#Night on the Town Transportation New York

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Night on the Town Transportation with Limo Rental NYC

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[pitchsidestories]

Welcome to New York II Ali Krieger x Reader

"Everybody here was someone else before And you can want who you want Boys and boys and girls and girls." Welcome To New York, Taylor Swift

masterlist I word count: 2901

The first thing you thought as you spotted Ali Krieger standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum was that this could have been a scene from a romantic comedy. A warm smile played on the defender’s lips while she had two cups of coffees in her hands:” Hi.” “Hi. Is this one for me or do you just need a lot of caffeine today”, you asked her teasingly.

Amused she shook her head: “No, the second one is for you. Ocean and Sloane let me sleep long enough today.” “Oh, lucky for me. Thank you so much.”, you answered grateful for her thoughtfulness. Still smiling Ali handed you your coffee: “You’re welcome.” Nervously you put a string of your hair behind your ear: “I hope you didn’t wait too long for me.” As much as you loved this city, the public transport was against you coming punctually to your coffee date with the equally busy soccer player today. Kindly she waved at you:” No, I didn’t. Do you want to keep standing here or walk around?” “Let’s walk around a bit.”, you decided.

Side by side you started walking, clearing her throat Ali admitted with a shy grin: “Alright. To be honest, I’m so glad Jason Sudeikis introduced us to each other at my last league game party.” “Oh, me too. Trust me. It was nice to get a look inside a soccer team.”, you agreed with her. Curiously the older woman looked at you:” As inspiration for your upcoming leading role in the female ted lasso spin off?” “You can never have enough inspiration. And to be honest, I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I want to portray my role as realistically as possible.”, you declared slightly blushing.

Playfully the defender pouted: “Oh, and I hoped you were really interested in me as a person and not only in the soccer player part of my personality.” “Not at all. I think the soccer player part is impressive but it’s not the most interesting part about you.”, you told her.   “Oh really?” The blush on your cheeks intensified: “Maybe your good looks were also a part of it.” “And the glasses of wine we shared.", she winked at you. This comment made you chuckle:” I can only say that they definitely kept the conversation going.”

“Not only that.”, Ali added grinning hinting at what happened as the night turned over into the early morning, the time in which the never sleeping city was buzzing with life and excitement and the sexual attraction between you could not been denied any longer. “Ali!”

“What? It’s true.”, the football player shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. You scoffed: “You’re terrible.” “Yes, but you don’t mind it.”, she observed. Laughing you confessed: “Actually, I kinda like it.” “I can tell.”, Ali nodded satisfied. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.”, the defender whispered.  Elegantly you changed the topic: “It’s really beautiful today. The weather is perfect.”

Ali let her gaze wander over the autumnal scenery of the Central Park. The yellowing leaves were contrasting against the blue sky. “Agreed. New York in fall is stunning.“, she smiled. “It is.“, you agreed, taking in the crisp air. “Have you always lived in New York?“, Ali asked, genuine curiosity on her face. You shook your had and admitted; “Actually, no.“ The football players eyebrows knotted together; “No?“ With a sigh, your gaze dropped down to the fallen leaves on the ground; “Although I wished…“ “Tell me about it…“, Ali implored.

“Actually, I grew up in a conservative midwestern town.“, you started to explain. The defender grimaced, understanding the implication; “Oh. I’m sorry.“ “So coming to New York as a young adult did feel liberating in every way.“, you continued with a sad smile. Ali sipped on her coffee; “You know, a lot of my team mates who are queer had similar experiences.“ “Similar to some of my acting friends.“, you added. Ali shrugged with a sigh; “I’m always glad to hear when queer people from difficult places found a safe space.“

Nervously turning the cup in your hand, you asked; “You came out quite late to the public too, right?“ “Yes, that’s true. I thought it’s no one’s business but mine.“, she replied, nodding in thought. “What made you change your mind about it?“ “I realized that I can be of better use as a role model.“, she answered nonchalantly. You bit your lip, moved by revelation; “That’s very brave of you.“ Ali gave you a wry smile; “Thank you. But that wasn’t an easy decision for me either.“ “No, I understand that. Being queer wasn’t something that people in the movie industry liked to see a few years ago… sometimes even now.“, you told her. “I’m sorry.“ You shook your head; “It’s fine, really.“ “I guess we all have our struggles.“, the defender thought out lout. “Yes, we do.“

You were grateful when Ali finally offered; “Do you want to change the topic?“ Smiling, you gave her a soft nod to leave that topic behind; “Yes, please. I don’t want to ruin the mood during our little coffee date.“ “You couldn’t. I really enjoy talking to you.“, Ali said, carefully taking your hand into hers. “Same.“ „You do?“ “Yes, even though I told you about my sad little childhood.“, you laughed, your cheeks turning slightly pink as you wondered if you had overshared. But the smile on Alis face made that thought immediately disappear; “I appreciate it. Really. I’m glad you shared it.“

“That means a lot. So, what about you? Are you excited for the play offs?”, you asked her. The eyes of the defender lit up:” Yes, absolutely. I’m happy about every game I get to play.” “This must feel very special.”, you said, her excitement was infecting you too. “It is. If you’d like to get some more inspiration you could come.”, she offered you without hesitation.

Delighted you replied:” To your game? I’d love that.” “I’ll make sure you get some tickets.”, Ali continued happily. “Thank you.” The football player could not stop smiling: “You’re welcome.” For a second you looked worried:” You don’t think Ashlyn would mind, right?” “She won’t. Trust me.”, she reassured you quickly. Relieved you sighed:” Okay. Good.” Don’t worry about it. This is over.”, Ali confirmed. With a remark you tried to lighten up the mood again:” Yes, you made that very clear when you kissed me at the doorstep after your party.” “You asked about her.” “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”, you hid your face in her hands.  Softly the football player disagreed with you: “No, you’re not.” “So that means I can kiss you? This time without alcohol breath?”, hopeful you looked up to her.  

Amused Ali glanced at you:“You can always kiss me. Doesn’t matter if it’s on parties or in the Central Park.” “Although, I’d argue that this here is way more romantic.”, you chuckled.  Expectantly she threw a look at you:” You can argue all you want but I’d rather you just kiss me.” “As you wish.”, you said before your lips met her who were waiting for that to happen since they departed from another.

After the training ended for the Gotham players Kristie let out an excited shriek: ”Oh my god, Ali ! I’m so jealous!” Confused the captain looked at her before the blonde showed her an article on her phone which contained photos of Ali and her new girlfriend kissing romantically in the Central Park. Laughing Kelley intervened:” Jealous about the fact that they had a romantic moment in the autumnal Central Park or that she made it into the news with that?” “Actually.. both.”, Kristie admitted. 

Surprised the dark-haired defender mumbled:” Oh no, they wrote about us.” “What’s wrong? It’s a cute photo.”, Kelley furrowed her eyebrows. Enthusiastically Kristie reminded the older player: “Exactly and you’re allowed to have fun, Ali. You’re in your lemonade era, remember?” “Still, I wasn’t ready to go public with that yet. And I don’t know if she was either.”, Ali bit her lip.  Empathetic Kelley put an arm around her shoulder:” I get that too.” “I need to call her.”, the captain announced.

You were on set, spending your lunch break with the other actors, when you noticed your phone ringing. Seeing Alis name appear on the display made your heart jump unexpectedly. Happily you took the call; “Ali, Hi.“ “Hi.“, she replied. The tone of her voice made you frown; “What’s wrong? You sound a bit upset.“ The football player sighed as if to brace herself; “Have you seen the article yet?“

You grabbed your coat and your bag and hurried away from the other actors, ignoring Jason Sudeikis’ sceptical glance; “Uhm no. What article? We were busy filming the new tv episodes.“ “They photographed as kissing.“, she came straight to the point. You froze in place; “Wait. What?“ “I’m sorry.“ Your thoughts began racing, bringing you back to how exhilarated you felt during your date. Even though Ali couldn’t see you, you still shook your head; “No, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t kissed you there… this article would not exist.“ “I don’t regret the kiss… really.“, the defender replied with determination in her voice. “But you wish to have been private a little longer, right? Which is understandable considering your divorce is still fresh…“, you were thinking out loud.

Ali confirmed your thoughts; “Actually, yes. How do you feel about it?“ You let a few seconds pass before admitting; “It feels very early.“ “I know.“ “But you should know that I’m serious with you.“, you added truthfully. Ali let out a small breath, relieved; “Me too. I want this.“ Your smile was back in place; “Jason gifted me an Ali Krieger Fan club - shirt. Should I wear it to one of your games or would this be too much?“ “Please do it. If they won’t let us have our privacy, we can at least have some fun with them.“ You could basically hear Ali grinning through the phone. “Exactly what I thought too.“ Ali laughed; “I like that. You get me.“

“So, I’ll see you at the stadium? Will Sloane and Ocean be there too?“, you asked. You had the chance to meet Alis kids briefly for a few times and they had already won your heart, so you got even more excited when you heard Ali say; “Yes.“ “Great. Because I already miss them while being away on the set.“ “I’m sure they’re happy to see you again too.“, Ali said, her voice soft. “And I miss you too of course.“, you added quickly. “I do hope that!“, the defender teased. “So much.“, you admitted and with a quick glance on your watch, you ended the call; “Okay, break is over. I’ll call you back tonight.“ “Talk to you later.“

The team of Gotham FC was buzzing with excitement as they stepped on the field in Portland. If the players won, this game they would make it to the final. Grinning Lynn Williams touched the shoulder of her captain: “I spotted your girl, Ali!” “Really?”, Ali wanted to know from the forward, trying to discover your face in the crowd at Providence Park.  Equally thrilled Kristie pointed to the direction where you were standing: “Over there.” “Oh. She’s wearing the shirt.”, the defender observed with a hint of proudness in her voice.

Amused Kelley remarked: “Not subtle at all.” “It’s not supposed to be.”, Ali told her. A bright smile was on Kristie’s lips:“I love it, I’m obsessed.”  “Of course, you like that, Kristie.”, Kelley threw in unsurprised. Clearing her throat Lynn drew all the attention on her:” Yeah, so that’s all cute and sweet but we’ve a game to win girls.” “Yes. We got to focus on that.”, Ali agreed with the forward. Gotham’s number 5 nodded along:” Yes, we’re making sure that Ali has another game to play before her retirement.” 

“What retirement? With those many games, I guess you can’t really call it retirement yet.”, their captain corrected her smiling. Winking Kelley reminded the dark - haired player: “Yes, but it’s one game before the final.” “And I’d love to get to the final, girls.”, with a cheeky grin Ali glanced at each of their teammates to give them that extra motivation tonight.

The game was really close, and they had to went into overtime but thanks to Katie Stengels goal in the 107’ minute against the Portland Thorns, they won this important match and would make it to the Final. After the referee blew the final whistle, Kelley cheered loudly:” She’s not done yet!” “I’m not leaving without a trophy!”, Ali shouted happily. Ecstatic Kristie who played her first minutes after her injury in today’s game screamed: “We won, bitches!” “Who are you calling a bitch?”, Ali threw an eyebrow up at the blonde before the two and Kelley started to dance out their feelings. The words to describe their emotions would be found later, now was the time to just be in the moment and celebrate.

Meanwhile Sloane made her way through the soccer players:” Mummy!” “No more b-words here, Mewis!, Ali warned her fellow teammate before pulling her daughter into a hug, Hi, baby.”

“Okay, but your new girlfriend has a nice ass.“, Kristie commented with a smirk, disregarding Alis warning, while Sloane jumped into her mums arms; “You won!“ “Mewis!“, Ali yelled before turning back to her daughter and agreed with a much softer voice; “Yes, we won. That means mum has to play one more game.“ “That’s okay. Love to see you play. Ocean was such a baby though. He fell asleep in her arms.“, Sloane rolled her big brown eyes and pointed in your direction where her little brother was sleeping in your arms. With a laugh, Ali explained to her daughter: “He is still small.“ “Yes. I’ll forgive him that.“, Sloane nodded. Alis eyes met yours and you both had to suppress a laugh.

Slowly you bridged the few steps between you two; “Hi. Sorry, someone is very sleepy. As is the big one who pretends she’s wide awake.“ You nodded first into Oceans, then into Sloanes direction. Ali put Sloane down who pressed into her leg with a yawn. “Let me take him.“, Ali offered, holding out her hands to take her sleeping son from you. She gratefully smiled at you; “Thank you so much for taking care of them. I appreciate it.“ “You’re welcome.“, you replied, leaning over to kiss your girlfriend passionately but careful to not wake up Ocean.

“Excuse me! Those kisses are not child friendly either!“, Kristies voice interrupted the two of you. Alis face was still close to yours as she rolled her eyes; “It’s a kiss. You do worse things with your girlfriend!“ “Ali is right about that!“, Lynn chimed in. Ali shook her head and you noticed the adoration for her teammates in her eyes, even though she wanted to seem annoyed; “Sorry about them.“ “It’s okay, trust me. My acting friends are even more dramatic.“, you laughed. „Yeah, I can imagine.“, the defender grinned, leaning in for another kiss.

Next to you, Lynns face brightened while she pointed to her teammate; “I bet Kristie would have been great in drama school too!“ “Yeah, but she can’t remember shit.“, Ali interjected. Kristies mouth fell open in outrage; “You guys are so mean.“ “Only because we love you.“, Kelley now joined your group, winking at Kristie. Ignoring the others, Kristie turned to you, her phone in hand; “Can we take a selfie together? My girlfriend Sam is such a fan of you and can’t wait for your upcoming tv show.“ “Sure, but I’m for Ali tonight…“, you answered politely. You posed for the photo together, grinning into Kristies phone camera while she smirked; “Yeah, we noticed that.“

“The shirt spoke for itself, huh?”, you laughed with her. An amused smile was on the blonde’s lip:” I can assure you it did.” “Good.”, you nodded satisfied. Slightly displeased Ali asked her teammate:” Are you done now, Kristie?” “Yes, sounds like someone is missing her girlfriend.”, the younger player winked at you.

The older woman rolled her eyes before turning her attention to you:” Ignore her.” “With a pleasure.”, you told her as you kissed her again. Expectantly Ali looked into your eyes when you two ended the kiss:” I hope you know that you have to come to the final now too.” “That’s alright with me.”, you replied happily. The defender whispered into your ear:“You seem to bring me luck.” “Meaning I need to wear the same shirt too?”, you asked her, throwing an eyebrow up.

Innocently Ali played with a loose hair string of yours:” Actually, this time I’d like to see you in my jersey.” “Your Jersey? Okay.”, you agreed. Softly your girlfriend blushed:“It’s a bit more.. official.” “I see.” “If you want to of course.”, Ali’s face went serious. Quickly you replied: “I do.”  “I’ll bring you one.”, the older woman decided. Proudly you glanced at her:” Thanks, it’ll be an honour to wear it.” “It’s an honour for us that you support us.”, Ali corrected you. Looking at her children you said: “The children look tired.” “Let’s take them to bed now.”

“Good night you three.”, you wished them warmly while you all four were slowly falling asleep in the hotelroom. With a bright grin on her face Ali answered:”Good night.”

[moondirti]

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts. 

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel. 

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them. 

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between. 

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?) 

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this. 

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing. 

Deep space, your stars – your Sol. 

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.) 

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it. 

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing. 

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies. 

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next. 

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour. 

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.) 

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened. 

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place. 

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement. 

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution. 

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror. 

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected. 

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–” 

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,” 

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul? 

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway. 

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.” 

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.” 

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.” 

“Whit is it this time?” 

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?” 

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame. 

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?” 

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?” 

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression. 

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time. 

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come. 

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–) 

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please. 

Just this one thing. 

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut. 

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns. 

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care. 

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance. 

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you. 

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right. 

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved. 

Huh. 

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology. 

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh. 

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it. 

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side. 

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like. 

The day pass? 

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse. 

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds. 

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him. 

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion. 

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should. 

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple. 

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you. 

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?” 

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”) 

You really hate him sometimes. 

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.” 

He squints. 

(Rightfully so.) 

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass. 

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve. 

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero. 

You hope that one day, you will too. 

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues. 

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief. 

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.” 

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?” 

“You bet on my survival?” 

“Silver linings!” 

“Lyra.” 

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.” 

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving. 

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?” 

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.” 

“Explain something to me, would you?” 

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath. 

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation. 

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place. 

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours. 

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion. 

Get a hold of yourself. 

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.” 

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–” 

“You can’t control your powers, can you?” 

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options: 

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit. 

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here. 

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again. 

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.” 

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously. 

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?” 

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.” 

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud. 

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference. 

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,” 

“There was a thing with a super-collider.” 

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk. 

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.” 

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command. 

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.” 

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile. 

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced. 

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense. 

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.” 

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you. 

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how. 

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.” 

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice. 

chapter eight

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[whereserpentswalk]

They say there's a city, somewhere in the US, nobody is allowed to know exactly where, where nobody lives. It could be in any state, some people say it's between Philadelphia and New York along the roads of New Jersey, some people say it's out in the Californian desert in the shadow of Los Angelos, others say it's out in the fields of Illinois south of Chicago. Maybe it's in all of them, maybe there are many, maybe they move.

People have driven through it. They're not allowed to say that they did but some of them do. It looks like a normal city at first, not particularly interesting, very modern in all the worst ways, with an endless sprawl and built up downtown, no way to walk anywhere and no public transportation, it would be a small unremarkable city if not for the emptiness. If you're there during the day there just aren't any people, there at all. If you look closely, you'll notice there aren't any animals or plants either, the lawns are Astroturf, and the trees are plastic, rats and birds and crawling bugs know well to avoid it. Even the cryptids and vampires and flying saucers know to steer clear of it. Only humans lack the instincts to avoid it.

Most who come by it just drive through it, maybe it'll seem off, but most forget it, cities built like that are rather empty anywhere. But if you have to get out it becomes so much worse. You'll step into a gas station, or a store, or fast-food place. And you'll just be faced with nothing. Oh, everything they need to have in there is there, it's perfect, everything is so very clean, and well stocked, it's the perfect model location. But there's nobody there, there's nobody anywhere. You can go anywhere there, from the Starbucks to the 7-11, and it'll be the perfect model that even a ceo would be proud of, like an ad, like a stock photo, everything in it's perfectly regulated place, it's just empty. The only thing everything is missing is people. It's not abandoned, just empty.

Now, fewer have been there at night, so we cannot be sure of this, but there are of course theories. Some say, that when it gets dark, truly dark, when there's no sun at all, under the starless sky of a country filled with light, the residents come out of their homes. They may look human at first, but the smell, the blank eyes, the pale skin, will make it clear they are not. The living dead, in every house there's at least one, and most houses have more, zombie husbands and wives with their 2.5 zombie children. They're not slobbering monsters though, they may be zombies, but they're civilized zombies, and at night they go about their business, copying the human world perfectly.

Undead businessmen will get in their cars and drive to their offices, typing random nonsense on their computers, and going to meaningless meetings, with their zombie bosses yell at them. Zombie housewives will expressionlessly take their children to school, where they'll sit as their zombie teachers babble word salad, something that almost sounds like human speech but has no meaningful words, at them, pretending to teach them something humans would learn. And zombie service workers will happily go to their jobs as cashiers, exchanging money they could never know the amount of, for good and/or services, and in their restaurants making food for customers to look at, and sit with, and pretend to eat, even though they of course cannot it. It's all unconfirmable, but it's at least been officially denied. And of course, for those foolish enough to stay the night there, the town will find itself with new residents.

And some even say the zombie's necromancer is somewhere in the city. Perhaps she's a lich now, having built up the city from a small town of zombies decades ago, now living somewhere at the center of the city, pickled in a glass tank, or siting on a throne of humming wires and tubes all grey and shriveled. Or perhaps she has passed on the torch, and it's now her granddaughter or great granddaughter, watching over the city, making sure it runs perfectly, sitting there in secret with a little black dress and sunglasses and a black hat over her golden hair, somewhere in the endless sprawl, making sure her children are all well behaved and functioning properly. It's normal to wonder why she does this. They say a witch's or warlock's mind is unknowable but it's safe to speculate. Some people think she's building an army, but there are faster ways to do that, ways that don't require an entire city. Some say she makes money off of it somehow, but I know enough about these things to know she can't. Personally, I think she was just trying to create her idea of the perfect city, a place with no social problems, a little lobotomized utopia in the void.

[transbookoftheday]

The Palace of Eros by Caro De Robertis

Perfect for fans of Circe and Black Sun, this bold and subversive feminist retelling of the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros explores the power of queer joy and freedom.

Young, headstrong Psyche has captured the eyes of every suitor in town and far beyond with her tempestuous beauty, which has made her irresistible as a woman yet undesirable as a wife. Secretly, she longs for a life away from the expectations and demands of men. When her father realizes that the future of his family and town will be forever cursed unless he appeases an enraged Aphrodite, he follows the orders of the Oracle, tying Psyche to a rock to be ravaged by a monstrous husband. And yet a monster never arrives.

When Eros, nonbinary deity of desire, sees Psyche, she cannot fulfill her promise to her mother Aphrodite to destroy the mortal young woman. Instead, Eros devises a plan to sweep Psyche away to an idyllic palace, hidden from the prying eyes of Aphrodite, Zeus, and the outside world. There, against the dire dictates of Olympus, Eros and Psyche fall in love. Each night, Eros visits Psyche under the cover of impenetrable darkness, where they both experience untold passion and love. But each morning, Eros flies away before light comes to break the spell of the palace that keeps them safe.

Before long, Psyche’s nights spent in pleasure turn to days filled with doubts, as she grapples with the cost of secrecy and the complexities of freedom and desire. Restless and spurred by her sisters to reveal Eros’s true nature, she breaks her trust and forces a reckoning that tests them both—and transforms the very heavens.

Told in bold and sparkling prose from “a brilliant and luminous writer” (Madeline Miller, New York Times bestselling author), The Palace of Eros transports us to a magical world imbued by divine forces as well as everyday realities, where palaces glitter with magic even as ordinary people fight for freedom in a society that fears the unknown.

[talesofadragon]

𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬

Synopsis: The world was not created in colors to be lived seldom in white, black, or even gray. This is what Y/N believed, and she resolutely refuses to be told otherwise. But when a night at the city’s most prestigious nightclub triggers a series of misfortunate events, Y/N’s world of hues is thrown off balance, colliding with a stranger whose eyes may be blue but his world is a handful of shades too dark.  

Pairing: Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Mature scenes. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 2.8K

Chapter 1 - Flat White | Varicolored Schemes Masterlist

𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐖 York’s gateway to damnation.

Celebrated as the epitome of New York's nightlife, the club stood tall as a beacon of ecstasy. Its alluring neon lights and captivating fire displays worked their magic, casting a spell on anyone who entered. Not to mention how the bartenders' artistry in concocting sinful drinks and the hypnotic rhythm of the music had the power to transport patrons to the very edge of heaven's precipice.

Everyone loved Purgatory. Everyone except Y/N. She harbored not even a modicum of affinity for the newly inaugurated business. In her rather abashed opinion, Purgatory was a breathing disaster. The crimson walls reminded her of Christian Gray’s outrageous BDSM room, and the obsidian marble bar sparked memories of Voldemort’s reign of terror. Yes, black and red were colors that went well together, but the falu red walls were anything but flattering when the amber lights glided over them.

It was outrageous how long the waiting list was for a place as distasteful as this. Though the only redeeming factor, to some extent, was the quality of the drinks. But the bartender seriously needed to draw the limit for those who callously consumed alcohol as if they were born in Russia and had gained supernatural immunity against vodka’s kicks and punches.

Three guys had already attempted to take Y/N to the bathroom, which was a despicable shade of merlot, for a quick shag. And only one of the three walked away without the promise of a kiss from her pepper spray because he had been pulled by the ear by whom Y/N assumed was his girlfriend.

And to top it all off, Yelena, Y/N’s best friend, had disappeared somewhere in the crowd and wasn’t answering any of her texts. Feeling exasperated, Y/N retrieved her phone from her pocket. If Yelena continued to ignore her text messages, then it was time to make a call. Maybe the incessant vibration of her phone for a solid minute would finally capture Yelena's attention. The phone rang five times before Yelena finally picked up, and to Y/N’s misfortune, her friend didn’t sound alone.

“Please tell me you’re not on the phone with me while having sex with some guy.”

“I am not on the phone with you while having sex,” Yelena replied indignantly. There was some shuffling from her end of the line, audibly heard from the lack of blaring music. “I’m getting pizza with some people I met at the club.”

“You’re what? With who? And you didn’t think to tell me!”

“I’m telling you now.”

“How considerate of you,” Y/N seethed, gripping her phone tighter. She was already speeding out of the club, pushing her way through the drunken herd. “You couldn’t have informed me of your plans when you ditched me forty-five minutes ago?”

“No, because I didn’t have any plans forty-five minutes ago. I just had them five minutes before you called.”

Y/N inwardly groaned. Now that she was outside the club, she was certain that Yelena must have heard her. She forcefully yanked on the car door handle, hastening to insert the key into the ignition. "Seriously, Yelena? I can't believe you abandoned me for a group of strangers!"

"Hey!" Yelena chided. "I didn't ditch you for them. I ditched you for pizza."

“Yel—”

“Luigi’s Pizza.”

“Luigi’s! That’s all the way across town. Are you sure it's a good idea to go there with people you just met?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be talking on the phone while driving?”

“You’re on Bluetooth speaker right now,” Y/N fired back. She was starting to get visibly irritated.

“Good for you. Lock the doors while you’re driving, and keep the pepper spray close to you.”

Is she seriously going over a road safety protocol with me right now? Y/N thought. “You’re with a bunch of strangers. In a car that’s not your own. Going to goddamn Luigi’s at four in the morning! And you’re lecturing me about safety?”

“Yes,” came Yelena’s answer. Her tone was a perfect mix of exasperation and incredulity. “Besides, they should be more afraid of me than I will ever be of them.” Y/N couldn’t argue with that. “Now, let me focus on the road, птичка.”

“Are you really the one driving, Yel?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I am. You’d think I’d let some stranger drive me to Luigi’s?”

Y/N couldn't help but burst into laughter. It was such a quintessential Yelena remark. She was just about to caution her friend to stay safe when the call abruptly disconnected, leaving behind a resounding beep that filled the ensuing silence. She had to applaud Yelena for her dual role as both a nuisance and an entertainer.

Deciding not to bother and call again, Y/N focused on getting herself home. Fifteen minutes away from her house, she turned on her blinker and took a right turn. Unaware of the glass shards on the road ahead, Y/N let out a shriek when a loud popping noise flooded her ears. Her hands tightened their hold on the steering wheel as realization dawned on her: something was awry with her car. Its movements became increasingly hesitant, raising her anxiety levels with each passing moment.

By some stroke of luck, Y/N managed to park her car on the side of the road. Taking a few moments to collect herself, she focused on calming her racing thoughts. Without delay, she activated her emergency lights and cautiously stepped out of the vehicle. As she rounded the car, her gaze immediately landed on the deflated tire.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Frustration surged through Y/N as she swiftly retrieved her phone and dialed Yelena's number. The phone rang twice, briefly fanning the flames of Y/N’s hope, before the call abruptly ended. Trying once more, she stomped her feet on the road in frustration when it went straight to voicemail. "Goddamn Luigi’s! And goddamn you, Yelena Belova!"

When Yelena had invited her to Purgatory, Y/N didn’t think that she was going to be balancing on the edge of hell, her grip on sanity hanging by a thread.

She glared at her flat tire, her eyes wandering to the glass shards a couple of feet away and then to the dark sky above her. It was way too early for this shit. And while yes, Y/N did have a spare tire in her trunk, she had no idea how to change it. So, she did what any sane person would do in such a situation. She yelled out in frustration and kicked the goddamn thing.

After releasing her frustration, she got into the car and settled in the driver’s seat. Locking her doors and making sure her pepper spray was close by, Y/N started googling a 24/7 roadside assistance service. As her search results loaded in a flash, a sudden knock on her window stole her attention from the glowing screen, drawing her gaze to mesmerizing blue eyes on the other side of the glass.

Startled, Y/N jolted in her seat, instinctively leaning away from the window. However, her initial fear quickly transformed into astonishment as she focused on the man standing on the other side of the glass. He motioned for her to roll down her window, and she complied. Although the window only opened partially, leaving only a small gap, the stranger didn't seem to mind.

"Hello, ma'am," he greeted with a hint of a smile. His poised voice and penetrating blue eyes sent shivers down Y/N's spine.

She cleared her throat, trying to mask any hint of trepidation. "Hi," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt inside.

“I saw that you have a flat tire. Can I help you in any way?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing between him and her phone, unsure of how to respond. She waited for a moment, attempting to appear nonchalant, before replying, "Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather call for roadside assistance."

"At four in the morning?" He tilted his head slightly to the right, and Y/N felt a nervous gulp rise in her throat. She couldn't tell if it was his chiseled jaw or his imposing gaze that unsettled her. "If you get a hold of them, it might take them an hour to get here. I can fix your tire in five minutes."

Y/N gnawed at her lower lip, torn between the convenience of accepting the stranger's help and her initial hesitation. She glanced between him and the road, contemplating her options. Did she really want to stay locked in her car for an entire hour, or did she want to get home quickly and rest in the comfort of her own bed?

"Besides a spare tire, I don't have a repair kit or anything," she admitted, her expression now tinged with a hint of hopelessness. While she was willing to accept the man's assistance, she feared that it might not be enough to get her back on the road.

The stranger's lips twitched, forming a reassuring smile that strangely comforted Y/N. "Don't worry about that. I've got you covered." His words seemed to carry an air of confidence that put her at ease.

Nodding her head, Y/N reached out to open the car door. The stranger fell back a step, extending a hand to help her out of her car. She cautiously accepted it, surprised by the softness of his touch and the delicate gesture.

As soon as she was out, he let go of her hand. Though his touch was polite and fleeting, Y/N found herself needing it to anchor her when she finally focused on him. She couldn't help but be struck by his height. Despite having to lean down to face her window, he easily towered over six feet.

Blinking owlishly, she fiddled with her keys before pressing a button to open the trunk. When the stranger passed her to grab the spare tire, she noticed him motioning for the two men in the black car behind her. She bristled, eyes wary. Her shoulders immediately relaxed when one of them fished out the tire repair kit and handed it to the stranger.

“Here you go, boss,” the man with brown hair tied in a bun said.

He straightened his black blazer, offering a brief nod in Y/N's direction. She eyed him curiously, following his light steps. Turning her attention back to the blond man, she couldn't help but feel intrigued. "What's your name?" she inquired.

He looked up at her, his piercing blue eyes meeting her gaze before he replied, "Steven. Though most people call me Steve, ma'am."

"Y/N," she clarified, introducing herself while absently placing a hand on her arm. Partly rubbing away the intrigue that slithered through her body and mostly attempting to conceal the areas her short mauve dress exposed.

“Y/N,” Steve enunciated. His delicate and euphonious words were a stark contrast to his intimidating stature. He studied her, regarding the way she shifted from one foot to another. She bit down on her tongue, ready to react in case of any abrupt movement. To her surprise, Steve shrugged off his jacket and extended it to her. “Would you mind holding on to it? I wouldn’t want to get it dirty.”

“Sure.” Her voice came out breathless, caught off guard by his request. She took the jacket from Steve’s hand, noting how he moved his fingers around to avoid brushing hers. The action was both welcome and disappointing because, despite Y/N's guarded demeanor, she couldn't help but feel drawn to Steve's enigmatic presence and the subtle grace with which he moved.

“You can put it on.”

“What?”

Steve laughed slightly at Y/N’s oblivious state. He regarded her as she hugged the piece of fabric close to her body, noting the way the faint street light glided over her soft features. “It’s cold. And if you insist on standing in the open road, I’d feel much better if you kept yourself warm.”

Y/N's fingers clenched tightly onto the fabric of Steve's leather jacket. The warmth that surged through her body in response to his words was palpable, yet she masked her emotions with caution. "It's alright," she responded carefully. "Thank you, but I really don't need to."

"I insist," Steve countered, his gaze carrying an air of authority. She found herself yielding to it, unable to resist. As soon as she placed the jacket on her shoulders, her nose embraced the dizzying scent of sandalwood and bourbon. She dug her hands into the jacket’s pockets, feeling at ease in Steve’s presence. “Do you live far?”

“Fifteen minutes away,” she replied.

Steve was currently engrossed in adjusting the new tire, and Y/N took the opportunity to quietly observe him. Her eyes traced his skillful fingers as they gripped the tire, and she found herself captivated by his blond hair and the strands that fell gently across his eyes.

“New Yorker?”

She shook her head. “I actually moved here a couple of months back. I’m from Washington.”

“Really? That’s where I met Sam,” Steve remarked, gesturing towards the car parked behind them where the two men sat. Y/N’s gaze shifted to the tall, black man with a laid-back expression, whom she identified as Sam. “Him and Bucky, the one beside him, are my best friends.”

“Didn’t the one with the man bun, uhh, Bucky, call you boss?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, it’s definitely a long story,” he admitted, leaving the details unspoken. After a brief pause, his curiosity turned toward Y/N. “What about you?” he inquired. “Made any friends here?”

“Not much,” she hummed. “Except for a best friend who decided that forgoing a slice of Luigi’s pizza in favor of keeping me company would be sacrilegious.”

The roaring of Steve’s laughter was welcome in the dimly lit road. For a moment, he forgot all about fixing the tire, letting his attention fall on Y/N. His voice was full of mirth as he spoke, “Luigi’s is a godsend. Tell her to try the Brooklyn special. It’s my favorite.”

“Now I know what to get you as a thank you for your services.”

“Don’t you worry about that, doll.” Steve flashed her a winsome smile, and she just knew that the goosebumps on her skin were not caused by the crisp wind around them. I’m just glad to have crossed your path.”

As Steve spoke, Y/N watched him deftly dust off his fingers and tidy up the tools. The five minutes seemed to pass all too quickly, much to Y/N's disappointment. He efficiently organized everything back in its designated spot, and when she tried to lend a hand, he kindly gestured for her to stop with a raised hand. Meanwhile, Bucky stepped out of the car and retrieved the kit from Steve, who was now carefully placing the old tire in Y/N’s trunk.

“I really can’t thank you enough for this,” YN expressed sincerely.

Steve closed her trunk, leaning against her car with a radiant grin. “It’s no problem at all.” He fished out a card holder from the pocket of his jeans and offered it to Y/N. “If you ever need anything, or you lose your friend to Luigi’s and find yourself in need of someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to give me a call. Even if it’s at four in the morning.”

Y/N's gaze fixed upon the card, her eyes gliding over the elegant golden letters delicately engraved on the sleek black paper. The minimalistic design caught her attention, showcasing only the essential contact details. It held a certain allure, an understated elegance that piqued her curiosity.

“Thank you,” she found herself saying. She wished she could say more, but the whole encounter had left her astounded. It was a wonder her brain even managed to form two words.

Reluctantly, Y/N observed Steve nodding his head as he bid her goodbye. He took his place in the back of his car but didn’t motion for Bucky to move. It took her a moment, perhaps a moment too long, to grasp that he was waiting for her to safely settle in her own car before he would depart.

Immediately, Y/N jumped in her car and turned it on. She waved at Steve as he passed by her car and went on his way. Suddenly, a realization struck Y/N like a striking lightning bolt. Two thoughts reverberated in her mind with newfound clarity.

Yelena’s unexpected disappearance turned out to be far more favorable than Y/N had initially thought. And to add to the intrigue, Steve had not only left her with his phone number but with his jacket and an open invitation to call him whenever she wanted. The weight of these revelations settled upon her, igniting a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

The day was shaping out to be a good one. Or so she thought.

: ̗̀➛ Read Chapter 2 | Morally Gray

Series Taglist: @crazyunsexycool

From a "one shot" that was not supposed to exceed 6k words to a series, here's to hoping I make it a good one. Thank you for reading this! What are your thoughts so far?

[loycspotting]

21. Ewan McGregor Movie Review: Down with Love (2003)

Genre: Comedy/Romance

Rating: PG-13

Director: Peyton Reed

Starring: Renée Zellweger, Ewan McGregor, Sarah Paulson, and David Hyde Pierce

Synopsis: Aspiring author, Barbara Novak, trades her small-town life for the Big Apple in order to promote her new book, "Down with Love." The book stirs up controversy with its message to help women achieve equality by saying no to love and yes to sex. When Catcher Block, resident playboy and New York's #1 journalist, is personally affected by this shift of the sexes, he plots to expose Barbara Novak as a fraud by getting her to fall in love with him.

Ewan Review: Ewan plays the character Catcher Block. Catcher is famous for being THE socialite of New York City. Women want him, men want to be him, and he's highly respected in his field as a journalist. Yes, life is perfect for him...until Barbara Novak shows up out of the blue and turns society on its head! His pride and reliance on the status quo can't bear to see this happen. So, he does what any logical man would do: wage a battle of the sexes! Ewan surprisingly speaks in his Scottish accent for this role! He also speaks in a southern accent which isn't any good, but I'm going to give him a pass this time because of the context. He has two shirtless scenes and LOTS of kissing scenes. I'm talking straight up making out, y'all. There are sex jokes galore and he gets to make his fair share of them. He doesn't have any sex scenes but he does have an implied erection scene. Lastly, he has a stellar song and dance number. His acting performance is incredible. I also just want to add that he is outlandishly handsome in this movie. I don't know how to explain it, especially because he's handsome in practically all his roles. He's a naturally handsome guy, but the way his attractiveness was amplified ten-fold in this movie did not go unnoticed by me. Please tell me if you understand what I'm talking about.

Screentime Percentage: Ewan is on screen for a grand total of 47/102 minutes making his SP 46%.

To Ewan or not to Ewan: Is the movie worth watching for Ewan in general? 1000% YES! Is it worth watching in general? Yes!

Where to Watch: "Down with Love" is available for rent on Amazon Prime Video, YouTube, and Google Play Movies and TV. You can watch it for free on soap2day.

Closing Thoughts: This movie is an homage to the sex comedies of the 1960s and is played out like one. It takes place in 1962 and the way it transports the audience back to that time is nothing short of fantastic! The costumes, editing, set design, manner of speech, soundtrack, everything down to the last detail was dripping in nostalgia and it was a blast! I feel the need to stress though that this a SEX comedy. It's about sex. It's all the characters talk about, it's the driving force of the movie, and dirty jokes/sexual innuendos are the foundation of it. Just think it over before popping it in for family movie night.

[girlactionfigure]

🇮🇱AFTER Shabbat - Saturday night - events from Israel  

ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

⚠️Kiryat Shmona and the Upper Galilee: residents are asked to be near protected areas, including in non-evacuated towns. (19:32)

❗️ISIS SUPPORTER - PAKISTANI CANADIAN - PLANNED MASS ATTACK ON CHABAD 770.. arrested when he tried to cross the border into the United States - where he planned to carry out a shooting attack on Chabad HQ and synagogue 770 in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, NY.  He was arrested after he shared with undercover agents his intentions: "to take advantage of Israeli gatherings on Oct. 7 memorials for the Hamas massacre, and to carry out the largest attack against Jews outside of Israel ever - and the largest in the US since Sept. 11”.

Planned mass shooting with automatic weapons in New York because "there is the largest population of Jews in America."

Arrested.

▪️ON THE AMERICAN-TURKISH ACTIVIST SHOT NEAR SHECHEM.. The White House: We contacted Israel demanding information and asked for an investigation into the shooting of the American citizen near Shechem.  

.. IDF spokesperson: During the security forces' activity near Beta today (Friday), the force responded by firing at a central instigator who threw stones at the forces, and posed a threat to our forces.

.. The Turkish-American anarchist who was killed today by IDF gunfire in Kfar Beta in Samaria is an activist of ISM - the "International Solidarity Organization" - a pro-Hamas and Hezbollah "resistance" organization that has been working against Israel for years through provocations, boycotts, defamations and confrontations.  Its operatives even helped transport a terrorist to an attack in Tel Aviv in the past. The founder of the organization, Paul Larudi, even praised the massacre committed by Hamas in Israel.

▪️US AGREES TO WITHDRAW FROM IRAQ.. in Sept. 2025.

▪️ISRAEL MAINSTREAM MEDIA CREATES POLLS.. to prove Israelis support a deal - - by phrasing questions in such a way as to remove negatives.  For example: “do you support a complete withdrawal from Gaza in a deal to free the hostages?”, 52% say yes.  I say yes!  (( Oh did you forget to mention being bombarded with rockets again within a year and increased terror attacks and Israeli deaths?  Yes, yes you did. ))  (i24)

.. “Majority does not accept the PM’s position and thinks a deal is more important than remaining in control of the border - 60%”. (Mako).  (( Does the poll mention releasing 5,000 mass murderers, many who will murder again?  No, no it does not. ))

▪️US SAYS IRAN TRANSFERRED HUNDREDS OF SHORT RANGE MISSILES TO RUSSIA.. Iran says “no we didn’t.” (WSJ)

▪️TERROR ATTEMPT - RAMMING ATTACK - ELI.. gas station.  They rammed a police car!  Terrorist captured, no casualties.

▪️TURKISH PRESIDENT ERDOGAN CALLS.. on the Muslim world to unite against Israel: it will want to conquer Turkey as well.

🔸DEAL NEWS.. New York Times: Hamas added additional demands regarding the release of Palestinian prisoners as part of the first phase of the deal. (( The more Israeli’s protest demanding a deal, the more Hamas demands. ))

.. The head of the CIA: "We hope that a hostage deal will be signed in the coming days - it's a matter of political will"

.. Assessment in Israel: There is no chance of a deal.

⭕ 16 rounds of ROCKETS and mostly SUICIDE DRONE attacks over Shabbat at northern Israeli towns and cities, including Rosh HaNikra and Safed.

.. 2 drones hit Ayelet HaShachar.  No casualties.

♦️The IDF eliminated senior Hezbollah leaders in Lebanon and Deir al-Balah.

[embodies]

EXTENSIVE HORROR PLOT WISHLIST.

in no particular order, specific muses listed where relevant. some taken from this meme. let me know what takes your fancy! (pls)

30 days of night: our muses live in alaska, which experiences a month of solid darkness every year. they are 2 of the few residents that stay behind during this time. this year their town is targeted by a group of vampires. ideal for: alisha, beatrix, dean, faith, jesse, lucas, malia, mike, dutch, geralt, deacon, richie.

as above so below: our muses are exploring the catacombs of paris, a tunnel collapse preventing them from going back. they encounter horrors such as cultists and spirits of dead loved ones as they descend. they come to realise they are travelling through the levels of hell. ideal for: bellamy, dean, faith, lucas, mike, deacon, richie.

cloverfield: a giant monster attacks new york city, our muses are trying to flee the city. along the way they have to fight off smaller creatures that continue to attack them. ideal for: beatrix, faith, jesse, amélie, genji, hana, mike, deacon, alec, richie, lisbeth.

ghost ship: our muses are part of a salvage crew that come across an abandoned passenger ship. once on the ship they discover it is haunted by the deceased guests and crew along with a demonic entity responsible for their deaths. ideal for: dean, faith, jesse, lucas, mike, dutch, deacon, richie.

pitch black: a deep space transporter crash lands on a desolate planet. our muses are the only survivors: they find out the planet suffers a total eclipse every 22 years, which is when the hibernating flesh-eating inhabitants awake and hunt, and the eclipse is about to begin. ideal for: bellamy, dean, amélie, genji, hana, vanasha.

the purge: our muses are trapped away from their home on the night of the purge, where all crime (including murder) is legal for 12 hours. they must try and survive the night. ideal for: beatrix, bellamy, faith, jesse, lucas, deacon, richie, lisbeth.

the ritual: our muses are on a hike through the wilderness, a wrong turn gets them lost in the forest where they begin to encounter strange phenomena: dead animals hanging from branches, symbols carved in trees, nightmares and blackouts. they realise they are being stalked by an ancient evil. ideal for: bellamy, jesse, lucas, malia, mike, vanasha, dutch, yennefer, geralt, alec, richie.

halloween: the idea of evil taking form / manifesting as a physical entity, whether in one of our muses or a being they need to combat! a slow madness that can't be abated, until the person possessed by it is no longer recognisable. ideal for: dean, elizabeth, faith, lucas, amélie, genji, mike, geralt, yennefer.

gravity falls: cryptic vibes all around, maybe replicating the style of found footage but in a thread. gaps in our muses' memory, getting mixed up, reversed, rewinded. seeing things in fleeting glimpses, lots of the unexplained. ideal for: bellamy, dean, faith, lucas, malia, mike, richie.

frankenstein: the idea of man vs. monster and what it means to be / make a monster. either one of our muses is a monster or makes the other into one, what does that dynamic look like in the end? do they take on the world together or become bitter enemies? ideal for: alisha, bellamy, dean, elizabeth, faith, jesse, lucas, malia, amélie, genji, mike, vanasha, geralt, yennefer, deacon, alec, richie.

other movie plot inspired wishlists: blair witch project, the conjuring, it follows, the crazies, the descent as detailed in this meme.

some generic ones for most of my muses!!!

findin a book they most definitely shouldn’t read out loud but :~)

lookin back at a video of a fun group event except something menacing shows up on the film...

one character is presumed dead, comes back out of nowhere with no memory of anything but something seems off...

you know that myth of swallowing apple seeds? yeah what if it had some weight to it

woodsy horror, bodies strung on antlers, trees that seem to inch closer, eyes watching and branches snapping and they can’t find their way out

a shooting star / meteorite lands in town but brings something with it

road trip to a foggy silent hill esque town that swallows them whole

vibes from this meme (detailed below):

tips for walking in an abandoned graveyard

if it’s dark, don’t shine your flashlight into the trees.

if a child approaches and asks you a question, don’t tell the truth.

you may find some harrowing artifacts (i found a ribbon on a tree and some bible pages) pick these up and keep them. they belong to you.

if you walk down a long, straight pathway, you will feel someone behind you. don’t look

you may see people in your peripheral vision; these are the spirits. they won’t hurt you.

if you wish to communicate with the spirits, do not do it alone. cast a protection circle. only ask polite questions.

you will feel bursts of dread and terror. ignore them.

don’t read too much into what the graves say. some things are best left unsolved.

research the history of the graveyard beforehand. you need to know what you might encounter.

some beings may not want you to leave. should you come into contact with one of these beings, leave immediately.

don’t read the hidden graves.

if you find a headless angel statue, don’t look for her head.

if you find a tipped over angel statue, leave her be. she’s only resting.

don’t listen to music. this will distract you from them.

don’t look in the bushes. you will find something that you weren’t supposed to.

gothic vibes as per this meme (detailed below):

southern gothic: abandoned churches, cryptic gospel signs, don’t go near the marshes, elusive and overly religious people that are probably up to something but everyone is too afraid to ask what.

midwestern gothic: something lives in the corn, broken down trucks, gravel roads that lead nowhere, empty gas stations placed between tiny towns with only one attendant who makes too much eye contact but never speaks.

southwestern gothic: animal skulls hung from posts, shacks miles into the barren desert that still look lived in but nobody is ever seen around, they watch from the mountains, shapeshifting creatures hiding in the brush.

[daresplaining]

Hiya~! You're always in the back of my mind as a kind and knowledgeable source for Daredevil. ♥

Do you know if it has ever been revealed exactly what chemical blinded Matt? Or even where it was coming from/going in the middle of the city? My knowledge of comic books exploiting all potential plots makes me feel like this is a thread that would have been pulled at some point over the last 60 years, but I don't see anything.

Aah, thank you! That's a great question, and the answer is that a lot of these details have actually been kept vague. There have been a lot of retellings of Matt's origin, but they haven't explored the actual context/nuances of the accident that much and the details they have included have tended to be inconsistent. The thing that blinded Matt was a radioactive substance of some kind, but visual depictions have varied wildly, from a glowing "radioactive cylinder" to leaky barrels of toxic sludge.

Matt's accident depicted by Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, and Glynis Wein (left); and by Chris Samnee and Javier Rodriguez (right).

As I mentioned, the details of the accident itself also vary. In Daredevil #1, we learn that the substance that blinded Matt was being transported by Ajax Atomic Labs, and that the accident was caused by the truck's brakes malfunctioning:

Daredevil vol. 1 #1 by Stan Lee, Bill Everett, and Sam Rosen

In Daredevil #164's origin rehashing, Roger McKenzie tells us that it was the army transporting bomb materials through the city, and that the accident was caused by the driver suffering a sudden heart attack:

Daredevil vol. 1 #164 by Roger McKenzie, Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, Glynis Wein, and John Costanza

Perhaps most compellingly (at least to me), Tony Stark's notes on Daredevil in the Civil War Files identify a Stark Industries project (under the leadership of Tony's father) as the source of the substance, which is referred to as radioactive waste:

Civil War Files #1 by Anthony Flamini, Stuart Vandal, Ronald Byrd, Madison Carter, et al.

Mark Waid added one more detail, which gave voice to something that had previously just been implied: that this dangerous substance—whatever it was—was not supposed to be going through a populated area at all:

Caption: "That's when the driver opted to finally look up. His tires screaming, his cargo tumbled loose. It had been secured with the same kind of care one would expect—from a fly-by-night company that thought it'd be okay to illegally transport toxic waste through New York traffic." Daredevil vol. 3 #23 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, Javier Rodriguez, and Joe Caramagna

To this, I might add the inference that it was likely being driven through Hell's Kitchen in particular because it was (at that time) a low income neighborhood where the authorities would be less likely to notice or care.

Waid's description of the accident, and the visual of barrels of toxic waste rather than a radioactive cylinder, are reminiscent of the alternate universe version of Matt's origin that Frank Miller and John Romita, Jr. presented in Man Without Fear—which also included the juicy detail of lawyers for the corporation showing up at Matt and his father's apartment afterward and strong-arming Jack into not pressing charges.

But yes, though I understand keeping the science involved in superhero origin stories non-specific, this is definitely an area of the Daredevil lore that could use further clarification. For real-world inspiration, here's an interesting New York Times article from 1985 about the transportation of nuclear waste through New York City. This part in particular seems relevant, and fits the timing of the publication of Daredevil #1 in 1964:

"Brookhaven has had a nuclear reactor operating since 1954. From 1954 to 1976, the spent fuel - radioactive uranium - was carried by truck into New York City, across the 59th Street Bridge, north on Third Avenue and across town to the George Washington Bridge. It then went south to a site in South Carolina for reprocessing. But in 1976 the city passed a local law banning the shipments, and triggering a battle over who has authority to control the shipments."

Maybe Matt was blinded by radioactive uranium? That transport route doesn't hit Hell's Kitchen at all, but I will also point out that Matt's childhood neighborhood wasn't specified as being Hell's Kitchen until Daredevil #164. At the very least, we know that toxic stuff was going through Manhattan in 1964, so if you were interested in a potential real-world source for more details to add to Matt's accident, that seems like a good place to look.

[limorentalnyc101]

Night on the Town Transportation

Planning a night out in New York City? Make it an unforgettable experience with our Night on the Town transportation service. At Limo Rental NYC, we understand that a night out should be all about fun, relaxation, and enjoyment, not worrying about traffic, parking, or navigating the city’s busy streets. Our fleet of luxurious vehicles, including limousines, party buses, and sleek black cars, is…

[enam3l]

Oooh while your requests are open what about Eddie buying reader the first big purchase after the band goes big

Eddie and reader had discussed being tight with the money he makes, still not used to their new life, but what if Eddie buys her a new car she desperately needs and it’s not just any car its a super car 😭 like she goes to work in her beat up beetle with the wobbly tailpipe and no air and comes out to a ferrari 😭😭😭😭😭😭

This is so cute! I'm gonna change it a lil if that's okay to fit the storyline so far. Basically, when reader and Eddie meet, Corroded Coffin have already released their debut album so he's pretty set for cash. Although he is still shook he has money but loves spending it on reader (like in their first holiday fic.) Check the comments for theeee car.

driving mrs munson (rockstar eddie x reader) ficlet / fluff

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

Once you were married, you and Eddie both decided to make Hawkins your permanent residence. Your house had been one that Eddie went past everyday when growing up, always admiring how it stood out from the other suburban cookie cutter houses. Once the band had been signed, as if by magic, for the first time ever the house was for sale. Eddie used the check to buy the house for himself, a reminder of his ultimate goal in life -  to fall in love and build a life and family with someone. Now that is exactly what was happening. 

Moving to Hawkins marked a the start of something you'd both always dreamed; creating a loving and safe family that you'd both grown up dreaming of. Although you and Eddie had both loved living in New York where you had spent your five years together getting into mischief, it was absent of the people you loved the most. The pair of you wanted the kids you longed for to grow up around their makeshift family. At night you'd hold each other and plan it all. How your kids would only know Wayne as Grandpa (regardless of biology, he was Eddie's father) and have sleepovers at his house. Or how they could walk down the road to play with Steve and Marissa's kids. And how they'd been spoilt rotten on birthdays and christmases by all their adoptive aunties and uncles. 

Whilst Eddie had always been back and forth between New York and Hawkins, it had been a very long time since you'd lived anywhere but a bustling city. So long that you'd forgotten about one issue - transport. It took a week before you were clutching your hair in frustration at a small town's answer to public transport. No subways or frequent buses to take you anywhere you desired. Eddie had to hide the smirk on his face watching you attempt to resurrect the battered white (and splattered with rust) Mustang you'd owned since before he knew you. Although he was grateful the old car was literally what brought into his life in February 89, Eddie wasn't keen about letting you continue to drive it. It was unreliable and was beginning to feel like sitting in the Flintstone's car, and whilst he loved being your personal chauffeur, it just wasn't feasible. So Eddie had a solution. 

One thing Eddie had found about being a rockstar was people were always trying to sell him things like cars. Ridiculous extravagant and expensive things that no human actually needs. Many parties and events he'd listen to other celebrities boast and croon over their latest purchase. Eddie had always thought it was surreal, looking round the room waiting for someone to reveal it was a prank. These people were buying cars that cost five times the trailer he'd grown up in with Wayne, and they dropped the cash so casually like it was a packet of cigarettes. But all of this did mean Eddie knew where to buy a good car from. 

Even before you'd gotten married and moved, Eddie had an inkling you'd be in need of a car once you moved. Therefore, he was thoroughly prepared for the moment. For months when you were out he dropped careful questions when you went past a car. 

'That one is cool, hey sweetheart?'

'Could you imagine driving a car that big?'

'I never knew you could get cars that colour...'

So with the help with some very eager salesmen, he'd whittled down the options to one he thought was perfect for you. And for the last month Eddie was waiting on the call to say they'd tracked down the exact car he wanted to you. 

As he watched you in the drive away flipping the bird and your old banger, Eddie struggled not to chuckle down the phone to the salesman. The car was ready for him to collect, finally. Eddie grabbed his jacket and keys and went to offer his chauffeur services one last time. 

'Want me to drop you off sweetheart?' 

Your frustrated little face turned to him and gave a small little nod. 

'Okay, get in Miss Daisy,' he chuckled giving a playful smack to your ass. 

Eddie dropped you off at Marissa and Steve's with a kiss. Then, sped off to pick up Wayne who would drive the van back for him as Eddie took your new car home. 

As he stood in the driveway admiring the beautiful vehicle, Eddie couldn't believe how perfectly the plan had come together. Steve was on his way to drop you home and everything was ready for your arrival. Even though the showroom had it perfect, Eddie had to make sure it was sparkling and had polished it himself. Then, he finished it off with a comically large bow he'd been hiding for weeks just for the occasion. Finally, Steve pulled up (still loyal to the BMW brand). Artfully, he was distracting you with chatter so you had yet to notice the new toy in front of your house. 

'Thank you Stevie! See you guys at the weekend!' You shouted through the open window before he sped off. What you didn't notice was the cheeky wink Steve gave Eddie before he left. You walked towards the house, totally oblivious as you fished for your keys until a cough from the the voice you'd recognise anywhere, caught your attention. 

'Jesus Ed you near-' your jaw dropped, along with your keys to the floor when you looked up. 

There stood your husband leaning like a model against the nicest car you'd ever seen. A Porsche 964. 

'Who? What? Whose is that?' you gawped, taking in the lush metallic paintwork. The sporty car was the colour of a glittery purple grape. 

'Yours, hot stuff,' Eddie's grin spread right across his face as he threw a set of keys your way. You stood shell shocked, only just managing to scramble to catch the keys before they pelted you in the head. 

The keys jangled as you analysed them, he was right - they were yours. Indicated by a keyring with a photo of you and Eddie from a photobooth on your honeymoon as well as another keyring with your new initials on. 

Y/I M

When you finally found your voice you scolded him. 

'Edward! What the fuck! You got this... for me?'

'Don't full name me, baby! I just bought you a badass car. Couldn't let you out in the death trap anymore,' he frowned. 

Of course, that was so Eddie, always looking at for you and putting you first. Your face crumpled, overwhelmed by his extravagant thoughtfulness. 

'Eds,' you gasped, 'you shouldn't have! You've just given me my dream wedding and honeymoon and hou-'

You're silenced by Eddie pinching your lips closed, a boyish grin on his face. 

'Sweetheart, I'd pay for that all again and more. Consider it a late wedding present or early birthday present. Look, where's my thank you kiss?' He pursed his soft lips. 

You launched yourself at him, arms and legs wrapping around him. Mouth pressed to his, then peppering the rest of his pretty face in misses. Eddie's hands tucked under your ass, fingers gripping your soft thighs as he deepened your kiss. He went to rest you on the bonnet until you pulled away, tutting. 

'Ah ah ah, don't muss my paintwork!' 

'Sorry sweetheart! Do you like it?' he asked so earnestly, as if you'd ever disliked anything he ever gave you. 

'Are you kidding, baby? It's perfect,' you squealed, fingers skating delicately over the car. 'Can we go for a drive?' 

Eddie's heart swelled watching your eyes wide with excitement, bouncing like a giddy child on the spot. 

'Of course! Let's go!'

Your hands lay intertwined with Eddie's on the centre console as you ventured down the winding Hawkins roads. Never in your life had you driven a car this spectacular, let alone owned one. The car glided effortlessly up the off-road path let led to Lovers Lake and you pulled to a stop. Eddie raised his eyebrow in confusion. 

'Whatcha doing sweetheart?'

Noticing your wicked smile. Your free hand inched up his chest until you reached his collar, pulling him close towards you. 

'Wanna see if this cars big enough to make out in?' your breath warm on Eddie's mouth. 

'Fuck yeah,' he gasps before latching onto your mouth. 

The pair of you grunted into each others mouths, tongues intertwining as both your hands wondered, tugging each other closer. Eventually you break for air. 

'Don't think it's quite big enough for car sexy anymore, will have to bend you over the bonnet,' Eddie smirks nipping at your neck. 

You swat him, feigning annoyance but his shamelessness never fails to make you laugh. 

'Behave... I don't want to ruin my paint job.'

The pair of your grin at each other, completely smitten. Eddie looks over his shoulder, straight out the rear window due to the absence of backseats. 

'We'll have to upgrade you once you're pregnant though,' his face is still cheeky but Eddie speaks with a slightly timid tone. His hand instinctively reaching out, warm and gentle on your soft tummy. You both look down at where his hand rests, butterflies in both your stomachs at the thought of what could be. 

my taglist angels: @whoahoney @lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos @munsonology @mseddiemunson @kreepja

[bjfinn]

SOMETHING SPECIAL

(Note: mildly NSFW)

"Do you, uh ... have any plans for Saturday?" Dewey asked. After the wedding reception, Beej had transported the two of them back to Dewey's apartment, and now Dewey was driving Rosalie home. "I was thinking we could do something special. I mean, I know Valentine's Day was today, but ... well, what with Adam and Barbara's wedding, I thought we should maybe do something on the weekend."

Rosalie smiled. "I'd like that," she told him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Uhh ... I don't ... I don't wanna spoil it -- i-it's a surprise. Something ... something special. You'll like it, I promise."

"I like surprises," she told him, and kissed him on the cheek. "It's a date, Mr Finn."

When they reached the Wimbledon, Rosalie's Upper East Side apartment complex, he got out of the van and went over to the passenger's side to open the door for her. She got out of the vehicle and stroked his arm.

"Would you like to come up for a nightcap?" she asked.

He looked at his watch. "I ... I'd really love to, but ... well, it's getting kinda late, and you have to be at the academy tomorrow morning ... so I probably shouldn't."

Rosalie saw the disappointment in his eyes -- it wasn't just an excuse.

"Yeah, you're right," she sighed. "Besides, we'll have that much more to look forward to on Saturday." She pressed her lips to his -- she'd intended it to be a light kiss, but she couldn't quite control the ... hunger she felt for him.

Dewey, too, had expected a chaste kiss goodnight, but when Rosalie's tongue slipped into his mouth he responded in kind as they embraced on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. "Mmmm," he murmured, revelling in the taste of her.

Rosalie felt him rise to the occasion. She pressed closer, feeling the heat of his libido through the fabric of her lingerie. Oh, God, I need this man, she thought, digging her fingers into his rear.

Suddenly, she released him. "We ... we'd better quit now, before ..."

"Uh, yeah," Dewey said, his voice gravelled with need. "Yeah, you're ... you're right. Uh, g'night, Roz -- see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Dewey," she replied. "And thank you for inviting me -- it was a lovely wedding."

"Uh, yeah ... it was, wasn't it?" He raised an arm, intending to rest his hand on the passenger's side door, but he miscalculated the distance and nearly stumbled off the curb.

Rosalie laughed lightly. "Be careful, Mr Finn -- we wouldn't want you to get injured before Saturday."

"No," he agreed. "No, we ... w-we certainly wouldn't want that!" He got back in the van and watched her enter the building, and then he drove off, heading back to his Brooklyn apartment as fast as he could -- he desperately needed to get home to tame the beast in his pants before having a nice, long, very cold shower.

*****

The next morning, coffee cup in hand, Dewey paced the floor of his apartment, trying to think of something -- anything -- for his impending date with Rosalie. He wanted it to be special, but he was drawing a blank.

"Come on, man!" he said to himself as he walked back and forth between the bed and the table. "You can do this -- I mean, how hard can it be, right? Take her someplace nice -- someplace that you can get a last-minute reservation. It can't be that hard!"

He chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, right," he said. "This is New York -- good luck getting a reservation for six months from now, let alone two days." He smacked himself in the forehead. "God, I'm such an idiot! I mean, it's not like I didn't know Valentine's Day was coming! It's not like Easter, for crissakes. Or Thanksgiving.

"Come on, asshole -- think! " He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

Nothing.

"I ... I'll just have to leave town," he said. "I'll head out west, change my name ... I'll start a new life. Raising, uhh ... raising alpacas, that's it. Yeah -- I'll raise alpacas in New Mexico or something." He chuckled at the thought -- he was a city boy, born and bred. What the fuck did he know about raising alpacas or anything else?

Suddenly he stood up. "I need some fresh air," he said. He pulled on his jeans, threw on a relatively clean t-shirt and his jacket and headed out.

*****

In her office, Rosalie tried to concentrate on paperwork, but she was too distracted -- Dewey had said that he had something special planned for tomorrow, and she couldn't stop wondering what it might be.

"You've certainly got it bad for him!" she told herself with a rueful chuckle. "Of course, you always did have a thing for bad boys." She sighed. "Isn't that the truth." She shuffled the papers on her desk and stacked them in two neat piles, and then she realised that she hadn't sorted them. With another sigh, she picked up one of the piles and began going through it, separating the stuff she'd taken care of from that which she hadn't gotten to yet.

But Rosalie couldn't stop thinking about his surprise. About him. She undid her hair tie and shook the auburn locks free, and then pulled the hair back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She stretched, tilting her head from side to side to work out the kinks, and then she got to her feet. Leaving her office, she headed to the washroom, where she splashed her face with cold water.

It didn't help with the warmth she felt between her thighs.

Standing at the sink, she thought back to the first time they'd made love, a couple of weeks before Christmas. He'd been surprisingly hesitant, as if he'd thought she was a delicate crystal vase that would shatter at his touch -- she'd had to get ... rather rough with him before he stopped handling her with kid gloves. He'd managed a total of three thrusts before he climaxed, to his mortification. But she'd convinced him to try again, and the second time was much better. And the third time was better still ...

That was when she realised that she'd slipped a hand into the waistband of her skirt and was slowly stroking herself through her panties. She hurriedly withdrew the offending hand and readjusting her clothes.

Again she splashed herself with cold water, and returned to her office.

*****

While he was out, Dewey got an idea for figuring out his dilemma. After stopping to get a couple of hot dogs with the works (well, okay ... three) at a food cart, he headed back to his apartment.

"Okay," Dewey muttered, getting a sheet of paper out. "Let's do some brainstorming." He wrote Rosalie's name in the centre of the page and circled it. "Who is Rosalie Mullins?" he asked himself, and began writing down all the things he associated with her ...

"Okay," he said to himself as he looked at the results. "Okay, yeah ... I think I can work with this." Then he frowned. The page was a mess of intersecting lines and connections, and he couldn't see anything that even remotely resembled an idea.

"Ah, fuck -- who am I kidding? I'm never gonna think of someth--" He started to crumple the page, but then something caught his eye. He smoothed the paper and looked closer -- he'd seen ... something, some pattern in the chaos.

What pattern? he asked himself. What did you see, dude? He'd seen something there -- some association with one of the words.

He peered at the mess on the page ...

Nothing. Whatever it was, he couldn't see it now.

He decided to try another technique. On a fresh sheet of paper he wrote Rosalie's name in a circle and tried to find as many words as he could.

He studied the list -- other than rose, nothing really said "Valentine's Day".

"I mean, laser makes me think of laser tag, I guess," he said to himself. "That'd be fun ... but not really a Valentine's Day thing. It's gotta be something special. Like, really special."

He tried it again, with "Mullins" this time -- but he could only get five words from that.

"Sun, sum, sill, slum, slim. Fuck." He sighed and chuckled. "Yeah, I'll take her to a slum, and we can sit on a sill and do sums while we watch the sun come up!"

He hung his head in defeat. "I guess I'll just have to bite the bullet and come clean -- tell her that I couldn't come up with anything." He sighed again, and looked at the clock. "Time to go," he said. "Got a bunch of kids to teach."

He grabbed his jacket and satchel and headed to the school.

*****

"Mr Finn."

"Ms Mullins!" Dewey said. He ran a hand through his perpetually mussed hair, clearly flustered. "Uh ... hey, there! Um, I ... what's going on?"

"Nothing, Mr Finn," Rosalie replied, smiling at his discomfiture. "Is there something on your mind?"

"Uh, nope ... nothing going on up here at all," he said, pointing to his head. He cleared his throat. "Uh, well ... you know what I mean."

Rosalie chuckled. "Relax, Mr Finn," she said. "You're not in trouble. In fact, I'm looking forward to seeing what you've got planned for Saturday."

"You and me both," he muttered. "I-I ... I mean, I'm looking forward to it, too. What I've got planned, I mean."

"You'd better get to class -- it's almost four o'clock."

"Uh, yeah -- right. Thanks. I-I'll see you later. O-or tomorrow. Whenever. Yeah, I ... I'll, uh ... catch you on the flip side."

Rosalie suppressed a giggle as she watched him walk away.

*****

After class, Dewey got in his van and just sat there, both hands on the steering wheel, staring off into the middle distance. He had less than two days to come up with something that would impress Rosalie, and he was still drawing a blank.

Neither the brainstorming nor the circle word-puzzle thing had given him any usable ideas, even though he'd used both with good results in the past.

Someone tapped on the driver's side window, startling him. He turned and saw Summer Hathaway standing there.

"Hey, Sunshine," he said, rolling down the window. "What's up?"

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned. "You're just sitting here."

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay," he told her. "I'm just, uh ... I'm just thinking about how I'm gonna spend my weekend. Tryna decide, you know."

"Uh-huh," she said, clearly unconvinced. "Are you planning on asking Ms Mullins out for Saturday?"

"What? Pfft! No, of ... of course not!" he demurred. "She's my boss -- I've told you guys that. I-it ... it wouldn't be right for us to be, uh ... dating."

"Uh-huh," Summer said again -- she looked even more unconvinced than before. "Well, whatever you decide, I'm sure she'll like it -- I mean, you two have been dating for a while, now."

Jeez, she's one smart kid, Dewey thought. Nothing gets past her.

"Just don't pick anything lame, like bowling or something."

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Thanks. I ... I'll keep that in mind. If we ever do start dating. Which we won't."

"Right. Good night, Mr Finn."

*****

By Friday evening, Dewey was getting desperate -- he started calling every halfway decent restaurant he could think of, trying to find someplace that had a table available for Saturday.

No luck.

"Shit -- what am I gonna do? Roz is expecting something special." He let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the edge of his bed. He reached for his guitar and began tuning the strings. He needed to stop thinking about it so that maybe an idea would come to him, and music always helped.

Gradually he began playing a recognisable melody -- "Classical Gas" by Mason Williams. It was a demanding tune, perfect for clearing his mind. The fingers of his right hand flew across the strings as those of his left danced along the frets, and his head began bobbing to the rhythm. He played with everything he had, as if his life depended on it.

By the end, his hair was plastered to his forehead and his breathing was laboured. He took a deep, ragged breath and set the guitar down before falling back on the bed.

He closed his eyes and tried to open himself up to ideas.

*****

Dewey awoke with a start. Saturday morning, and he was still at a loss.

"Fuck," he said softly, and got to his feet. He went to the kitchenette and turned on the stove under the kettle, and then he got his mug from the cupboard. A spoonful of instant coffee and two of sugar.

When the water came to the boil, he filled the mug, stirred the coffee, and added a splash of cream. He took a sip, winced, and blew across the surface of the liquid to cool it down a bit.

He set the mug on the counter with a heavy sigh. Once again, he'd made a promise that he couldn't deliver.

"The story of my life," he muttered.

He poured himself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and added milk, and then he sat at the counter to eat while he scrolled through his phone -- he was still hoping that inspiration would strike.

He Googled "last minute date ideas".

Nothing interesting -- just the usual boring shit. Cosy restaurant, karaoke bar, art museum, wine tasting, yada yada yada. But then he saw something just as he put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, and he laughed so hard that he choked, milk spurting from his nose.

He jumped up, coughing, and ran to the sink. When he'd regained control, he looked at the recommendation -- the Brooklyn Bowl.

A bowling alley.

He should do it just to show up Little Miss Sunshine. He started laughing again at the thought of the fifth-grader's righteous disapproval.

"She's probably right, though," he said to himself. "Roz doesn't strike me as someone who'd like the idea of renting shoes."

He finished his breakfast, grabbed his jacket and headed out for a stroll around the neighbourhood.

*****

"I'm really sorry," Dewey said when Rosalie arrived. "I ... I wanted to do something special for Valentine's Day, but ..."

"But you couldn't think of anything." Rosalie smiled. "You've been a naughty boy, Dewey -- it's not good to lie to teacher."

"No it's not," he agreed, downcast. "I-I shouldn't've said that I'd already planned something. I'm an idiot, a ... a lousy excuse for a boyfriend ... I-I wouldn't blame you if you ... if you never want to see me again."

"Now you listen to me, Mr Finn," she said, taking hold of his shirt collar. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't care what we do, so long as we're together."

"But --"

"No buts." She placed a finger on his lips. "You don't need to impress me with grand gestures, Dewey. I'm looking for something real -- and you're real. We're real -- what we have is real. Got it?"

He nodded silently in reply -- her finger was still on his lips.

"Good. Now -- kiss me." And she pulled him close and pressed her lips to his.

Dewey embraced her and his tongue found its way into her open mouth, and she pressed close against him, against the rapidly growing bulge in his trousers.

"Why, Ms Mullins," he grinned when they came up for air. "I do believe that you're trying to have your way with me!"

"I most certainly am, Mr Finn," Rosalie told him. "And there's nothing you can do about it. Surrender is your only option."

He nodded, a goofy grin on his face. This was going to be a very special Valentine's after all.

"So, uh ... what do you think about bowling?"

[dahliadew]

Danny Fenton, soul survivor (dp fanfic prompt (maybe crossover))

Over time across different cities in different states, various disasters, both man made and natural, have occurred across America. Each would have been remembered as a tragedy in the minds of the aging residents that experienced them. If not for the strange case of one name littered throughout each event. One Daniel Fenton has seemingly haunted reports and records of each event. Either survivor or soul witnesses to the events, he smilingly is always there, left behind whatever tragedy has occurred.

Ten years before this document's writing, a passenger bus crashed in Fargo, Minnesota, causing the deaths of all those aboard and those in a second vehicle involved in the crash. All involved died before they could reach the hospital except for a young man, only identifying himself as "Danny," After being taken to the hospital, he was only found to have minor cuts and abrasions but was otherwise fine. Not much information could be gleaned from the young man as early on in his stay at the hospital, he disappeared, leaving investigators to fill in the gasps. He was found to have no connections to the other passengers on board, which raised more questions as an unaccompanied minor would have needed more information and documentation to board the bus. But after contacting the ticketing office, no such information could be found. And with the accident easily explained as a mechanical error resulting from poor maintenance on the part of the bussing company, there was little left to investigate. However, one investigator claimed to see the boy once on the edge of town days after the final funeral after the case had wrapped up. Staring off into the sky, snow drifting down onto his face. Neither spoke nor moved, but like before, the boy seemed to vanish again, this time into the snow. It was mentioned at the bottom of the report in a penciled-in line made years after the report had been finalized that in those moments, the unnamed officer had not seen the boy's breath while staring, entranced. He notes his breath drifting on the winds, but the boy stands as still as the breath he didn't breathe.

Accounts similar to this litter the different reports from civilianize and officers alike, some more fantastical than others. But all agree that some part of the boy never left their towns. And these reports are not limited to small-town legends but are extended to federal agencies, as in the case of the crash of flight 187 from New York to Florida.

In a recently unsealed NTSB (The National Transportation Safety Board) document detailing the fate of flight 187 on the night of June 7th, 1968, a single blurred photo with a name scrawled unceremoniously on the bottom lies at the end of the file. The image depicts a boy from 14 to 16 lying on a stretcher in a makeshift triage, presumable on the crash site. The name, like before, says "Danny." When flight 187 went down, a rapid response was organized to assist any of the passengers who may have survived the crash. But as the collision occurred in the middle of the Florida swamps, hopes were not high, and as many predicted, all of those they found on the first day of search and rescue were deceased. But a boy was miraculously found as the sun rose and the cicadas sang on the second day. This time with much more extensive injury but none that those on site believed would lead to his death. With the hope renewed for other passengers and the closest hospital over a day away, it was decided to keep the boy on site with the medical team already present. Unfortunately, no others were found, leaving a solitary, motionless boy on a bed. He had woken up sporadically but never could remain awake. He could identify himself in one of these waking spells, but only his first name. As news spread of the crash and one passenger's survival, the family began to descend to the hospital where the boy had been transferred. But like before, no one could claim the boy, and no connection to any other passenger could be found. Leaving another group of investigators with the mystery of the boy's origin; this time, with the aid of federal resources, they could investigate more leads, but none would result in any concrete information. Three months after the boy had been found and the bodies buried, he disappeared again, with one attending doctor noting how none of the monitors alerted them to the boy's absences.

The oldest record of the boy's involvement in a tragedy lies in an unfinished report of an explosion and fire at a fast food restaurant in the 1950s from a now deserted town in the American midwest. This fire in the town of amity park took the lives of 6 people Jack and Madeline Fenton, their daughter jasmine, friends Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley, and their high school teacher Mr. Lancer. The only witness to this tragedy was reportedly the couple's young son caught in the blaze, Daniel "Danny" Fenton. Little is known about the boy from before or after the accident. And unlike the other incidences, this was the only accident without a definitive cause. It has been proposed that the presence of the mysterious boy and the investigation into him led the investigator to discover the true reasons for these events. In the case of the bus crash, investigating the company's inner workings that allowed for a minor with no documentation to travel led investigators to the company's history of mismanagement and cost-cutting. As for the plane crash, the renewed vigor of finding the boy alive allowed teams to find the plane's black box before it could have been destroyed or lost in a storm that later washed over the crash site. Those preaching this theory have stated that the boy is a Spector that can predict these events before they happen, and while he can stop them, he can’t, at the very least, give the family the answers that he was denied.

However, this is meanly a theory, and as in the 30 documented cases of the boy starting in the 50s up to 2009, wherein it is believed that he last appeared, there are only three photos. One of the original Dannal, the photo as mentioned above taken at the plane crash, and one final picture published in a local newspaper in an unnamed town with what looks like said a familiar-looking boy standing in a crowd watching the unveiling of a marmoreal.

Currently, these are ghost stories haunting the shadows of towns scarred by tragedy; more tales of the boy's travels permeate these files. And under normal circumstances, they would continue to rest in the bowels of their files, but as for last night, a team has begun investigating these events and the figure who resides within them.

(hi, sorry for this being so long; it's a weird plot idea I've been working with for a little while. I think it's up to whoever uses this prompt if they want to make it a crossover because I can see it working for something like supernatural, criminal minds, or maybe the DCU if the writer has batman investigating a recent incident in his city that may have ties to past events. But idk hope you guys like it, and to anyone who wants to use this prompt, have fun and go nuts!)

[ruvviks]

🫵 you. hello. tell me. WHAT is jericho like. whats the vibe there. are there a lot of stores. a lot of clubs,, Whats going on there. i need to know. would i want to live there

HIII THANK YOU SO MUCH!! so for people who don't know anything about this story yet, you can find a bunch of general information here and the current cast for the story here! the story is centered around jericho which i'll talk more about under the cut :^) it's pretty lengthy as always sorry i have a lot to say

so jericho is a big city on the west coast of the united states, located in the south of oregon. it's a hotspot for vampires specifically because of its rich vampire history and culture, and it has actual accommodations for vampires allowing them to work day shifts in special departments or in the underground part of town which is a rare sight in the united states

in appearance it's like any other big city as we know it in our universe but with a significant modern and Almost futuristic twist, meaning the business district would be a lot larger and it almost has night city vibes in terms of bright night life but with our modern day technology. on top of that, it's kind of mixed with the vibes of 80s cities, as if buildings and cars and whatnot have been kind of stuck in that time period but simultaneously upgraded over the years (sort of a retro-futuristic vibe to it like fallout but more comparable to 80s las vegas, new york, chicago, los angeles, etc)

the city has a heavy focus on being accessible for all, meaning there is reliable and relatively affordable public transport, big sidewalks with enough space for wheelchair users and baby strollers etc, as well as well-maintained roads for regular traffic (though in the suburbs it's more common to run into pot holes). it even includes cycle paths in the suburbs and the shopping areas of downtown; in those shopping areas general traffic is prohibited as well, turning it into a walking and cycling area where only public transport is allowed to pass through

the underground part of town is located in the busy center, allowing a few office buildings and skyscrapers to have up to three basement levels which can be reached through elevators inside the building or their entrance underground. it also includes the lower levels of a huge and modern shopping mall, one of the town's most visited locations. surface access goes through tunnels and large stairs similar to stairs leading to the metro; the metro itself also has a direct connection, allowing vampires to travel underground to their workplace during the day instead of having to take above ground transport

the underground area also features one apartment building with shops, allowing some vampires to live there as well! more apartment buildings are under construction, as the underground area is still slowly expanding. it's definitely strange to find yourself in that part of town but with its continuous air flow, temperature stabilizers, and well-lit streets (safe for vampires of course) it's relatively easy to get used to, as the space does not feel claustrophobic at all. but it's certainly not for everyone, but luckily no one's being forced to spend time there

much like with night city, there's so much going on in jericho that it's very easy to spend your whole life in that city with areas you've just never visited before. even without the underground area it's a multi-level city, its business district characterized by the big walkways above road level, connecting buildings and large balconies / terraces with shops, marketplaces, and food stalls together. its infrastructure is incredibly extensive to the point it can be overwhelming to an outsider, but it's also very straightforward and allows you to get from one place to another in a lot of different ways following different routes, rather than making it easier to get lost

because of its large vampire populace, the city is still very busy at night. a lot of typical night shifts (in security, 24/7 retail jobs, firefighters, medics, etc) are filled by vampires, but they also own most of jericho's night life with bars, nightclubs, and casinos. most of these spaces are mixed human/vampire spaces, letting them exist together in peace with special rules that prohibits feeding and violence; but there are definitely a good chunk of vampire-only clubs, limited to vampires and, surprisingly, vampire hunters specifically, who often show up in those circles for jobs

dynamics between humans, vampires, and vampire hunters are different all over the world, but in jericho specifically the lines blur a LOT. there's only very little vampire hunters who want to kill all vampires and they're rarely found in jericho; most hunters only deal with actual threats, such as withered vampires, vampires who cannot control their feral sense, nests, and vampire spawns. especially in jericho there's a lot of these problems because there's just a lot of vampires, and most vampire hunters focus on gigs like that. there's even plenty of vampires who lend their temporary services to hunters to help track down a nest, or deal with a particularly strong withered vampire. that's what these vampire nightclubs are for; business :^)

but the clubs are also for fun of course and there's enough dancing going on, there's the best blood available at bars (for a pretty high price unless you're a vip), and most vampire clubs have other means of entertainment as well, one of these being carousel which is a russian roulette type game played in groups of vampires, sometimes even with vampire hunters! yes there's the possibility of death in there but that's what makes it exciting to play. there's a lot of rules to carousel and i won't go into all that now but heavenly, the main character of the story, is very good at it

vampires in this universe originate from the fae, which is where some of their special abilities come from which differ from bloodline to bloodline. but as a general rule, all vampires live by some sort of unspoken moral code which upholds the balance in the world between vampires, humans, and vampire hunters. feeding is necessary; but feeding and killing are two different things, as well as feeding and turning another human. these processes are treated as different things and while feeding is not a crime, killing IS still considered a crime in most vampire circles, and turning someone can have dire consequences which can disrupt the balance. vampire hunters should be treated with caution, but unless they make themselves a threat, they should not be treated as one, and while you don't have to treat them as your friend you should not treat them as your enemy either unless you have a good reason to

this moral code is respected by the other parties involved as well, which is why in bigger cities vampire hunters can safely enter vampire clubs and walk out of it alive, and can start business or even friendships or more with the vampire lords and ladies in town; and in smaller towns a vampire hunter passing through is treated as pest control if anything, presumably there to take care of a nest or a withered vampire which if left undealt with could become a problem for vampires as well, as its presence could cause local human groups to take action against them

and jericho serves as the hotspot for this code. it wasn't necessarily created here, since it's been an unspoken rulebook for vampires for centuries at this point, but when you think about vampires and vampire hunters teaming up on gigs to get rid of a nest that's spreading disease in a neighborhood, you think of jericho. when you think of a hunter getting patched up by a vampire street doc at 3am at night in exchange for a little bit of their blood for the vampire to feed on, you think of jericho. when you think of a group of young vampires defending some human partygoers from a vampire with activated feral sense, you think of jericho

so yeah i think that sums up what the city is like pretty well! as always if anyone has any more questions feel free to shoot them my way :^)

[sachermorte]

The anon DOES still want to hear the Prater incident!!! Your stories are WILD 😁

dramatis personae:

roland, a heavyset dark-haired man on a crutch, with a bearing that was described by a dear friend as soon as just the other day as "bizarrely edwardian"

ed, a slender, bespectacled man from oxfordshire

martha, a curly-haired woman from upstate new york

chris, some jackass, blonde and in a leather jacket, from somewhere in the UK but I didn't care to ask

tw: drug use, emetophobia

this was during the summer of 2020. the covid-19 pandemic had been raging for approximately three months, and this was the first of many brief quarantine relaxations that would take place in austria over the following year. we were permitted to travel, ride public transportation with a mask, and generally act like jackasses after too many long weeks of laying around in a stupor, doing nothing of consequence but giving ourselves mild alcohol poisoning with cheap, nasty beer and liquor. I actually can't drink rum anymore to this very day due to a separate event in march, but I digress. ed, martha, and I had been quarantining together in ed's apartment in the south of (sketchy-ass) linz near bulgariplatz, and to this very day I consider myself closer to these two people than I am my actual siblings.

but things were beginning to open and we were feeling stir-crazy, so we began tooling around the country together staring from around may. one trip to innsbruck/feldkirch/bregenz/liechtenstein, one trip to hallstadt/gmunden, one trip to bratislava, the works. lots of time spent in vienna because I quite honestly felt twitchy being away for too long but couldn't bear to leave ed and martha and completely shatter my already fragile psyche.

it came to ed's attention that a man whom he'd befriended during a study abroad term in vienna while he was doing his bachelor's, chris, was still in town, so we began hanging out with him, which quickly became one of the more unpleasant and draining aspects of our outings.

chris was an asshole. I can just come out and drop that one from the jump. loud, boorish, needlessly aggressive, had a sophomoric sense of humor, and seemed like he had it out for me in particular. literally everything out of his mouth was some unpleasant dig, usually towards me, and he seemed to think it was really funny to shout "hurry up, cripple!" at me and got all surprised pikachu when I didn't respond positively. I put up with it for ed's sake, as he seemed desperate for social interaction and appropriately embarrassed regarding chris' behavior.

the prater incident, as it has infamously come to be known, occurred during my last meeting with chris (and to my knowledge, anyone else's. I'm pretty sure ed stopped talking to him after this, and good riddance)

so we roll back into vienna and martha has a suitcase in tow because she's about to fly back to the US at like five in the morning, a fact we're all trying not to think about because it's just too brutal. chris comes and grabs us, immediately makes some stupid comment about how I'm dressed like a vampire, and we decide to head down to donauinsel because it's still light out and it's hot as balls

the second we get there, the second we set down our stuff by the water, chris rolls a couple of joints and thankfully shuts up for a minute while we smoke. and then opens his wallet and asks without any leadup "okay, who wants ecstasy."

record scratch moment as I have a terrible premonition of the night ahead. but I open my hand because, like, come on. I'm not not going to do ecstasy.

it takes maybe twenty minutes to start setting in, by which time the other three have started skinny-dipping in the river. I abstained despite chris throwing barbed comments my way because I didn't want to mess up my clothes (a puffy ecru pussybow blouse and an embroidered black velvet vest with silver buttons), I didn't want this jackass to see me naked and have more to comment on, and I was at that moment sitting on a rock and holding onto it for dear life to keep from falling off the side of the planet.

they stumble out after a while, the sun is going down and it's starting to cool off, and while they get dressed it's decided that we're going to prater because we're already on the U1 and where else do you go when you can't get into the club because someone's got a suitcase and you're all on molly.

at some point we consume an entire bottle of jägermeister between the four of us, just standing around at praterstern, which in hindsight was honestly probably not the best idea.

it's at this time that martha decides she doesn't feel like walking.

"I don't wanna," she goes, about to just flop to the ground and making ed and I take one of her arms to keep her upright. we literally have to brace her and drag her along. for the medically concerned reading: she was fine. she literally just didn't feel like it and wanted us to carry her.

we ride bumper cars at some point? ed and I in one car, chris and martha in the other. I drive and ram into them repeatedly. the attendant has to shut the whole ride down at one point to take the last of the jägermeister off of chris, casting us all a knowing, disapproving look before letting us finish our time. he gives it to me personally as we walk off, because I was the least visibly fucked up. I apologize, he just shakes his head.

we transition to pickwick's at schwedenplatz and drink more, not that it's a good idea. chris puts his jacket on me for some reason and tells me I look stupid. I roll my eyes and go out to the canal and smoke one of his cigarettes. In a fit of drunken, drugged pettiness, I literally fling his jacket into the canal and watch it float away. he never notices when I come back in. I never hear about it again. he's so fucked up he won't remember a single thing until we get to the airport.

because that's another thing. all three of these jokers are blackout, and no matter how drunk or high or crossfaded I get, I'm cursed by god to remain perfectly, terribly lucid, no matter how much I beg and pray otherwise.

so that's why I'm the only one to remember later, while we're all standing around at the bridge across the canal:

oh shit. martha has to go to the airport. like. right the fuck now.

martha is honestly lucky to still be in possession of her suitcase. ed is staring off into the middle distance, gently waving back and forth like a reed in the wind. chris is babbling some bullshit about "I just don't want you to hate me", on the verge of tears.

"bit late for that," I say, wrenching his phone from his hands and ordering us an uber from his account. I shove the three of them in the backseat the second we get there, fling martha's suitcase in the trunk, and climb up front with the driver. I proceed to have what was, to that point, the most fluent conversation in german I've ever had in my life while mostly succeeding in appearing normal despite being fucked up beyond all recognition.

the driver's driving like he's running from god. I become aware that while it's certainly not mandatory that I vomit, I very much could at any point in time if I chose to do so. it was just a matter of making that decision.

we get to the airport in the nick of time. martha thinks she lost her phone. "we'll mail it to you," I say, hug her and kiss her on both cheeks, and practically shove her through to security. she later finds it in her back pocket when she sobers up a couple hours into the flight. of course.

ed and chris are starting to come to already, shuffling around in front of the spar by the train station at flughafen wien. we're all just trying to get our bearings, maybe eat something quickly before ed and I run back to linz.

"oh," I say quietly as I spot some airport police, in a voice that sounded like it was coming from very far away. "it's the gendarmerie." I'd just been in paris at the end of last year before the world ended, so the word is still at the forefront of my mind.

chris starts in on me again. "gendarmerie? gendarmerie? god, you're so pretentious, everything out of your mouth is the most ridiculous shit--" and on and on and on.

I look at him. I look him up. I look him down.

I remember that I still have certain options at my disposal.

BLEAURGHHHH

without warning, I bend right over and vomit all over his shoes.

ed immediately jumps to my side and frog-marches me to the bathroom, going "you'll be alright, you're okay, you're fine, let's go", and leaves me at the sink while he leaves with paper towels.

I glance at in the mirror, my complexion wan and my eyes shadowed, and lightly dab at my mouth with a tissue. I cock my head to the side.

I know I did it on purpose.

Chris knows I did it on purpose.

but no one will ever, ever believe him.

I make eye contact with my reflection and smile.

ed and I get on the train back to linz and don't say a single word. when we get back to his apartment I climb into the empty bathtub and lay there for several hours during the comedown. I never do see or hear from chris again, and it turns out that ed barely even remembers me puking on chris' shoes to begin with.

he remembers though.

that I'm absolutely sure of.

checkmate, you son of a bitch.

FIN