. “She was one of the original founders of the store. A jealous employee and her fought in the back. Lucy began losing a lot of blood after the employee cut her. She survived but something possessed her. She lives in the back of the store and no one who has crossed that line has survived a confrontation. Now. I’ll let you girls choose if you want to leave now or you could stay.”

Chels puts her hand over my mouth, “Oh, we will stay.”

The woman eerily walks away. I have so many bad feelings about this.

“Do you think the Lucy thing is real?,” I whisper.

“Of course not. It’s obviously a promotion stunt. It’s literally called Lucy’s Luxaries.” Chels claims.

I feel maybe I should believe Chelsea. I mean, she is 2 years younger but she is a psychology major. I’m a fashion design major. We look at a clothing rack full of vintage clothing. I see an old school Frank Sinatra t shirt.

“Ooh I love this,” I insist.

“Since when do you listen to Sinatra?” Chels questions.

“Ok Miss Gatekeeper. I just thought it was cute.”

“I mean it is pretty cute. Damn, don't be sassy.”

I then find a My Chemical Romance t-shirt. It looks pretty cool, except i notice something about their faces. Their eyes are dark red with no pupilsnand the members look like they’re scared.

“What the?” I show Chels.

“It’s probably a special edition.”

“Ok and why do they look scared with red eyes?”

“I'm not sure but doesn't MCR have a lot of random photoshoots?.”

Suddenly my phone dings. It's from a random number.

It says: “The end is coming for you, Yasmin.” I quickly show Chelsea.

“It could be a freaky prank. Just block the number.” Chelsea comforts,

She’s not wrong but still? This person knows my name? I mean it can’t be this Lucy lady because how would she know name?

Chelsea stops for a minute to think.

“Wait, maybe we would know if the Lucy thing is real if we look it up.” Chelsea insists.

I grab my phone and look up “Lucy’s Luxaries Las Vegas''. There’s an article from 2000 about the incident.

"Apparently the employee that killed her was a rival and had a plan to kill her. Lucy heard the employee's plan so she was a step ahead and tried to stab the employee first. The employee then fought back with a pocket knife right on Lucy’s throat."

"That's so sad but then how did they know she survived?" Chelaea asks.

"Lucy’s body somehow vanished before the ambulance arrived and the employee died suspiciously in prison. There’s a whole thread of sightings on reddit.”

"So the story really is true. Ok, I am so sorry Yasmin. Let’s leave.” Chelsea agrees.

My inner final girl was telling her that a while ago but now my inner final girl has different ideas.

“Maybe we should stay.” I say.

"Are you kidding me Yas? You're the one who wanted to leave in the first place"

"Well now I'm saying we should stay. Imagine how cool we would sound with this story.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I think Mason and Tara might be waiting for us so let’s go.” Chels hesitates.

“Oh so now you're being the wimp? I thought this was an adventure summer” I defend.

“Alright, fine.”

Suddenly I notice Chels’ feet over the green line. This can not be good. Clothing racks started to rise and fall all over the floor. The lights start to flicker on and off. A random laugh can be heard. At the back of the store, this thick green fog started to show.

"I WASN’T EVEN OVER THE LINE.” Chels yells as we begin to run. The doors then close and lock. We can’t get out!

The mysterious woman appears.

“You went on the line and I overheard you both talk about Mother Lucy!” The woman exclaims, “Lucy gets angry very easily when people talk about the incident.”

“Listen, I didn’t believe at first because I didn’t know there was more to the story.” Chels hesitates.

Suddenly the woman’s demeanor changes into a huge smile. She begins cracking her neck. There’s a huge red scar. Her eyes glow red and her hair grows longer.

“There’s only one way to leave.” The woman insists,

“Well what is it?” I wonder,

“One of you comes and tries to defeat me.”

“I volunteer Chels as tribute.”

“Yasmin?!”

“I mean, you did step on the line and hey, this can be your final girl era.”

“Fine. What do I need?” Chelsea asks Lucy.

“Just a strong heart if you have one.”

As Chelsea gets closer to Lucy, there’s a strong wind.

“Ok why are you doing this though?” I ask.

I actually have no idea why I would ask that.

“I am always here to defeat humans. Humans are terrible.” Lucy exclaims.

“Ok I agree but you don't see me haunting the back of a store.”

Chels gives me the hand signal to shut up and falls.

I notice a tube filled with a bright red liquid. It's the same color I saw on that MCR shirt earlier.

“Ok. That's it. I'm going in. I must become the opposite of who I thought I was.” I tell myself.

“No! Yasmin! it's ok just go without me.” Chels exclaims.

Suddenly Lucy starts to chant. I don't know what's happening but I can feel something overpowering my body. I don't know what it is.

Lucy laughs.

“Yasmin?” I can hear Chelsea say.

I try to respond but something is overpowering me.

“I'm your nightmare.” I can hear the voice say.

“Yasmin! Snap out of it. Don't let her posses you!”

I can't speak. I try to overcome it.

“Look into my eyes and become one of us.” The deep voice says.

“No! Let go of my big sister.” Chelsea cries.

I try to scream “red” to guide her to the bottle. I don’t know if it was some sister telepathy because she is running towards the tube.

“Where are you going?” Lucy screeches.

“Oh no where.” Chelsea says as she grabs the red bottle.

“What's that?”

Suddenly I go blank. I can't see or feel anything but for some reason can still hear.

“Yasmin! Speak to me. I was wrong ok. I'm so sorry for putting you through this. Just speak to me. Please.” Chelsea exclaims.

“She’s gone.” Lucy laughs.

Suddenly I feel some of my senses come back.

“Chelsea. I'm gonna be okay. If I don't survive, you can do this without me. Be the final girl” I feel some last strength to say.

“No. I don't know how I'd live with myself. I love you.”

Chelsea starts to cry but then grabs the bottle from his pocket.

Chelsea throws the liquid at Lucy.

“Haha. You failed. You need to say the chant too.”

Chelsea tries to recite the chant Lucy tried earlier. Suddenly I'm feeling my body come back to normal.

“Chelsea?” I exclaim.

“Yasmin!” Chelsea cries and runs. We give each other a big hug.

“Now let's defeat this demon bitch.”

“I'm with you.”

I look at the bottle and see there's a saying on it.

“Hey maybe we need to say this?”

Chelsea agrees.

We say what's on the bottle. Suddenly the air becomes lighter and lighter.

“No! No! I do not lose.” Lucy screeches.

“Well there’s a first for everything.” I smile.

The light turns back on and everything is almost the same as when we came in.

“Now let's go. I just don't know how we'd explain this to Mason and Tara.” I wonder.

“I mean we can try to explain even though they’ll think it’s a prank.” Chels realizes.

Chelsea grabs her phone and calls Tara to pick us up. Chelsea and I walk towards the front to meet with Tara and Mason. We quickly go into the car.

“Hey guys how was your shopping trip?” Mason asks.

“Let's just say Chelsea battled a possible demon and I was possessed for like 20 minutes.” I respond.

Tara and Mason give us a look.

“Did they give you LSD when you entered the store? Did you see unicorns too?” Tara jokes.

“She's telling the truth. There's proof in my search history.” Chelsea defends.

“How about I just say I believe you and we all get ice cream so we can get out this freakish mall.” Mason insists.

“Ok let's do that.” Chelsea and I agree.

I don’t dare look back. This has been a pretty crazy day but what happens in Vegas, really does stay in Vegas.

#scary stories #fiction #spooky #horror #creative writing

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haleigh-sloth · 2 years

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Hello! I apologize if you've been asked this before, but do you think Mister Compress will come back during the final battle? I figured if the whole League is to be saved, he might be there just so he can get his shot. But that makes me wonder who would save him too.

Hello!

Good news! We already know that Mr. Compress will be back!

His manga profile page in volume 30 literally says “He’ll be back.” Lmao, like thank you Horikoshi for saving us the trouble of wondering. Really. (Not sarcasm, I’m serious)

I can’t find the translated page of his profile online and I don’t have my volume 30 on hand, so I can’t show you sadly. But I promise it’s there.

As for saving him:

So, Compress is not like the rest of the League. He’s quite different in a lot of ways!

He’s not portrayed to be immature and severely out of touch with his emotions, mental state, and circumstances.

We do not have a lot of information about him aside from his family lineage. He’s very separated from the rest of the League in the sense that he is not shown to be struggling internally with anything, wrestling past demons, or fighting against himself and looking for salvation in anyway. Of course this could change once he shows up again—I’m just going off of what we know and what we’ve seen to date.

Does need to be “saved?” Based on what we have, I’m really not sure. For reasons listed above. Does he need a reality check in a way? Yes—he’s supporting a destructive path that harms the people his family lineage worked to provide for (stealing from the rich, redistributing to the poor). He’s not exactly living up to what his infamous grandfather accomplished.

I don’t expect his personal conflicts to be a huge deal—but I do absolutely expect him to see the situation at hand and reflect, and change.

I pointed out how he’s different because he doesn’t seem to lack a “sense of self” like the rest of the League does.

Shigaraki has all but succumbed to AFO’s careful constructing of his current persona—destruction incarnate, incapable of creating a future, born to kill and being mourning into the world. Only a little part of him is left still holding onto hope, keeping him present and afloat in the possession—and we are currently seeing THAT last sliver of him left start to deteriorate.

Toga tries to reject the idea that she’s miserable, put onto her by Curious. Tries to tell herself that her normal is exactly what she wants in life. Well, it’s not. We’ve seen her break that belief several times by chasing after the same UA kids she latched onto the moment she met them.

Touya won’t face this fact, but he desperately wants reconciliation with his family. A lot like early Shouto, he hasn’t been able to create his own identity outside of his dad and do something for himself with it because he thinks the people who were supposed to love him no matter what, moved on from him. Just like Shouto was able to do that after facing himself through his fight with Midoriya, and then facing his mom, Touya should be able to do the same thing through Shouto and then facing his family.

Spinner needs an identity. Period. His identity right now is “Shigaraki’s follower”, and as a result of that he is now AFO’s follower. He needs to look past the “weakness” society assigned to him and find his own purpose.

Kurogiri needs to remember who he is at his base—the person who didn’t leave anyone behind. He already kind of is like that as Kurogiri, toward Shigaraki. But he needs one more push in that direction in order to really fight for Shigaraki’s sake, and by extension everyone else’s too—and I predict that push will be from Aizawa.

Compress? I mean it’s mostly because he’s less of a fleshed out character, but he doesn’t have those issues.

What the other League members’ issues all have in common is that—in the circumstances of this story—their resolution relies on the influence and intervention of other characters. Meaning the way the story has chosen to resolve their issues is by making them dependent on someone else to help them face and resolve their problems.

Compress does not really have that type of situation. SO FAR—he isn’t shown to be spiraling or losing himself to his personal demons and needing to be picked back up. He seems to be well in control—just in need of some serious reflection on his and the League’s actions.

So all of that to say—I think Compress will partake in the foreshadowed redeeming acts of the League along with them, and he’ll be fine that way. I also think it’s possible that because he’s in presumably the same hospital as Kurogiri, he can help on the front with Shigaraki in a way as well. Possibly.

#I do actually love that we know compress will be back #takes a load off lol #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha asks #anonymous #sako atsuhiro #mr compress

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bu1410 · 2 months

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Good afternoon TUMBLR - April 4th - 2024

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

Aksai, Kazakhstan - July 2000 - December 2001.

Part 1.

A few months after returning from Nigeria, I went to Busseto to sign the contract to go to Kazakhstan.

My son and my friend Gianluigi were with me: we spent a beautiful day having lunch under a plane tree in Roncole Verdi, right in front of the birthplace of the Great Maestro Giuseppe Verdi.

House where Giuseppe Verdi was born in October 1813

FIRST JOURNEY TO KAZAKHSTAN The trip was something unusual: an appointment at Malpensa airport with a guy called Di Meo, who would be the surveyor of the project. The destination was Uralsk, a city in the North-West of Kazakhstan. At the moment there were no direct flights, nor connections with international airlines with that city, so AGIP offers a charter that will stop in London-Stanstead before heading to Uralsk. Check-in was atypical, in the sense that there were no tickets, but just a list of passengers theground hostess receives from AGIP Company itself. This was the cause of quite a few problems, because many times the passenger's name does not appear on the list, but since the passengers were AGIP employees, they were allowed on the plane anyway. We left for London and we were about 30 Italians, all of us involved in construction activities. Eventually about 70 Britishers will board the plane at Stanstead airport: all of Planners, Contract Administrators, HSEs, Quantity Surveyors - in short, all office people, and, as I will know later, with contracts worth 20,000+ dollars/month and 28/28 rotation. Practically, the demonstration that colonialism ended on paper, but in reality it still exists and thrives today.

After an uncomfortable flight, we arrived in Uralsk early in the morning - it was early July, but it was cold like we were in February. First impact with the Kazakh border police: hats of absurd dimensions, immediately renamed ''4 seasons pizza'' - airport in pure Soviet style, with corridors and doors to enter small rooms, which have doors that lead to other corridors and other rooms. Eventually, surrounded by an excessive number of cops, we arrived in front of an agent who goes through a passenger's list and asks questions in Russian that no one can answer (but this doesn't seem to matter much to him). In the meantime other policemen are walking around us, looking at our faces very closely (perhaps to check the iris of our eyes?) sometimes whispering sentence like:

Do you have drugs with you?

The most important thing is that our names are on the list, on one of those teleprinter sheets from the past, which while we are there continues to belch out paper that accumulates folded on the ground, one sheet on top of the other. Anyone who does not appear on the list is put in a corner: this is the case of a Neapolitan from AGIP (who I later discovered was a cashier). At the threat of having him leave immediately for Italy (the charter returned with the people who had completed the shift) like a ''good Neapolitan'' he started making a Neapolitan drama. With tears and sobs, he first convinced the Kazakh cop to leave him on separate room - later an AGIP official would speak to the airport police head, to let him enter the country (among other things, the Neapolitan was in possession of a Resident Visa, so why stop him at the border?). Because from the perspective of ex-Soviet Immigration Police the policy was ''if a person is not on the list, don't let him through'' - and they respected the orders to the letter.

DI MEO NEW CELL PHONE. So Di Meo, as the project's surveyor, was given the thankless task of bringing the tools of the trade to Kazakhstan, including the latest generation T3 total station. We were then invited by police to go up to airport first floor, to complete the formalities for temporarily importing the equipment. We climbed the stairs with difficulty, loaded like mules, with luggages, staffs, backpacks etc, and after an interminable hour of signatures, countersignatures and stamps on forms strictly printed in Cyrillic, we managed to reach the AGIP bus that would take us to Aksai , about 150 km north of Uralsk. BUT..............Without surveying equipment, of course!!! Yes, because customs officers would never have missed a golden opportunity to ''snatch'' some money from foreigners who wanted to import something into their country. But Di Meo and I were simple ''employees'', so the message to report to Company management was: ''We must check the actual correspondence of the serial numbers of the equipment with those noted on the import request''. So, they said, in a couple of days send the guy of your company who deals with customs, and all the equipment will be delivered to him. The other passengers greeted us with sighs and dirty looks when, after more than an hour of waiting, we boarded the bus which immediately left for Aksai. Once seated, Di Meo said:

Well, since we have a couple of hours of travel, let's see how my new mobile phone that I got at Malpensa duty free is doing. And he started rummaging in his backpack but… no trace of the cell phone box!! He searched desperately in all numerous pockets, but nothing, the cell phone had disappeared! So we started making hypotheses like: ''when did you last see him, where did you put your backpack etc…'' The bitter conclusion was that the only moment in which someone could have put their hands in the ruckzack and stolen the phone was precisely when, in theory, it should have been safer: in the Customs Police corridor at the Airport!

But in two days I'll go back to the airport too, and then they'll hear me!! Said Di Meo........ His Kazakh adventure began in the worst possible way.

AKSAI We reached Aksai after a boring 3 hrs journey: the steppe surrounding the highway was incredibly monotonous (I think the main reason why Genghis Khan continued to ride towards the West for weeks and months was: TO SEE SOMETHING DIFFERENT OF ALL THAT YELLOW-GREEN ENDLESS EXTENSION !!) Aksai was a town of 35,000 inhabitants perfectly similar to all the other hundreds of former Soviet Union cities and towns scattered throughout the immense Ex - Empire. During 1954–1961, engineer Vitaly Lagutenko, chief planner of Moscow since 1956, designed and tested the mass-scale, industrialized construction process, relying on concrete panel plants and a quick assembly schedule. During 1961, Lagutenko's institute released the K-7 design of a prefabricated 5-story building that became typical of the khrushchevka. The khrushchevkas were cheap, and sometimes an entire building could be constructed within two weeks. Poor quality construction has since become a liability, leading Moscow to announce the Moscow Urban Renewal Initiative an effort to replace structures that ended their functional lives.of what the prefabricated condominiums that formed the so-called ''Micro-Rayon'' (Neighborhoods) should have looked like.

Whether it was Moscow, St. Petersburg, Chelyabinsk, Tomsk or Vladivostock or Crimea, the apartment blocks were ALL the same. Ground floor used as a portico, seven or eight floors, without lift (those that had one didn't work) 2 or 3-room apartments (depending on who was going to live there, and in 3-room apartments it was not uncommon for two to live different families). In the center of the neighborhood there was a mini power plant generally powered by gas, for the production of hot water which was distributed to the various users with insulated pipes above ground, sometimes making it difficult to access the condominiums themselves - for which there were iron stairs that went over the pipes. Pipes which over the years, due to the absolute lack of maintenance, lost their sheet metal insulation and rock wool because people walked on them.

Always in a central position in relation to the houses, the public gardens, made up of games for children such as slides or revolving carousels, regularly broken down, rusty and abandoned.

The appearance of the condominiums was made extremely heartbreaking by the lack of accuracy with which they had been built, by the paucity of the materials and above all by an inveterate habit that I would have found in all the cities of the former Soviet Union: that of closing the balcony with the materials more diverse! I have never seen a veranda the same as another in 7 years of Kazakhstan! And then the last big innovation introduced after independence from the Soviet Union: the possibility of opening small businesses, such as mini-shops or ''restaurants'' in your own apartment on the first floor. Since access to these shops or restaurants could not be from the common stairs, absurd stairs had been built outside the buildings, which in a single flight led from the street level to the first floor - very dangerous in winter, with ice always present on the steps. Then there was the ''old'' Aksai in the sense of a part of the city made up of that type of Russian wooden houses, surrounded by mangy gardens, the rear courtyard was often used as a ''landfill'' in the sense that the owners there they accumulated old objects (see

(even a bus) with the philosophy of 'who knows'…maybe one day it could be useful…. And the roofs of these houses are all strictly in Eternit!! Equipped with malfunctioning water systems, the winter regularly saw queues of children with wooden sleds getting water from the few public pumps that did not freeze. Another characteristic of Aksai (as of all other cities) is the gas distribution network: the 2 and a half inch pipe, yellow in colour, ran about 2-3 meters above ground, supported by improbable iron posts, in around the neighborhoods, with 3 or 4 meter portals at the entrances to the houses.

CZECH CAMP

We, the privileged foreigners, all stayed at Czech Camp, a compound built by the Czechoslovaks in 1956, made up of ''Vacta'' (two-storey wooden houses with 20 mini-apartments), offices of the companies that participated in the Karachaganak project, canteens , two clubs, and a series of terraced houses that had been built more recently. In all for around 5,000 people, and above all the only place in Aksai where there was never a shortage of water (a big problem for the city especially during winter time) . Entry to the Czech camp was regulated by strict procedures, inherited from the Soviet period. If we intended to receive a guest, he or she had to leave an identity document at the guard post and both the guest and the host had to sign the time of entry and exit in the register. And it shouldn't have been after midnight anyway. I was then assigned to Vacta 22, in a small apartment with 2 bedrooms and a bathroom, which I shared with Di Meo.

THE KARACHAGANAK PROJECT The Karachaganak project was an operation of gigantic dimensions, in which the ENI Group participated in a consortium made up of Shell, the Russians of Lukoil, British Gas, and the Japanese Impex. Later the Kazakh Kazmunaigas Company will purchase shares from all participants in the exploitation of the deposit, and will become part of the consortium. The oil reservoir, very large and productive (the Northern part was delimited by the Ural river which marked the border with Russia) was discovered in the 1950s and the Russians began to exploit it a few years later, with the decisive help of Czechoslovakian technology . There were 3 crude oil processing units - Unit 3 would have been subject to a profound revamping - Unit 2 will first be demolished (too old to think about modernization) and Unit 1 will be built ex new on the ashes of the old plant. SAIPEM, in joint venture with CCC (the Lebanese construction company owned by Arafat, for many years Sub-Contractor of SAIPEM itself) was part of the Main Works consortium, but it was quite shocking to see that in the logo of the joint venture the SAIPEM name appeared ''below'' that of CCC. I had arrived in Kazakhstan thanks to the ''recommendation'' of my old colleague and fellow in SAIPEM, Giulio Cotti. He had already been there for a few months, as Construction Manager of UNIT2. I already knew several people from SICIM since the Abu Dhabi Taweelah project: Borchia Giorgio, the Director - Mr. Secchi, Company Vice-President. Franco Pennacchia the Civil Supervisor – Mr. Cavicchi the handyman and many others. Then there were a whole series of figures that I would gradually get to know, some of them nice, some other no. Among the best was undoubtedly Remo Tamburlin, the chief mechanic: a Belluno native whose Italian speaking I struggled to understand, but he claimed to be able to speak Russian too. Carmelo Longo, Sicilian – head of pipe and carpentry installations. The two ''Engineers'' Rossi Aurelio and Cristiano were taken to gain experience and placed in the Quality office. Calogero Zinno, another Sicilian who in theory was the Construction Manager of Unit 3 but who I later replaced. Ido Presotto, Rossen Jordanov, Bulgarian with Italian passport. And then Secchi's "godson", Mentore.

UNIT 3 I was assigned to Unit 3, an old oil/gas separation plant built by the Czechoslovaks in 1956, at the dawn of exploitation of the Karachaganak field. Located about 40 km north of Aksai, we were reaching it every day with the Company's LADA NIVAs.

Basically our work consisted of revamping the Unit and that is:

Construction of a Centralized Control Room outside the perimeter of the plant.

Construction of the pipe rack and cable rack that would connect the system to the Control Room.

Laying of electro-instrumental cables and installation of control instruments within the system.

Construction of a new crude oil desulfurization unit

Construction of 4 Utilities tanks.

Assistance with the commissioning of new systems. The works themselves were not difficult to carry out, but the great difficulty consisted in having to work inside an old and dangerous rotten plant. Alarms for H2S leaks were the order of the day - it was mandatory to wear a backpack containing an oxygen bottle and a mask when entering the plant, which in the event of an emergency would have allowed around 20 minutes of survival. We had undergone a course on the dangers of H2S, and we had learned that breathing this gas for more than twenty seconds led first to fainting, and then to death.

VISIT TO BURLIN HOSPITAL One day we went to visit the hospital in Burlin, the capital of the so-called ''Oblast'' at about 40 km from Aksai. We wanted to see what type of assistance the hospital could provide in the event of illnesses or accidents. It was a sort of ''go to hell''. It was mid-August, and in addition to myself, Calogero Zinno and Franco Pennacchia were taking part in the mission. At halfway to destination we saw a sort of petrol station, so we stopped for a drink, given the heat. We asked the lady who ran the station if she had ''svezheye pivo'' (fresh beer - Zinno blurted out a few words of Russo, given his previous experience in Ufa, Russia). The lady - quite old even though assigning ages to people in Kazakhstan is certainly not an easy exercise - without saying a word takes Pennacchia by the arm, who seemed to be the most ''in shape'' and drags him into the back of the shop. After placing Franco in front to a sort of manual pump, she orders him to ''pump'' vigorously until she tells him to stop. In the meantime, both Zinno and I look on, wondering what will happen, the lady places three large empty mugs under a rubber tube sticking out of the counter. In fact, after a few seconds, the beer begins to flow from the tube and fill the mugs. Halfway through the second mug, the Lady said ''ALT…ALT…'' to Pennacchia, to prevent the beer from spilling out of the third mug. The beer wasn't bad, even if it was actually at cellar temperature. Once we arrived in Burlin, we had no difficulty finding the hospital, since we were in a small like village, and the hospital building towered over the low houses. At first glance we immediately understood that the hospital would not be of any help to us. We were received by the Head Nurse, who kindly accompanied us inside the structure - which was old and run down, with dormitories with 20 or more beds, sometimes separated by curtains. Everything very clean and with that typical smell of sawdust and disinfectant. The nurse told us that they couldn't do much there in case of accidents or illnesses of a certain severity. But the thing that really left us speechless was when Zinno asked to use the toilet, and the nurse showed him some toilets in the hospital courtyard. Zinno then asked if those were for visitors, but the nurse - visibly embarrassed - replied that they were the only services available, both for patients, for staff, and for visitors.!! What we immediately thought of was the extreme discomfort for a sick person to have to go out into a courtyard to go to the bathroom, especially in winter, when the temperature could drop to -40 C. PS: among the socially useful works carried out by AGIP during that first year, there was the complete renovation of the Aksai hospital - it was made efficient and ready for any emergency, and decent in appearance, with a total expense of over 5 million EUR.

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gelastocoridae · 9 months

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*SIGHHHH* I should have known better than to give my finches a nest to play with, unsupervised.

I put my finch Parsley in my smaller cage because he was still recovering from his cat attack, needed to regain stamina n strength before going back to aviary.

And because he needed company I put his ornery brother Foxglove in there with him to return the favor from when he had sprained his leg and needed a recovery space.

And I added their auntie (adoptive) Lupine because she was getting her tail feathers plucked bloody and naked so her bullies (I still cannot figure out WHO because Parsley and a random three of his sisters also have plucked butts) had just started plucking her chest as well.

And because an odd bird out would just continue to be bullied, I added one tail-less sister, Snapdragon, because she's the smartest and least likely to get stressed by me constantly checking on Parsley and Lupine's injuries.

And I gave them a nest and hay to have a constructive activity without too much crowding, so they wouldn't get bored and their tails could grow back.

And this was fine. The kids know they're too closely related to breed and Lupine always rejected their dad and wasn't interested in the boys whatsoever. Their tails have grown back, Parsley is fully recovered, and they were so happily snuggling up in their nest at bedtime. I was planning to return them to aviary this week, maybe swap out some tail-less kids to pinpoint the bully.

IT WAS FINE.

EXCEPT SOMEONE DECIDED THEY MIGHT LAY EGGS ANYWAYS AND NOT TELL ME ABOUT IT

HOW DO I FIND OUT??

I come home after a weekend away and a full day of work, and SNAPDRAGON, my brilliant child, randomly SHRIEKS AND CHASES THE OTHERS AWAY FROM THE NEST LIKE A BAT OUTTA HELL. I grab her to see what's wrong - is she hurt or does she need time out?? NO!!

THERE ARE FIVE EGGS IN THE NEST SHE IS GUARDING. FIVE. THEY ONLY LAY ONE PER DAY. THEY HAVE ALL BEEN HIDING EGGS FROM ME FOR AT LEAST FIVE DAYS.

Ok, ok, I say. This is fine. Maybe Snap (and/or Lupine) decided the nest was too good to waste and she really wanted to Brood™ so she laid some eggs on her own. There's no way they're fertilized. They can sit on them until they're bored so they don't lay more. It'll be fine.

EXCEPT IT WONT.

SINCE THERE ARE SO MANY I DECIDE TO CANDLE THE EGGS TO BE SURE THEYRE EMPTY, AND WHAT DO I FIND OUT???

THEY ARE NOT EMPTY!! One has died early but THREE ARE STILL DEVELOPING! AND THAT'S NOT ALL FOLKS!!

NOT ONLY ARE THEY FERTILE, THEY ARE PACKED FULL!! THE FIRST COULD LITERALLY HATCH AT ANY TIME NOW!!!

I LOOK AT MY BIRDS, CAREFULLY CHOSEN. SOMEONE GOT NASTY AND ALL OF THEM HID THE EVIDENCE FOR AT LEAST 13 DAYS. IT ISN'T SNAP BECAUSE HER BROTHERS DISGUST HER. IT ISN'T PARSLEY BECAUSE HE ONLY SINGS TO GET MY ATTENTION.

THE BOY WHO NEVER SHUTS UP, THE ONE WITH THE VOICE CRACK, FOXGLOVE, SHOOK HIS ASS AT LUPINE AND SHE SAID YES??? TO THE ONE BOY WHO LOOKS LIKE HIS DAD FROM WHOM SHE RUNS??? FOR FIVE EGGS?????

AND SNAP IS GETTING POSSESSIVE OVER THEM??????? WHAT DOES SHE KNOW THAT I DONT?!

Lord help me, 4 birds was fine to begin with and then they had 7 babies, and then 11 birds was enough... I can't just toss these eggs, now. What am I gonna do with 14 birds ;;

#birds #society finches #i was so sure i wouldnt have this problem #been so busy this past two weeks it never even occurred to me to check their nest was empty #i witnessed no mating but im sure its them. Lupine's refusals are the reason Parsley has given up on love and only sings to pester me #like. i cant return them to aviary now with three newborns to raise. especially if one of the others is going to keep bullying Lupine #i shouldnt just leave Foxglove and Lupine alone with their babies either. thats grounds for the others to isolate and pick on the whole fam #and i only have room for the one aviary space. that cage absolutely wont be big enough for them plus 3 fledgelings in a month #they havent hatched Yet but i cant bring myself to take the eggs while i have the chance #the kids had a 'premie' sibling named Acorn whose egg had been cracked in the crowded nest and discarded cuz it was too early to hatch but i #came home from work that day n the warmth of my hand revived it while i was peeling the shell off. a mini glass incubator kept under my #shirt and a day later it was strong enough to return to the nest with its would-be hatchday twin. they were just too tiny to avoid getting #smothered by 7 older n much bigger siblings without me on 24/7 watch. a 6day old wee finch is so much bigger than a 2day old #Acorn was only as premature as these eggs rn. less than a day from hatching on purpose. my heart wouldnt take it

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vinsonpratt41 · 2 years

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backonthebullshit · 2 years

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Ok so like, imagine the security breach animatronics (+Gregory) meeting a animatronic reader that was used way back when the first fnaf opend. So they have a human soul inside them, they can kill, their movements are stiff. But instead of getting thrown out they instead get rebuild (their movements are the same, just better looking) and used as a 'Back in the day' kinda thing?

ooooo, this

This is a really interesting prompt bc outside of the posters and things and The You Know What we haven’t seen the og animatronics in quite some time (rip to the legends)

Anyways here’s some HCs, as a treat🥰 (sorry these took so long! I got invested and wrote all day lol)

Friendly reminder to y’all that requests are open! (Yes I’m still working on the Monty Gator thing but it’s gonna be so good just wait)

Glamrocks + Gregory x og animatronic!reader Headcanons

TW: mentions of the original FNAF child murders, mentions of a little verbal abuse?, swearing, a little trauma

Author’s note: I made this kinda angsty at the start but it gets fluffy I promise / gender neutral!reader

I can imagine,

- Regardless of what kind of animal you are, you’re in rough shape from years of not being used (literally no idea how you’re still alive homie)

- Pretty safe to say as soon as FazBear Entertainment found you again, they were immediately thought of ways they could profit off of you

- That’s how you ended up at the Pizzaplex, you have a small section of the museum where you’re stationary as part of a photo attraction

- The section is small but so realistic to the original pizzeria where you were murdered that it’s like living your death all over again, and it’s worse than being stuck in this robot

- When they had you repaired, your animatronic body was in shambles of rust and decay. Now you can move again, albeit slower than the Glamrocks due to your servos and joints being so old

- Parts and Service were unable to install the animatronic AI in you however, so you’re left with your original voicebox that hasn’t been used in years

- While your body repeats the same phrases over and over during the day, shifting poses occasionally, you barely have the strength to use your real voice after hours when the PizzaPlex closes

- Your afterlife couldn’t be worse, until you meet the others..

Freddy would be the most curious to check out the newest installation to the museum, and that’s where he unexpectedly finds you one night.

- Papa Bear(TM) here would absolutely comfort you if you were frightened by this new place, and especially once he understood what you were and how awful your surroundings made your days

- He doesn’t quite know how to help you beyond that, but he will happily distract you as much as possible by hyping you up and showing you around the Pizzaplex

- Gives the best hugs!!! Even though you’re both animatronics lol

- Appeals so much to your inner child by playing Fazer Blast with you and even Hide and Seek if you suggest it

- First one to scold children/teens/adults who insult you ( “Y/N is not weird or creepy, Y/N is different, and that is what makes them special. If you cannot appreciate their unique qualities then I must request that you leave. Now.” )

- Superstar is basically your name to this bear now

- (THEORY TIME) if Michael Afton is really possessing him..he’ll randomly feel super guilty sometimes whenever he looks over and sees you in your section, in a body you never belonged in..

Monty is initially annoyed by the construction of a new section, even if it’s small, until he actually meets you.

- Is a little weirded out by your design but totally gets into it after awhile because you’re basically the same you just look different and to him that’s super metal dude!! (Literally lmao)

- Takes great pleasure in teasing you like an annoying sibling but is immediately on the scene to deal with unruly children who try to climb on you/make a mess in your section

- Forgets you’re a child stuck in your body sometimes but has grown better about watching his mouth ( “Man I hate when these stupid fu- *remembers* fudgin’, fudgin’ brats leave their food around your spot like this” )

- He doesn’t know how to handle your trauma but he makes every effort to support you by helping you be a kid

- Wanna come hang out in Monty Golf?? He’s not the fastest either, and he’s happy to slow down even more to make you less self-conscious about your stiff joints (will still tease you about tho)

- Don’t know how to play mini golf?? Even better, now you get to learn from the best!! He really fills a hole you had almost forgotten existed in your..”life”

- Would never admit it, but he cares about you, kid

Chica is so excited to meet you!!! She’s heard the construction crew talking about a new animatronic and she can’t stop chirping about how ready she is to make a new friend!!!

- Hears your story and is immediately overcome with emotions. She’s a robot and she can’t really cry but this is the closest she feels like she’s ever come

- Like the others she is determined to find ways to help you adjust but also thrive in the Pizzaplex, so what better ways than her two specialties?

- Poor thing doesn’t initially realize you can’t eat but she’ll invite you to cook things with her all the time!! Pizza cupcakes tacos cookies, you guys make it all

- She won’t admit it but cooking with you helps her avoid the garbage so it’s like y’all are equally comforting each other (brb crying)

- On top of cooking together, she’s going to be all about doing Mazercize together! When you express how stiff your body is, Chica isn’t afraid to cheer you on in loosening up your bolts through some good old fashioned movement ( “Y/N!! You’re improving so much, chickadee! I’m so proud of you for working so hard! Let’s make cupcakes to celebrate!” )

- Also encourages you the most to use your voice and speak your mind after hours, not your lines (even if your voicebox malfunctions and gets squeaky sometimes) because it means a lot to her to watch you open up more

- She’s accidentally such a Mother Hen sorry not sorry but you just bring it out in her, you sweet thing

Roxanne did not care at all about meeting you because she rarely pays attention to new things going on in the Pizzaplex, but once she met you she was surprised by how much she enjoyed your company.

- Definitely took the longest to warm up to you, and teases you nearly as much as Monty does (Chica reminds you not to take it personally)

- Her reaction to your story isn’t as outwardly visceral as Chica or Freddy, but inside she feels her animatronic heart soften for you and how much you’ve gone through

- From there Roxy does little things, like invite you to come jam with her in her room after hours to whatever kind of music you two can get access to/make with her keytar

- She will bring you to Roxy Raceway with the sole intentions of showing off, and when you get so excited to ride in a kart she can’t help but feel her tail wag in anticipation

- Your spirit is only that of a child, and as a child you validate her so much in ways that the kids during the day normally don’t ( “I bet I’M your favorite, Y/N” “Yup!” -and any small amount of confirmation will send her back to her room crying that she’s actually someone’s favorite )

- Roxanne begins to find a great amount of comfort in your presence, and she is fiercely protective of you as a result-this usually means that she and Monty tease the hell out of you, but become the ultimate bodyguards if anyone else has shit to say

- If you have fur/fuzz/a soft outer coating then Roxanne is not afraid to help you brush and maintain it (like a Mother Wolf). Just one of the little unspoken ways that she shows she cares

Gregory did not anticipate you actually being alive when he first saw you, but when he found out you were and weren’t hunting him down, he actually kind of warmed up to you.

- When you encounter him it’s like a total flashback to when you were murdered in the pizzeria and your head actually starts spinning in circles before Freddy calms you down

- Gregory is saddened to hear that you’re trapped here, in a similar way to him, and only a child a little younger than he is. But when you help him hide in your section from Vanessa, he realizes you can help him with a determination the others don’t understand

- This little gremlin has definitely tried to crawl in your stomach hatch but you smack him away every time so the spring locks don’t do to him what they did to you

- Sometimes through the night, Freddy catches the two of you bickering like..well, children, and he almost feels bad that this is the only interaction you’ve had with someone your own age in so long

- At one point you noticed Gregory’s irritability combined with his tiredness as the night wore on, and so you took his hand and walked to the kitchen out of nowhere. When he asks what you’re doing you tell him how Chica helps you think more clearly by cooking, or in his case, eating

- Having already laid several distractions for said chicken, Gregory watched as you made him a small pizza to help him calm down, and as he ate, he realized you were right, and he actually gives you a hug afterwards

- For the rest of the night, you do what you can to help him escape your friends and the night guard. There are several moments between he, you and Freddy which you can’t help but laugh at, and if there wasn’t a killer rabbit lady on the loose you might say this was kind of..nice

- You’re the first to wish Gregory had a gun over the course of the night because YOU have been that kid and everything would be SO much easier (Gregory agrees, but Freddy adamantly disagrees)

ENDING 1 (could work for the endings where you free Vanny, or when Freddy and Gregory steal the van, or even the Burntrap ending): When the time comes to escape the Pizzaplex, Gregory begs you to come along with him and Freddy, and having developed such a connection with the paid, you agree and all of you ride off into the sunset together, 2/3 of you connected to car batteries to stay alive.

ENDING 2: When Gregory discovers the fire escape at the prize counter and Freddy pulls his lighter, the pair of them hesitate but ask if you want to come along. Realizing this is the chance you’ve been waiting for to move on, you decide to stay as the Pizzaplex burns, setting your soul free from the animatronic you have been trapped in for so long. While you are sad because you will miss your friends, you are finally able to achieve peace.

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #fnaf security breach x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf sb #fnaf sb x reader #glamrock animatronics #glamrock freddy #glamrock chica #montgomery gator #roxanne wolf #fnaf headcanons #fnaf hcs

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