#Tainted Miracle AU

[lizirinzs]

Repaint this Asshole Bruno from @c-rose2081 tainted au, if anyone still rmb my encanto phase lmao, hes still as fun to paint as always

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

My version of the Tainted Miracle Au

Isabela, she started out as the tomboy of the family, loved playing in mud, pulling flowers out from the root to give to her mama, reading about all kinds of plants, etc.

Alma, however, wanted the girl to be more girly so when she became four, she started teaching the girl how to do more feminine things. The miracle didn't know that was going to be a problem but knew what her gift was going to be and blessed with the gift of creating beautiful plants of all kinds.

By the time Mirabel came along she was turning into a perfect feminine version of the tomboy she used to be. But being only eleven, she still tried to hold her childish nature and play with her younger sisters and primos.

But whenever she got too rough or messy, she gets scolded.

"Isabela! You got your dress dirty, the seamstress didn't custom tailor it for you to treat it like that."

After Mirabel got her gift, which was crystal, glass, and diamond creation. She was forced into the perfection role with Isabela being tasked to teach Mirabel what she knows.

At eight Mirabel noticed Camilo, Luisa, and Dolores didn't nearly get as much praise as She and Isabela did. so, she started helping them. She started making cute accessories and dresses (or at least attempted it) for Luisa to wear around town. Same for Camilo and Dolores.

She taught her primos and hermana how to walk agile, how to sit straight, and keep a smile. Dolores wasn't really all for it but tried her best. People would often ask for certain types of jewelry or just about anything made of glass or crystal. So, she would have Camilo, Dolores, and Luisa help her mail them around town if they would be in the area.

Camilo would model as Mirabel's manniquin when it came to Mirabel making clothes for the family. Alma saw this and in turn, gave him praise for helping her "Chica Diamante Perfecta"

They would also help Isabela with mailing certain flowers to certain homes or just give them to people when Isabela handed them the flowers to pass out.

They all would get praise for helping Mirabel and Isabela out…but this took a turn. It was expectant for them to be pretty and helpful just like Mirabel and Isabela.

Camilo could no longer slouch over or do boyish things. He was now supposed to help Mira, be a perfect babysitter (in other words mother), respectful, clean, and eat a normal portion of food.

Luisa was now supposed to handle herself with grace when doing chores in town. No running, no dirtying clothes that Mirabel made for you, head up, back straight, swift movements.

Dolores was now actually forced to socialize and "not be seen as rude" because she used to stay in her room too much. Earmuffs (that look like stylish earpieces) are mandatory for her if she has to socialize, luckily Mirabel made her some cute earmuffs for her to wear.

Overtime Isabela wasn't liking the attention being taken away from her and became distant. In her mind, they were all taking away her chance at becoming a Matriarch and making abuela proud.

Oh! New idea! Alma constantly holds the "you might become the future candle holder if you keep this up" trophy over them.

The other grandkids picked up hobbies to appease Alma. Camilo: Baking, sewing, and painting. Dolores: Writing, crafting, and ballet. Luisa: kindergarten volunteer, candle making, and knitting.

"H- Here you go Abuela, strawberry buñuelo's just how you like them" Camilo handed Alma the cookies. In return he got a thank you but he still couldn't help but doubt. Was it enough? should I make more? I hope they were decorated good enough…please be proud

When Antonio is born and grows up, he's still the same shy kid. But Alma, having five other perfect grandchildren, is teaching him how to be just like them after his ceremony.

Antonio (let's say two years after his ceremony), is started to mimic his siblings and primas behavior.

"I have to be mature, sit up straight, don't get dirty, help the town, be polite, become the future matriarch and make abuela proud"

Everything was fine, until Isabela's wedding day. just before she walks down the aisle, her whole life of suffering flashes before her eyes…and she snaps at the realization that her life wasn't her own.

she ran all the way from the church and to Casita. goes for the candle to snuff it out and fails, ending up getting shocked and scarred by it.

She figured she had enough time to write a letter to her primas and hermanas on what happened. Writing everything she could as fast as she could and left it in Mirabel's room marked as "Hermana's and primo's eyes only."

"To mi hermanas and primos, I'm so sorry I've been so distant with you and mean to you. Alma just molded me into something she wanted me to be since my ceremony day. She told me that if I stayed strong, independent, and perfect that I'll one day be a matriarch…like she told all of you. She stole my youth, stole yours, and is going to steal Antonio's youth if we let her…get the candle. It gave me scars but maybe, if you bide your time and plan correctly, you'll get the candle without it hurting you and maybe she'll listen to you. if not…destroy it, it's obviously the only thing she cares about if she doesn't want to hear your pain"

One after one, they all tried to reason with her...and ended up scarred and in a donkey barn...plotting the demise of the remaining madrigal adults, especially Alma's.

Additional info:

What about their parents?

What about Bruno?

What happened to Bruno?

How does Alma treat Julieta and Pepa?

Just a little insight on how messed up the kids really are in the au

Mannerisms

Designs and relationships

Playlist

Battle with own mind

Future outfits

See this version of Isabela's villain song as all the madrigal grandkids villain song.

@toaverse

[imnotadogiswear]

Spin on the Tainted Miracle AU where Mirabel never goes for the candle. She’s still exiled to the barn, but her reputation isn’t as bad and she has several new advantages. Sensing that it’s future keeper is in trouble and given that she never attacked it, the candle secretly gives Mirabel control over all the gifts for safekeeping. When Mirabel discovers this, she decides to take a subtler approach in her revenge. What will she do to undermine the family’s reputation? What will the Madrigals do?

[scarlet-rose22]

tainted trio

So Julieta was done with Bruno,Agustin, and everyone else,somehow Mira got into Casita and broke her down,telling her that she was a disgrace to mothers everywhere, that she was disappointed in her and failed her as a mother, calling her a traitor and a coward. Hammering in that it was her fault she was like this, the broken woman agreed and begged Mira to be her mama again, the teen agreed under one condition "Help me destroy the miracle?" the woman paused because she was scared of the puta that birthed and raised her,but she desperately wanted Mirabel's love plus that dam hunk of wax was the cause of all of this pain, sadness, and madness, so she agreed because nothing else mattered anymore except the love of her hija and making her happy and if destroying the miracle would make Mira happy and love her again then so be it. So Mira goes back to the barn with a bunch of food and things from before she got kicked out, and then Dolores attacked Tio Bruno in self defense, Juli ran to her sobrina and they packed their bags along with Mirabel's, then sent her to the barn telling her that her primita will keep her safe, she goes up to Alma's room to take out the cause of this and gets blasted and scarred along her face, neck, arms, torso, and legs.

[seeyabythemarina]

Mothers Sacrific

tainted au by shyhearted on a03

Instead of asking bruno to kill mirabel Alma goes to do it herself. Pedro sacrific himself against monster and she would to to protect her family. She know isa can be a great holder. She gets killed instead of bruno. I wonder how it would go.

[youmaycallmeyourhighness]

So for anyone who is interested, I turned this into a fic for Encanto Big Bang

And my artist @firinnie drew for it

You should check it out because they're awesome and I'm proud of the both of us

So my own little au branches off from the Tainted au, I call it Fears Blessing. In this one when the magic strikes Mirabel down, it is responding to fear.

Alma's fear.

When Julieta was in labor with Mirabel there were problems. Bruno desperate to see if his hermana will make it, if there's something he can do he sees hands reaching for the candle and crack racing through Casita's foundation.

He only shows Alma and she takes it as a bad omen. She is afraid that the new baby will be the cause of their destruction. But when she sees the baby's little face she doubts, but she is still shaken to her core.

When Mira doesn't get her gift Abuela's steps back fully. When Mira is a little older she reaches for the candle. Abuela tries so hard to keep it out of her sight, maybe without Abuela's hovering the candle will give her a gift, maybe she'll be special.

Alma catches sight of her grandchild and her heart screams protect

Protect who?

The candle lashes out at Mirabel so intensely, for a second Alma believes she is dead. A jagged scar arches across Mirabel's face like lightning leaving her visually impared. This time Alma has no doubts about who's fault it is.

@c-rose2081

[babypinkhearts]

forgive me, for i am far too weak to control my desires.

pairing: geto suguru + fem!reader

summary: thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

warnings: royalty au, prince!suguru, princess!reader, fluff, fluff, fluff, they both have massive crushes on each other, suguru is so very lovely

word count: 2.5k

a/n: my birthday was this past week and writing this seriously felt like a mini present in itself :3 prince suguru supremacy!

a summer night is tainted with some hesitance. slight frustration, too.

morning feels far.

if you could see it — the light, any peek of sun, it’s down an endless corridor. maybe you can imagine it; hope that it comes somewhat quicker.

and yet prevalence is sickly, and you’re subjected to the dark.

gojo satoru’s land is stupidly big. the palace, even worse. you’ve told him more than once; he’d refute and say he could never imagine himself living somewhere ‘suffocating.’ but there’s too much space for a single person, and the enormous balcony connected to his mere bedroom is just the cherry on top. the absence of humbleness is apparent when you’re around him, he loses some sight. you can only slightly rationalize the size because of how often he’d have people over, all poor victims to his constant need for attention. satoru grows bored easily, and if you’d all let him, he’d take everyone’s belongings and move them into his home immediately. company keeps his world moving.

it’s the reasoning for the banquets — all ‘small’ get-togethers he’d frequently host, inviting those of neighboring kingdoms, as the ‘unpretentious and welcoming’ prince of his family. the gojo clan had respectable reputations, and you loved satoru like a brother, but they all seemed somewhat out-of-touch, no matter your own title as a fellow noble.

it’s around midnight, you think.

you can still hear the band playing. the bass of trumpets and soft melody of violins are almost distant, but you feel the tremors below your feet. it’d been a miracle that you’d momentarily escaped the ruckus, as well as fleeting royals’ hands. to turn down an offer to dance, in the vicinity of hundreds of hungry, watchful eyes — a horrid nightmare.

the noise is muffled from upstairs. every conversation, every obnoxiously loud laugh. surely, nothing can be that humorous.

satoru’s balcony has a nice view, especially at night. however, any verbal compliments have always been sealed tightly between your lips whenever you visit. his arrogance grows stronger day by day — you needed to stunt it for as long as possible. he’d become a bit of a liability, you hardly felt bad for sneaking off to his room for some privacy.

there’s a few clicks behind you when you lean just a little more into the railing.

you pray the footsteps are satoru’s, because the need for some sort of herbal tea is the most prevalent thought in your head, and you have no clue where to look for it. you know that the cabinets in the main kitchen run nearly bare if it’s anything but sugary sweets, and there’s some pool of doubt in you that believes satoru probably lacks anything remotely similar that can satisfy you. he doesn’t exactly seem like the tea type.

you’re a little overwhelmed. you craved to enjoy these banquets — you had imagined that after the fifth one, you’d be adjusted — but your attendance has always felt laborious, and the attention you receive has only grown alongside your age. your head hurts from bowing to lords and queens, the occasional knight and prince. formalities are a chore, a simple game to appear the most presentable.

the footsteps behind you halt. you hold yourself steady, and turn to your right slightly.

locks of black greet you in your peripheral vision. the smell of nice cologne follows right after.

“hate it that much?”

mellow and teasing, it’s suguru’s voice that brushes through. like gently plucking at the strings of a harp, quietly catching your attention. you give him a little glance — to make him feel noticed, and maybe to get a subtle and selfish look at his face. he looks comfortable, you think. at least, as comfortable as you could seem in form-fitted clothing. he looks good, more importantly, blending in nicely with the darkness.

an owl’s coo drives the night, melting like stardust and fading into the sky. it allures you, only draws you closer to the new warmth beside you.

“yes. badly.”

you hear his laugh — it’s the type that trickles with remnants of lasting drowsiness, just hinting at the state. every movement you’re able to peek and see from him is all quite slow, and it’s a mini battle to fight a slight upwards quirk in your lips. he’s tired, it’s obvious. maybe a little inebriated too.

you’ve never felt the need to lie to him. suguru is more like a breath of fresh air; someone genuine in a world of acting.

hesitantly, you turn towards him, meeting calming, honeyed eyes. he’s a little intimidating, even with some visible fatigue. suguru’s gaze has always been piercing, and you’re nearly positive that he’s aware. there’s a confident twinge, a sight of his effect being knowingly apparent. it’s a little annoying.

“you don’t happen to hate it too, your highness?”

when you speak, you break eye contact, far too mentally flustered to continue such embarrassing torture, no matter how addictive. you can feel him still watching you (perhaps, with a small, shameless smirk), and he slowly bows his head in a nod.

“yes. badly.”

it’s you who laughs this time.

you liked suguru. you liked him a lot. since the moment you’d been introduced to him, years ago at a winter’s ball (hosted by satoru’s family, of course). he and satoru were joined at the hip, far too inseparable to even consider letting anyone in between. but then came the addition of shoko, the daughter of one of satoru’s knights (who had later turned into his own), and then you, the daughter of his father’s new royal comrade from a neighboring kingdom.

the two of you don’t swim in riches like satoru. kingdoms separated from the gojo clan require more thoughtful spending — it’s uncommon, the priority your families hold for your citizens. you blame that for the reason why suguru is so easy to talk to, so tastefully levelheaded. he sees through unhealthy voraciousness, just like you.

but a kingdom doesn’t develop without some kind of offering. a trade-off, a contribution of sorts.

you’re shaken out of your thoughts, grimness dissipated, when suguru’s head motions to the opening behind the two of you, left bare and unattended.

you’re slightly surprised shoko isn’t guarding the exterior. but, then again, she’s most likely monitoring the banquet.

“i was growing tired of a bland talk i was having.” suguru explains, leaning ahead, similar to you. an arm stretches out across the railing, and he lets out a sigh. “fresh air sounded much better in comparison.”

there’s something in his voice that you can’t exactly pinpoint. not close to a lie, however not entirely truthful. you’re unable to read it on his face. but, in all honesty, it was hard to pay close attention to anything when he was staring so intently. his eyes might burn through.

transparency reads best. and yet suguru chooses to hide the fact that he’d seen you flee from the chaos of the banquet mid-conversation, and followed right after. the desperation for your attention seemed to had overridden his rationality, and possibly costed him a bit of his reputation. (he’s sure the woman he was talking to might have bored him to death, though).

“it’s suffocating in there.” you reply, shaking your head. “i’m not sure why satoru likes hosting these so much.”

a stamped envelope with a pretty wax engraving shows up outside your castle gates every other month. you hear the stallion of a messenger, and know by the purple hues of the letter that it’s an invitation from satoru. you’ve kept every single one, storing them in a carton box below your bed.

the banquets are phenomenal. you’re left speechless every time you walk inside the ballroom, eyes drinking up every detail from hand-painted flowers on the walls to rich crystal chandeliers. the event itself is an unsaid contest to see who could dress the best, who really screams of royalty.

suguru purses his lips, eyes trailing down below where he can see some guests leaving. servants follow suit. they carry items of negligence, holding on to a toddler’s hand as their parents carelessly cackle ahead.

he makes a motion, beckoning you to crouch from any observant eyes. two young royals sneaking off to a bedroom — it’d be the scandal of the century. his parents had warned him of publicity far too often. you follow his instructions without any complaints.

from the slivers in the space, you still have a good view of the front entrance. roses and topiary line the walkway, leading down a distant road.

a familiar figure steps out, hair slightly blending in with the bright lights behind him. he waves to the departing folk, a large grin adorning his face.

“he likes a crowd. the whole family does.”

satoru was made for royalty.

your shoulders slump in fatigued defeat. the dislike for such public conventions plagues your conscience. you’ll always be tied to them, even unwillingly.

suguru looks to you, fondness in his very gaze. he feels your worry; knows of conversations that you don’t. nothing has ever been fair for you, he’s known it since you were children.

thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

he sees you know, grown and enchanting. with a dress that looks so indescribably perfect, and face so pleasantly captivating. you could be in a story book. surely, you aren’t real.

and maybe he is far too smitten, eyes always chasing yours whenever you’re in the same room. at every ball he goes to, every social gathering, he searches for your name on the guest list first.

he remembers when satoru introduced you to him. the all-knowing smirk on his face, the slight shove he had given (mischievous, because he could tell how flustered suguru had become). and yet suguru had kissed your hand ever-so-gently — even bowed in respect.

he keeps hope. that your soul of sun orbits around him for eternity, and that you’ll always be within reach.

there’s more foolish thought, though.

his eyes trail to your bare ring finger.

to wed you —

well, that would be an idea of strictly fiction.

“a duke from the fushiguro clan wanted to ask you to dance. i heard him talking to your father about it.”

suguru’s voice cuts through the silence, cursed words disguised as mystic melodies.

you wince.

it’s hidden through the curtain of your hair, and you’re sure he’s oblivious to it. some part of you wishes he had kept that information to himself.

a dance is all it takes. a dance, then a conversation, then an inescapable ring. marriage is for business, not love. nothing more than the chance to unite two lands — greed runs through royal blood. it all seems hereditary.

you rub your arms gently, and shut your eyes.

“did he?”

suguru raises his head, intrigued.

your voice sounds a little exasperated. breathing a large gust of air, almost in… disappointment.

suguru nods in response, swallowing thickly. you’re friends, you’ve spoken about subjects like this for years. suguru remembers your expressions of secret distaste you would flash to him whenever another royal would attempt to make conversation. you were good at faking interest — suguru thinks you’d be wonderful performing in a play. all maturity (forcefully) weighs you down, however. a means to accept adulthood; accepting a loss of those childish glances and joyful memories. you’re still the same, though.

but could it be, that because you’re older, the age close to a bride, that it all feels much different.

suguru feels a little sick, in fact.

he glances to you, watching as your perched head rests on your hand.

“would you have gone?”

a sound of amusement leaves your lips.

he’s a little cruel to ask for a response so conflicting. it’s all melodramatic, insignificant in the grand scheme of the things. but you know your duty. your heart just doesn’t seem to follow through.

your dress suddenly feels more uncomfortable, and you straighten a little.

“would you like my honest answer?”

you’d never find the courage to lie to him, anyway.

suguru smiles, tilting his head with a small chuckle. once more — you’re a lot less proper in private, always have been. where there’s no fear of gossip or judgement, just your authenticity. no expectations to uphold, just beauty in your natural grace. suguru is blessed.

“enlighten me, princess.”

the name, while being the correct title (something you’ve heard daily your entire life), sounds different when suguru says it. it always has. he’s a siren, you fear. those mystical beings you’ve only heard tales of, the kind that keep your sailors at shore. everything sounds better coming from his lips.

guilt tears you in two.

your best interest should be aimed towards your people — more opportunities, for the price of one measly sacrifice. an unhappy marriage, for many more happy lives.

and yet you say, without giving yourself any time to regret it,

“no.”

you look a little paranoid after you speak, as if guards with chains and pitchforks are just outside the door. but that fear feels minimal when suguru is looking at you, proudly.

some confidence overrides thoughts of ridicule. he’s the armor you desperately desire. quietly, you repeat, “no. i would have said no.”

your interests lie somewhere else. not with a duke who sees nothing further than mere appearance and riches.

weight is lifted.

suguru stares. it’s imminent, his voice. threatening an appearance whenever he swallows too quickly, preparing himself for words he feels are a little too heavy on his tongue. you’re not looking at him — he thanks the heavens that you’re turned away.

he’s unaccustomed to nervousness. you are really the only trigger to it.

he doesn’t dare glance in your direction when he finally speaks.

“would you have gone if i had asked?”

it catches you by surprise.

suguru is looking into the starry distance when you turn to him. he’s smiling a little.

he looks a prince. a real, beautiful prince.

you’d danced with suguru before, dozens and hundreds of times when academy lessons would force the eventual omission of two left feet. learning to waltz was one of the most important rules in the book — a presentation of grace, ‘civility.’ but that was before the simple gesture meant more to the public eye. citizens find such a display as an act of courting.

there’s something in suguru’s expression; sheepish, maybe a little troublesome. like he knows your answer, and only waits for you to confirm it.

you enjoy teasing him, though.

“perhaps.”

there’s a twinkle in his eyes. charm in his gaze is apparent.

the band plays lowly — they’re finishing their last few songs. stringed instruments strum their tune, and it’s delicate harmonies for intimate sways. slow dancing.

a beat goes by. it enhances the feeling of slight wind across your face, pushing back your hair, servicing suguru with a clear view of your reddened complexion.

the midnight moon reaches you, it casts an illuminating glow.

you’re very pretty when you’re looking at him so shyly. as if he’d deny you anything.

a smile reaches his features, eyes crinkling in pure delight.

“well, princess,”

and a single hand reaches towards you, open and inviting.

“will you honor me with a dance?”

[runningfrom2am]

no drinks, no pools, no molly. (r.c)

summary: five times rafe cameron tried to ask you out, and the one time it worked.

this is an About Time!au (that's is my fave movie of all time and if you haven't seen it i highly recommend it if you like laughing and sobbing at the same time)

tags/warnings: you might cringe (a real warning), soft(ish)!rafe, def fanon!rafe, swearing? fluff! underage drinking

pairing: rafe x reader

wc: 4.6k (yikes)

recommended listening: about time theme, friday i'm in love

note: please please please if you haven't seen the movie at least give the theme a listen, while you read this or on its own but i promise it'll make your heart melt it's so adorable, i listened to it through most of the writing process and it made me want to cry sooo

Rafe Cameron has a flawless reputation. Tainted only by his better-than-thou attitude, as some perceive it- but always kind, always caring. Suspiciously so, to many, considering his semi-popularity, but that has never bothered him. He's a "stop and smell the roses" kind of guy, making him insufferable to some, but not to you.

It's not like you two are close friends, but he's had a seemingly hopeless crush on you for years at this point. He sees you almost every day at the country club in the summers, and lucky for him, you usually have two or sometimes three classes together at the academy on the mainland during the rest of the year. He thinks you're just about the most beautiful girl in the world- if he had to guess. The way the light reflects off your hair in the sun as you lay on a beach chair by the pool with a drink in your hand, making it look so soft and so shiny he's just dying to touch it, leaves him in awe every time.

After much encouragement from his sisters, he's decided it's time to act on this crush. After years, he still doesn't know if he can. Even if he has nothing to lose.

What everyone doesn't know about Rafe and his reputation, is that he has lived two lives. His dad told him when he was eighteen that by some miracle the men in his family could travel back in time, and his sisters could never know. All he had to do was simply stand in a dark, enclosed space and close his fists at his side- picturing the moment he wanted to go back to in his mind. Then, he would find himself there. He didn't believe it at first, believing his dad was pulling the wool over his eyes, but he tried it that night anyways- and was shocked to find himself in yesterday's clothes with his previous day's breakfast sitting on his desk waiting for him.

This changed everything, and he really never had anything to lose- but that didn't make the terrifying concept of talking to you any easier.

One:

"Go, Rafe! Go talk to her. Just be yourself." Sarah is pushing him in your direction and he stumbles a little on his feet, cheeks burning hot from nerves working in tandem with the heat of the hot summer day. He almost drops his drink, glaring at her over his shoulder as she waves for him to move, smiling excitedly. He supposes now is as good a time as any- you're alone, sitting next to the pool on a towel with a novel in your hands and a tequila sunrise at your side. He wonders if that's your favourite as he hesitantly walks up, repeatedly glancing back at his sister who's giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

"Hey, uh, Y/N?" Rafe says, clearing his throat as he stands over you, his shadow blocking the sunlight from your eyes as you lift your sunglasses.

"Hey, Rafe. How's it going?" You smile, settling your glasses in your hair.

"Oh, uh, pretty good," Rafe replies, and you nod with a smile, almost like you're waiting for him to continue. "Can I join you?" He asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.

"Of course!" You grin, patting the empty seat.

"Sweet, cool- thanks..." He says, mostly to himself as he steps around you and between the chairs, going to sit down when he stubs his toe on the leg of the reclined sun chair.

"Ow, shit!" He hisses, instantly recoiling and in the process, dumping his drink all over you.

You gasp, quickly sitting up and shaking off your book, hoping it's not too damaged along with your white swimsuit that is now stained red with the grenadine in his drink.

"Oh, oh god- I'm so sorry, Y/N, I-" Rafe panics, the pain in his foot suddenly gone as he looks you over.

"It's fine, Rafe. It happens." You chuckle a little, but he can tell you're not pleased as you desperately shake your book.

"Uh, here, I'm so sorry-" He says again, grabbing a towel from the table next to you to try and help dry you off, but realizes too late that your drink is balanced on the edge of it and he spills it, once again onto your lap.

You fly up out of your seat, jumping a little at the cold and brushing the ice cubes off your lap. Now your bathing suit and book are most definitely ruined and you groan at the thought of having to repurchase your favourite book, which you've read no less than seven times now. "Shit.." You mumble, more to yourself.

"God I'm so sorry, I just-" Rafe is absolutely humiliated, he doesn't even know what to say as his cheeks are red hot from having most definitely blown any shot he's ever had with you. He gets up and quickly takes off towards the clubhouse, running out of the situation as fast as possible. You watch him in confusion, laughing a little as he leaves you awkwardly standing by the pool with a newly tie-dyed bathing suit.

"Ouch..." Wheezie grumbles, sipping on her own drink as he watches Rafe run away.

"Where is he going?" Sarah says, wincing a little as she looks at you as well, giving you a quick awkward wave since your eyes landed on his sisters, hoping for any answers.

"No clue, but after that trainwreck, I'd be running too." Her sister answers with a slight laugh.

When Rafe gets inside, he slows to a quick-paced walk since he knows he's not allowed to run inside. He's got a firm destination in mind- the broom closet in the locker room.

Two:

Rafe is standing on the back porch at one of Kelce's parties, admiring the way you hold your drink with both hands as you stand by the pool with some of your friends, talking over the music. They scare him, sure, but not as much as you do. Even though he knows you're not a mean person, at the same time he has to acknowledge that they, your friends, will be his harshest critics if he tries to make any moves on you.

"Dude, just go talk to her, this is ridiculous at this point," Topper says to him, nudging his shoulder. "It's hard to watch, honestly. Just, here, take this- then go talk to her."

His friend is holding a shot glass up to him, holding some nondescript clear liquid. "Liquid courage, man, what's the worst that could happen?"

Rafe nods, trying to hype himself up. He glances over your way again, sighing to himself at how pretty you look. How pretty you always look. He swallows his pride and takes the shot, shivering at the bitter taste and handing the glass back to Topper as he wipes his mouth, coughing in the process.

"Okay, now, go ask her out, the worst she can say is no." His friend is encouraging, but Rafe isn't worried about what you'll say, so much as what he'll do to embarrass himself this time. He's lucky he's the only one who remembers the country club incident that happened just a week prior.

Rafe smiles nervously at his friend and adjusts the collar of his shirt, walking down the stairs of the porch and heading in your direction. He stops halfway and abandons his half-finished drink on the stairs. He's not risking that again.

"Hey." Rafe clears his throat as he walks up to you and your friends, but it seems that no one heard him over the music. "Uh, hey, guys." He says again, slightly louder this time and grabbing their attention.

"Rafe! Hi." You smile, seemingly excited to see him and you quickly give him a hug. He's shocked, but hugs you back. "How are you? I haven't seen you around this week!"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, I've been pretty busy." He lies, smiling at you nervously. He tries to relax as he takes in your intoxicated state, knowing you're having fun, and not taking much seriously.

"Sarah said you've just been locked up at Tannyhill all week." Your friend laughs a little, making him blush.

"I mean, yeah I wasn't feeling well. Had a bad cold." He pats himself on the back for the quick save, but that is cut short as you take a subtle step back, smiling at him awkwardly and shifting your body language after having just hugged him. Shit, he knows how anxious you are about getting sick. "I mean, not bad, I think it was probably allergies. Nothing contagious, I don't think." He scrambles to backtrack.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better." You say, carefully eyeing him up and down. God, now you must think he's gross. Great.

"Thanks." He smiles. "Uh, can I grab you another drink? I'm empty-handed; at Kelces parties that's a sin." Rafe chuckles, trying to change the subject as he notices your almost empty cup.

He's hoping to get you away from the watchful eye of your friends, and it seems to work as you smile and nod. "I'll be right back." You say to your friends, stepping back to squeeze past them as he joins your side. Now is his chance.

"So, uh, I was actually wondering if-"

"Rafe! Buddy!" He hears someone yelling at him excitedly, their tone getting louder as they approach quickly.

"Kelce, h-hey!" He says, just as his friend reaches his side, shoving into him as he suddenly comes to a stop at the edge of the pool. He wraps an arm around Rafe's shoulder and uses him to steady himself- but unfortunately, Rafe is the wrong person for this.

He stumbles back with the weight of another teenage boy against him, bumping into you and you lose your balance. "Oh, shit- Y/N, be careful." He laughs a little, turning to make sure you're okay, slamming his elbow into your side and pushing you into the water by accident. He didn't realize how close you were still standing to him.

Rafe freezes, his jaw-dropping as suddenly everyone in the vicinity is watching. "Oh, shit!" Kelce laughs, nudging Rafe again as he stands there slack-jawed. He looks briefly over to your friends who are crouched down at the edge of the pool now, shouting your name and ready to pull you out. You gasp as you come out of the water, frantically pushing your hair out of your face. Your makeup is ruined, and no doubt your hair as well. Rafe could tell you put time into how you would look tonight.

"Y/N! Oh god, I'm so sorry!" He says, finally snapping back to reality. He crouches down as well to try and help, but you look at him only briefly before swimming over to your friends.

"That's rough, bro." Kelce laughs quietly at Rafe, who's standing back up, defeated now. "Hope you weren't trying to hit that."

"Do you have a walk-in pantry?" Rafe quickly asks him.

Three:

No pool this time. That's for sure. They seem to be bad luck for Rafe, and this time, as he looks at the small gift bag he hid under the table of other gifts for you on your birthday, he knows he just has to get you alone to open it. Your friends were throwing you a big party at Molly's house, and invited everyone on your side of the island. It was big, after all, you were the kook princess- but Sarah seems next in line for the title.

It's proving to be difficult, though, since there are about fifty other kids here- and you're the star of the show. As always. This doesn't bother him, though, not at all. You deserve it, and he can't wait to be on the planning end of all your birthday parties for the rest of your lives.

"Y/N/N! Let's do presents, yeah? I can't wait for you to open mine." Molly smiles at her best friend, guiding her over to the firepit area next to the gift table. Rafe is all ears, confident with his hiding place as he makes his way over too, sitting a couple of seats down so you'd have room for your friends as well. Not everyone wanted to watch you open your gifts, that seemed like a childish thing, almost, so the party just continued around you.

"Rafe, how are you?" You asked him with a smile while your other friends sat down. "I'm glad you could make it."

"I'm good, yeah. Happy birthday, by the way." Rafe replies, fiddling with a stray thread on the hem of his shorts. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Of course! It wouldn't be a party without you." You giggle, about to speak again when Molly is thrusting a box in your lap, wrapped with pink paper and a glittery bow.

"Here, this one first- it's from Ava and Maya." She explains, even though you're already reading the attached tag. You nod, looking over to the two girls.

After about forty minutes of Rafe watching you open gift after gift, he's getting nervous. He didn't get you anything extravagant, only a small bracelet with a little note. He didn't want you to think he was crazy, or weird.

He looks over just as you help tuck away the last of the garbage into an empty bag, not wanting to leave a mess on your friend's lawn. He's sure that the whole time you were opening gifts, you didn't let a single piece of stray wrapping paper or tape hit the ground. You were so considerate.

"Hey, wait- Y/N/N, here's another one. I think this is it." Molly says, walking over and dropping the small bag into your hands.

No, no- god, you can't open this in front of so many people. Rafe's hands start to shake as he watches you helplessly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as you carefully pull out the small box. You smile softly as you turn it over in your hands, and maybe, Rafe thinks, it will be fine. Maybe you'll open it and then love it and read the card and nod at him with that beautiful smile he knows so well, and then he'll finally have his chance.

"Who's it from?" He's pulled quickly from his daydream as he watches you open the now unwrapped box, smiling wide and placing your hand over your chest. "That's beautiful, Y/N/N." Molly smiles, crouched next to her best friend as she stares over the delicate bracelet as well.

"It is..." You sigh softly, placing it back down gently in the box.

"Yeah, who is it from?" Molly asks again, taking the bag and digging out the card. Rafe wants to speak up but he can't, knowing that would incriminate himself further. He's frozen as she opens it, his hands getting clammy as she starts reading it out loud without scanning the intention of the letters first. 

"Dear Y/N." She smiles, confident as she continues reading and Rafe sinks back in his seat, pulling his shirt up to cover his nose. "Happy birthday to the most beautiful girl on the island. I wouldn't doubt it for a second if someone told me you were the most beautiful in all the world." She reads and you pout, blushing as you clutch your hands to your chest, all your friends going "aw" along with Molly, who's taken a pause in her reading to gush over how sweet that is. "Anyway, I'm hoping you'll let me take you out for dinner later this week, I'd really love to get to know you better." She continues, pausing a little before quietly reading off the final line. "Love always, Rafe..." She trails off, looking back over her shoulder at him.

Not everyone heard his name, but even her looking at him was enough to send everyone else watching the signal nonetheless. "Wait, Molls, why would you read that out, that was meant to be private, I think..." You whisper to her, guilt crossing your features as you look nervously between her and Rafe.

"Oh... oops." Molly replies, looking back at Rafe again apologetically. "Rafe, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's fine, uh, yeah it's cool. I, Uh, I've got to- yeah..." Rafe says, getting up quickly and heading for the door of the house.

"Rafe! Wait!" You call after him, handing the box and the note back to your friend and getting up to follow him quickly. You get inside just as you hear the bathroom door close, sighing a little to yourself. You'll wait here for him to come out so you can talk, and this will give you time to think over the best way to apologize.

As the light flickers off in the bathroom, Rafe knows he can't face you after that, quick to clench his fists at his sides and think of that morning- wishing that the whole thing never happened.

Four:

"How much do you know about Y/N?" Rafe asks his friends, watching you tee off on the hole ahead of them. The way your tennis skirt matches your headband makes his head honestly spin, you're so intentional with every outfit you wear- he thinks it's adorable. No one on the island dresses as well as you, in his opinion.

"What do you mean, like, how she is in bed? You'd have to ask her ex." Kelce laughs, taking a sip of his beer.

"No, obviously not." Rafe blushes. "Like, what kind of guys does she even like?"

"Why, you gonna ask her out?" Kelce laughs a little, stopping as he sees that Rafe is serious. "Oh- I mean, her ex was a total douchebag, so that's a good place to start. Apparently, she likes assholes."

Rafe nods a little, watching you drive off in the golf cart with your friends. He knows that so far trying to be himself has had a zero percent success rate, so maybe it's time to try a different approach. He can be more of the guy he is when he's alone with his friends, emulating a much more masculine, fuckboy vibe. The worst that could happen has already happened, twice.

On the last hole, with a few more drinks of what Topper called "liquid courage", he flattens the creases out of his jeans and jogs up to catch up with you. "Hey, ladies- can I borrow Y/N for a sec?" He asks your friends, not waiting for a response before continuing. "Thanks- 'preciate it."

He strides up to you as you and your friends look between each other in confusion. This isn't the Rafe you normally know, who you've grown to have a crush on. You take a few steps away with him, but not enough to be out of earshot from your friends, they obviously know about your secret feelings for the boy, and would love to listen in.

"Hey, so, uh," He stammers a little, quickly trying to get back on track with his attitude. But the way you're looking at him with your big, beautiful eyes as you smile at him expectantly, nervously almost, is throwing him off. He's never been this confident around you. "My friend really likes you, but I told him I'd ask you out first to see if you're worth it." He smirks, shifting his weight on his feet.

Your face falls- and you look hurt. He feels a pang in his chest. He did this to you, maybe Kelce's advice was bad after all. Your friends gasp, obviously hearing everything. "That is the rudest thing I have ever heard!" Your best friend, Molly, yells at him, quickly stomping over to you while you try and figure out what to say.

"Is this some sick prank?" Molly says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and looking at you closely as you can't fight back the tears.

"I- wait, wait, no! I- I'm sorry I just-" Rafe tries to defend, shaking his head quickly and holding his hands up to the two of you.

"Get out of here, you prick!" She says, accentuating her desires by throwing her drink in his face.

Rafe wipes the drink out of his eyes, turning quickly and making a break for his friends. He can't save this situation now- he just had to escape.

"That was unbelievable!" Your other friend says as you get back to the golf cart, sitting down and wiping your tears.

"What a fucking loser." Molly adds, shaking her head as she watches him run away.

Rafe is met with his friends laughing hysterically at him, taking in the sight of his soaked polo shirt up close. "Dude- what did you say to her?" Topper laughs and Rafe grumbles as he sits in the cart, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Let's just go back to the club." He mutters, that same broom closet calling his name yet again.

Five:

No drinks, no pools, and now, no Molly. Rafe figures his best move at this time is to just text you. He doesn't have your number, not yet, but he does have your Instagram- and the DM feature seems like his most viable option, at this point.

rafecameron: hey, how are you?

yourinstagram: i'm good!! how are you?

Rafe is surprised he gets a response back so quickly, sitting up straighter at the kitchen island, where he's sitting eating his lunch.

rafecameron: i'm good. enjoying the summer so far. the weather has been perfect for wakeboarding.

God, the weather? Could he bring up anything more boring? He scolds himself mentally as he sees that she's typing, his leg bouncing a mile a minute on the stool he's sitting cross-legged on, his bowl of cereal left forgotten in front of him.

yourinstagram: that's awesome :) i haven't got much surfing or wakeboarding in this summer yet unfortunately, just haven't thought about it much i guess

At least she's trying to make small talk, Rafe assumes that's a good sign. It's perfect, actually- he can offer to take you out boating, especially if you haven't had the chance yet.

rafecameron: i have the boat tomorrow if you're free? we could grab drinks or something at the club after

Rafe sends the message and quickly places his phone upside down on the counter, but he can't resist lifting it again as soon as his phone buzzes.

He furrows his brow as he's seen you sent a photo. He opens the text thread, blood draining from his face when he sees the screenshot of this exact conversation pop up along with a message.

yourinstagram: *photo* yourinstagram: OH MY GOD MOLLS- I THINK RAFE IS ASKING ME OUT???

Clearly, that wasn't meant for him- but that doesn't make it any easier to read. He has to assume that's a bad thing- that you're trying to figure out, with the help of your best friend, how to let him down easily.

Rafe groans and tosses his phone back onto the counter, leaving it to go up into his windowless walk-in closet and take back that he texted you at all.

Six:

At the annual bonfire, Rafe is just wandering around looking for someone to talk to. His friends are busy throwing random things into the flames, seeing how high they could make the fire go. He lost interest very quickly. He's feeling down on his luck, after his five poor attempts at getting a date with you, even if no one else knows about any of them- not even you. Its embarrassment not fading, despite the summer passing quickly. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be, everything happens for a reason, surely. That doesn't mean he wouldn't really like a chance.

He's standing at the keg, pouring himself another beer when he sees you. You're off, a little in the distance all alone, walking along the shore and occasionally crouching down. He's confused for a moment as to what you're doing, but then he realizes- you're collecting seashells. Of course you are. It makes him smile a little to himself. Everyone around him is so concerned about getting drunk, high, whatever their vice is- but you just want to do your own thing.

He hands his cup off to a kid standing nearby who gratefully takes it, and starts his way down the sand to join you.

"Finding anything good?" He asks as he approaches you.

You're quick to stand up, turning to face him. "Oh, Rafe! Hey." You smile, looking down at your now long empty solo cup, filled almost to the brim with small seashells and pretty rocks. "Yeah, here." You hold out the one you just picked up, dropping it gently into his hand.

He cups the small shell in his hand and smiles, looking up at you again. "It's beautiful." He agrees. "Can I help?"

"Sure." You smile, nodding as you look up at him. The light from the distant bonfire falls right behind him, shining through his hair and his unbuttoned striped shirt. "I don't have a lot of room left, though." You show him the cup.

"Well, you're probably better at finding them than me. I can hardly see anything." Rafe chuckles, shrugging a little as the two of you continue down the beach, the music getting more and more quiet with every ten steps. You can only really hear the waves crashing beside you, despite the water being mostly calm.

You're both silent for a minute or two, scanning the ground for more shells. Rafe's mind is running a million miles a minute. Now's his shot, he's doing better than before- he hasn't offended you, spilled a drink on you, or pushed you into the ocean, everything is calm and there's no one around. Maybe he should make small talk first, bring it up later if you still want to talk to him by the end of the night.

"How's your-"

"So, I-"

You both start talking at the same time, making you both laugh. You count yourself lucky that he can't see how red your face is.

"You go first." Rafe insists, ready to listen to whatever you have to say. He could listen to you talk about anything, for hours; he's sure of it. He could never tire of the sound of your voice.

"Okay, well," You giggle, looking down and picking up a shell you catch a glimpse of in the moonlight. "I was going to ask if maybe you wanted to hang out sometime. Go for coffee, or something like that."

Rafe stops walking, staring at you and fighting back smiling like a crazy person. You wanted to hang out with him? After all this time, after all the energy he's put into trying to ask you out, you would have said yes this whole time?

"Like... like a date?" He asks, mentally slapping his hand against his forehead and trying to remember where the nearest bathroom or closet might be.

"Yeah, I mean, if you want." You reply, turning to face him fully.

He looks over your features as you smile at him, how the ocean breeze has pushed your hair over one shoulder and how a few shorter strands fly around your face. He nods, mouth dry as he tries to find the words. "Yeah, yeah I would love that." He agrees. "I, uh, I was actually going to ask you the same thing." He says, looking down as he kicks away some sand.

"You were?" You giggle. God, the sound of your laugh alone makes his heart beat faster.

"I only tried about five times over the course of the summer, could never make it to actually talking to you, though." Rafe admits, laughing slightly.

"Why not? I don't scare you, do I?" You laugh, tilting your head at him and brushing some hair away from where it's gotten stuck to your lips in the wind.

"Not anymore." Rafe grins, continuing to talk past you and you turn with him, joining his side again as he turns the seashell you have him over in his palm. This time, he wants to relive this night for all the right reasons.

taglist: @bookishbabyyyyy @madelynie, @mutual-mendes, @slut4drudy, @winterrrnight, @totalswag, @sadfury @fullfledgedemo @rafemotherfuckingcameron, @urfaveluvr, @chenslucy, @hxnnah-397, @s-we-e-t-t-ea, @tahliac11, @ragingsammie, @ietss

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 4.5k

chapter summary: you and javier get off on a rocky start.

warnings: canon typical violence, arguing, a brief reference to Ellie and the main TLOU plot, no y/n

Deadhead - A railcar or locomotive that is being transported empty, typically to be used for future shipments.

The day was warm, the sun bright. Small petals flew further away from the green grass, colorful flowers moving left and right with the soft caress of the wind. The vest Javier wore dug uncomfortably into his chest, his rifle slung over his back and pistol snug on his hip. The lovely weather mocked him, taunted him. It was a lie. A facade. The color, the white clouds, the green grass— all of it seemed muddled now. If he tried hard enough he could see specks of blood, tainting the visual that could as well be a spitting image of a Van Gough painting. 

But despite it all. Despite knowing it’s a lie, despite knowing the horror, he still wore the letters; F E D R A— Federal Disaster Response Agency. He liked to think that they were doing some good. At least they drove the wretched infected underground, right? They did one good thing, so that made the killing, the rape, and the torture okay. 

Right? 

“Fuck me.” he muttered into the wind, hoping the words, later on, would be carried back to him, reminding him that hey, at least I knew something was wrong. 

He noticed someone walking up to him. He was expecting it, really. Micheal Coghlan. The man who by some goddamn miracle still carried goodness inside of him. The type of goodness that would radiate through the cracks of skin and bone, the type that would bring light to a person’s face. 

Micheal had a limp. 

It was caused by someone Javier knew but didn’t particularly like. He saw it happen. He still heard the bone snapping into two when he closed his eyes at night. The man stood next to him and Javier observed him from the corner of his eye. Once upon a time, he could call his face roguishly handsome. It wasn’t a sharp face, round around the edges, with a bit of stubble; shaved by his sister no doubt. His eyes were kind, a darker shade of brown compared to his own, lips thin and chapped. Thirsty. 

Javier cleared his throat, hand going to his waist, he pulled out his flask and offered it to him. 

“Water?” 

He took it without an answer. Drank it in a way where water droplets would stream from the corner of his lips, his gulps loud. It made Javier feel awkward. Micheal stood a bit straighter when he offered the flask back. It was empty. 

“So what did you want to talk about?” Javier asked. 

Micheal smiled and crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. “The people.” 

It’s a bird violently flying into the window that wakes you. 

Your eyes open fearfully, your heart beating a mile a minute. Your breathing is uneven. Dust clings to both the inside of your throat and skin. Eyes still wide open, you stare at the ceiling of the train. The seats you managed to sprawl yourself upon are uncomfortable, jagged metal sticking into your skin, making ugly marks and dents. When your breathing calms, and body relaxes, you slowly get up. 

The weather is hot, yet gray clouds decorate the sky. The heat of rain, you like to refer to it as. You can barely see the sun, the light of it filtered through the gray, painting the world into a muted color. Fitting. 

You hear a snore and direct your gaze toward the sound. You see the boots that belong to a man that’s sleeping a couple of rows ahead, too big to truly fit and get comfortable. Javier Peña. You heave yourself up by grasping the heads of the seats, your legs aching and stumbling like a newborn doe’s. His shirt is unbuttoned from the top, revealing golden, scarred skin. Your eyes trail further down, and they don’t stop until you see the gun strapped to his waist. You think about how easy it would be to just take it, to shoot him and try to find your people. 

Then you remember. They’re all gone. You have no people. Marlene’s words were clear;

The girl’s gone. No more soldiers, no cure, no nothing. The fireflies are dead; you’re on your own now. 

A chill crawls up every inch of your skin. Why are you even here? Why are you with him of all people? You’re not sure yet. It’s much easier to dislike him when he’s not speaking and his eyes are closed. 

You hate that when they are closed, the only memory of them is him being struck with fear, the flames behind you mirrored in his eyes. Kansas City quickly became a place of destruction and death. It was unexpected and with every fabric of your being, you wished you had never seen it. 

“Why are you watching me?” his voice startles you; it’s deep with sleep. “It’s creepy.” 

“I was thinking about taking your gun and shooting you.” 

“I’ve always loved an honest woman. What stopped you?” 

“I have no place to go.” 

“Neither do I, as you know,” he says. He finally opens his eyes, but only to stare at the ceiling in a similar way you did not moments ago. “So where does that leave us?” 

You don’t understand what he’s asking you. The air is still.  Javier takes a sitting position, his elbows pressed into his knees and hands hanging loosely between his legs. 

“I say we stay here,” he says, voice firm.

“The train?” you ask, confused.

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s covered pretty well, it’s far enough for people to see and close enough if—god forbid—we want to head back into the city.” 

“You want us to live together?” 

“I want us to turn this into a living space. After that leave, if you want,” he rubs his thumb into the corner of his lips. “Though I wouldn’t really advise leaving, and I definitely need your help.” 

“So I should stay because?” 

“Safety. Security.” his smile is bitter. “What else can a person want during the end of times?” 

“Someone they can trust.” 

“You can trust me.” 

You look him over. He must’ve sensed your immediate hostility because his gaze slowly moves to you. He returns your suspicion in like, contemplating what to say. You don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust you. Javier’s fingers twitch and his hand moves to clap over his pocket. He lets out a sigh of relief when he feels the familiar shape of a cigarette box. 

He licks his lips again. 

You gaze out the windows. They’re thick with dust and vines, the outside seems a tad bit brighter now, the gray clouds clearing up a bit. 

“Being addicted must be hard,” you mutter. “What are you going to do when you run out? Sacrifice yourself for a box of Marlboros?” 

He chuckles. “Maybe. Who knows. I’m not out of stock yet.” 

“Not a very comforting thing to hear from a man that’s arguing that I should trust him.” 

“It’s not like I said I’d trade you for a pack of cigarettes.” 

“Who knows. That’s what you said, right?” 

He sighs and gets up. He walks down the narrow hall of the train, hands brushing over the headrests. You follow him outside, and just like you suspected, the weather is grossly warm with no light. The dry weeds crunch under your boots. Javier pulls out the crumpled pack and offers you one; you shake your head. You’re surrounded by trees, with little to see except the sky.

“Wouldn’t want to dry out your stock faster.” 

“That scared of what I’ll do if I run out?” he smiles, placing the butt of the cigarette between his lips. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re paranoid or smart.” 

“Paranoia works.” 

“I guess that’s true.” he mutters, lighting a match. “So what are you going to do? Stay or leave?” 

Javier inhales deeply, his lips not too tight not too loose. A soft groan vibrates from the back of his throat and he lets go of the smoke. Your eyes follow the dance of it, twisting and dissipating like the vapor on the first exhales of winter. He places the cigarette back between his lips and tucks his hands behind as he leans back into the metal surface of the train.  

He waits as you think. It’s ironic really, the fact that you’re actually contemplating staying with him. Needless to say, FEDRA and the fireflies don’t have the best relationship, but you guess that’s all behind you now. There are no organizations at this moment, no rebellions. Just him and you; two people looking for a way to survive. 

You turn to stare at the train. It’s nearly completely intact— there are six cars and the locomotive. If you stare hard enough you can spot the tracks buried under the moss and grass. It would take a lot of work, but indeed it was possible to turn it into a living space. 

“Give me a gun,” you say and he smiles. 

“What makes you think I have more than one?” 

“Then give me the one.” you press. 

“The first thing you said to me this morning was that you wanted to shoot me.” he pushes himself away from the metal surface. Pulling his cigarette away from his lips, he stands an inch away from you and holds your gaze. His smile disappears as smoke fans across your face, making your stomach churn. “Are you going to stay?” he asks. 

“If you give me the gun then sure.” you tilt your chin up. “I don’t trust FEDRA.” 

“I’m not FEDRA anymore and you’re not a firefly.” 

“You were once. I think you can see why I have my reservations. You weren’t just any FEDRA soldier, you were a part of it in Kansas City. I heard horror stories about that place.” you rub your eyes, trying to erase what they had seen. “And I actually witnessed the fables.”  

Javier takes a step back then, admitting defeat. Something horrific seems to cross his face, a series of violent images perhaps, or maybe it was the loss of his “friends” whatever it was you don’t pay much mind to it. Everyone has pain. Even children who are meant to be carefree and happy. You’re surprised when he suddenly hands you the gun, cigarette loose between his lips. You take the weapon. It’s heavy in your hand, cold between your fingers. 

“Satisfied?” 

“Very much so, yes.” you don’t smile, but you pull an expression very similar to it. He exhales another breath of smoke, and you push the gun under your waistband. “Where do we start?” 

“You can’t be serious, Carillo.” 

It was dark and he could barely see the figure of his colleague. Javier had the intention of stepping forward and taking the gun from the other, but he stood there instead, heart beating in his throat. His stomach churned, bile thick on his tongue. Carillo didn’t bother to look at him. There was a man that was on his knees in front of the captain, his head bowed, shaking like a leaf. Carillo aimed his gun at him, his jaw tense. 

“You rather them kill us?” 

“I rather none of us kill each other.” 

Carillo finally turned to him then. Javier would expect the captain’s eyes to soften but they didn’t. 

“You heard what happened in the other QZ’s,” he spat. “Soldiers being killed, murdered. The people rioting. We can’t let weeds grow free Peña, he already killed one of us. You heard the rumors to overthrow FEDRA.” 

Before Javier could say anything a gunshot echoed, a body fell lifelessly to the concrete. He didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch. He just watched. Carillo placed a hand on his shoulder and the skin under Javier’s shirt burned—his stomach trembled then. 

“Ya no vivimos en un mundo de misericordia. Elige un bando.” 

Pick a side. 

Carillo left, Javier followed. Without thinking, his hand went to his empty flask. The cool metal under his fingertips did little to soothe him.

It’s odd being here with him. You feel trapped by nature, by circumstance. Nothing is the same and nothing would ever be the same. You lean over and sweep out the glass into a tattered bag. Javier had decided on burying the glass or anything else you might find and have no use for down into the dirt. You didn’t have any objections to that. When you lean over to pick up a piece of a broken wine bottle, you feel the gun Javier gave you pressing into the skin of your hip. 

You always hated cleaning before the outbreak. Now it was a soothing thing to do. It felt normal. A reminisce of the past. Still, you can’t help but feel sick from being at ease. Change has to happen. But with the immune girl gone, and the fireflies basically disbanded (at least that was what you could tell from Marlene's massage) there is nothing you can do. 

You see Javier approaching, a sheer amount of sweat coats his skin, his shirt clinging to his body. Surprisingly, he’s silent. You had expected him to talk, to pry into your past life. But he seemed to be content with just cleaning for now. 

“We should scout the area,” he says when he catches your gaze. “Look for abandoned houses, supplies. Maybe we can find a fruit bush or something and plant some here for food.” 

“You do know there’s no way this is going to be like…a peaceful suburb residence right?” 

“A man can only dream.” 

He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and your curiosity gets the better of you. 

“I need to ask,” you say and he piques with interest. “Why FEDRA? No offense but you don’t exactly look the type.” 

“I remember you saying that the first time you saw me.” 

“Still surprised you didn’t shoot me then, considering who I was.” 

“No offense but you didn’t exactly look the terrorist type. I didn’t know who, or what, you were.” 

“We weren’t terrorists.” 

“So you guys didn’t plant bombs?”  he asks sounding amused. “You didn’t kill people?” 

You narrow your eyes, heat pooling under your skin. “Only pieces of shit like you.” 

“I thought I didn’t look the type?” he sighs and shakes his head. “Look I’m not going to argue the ethics of it all and you’re definitely right. The things they—we did, FEDRA, It’s inexcusable. But don’t come here and tell me the fireflies were squeaky clean.” he takes the broken bottle from you and throws it into the bag. “I don’t want to fight about this. I don’t want to argue with you all the time. I’m not telling you I’m a good person, I don’t understand why you have to remind me. I know I’m not.” 

Silence follows. Your anger shifts into guilt and you push those feelings down. He gives you one last stern look before turning his back to you. 

“But neither are you so let’s stop bulshitting ourselves. And if you’re going to start interrogating me about my decisions—about my past— I recommend you not cuss me out a minute later.” 

His steps are loud as he leaves. You notice he left the bag behind, meaning that you managed to rile him up enough that he just had to get away from you. You probably deserved that. You don’t understand how he can shove the past aside so carelessly, how he can just forget what he’d done, what you’d done. But he was right, you aren’t a good person. Unlike him, you enjoy believing that you are. Joining the fireflies…it made you believe that you were doing good, that you were better and more noble. The killings you did were for the greater good, the people that ended up under the rubble of explosions were just a sacrifice that needed to be made—you told yourself that, again and again. 

Maybe you aren’t as bad as FEDRA but you aren’t that above it either. 

You contemplate going after him. Apologize without actually apologizing. You remember a time you used to break the tension by making a joke, how did you do that again? You can’t quite remember. 

You shake your head and continue to clear out the debris. He’ll come back. You can think about what to do then. 

Javier does eventually come back, but not before the sun had set. 

The stars appear one by one, and you hate to admit that you’d worried about him. Being alone is worse than being with someone you hate. 

Dirt and dust sit uncomfortably on your skin. After an entire day of work, you managed to clear out the broken glass, rust metals, dead insects, and rodents (you shudder at the memory). Now all of it lays outside, waiting to be taken further away from the train. 

“Where were you?” you ask when he arrives, you notice a bow strapped to his back. “And where did you find that?” 

“Careful, it almost sounds like you were worried about me.” he grins as if he hadn’t stormed away from you when the sun was at the very top. You decide to let it slide. He lifts two rabbits and your eyes go wide. “I went looking around a bit. Found this in an abandoned cabin, then did some hunting. Assuming you’d be hungry.” 

“Thanks. I…actually forgot that we need to eat.” 

“Help me build a fire?” 

You answer. “Sure.” 

The process of building a fire has become as natural as breathing air. If it were a couple of years ago, most people wouldn’t know how to build a fire but that wasn’t the case now. You doubt that anyone who had survived in this world did so by not knowing how to create flames from scraps of wood and dried leaves. Even the children know. That’s just the world they grow up in now. 

Your eyes constantly follow him whenever he moves and you can’t decide if it’s due to old habits or is it because of something else. He has a bizarre aura about him. Something that you can’t quite read. He’s soft. You’ve met a lot of FEDRA soldiers back in the day, have argued and fought against them, but you never met someone like him. He has a bite to his words, but you see the kindness swirling in his eyes, suffocating him from the inside out. It’s an odd contrast and makes you feel uncomfortable. 

He’s a man that has been beaten down by the world and the system. Him asking you to stay here is his way of giving up on everything he wanted for the world. You can see it as vividly as you see the stars. Just glimpses of his backstory winking down at you. 

The flames come alive, roaring and eating the rabbits whole. Javier had taken the job of cooking for himself, patiently watching the fire, he pokes the sizzling meat from time to time. 

“You like cooking?” you ask, and your eyes water when the wind blows the ashes into your face. 

“I did,” he answers without looking. “I wouldn’t really say I particularly enjoy cooking this.”

You cross your legs as Javier hands you a branch, skewered with rabbit meat. You take a moment to examine the branch, noting the rough texture of the wood and the way it's been stripped of any leaves or twigs. The delicate slices of meat have been threaded onto the branch with care and precision, each one spaced perfectly apart.

He takes his own portion and sits across from you, the flames curling into the air in between. He doesn’t say a word as he takes the first bite. You watch him chew. The flames lick his face, the tip of his nose a dusted red. Javier swallows and when he does you bring a piece to your lips and slowly chew. It’s gamey, slightly sweet. Overall, tastes pretty damn good. 

Your lips twitch up to a small smile. Biting into it more eagerly this time, your stomach growls as you swallow. 

“This actually tastes pretty good,” you mutter, feeling the fat from the rabbit coating your lips. 

“Well, don’t go overboard.” 

“It’s the truth.”

When you lower your gaze back down to the meat, you don’t miss the way a smile curls at his lips. The night grows louder and you two finish the rest of your dinner in silence. You hear crickets, the leaves rustling with the wind. A sweet scent touches your nose, something like newly blossomed flowers. You look into the distance and all you can see is darkness. 

Your eyes play games with you, shows you shadows of people, tricks you into thinking that you and Javier might’ve been followed by Katleen’s resistance. 

You blink. 

No. 

There’s no one there. 

Your pulse skyrockets, your heart beating in your throat. Vibrating, you turn back to Javier only to see that he’s already staring at you. His look is one of understanding, his lips relaxed as his eyes flit around your face. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I just thought—” you look back to the silhouette of trees. “I thought I saw something.” 

“The curse of the forest,” he answers, placing a cigarette between his lips. He realizes he doesn’t have his matches with him so he leans forward and lights it from the source. Javier’s face illuminates, and you see splashes of blood, of death. It lingers over his skin, curls around his throat, stains the white of his eyes. “It makes us see things we don’t wanna see.” 

“There was this girl,” you suddenly say, swallowing down the gasp that threatened to slip from your lips. He raises an eyebrow and sits back, listening. “Marlene told us that she was immune. I was supposed to meet up with them in Boston.” 

“Immune?” he scoffs. “Immune to what?” 

“Cordyceps.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“No, it’s true,” you answer with a sudden need to convince him. You’re not sure why. “She got bit and never turned.” 

“Did you actually see it?” he exhales a puff of smoke when you shake your head. He believes he made his point. “So what about this girl? Is there a reason why you’re telling me this or are you just that afraid of the dark?” 

You bite into your bottom lip, the sting offering a fleeting relief. “It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s just too silent. It feels…naked.” 

“Naked?” he asks, grinning, he steals the cigarette from between his lips and evens his gaze with yours. “We’re covered, cariño. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Famous last words,” you tease, ignoring how his tongue rolled as he mumbled cariño. “I guess I’m not used to it yet. There’s always something to fight. Someone is always lurking in the shadows.” 

He voices out the rest of your thoughts, “It’s like all the noise and chaos of the world has disappeared, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts.”

You take a deep breath of the crisp forest air. 

Emotionally, you want to lean into him. There’s a need in your chest that doesn’t go away but it’s tainted with the anger and the hatred of the organizations that tear you away from each other. He might’ve wanted to do good once, but he chose the wrong side. He thought fireflies were terrorists, and maybe to some you were. However, at least you weren’t fascists and tried to help the people. For better or for worse.

“It doesn’t hurt does it?” he says, guiding your attention back to him. Javier looks up to the sky, takes a deep inhale of smoke. It spills from his lips as he continues. “To have someone by your side.” 

No, you think as you get up and head into the train, it doesn’t. 

You don’t know what it is this time that wakes you up. There’s no noise. The only thing that convinces you that you’re not in a soundproof cell is the moonlight filtering through the dirty windows. You watch as the pine leaves move together, you’ve always enjoyed the smell of it. The sound of it comes like an afterthought, slowly gaining and getting louder. 

You get up when you feel the train shake. 

Javier is in the same spot that he always sleeps in, only a couple rows ahead. You move past him and you sneak a glance. His lips twitch and move as he sleeps. 

Stepping outside, you take in the same sight as before. It’s still eerie. 

Interestingly enough since the fire was gone the darkness seemed lighter somehow. A shimmering blackness. The moonlight probably helped. 

Dry earth cracks under your boots. The sound of the trees now mixed with something else, something violent and cruel yet beautiful. You feel the gun on your hip and travel deeper into the forest. The scent of pine and flowers that only bloom during the night stronger. The train is still visible so you don’t worry much about the distance in between. Your fingers brush over the tree trunks, you feel the moss, the sticky resin. 

You hear a click. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Just ahead there’s a clicker, moving with its arms bent and dragging its feet through the soil. Swallowing, you take a slow step back. Then another. And another. 

The chill of the night stings your skin, sticky from sweat and burning. The clicker turns in your direction and you stop moving, your one foot suspended in the air. It gains momentum, head twisting and turning. Very slowly you lower your foot, and your heart beats loud in your chest. Surely the clicker hears it. 

Fuck. 

The sound of the branch snapping underneath you was like a gunshot, reverberating through the stillness of the woods.

You don’t even get the chance to pull out the gun on your hip. 

You’re slammed into the dirt, all air forced out of your lungs. You struggle against it but it’s too heavy, too wild to be pushed off of you. The clicker screams into your face, the stench horrid. Bile builds in your throat and coats your stomach. You’re helpless. 

It makes a move towards your hands and you pull them away, its full weight suffocating you. Killing you. You can’t breathe. 

Tears flood your eyes. You know you’re about to die because you see your life flashing before your eyes, snippets of the past and possible future. You think of the fireflies, of Marlene. You see earth cleansed from the virus. 

You see Javier. He’s smiling, leading you in a dance around the wilting flames. You don’t push the thoughts away. You take them as a blessing in moments of lingering death. 

A gunshot echoes. You hear the bullet cutting through the air, whistling in the night. It sinks into the clicker’s shoulder, you hear another one, this time the bullet strikes its head.  The clicker collapses. Before you can shove the lifeless vessel away, it’s being lifted. 

You can breathe again. 

Javier is standing before you, his brows creased with worry. His lips are parted as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it. You’re still gasping for air when you speak. 

“You had a gun.” 

“Yeah,” he heaves, sweat clinging to his chest and moonlight trickling down his skin. “I had a fucking gun.” 

Oh man, you guys have no idea how excited I am to finally be sharing the first chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it, I'll probably be posting a new chapter every Saturday (the first 3 chapters will def go up and Saturdays, after that, if everything goes well, I'll continue it the same way)

A few thank you's are in order; @pedrito-friskito , @inklore , @fuckyeahdindjarin and @pedrorascal who listened to me go on and on about this and for their endless moral support ♥︎ and thank you to @laters-gators who beta'd this.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

okay kiddies we are queueing this bb up - cuz that way i don't forget when i get lost in other things AND I COUNTED TODAY - SEVEN SENTENCES!!! (it's a miracle or something)

so this week's sunday words are from one of the sequels to that dark & cozy coffee shop au i did (were! alex & vamp!henry)

it's the one that is gonna be my monsterf#cking for october and this is Alex exploring is wolfed-out cock a bit (cuz ya know why would he have done that before lolz - tho to be fair he did get all sorts of sex b4 and after so it's not so out of the question he didn't think to) so smutty words under the cut as well as some so no-pressure tags AND AN OPEN TAG FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS TO PLAY (tag me)

Alex slides his thumb along the ridges, running from what will be his knot to his tip, which almost looks as if it’s two parts. The more he strokes and the harder he gets, the longer and broader his cock grows; he didn’t pay attention to the size last time other than to realize he was quite a bit bigger. Quite a bit bigger might be an understatement—he’s not sure how Henry will get that up his ass, but he’ll trust him that it’s possible; it probably helps that being a vamp, his body will heal any tears quickly. Alex continues his exploration, and his middle finger drags along the prominent ridge that runs from his taint to tip—he notes that it’s extra sensitive and thinks it’s too bad he can’t operate his phone to make a spreadsheet of the differences. It also feels fucking amazing, and all thoughts of spreadsheets slip from his mind as his finger drifts up and down along the ridge, bringing pre-come along with it as he glides down from his leaking tip. Even his pre-come seems different, thicker, and more effusively leaking as if it’s meant to help guide the way of a much larger cock. Alex wraps his hand around his cock, done playing, and tugs, this larger hairy palm and fingers enveloping his dick and dragging up and down with a friction that makes his hips buck.

a very gentle tag ur it!!! @adreamareads @anincompletelist @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @catdadacd

@caterpills @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03

@emmalostinwonderland @england-would-fall @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @firstprincehornyramblings

@firstsprinces @forever-fixating @getmehighonmagic @henryspearl @heysweetheart-writes

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inell @inexplicablymine @jmagnabo92 @judasofsuburbia

@kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @mikibwrites @myheartalivewrites

@ninzied @nocoastposts @orchidscript @piratefalls @porcelainmortal

@priincebutt @softboynick @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow

@suseagull04 @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thesleepyskipper

@thighzp @thinkof-england @tinyarmedtrex @typicalopposite @zwiazdziarka

@indestructibleheart @eusuntgratie @stratocumulusperlucidus @basil-bird

@strwbrryagcd @thedramasummer @cactusdragon517

[mrssylvatica]

"The Other Fairy Tale" - Different Fairy Tales (AU?)

~560 words || The members of Crown, represented by different fairy tales than the originals used in the game.

This fanfiction is rated for all audiences, but keep in mind that the game, Ikemen Villains, is intended for a more mature audience.

◇ CW: None...?  Nothing too serious. Let me know if I should add any warnings. ◇ Let me know if you'd ever like to be tagged in my posts!

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William: Rapunzel (original version)

sorry for the jumpscare

You’ve always been a dreamer.  You’ve always wanted to see the world, but the walls built around you prevented you.  Ah, mother (Victor) warned you not to fall in love with anyone (prologue), but look at you now.  You could never see the world, no matter how much you wanted to.  It took a prince to whisk you off your feet and guide you to free will.  Even if William was blinded by thorns, he’d still be able to find you in the dark.

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Harrison: Cinderella

Black hearts may mistreat you, Only a miracle could save you, But he’s able to see through the lies, as well as your disguise, because his love is one that is true.

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Liam: The Little Mermaid (original version)

It was an impossible relationship.  You are of land, while he is of sea.  You’re worth more to him than you’ll ever know.  He loves you so much, oh, he’d die for you.  He saved you so many times.  Liam sacrificed everything just for a chance, a small chance to love you.  Learn from the Prince’s mistake.  You better love him back and not leave him for another.

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Elbert: The Little Mermaid

All the beautiful things he heard about on the surface brought him jealousy.  For years, he would collect every little scrap that fell to him from the sky.  When Elbert looked up at you from the sea’s surface, he fell for you in an instant.  The siren, entranced by you, the most beautiful of them all.  But perhaps he would do something different.  Instead of dragging you to the surface, he would drag you beneath the depths.  A place where he could love you forever.  And now you belong to him.

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Alfons: Red Riding Hood

The wolf will lead you astray with the beautiful flowers on the way. He’ll devour you whole, And take hold of your soul. You’ll never see another day.

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Roger: Pinocchio

Roger will always fix you up when you’re chased, injured, and on the verge of death. It doesn't matter if you're flesh or wood.  He’ll hold you close and shield you from the world.  In a world surrounded by death, in which life is increasingly bizarre, you’re real to him.  You may be a fool, but you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

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Jude: Aladdin (Disney's version)

He’s a rich, feisty prince.  You’re a robber on the streets, on the run.  Strange how you two fell in love.  Quit trying to impress him, he isn’t interested.  Oh-  oh dear.  Jude crosses his arms and sighs.  You should have just been yourself in the first place.

Well then, what are your three wishes?

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Ellis: ??? ("Happy Ending")

The world is full of unhappiness.  Ellis would rather kill you to preserve your happiness than to have the possibility of it being tainted.  He’ll stop time when you’re at your happiest, letting you stay in that happiness - forever.  That’s his happy ending.

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Victor: The Little Match Girl

Victor already knew your fate, but he must let life take its course.  He’s tortured by the visions of the deaths of those he loves.  Ah, but despite their sins, he loves them all so much.  Death watches over the girl, letting the flames remind her of love and kindness.  May you die with a smile on your face, and let the loving Death carry you to Heaven.

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SHITPOST MAIN: @rou-luxe

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Author's Notes

I remember seeing something similar for Ikemen Prince, and I decided it must be done for Villains.

I had to choose a fairytale that's different from the one they originated from. No similar characters either, which means Roger wasn't allowed to be the Huntsman from Red Riding Hood.

Harrison and Alfons' seemed too short... so I just made them into limericks...

Just something I was tempted to include in Roger's. But this fox and cat are rather antagonistic, so I decided against it.

The line from Ellis' is a reference to petite-otome's translation of his trailer~

My favorite is definitely Elbert's. It has such fanfiction potential. Maybe later. But my least favorite is probably Ellis'... I couldn't think up anything better than "happy ending".

Elbert mermay art might come out on my main anytime. @rou-luxe Elbert merman and lighthouse keeper Alfons... my Elbert merman AU... it never stops...

[jeonstellate]

in the dark: dusk

you ask the moon for an impossible before your inevitable marriage to an utter stranger.

๑彡 hong jisoo x afab!reader

๑彡 strangers-to-lovers!au, arranged marriage!au — angst(?), fluff

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.8K words

masterlist | in the dark: dawn

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from bobby’s in the dark.

๑彡 this is the first half of the two-shot, in the dark. you can find the link to the next part above :]

You had always known your marriage would be arranged by your parents. In a time where marriages were used as a form alliance between clans rather than a form of union between lovers, you never dared to hope that your marriage would be bound by love.

However, that particular knowledge didn’t prevent you from craving to experience how genuine romantic love feels like.

Hence your decision to sit by a tree just behind your village long after the sun had set. You weren’t waiting for a miracle, but you’d be lying if you say you weren’t hoping for one.

Under the pale moonlight, the cloak of darkness concealed the tears that the sun could not shine upon. Under the pale moonlight, you wordlessly wish for something that can never be.

But never did you expect for the moon to answer.

"May I know the reason for your tears, my lady?" A voice, soft and careful, suddenly filled the silence of the night. Although its appearance was unexpected, it miraculously didn’t startle you — as though, somehow, you had known.

You kept facing the moon as you answer, almost as if you were conversing with her rather than whoever just arrived. "Just trivial matters."

"Perhaps so, but you obviously care about it a great deal." The presence behind you felt closer, but still remained at a respectable distance.

"But I shouldn’t," you sighed. "There are dangers in dwelling on matters that are out of my control."

"But there are also dangers in bottling your feelings in, my lady," the person gently reminded you.

Silence then engulfed the two of you — which felt comfortable despite not knowing who exactly you were conversing with. The voiced words settled between the two of you, gradually creating something that could either build or destroy any relation that might form.

"I don’t know if I should trust you with my thoughts," you thoughtfully said after a while. "I don’t know who you are."

Your companion hummed in acknowledgment, "You can think of me as a shadow, if you wish."

"Why so?"

"You cannot confirm my existence until you look at me."

You started laughing. "I can very well just turn and confirm it promptly, my lord."

"Respectfully, my lady, but I advice against it," he replied almost immediately. "Please take comfort in knowing I am a stranger that cannot judge you based on anything you do not personally share — as I will with you."

You thought his advice through. Although you were concerned about revealing too much to an utter stranger, you couldn’t deny that he had a point. You live in a small village, after all — one way or another, everyone always hear about one family’s business and discuss them freely like it’s their own.

Every family in your village has their own reputation — which ultimately decides the esteem people regard each family with. If he doesn’t know how you look like, nor what your name is, then he can’t judge you based on the reputation of your family — nor can you have the fear of tainting your family’s reputation with each information you choose to disclose.

"Perhaps you are right," you agreed after a few moments of silence. "Though I do think you should just address me as Night from here on forward."

"Wonderful. Then, you can call me Suho."

You and Suho continued conversing the night away. Although he eventually chose to situate himself near you (after asking for consent), neither of you faced each other. You remained facing the sky, with your left arm millimeters away from the tree trunk and your back facing your village. Him, on the other hand, had his back against the tree trunk, his body facing your village, with his left arm inches away from yours.

"So what brings you in the dark like this?" Suho started the conversation after having enough of the silence.

"I wanted to make a wish to the moon," you replied eventually after pondering upon how you should indulge his inquiry.

"You must’ve wished so earnestly that tears spilled down your cheeks."

His comment earned an almost soundless chuckle from you. "On the contrary," you started, "those were desperate tears from wishing the impossible."

"I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lady," you heard him shift his position, but the sound of his voice remained in the same distance.

"My parents have found me someone to marry," you said slowly as you thought about whether or not saying so would give away your identity, "but I wanted to experience having a lover first before I’m bounded to someone I have yet to meet."

Suho, in contrast to your obvious hesitancy, was quick to react. "I can be your lover, my lady, if you will allow me."

"I beg your pardon?" You stuttered in disbelief. "You shouldn’t utter words you don’t mean, my lord."

"I do mean them," he quickly insisted.

"How can you?" You expressed your doubt, "Surely there must already be a lady waiting for you back home?"

"I assure you, my lady, you shall be my only one."

You couldn’t reply right away — not because you were thinking his reply over, but because his response made you flustered. "Then, I suppose you would not mind courting me?"

Just like he had been doing throughout the night, Suho’s response came almost immediately. "I would court you as long as you wish."

You and Suho continued to meet with the moon being your only witness. During those nights, you would converse about anything your hearts desired. Slowly, but surely, then, you both learned parts of what composed each other’s constellations.

True to his word, Suho did court you every night that you met. He would alternate between telling you compliments, giving you flowers, writing you some poetry, or a combination of acts.

In return, to show your appreciation, you reciprocated his efforts in ways you knew how.

"Yes," you agreed out of the blue on the night of a full moon.

"Pardon?"

"Yes," you repeated, "I am now accepting you as my beau."

You and Suho had an agreement, beginning that first night when your peculiar arrangement was made. You both agreed, under no circumstances, would you try to catch a glimpse of each other’s faces. Thus, whenever you two met, you both ensured that you two were positioned in such a way that no one wouldn’t see the other’s face.

And somehow, you two still found a way to bask in each other’s warmth without breaking your agreement. "Thank you," you heard him murmur by your ear. "Thank you for trusting me."

You shook your head in denial, a smile ghosting your lips. "Thank you for coming into my life."

The word ‘bliss’ wouldn’t be enough to describe how you felt the following nights. Suho had always been sweet, but he became even sweeter after he became your beau.

Like he had already done, Suho had brought you flowers, written you poetry, and showered you with words of affirmation. On top of all of those, he occasionally brought you handmade gifts as well.

Despite already being your significant other, Suho still went out of his way to court you — even after you told him that he could stop. He claimed that it made him happy, as it never failed to make you happy, so you just let him do what he pleased.

"Have you ever thought about children?" You asked Suho one night as you lie on his chest, facing the moon.

Even with your improved status, you and Suho came to a consensus that you should uphold your previous agreement of keeping your true identities a secret from one another. Especially with your deepening relationship, it was crucial not to display any awkwardness nor unusual behavior if ever you two meet under the sun — to keep the eagle-eyed gossipers of your village from talking.

"Well, I am now," he answered before resting his hand on your hip, by your stomach. "Why?"

You two often talked about whatever came to mind, especially if you had finished filling each other about any shareable events that happened during the day. Albeit you both had nothing against silence, you liked to spend your limited time getting to know each other instead.

"As I look into the sky, I suddenly remembered how I took inspiration from it when I was unentertained enough to think of baby names."

You heard Suho let out an intrigued sound, "Let’s hear them, then."

"Hyewol for a girl, Hyeseong for a boy," you answered nonchalantly. "I also thought Chaewol, Seonghwa, and Haneul could be good to use as well."

Suho started murmuring to himself. Despite your proximity, you still couldn’t quite catch the entirety of what he was saying. However, you could’ve sworn that you heard the names you just mentioned being mixed in.

"What are you—?"

"Just testing how the names sound with my last name," he replied as nonchalant as you were then. However, with such simple words, you couldn’t help but to feel your cheeks flush. "So, five kids?"

"I," you stopped, suddenly not trusting yourself to speak. Nevertheless, after a moment, you managed to collect yourself. "Only if it’s with you."

You both knew, with your looming engagement, that that was a future out of your reach. It was a someday that could only exist under the cloak of the moon’s light, never to be touched by the sun’s rays.

And yet, despite that, you and Suho still dared to dream.

You knew this day would come, even before you crossed paths with Suho. In retrospect, this day was literally the reason why you met Suho in the first place. Had you not been crying that pivotal night about this particular day, you probably wouldn’t have him by your side at all.

Unfortunately, even your set up with Suho did nothing for the dreaded day.

"[First name], dear, come here for a minute," your mother called you over from your little corner with your cousins.

Today was her birthday and, to celebrate, she held a banquet in her honor — only inviting those that she truly got along with to keep the event drama-free. Not even her side of the family was in complete attendance, as some — if not most — of them clashed with one another over trivial matters.

It was your mother’s day, so you never thought it would double as the day you finally met your fiancé.

"[First name], this is Joshua," you mother started with an abnormally large smile etched on her face, "your fiancé."

You tried not to visibly freeze. As much as Suho was supposed to assist you to get ready for your married life, you weren’t ready to meet the person you were expected to spend the rest of your life with. Especially not when you already began wishing that your husband-to-be was Suho instead.

Joshua reached for your hand and kissed the back. "It’s my pleasure to be your acquaintance, my lady. I am Joshua Hong."

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Oh goodness…

What are the kids’ mannerisms after snapping…? How will they turn out in the end…?

Apart from angry? mostly depressed, distraught, tired, and broken. All of the years being under Alma's iron fist and grip comes back to them. Isabela and Dolores suffered for at least 19 years, Luisa suffered for 15 years, Camilo and Mirabel suffered for 12 years.

Antonio wasn't under her hold for that long, only two years after his ceremony, but being tossed out and scarred because he just wanted to talk did traumatize him.

But they ALL hate themselves because of how they all can't stop talking like her and having her mannerisms. While spending time in the barn, the talk to each other about how they used to be.

Camilo used to be a prankster and theater lover, Dolores a quiet and reserved girl, Isabela an adventurous tomboy, Mirabel a happy bouncy little girl who loved helping, Luisa a strong girl who loved to play games and just be her, no expectation waying her down, Antonio a sweet but shy boy.

It was hard for them to remember those things on their own so the other grandkid would help them out with what they could remember.

All the pretty clothes, sweet/classy behavior, were tossed out. They would keep their manners and cleanliness but that's all. They basically just turned into very wild children, but honestly, with what they've been through, they deserve to be.

Slowly they go back to their old selves, but they still have trauma. Every night in the barn, one of them (or all), have harsh nightmares of Alma forcing them back into that house. Forced back into that perfection role.

So, while plotting for Alma's demise, they bond and get to know each other better. And trying their best to break away from the perfection doll they used to be. And cussing, yeah....they cuss like sailors by this point.

And it's hilarious and cute when Antonio does it.

@reikomizuao3

[deadly-kalopsia]

guys okay so i saw a post that offhandedly mentioned tim having an ed elric arm and now i can’t stop thinking about an fma batfam au so here’s my little ideas bc yes.

so i’ve decided that tim is ed (obviously bc that’s what started this whole thing) and duke is al (bc he’s younger, i love him, and i need more of duke and tim being brothers) others that are relevant are: alfred is granny (obviously) bernard is winry (im a sucker for emt bernard)

right now what i’ve got is that tim and duke are trying to bring back bruce after he died (bruce being the one they’re bringing back might change depending on how closely i choose to follow fmas actual story) and they use a tainted lazarus pit to do it (does tim know that it’s tainted? your guess is as good as mine. it’s tainted due to gothams inherent radioactivity and general weirdness. i’m also aware this is not how the pits work but shhh, plot reasons)

they go to set bruce's body into the pit but it goes wrong and duke ends up slipping in, tims leg slips in, and he pulls himself out and realizes that duke is gone and begs for him back, not caring about the fact that his own leg is missing.

they're in one of ra's pit rooms so there's a plot relevant suit of armor sitting near by, tim hears a voice telling him to make the seal on the armor and then tim sticks his arm into the pit to grab duke(‘s soul?) and that's how he ends up losing his arm

duke regains consciousness in the suit and sees tim aggressively bleeding out and wraps him up in his cape to staunch it until he can get back and call for alfred

the pit is in gotham still and that's why it's so tainted because of all of the radioactive shit that goes on there

duke runs to the manor as fast as he can (which is so much faster now that he can't get tired) and collapses into the kitchen sobbing for alfred to help

alfred gasps and rushes tim down to the cave to begin the surgery to save tim and has duke call bernard to get him to come to the manor and help with the surgery. they barely get though it, but tim ends up surviving. mr spleenless obviously then makes things difficult and almost dies during recovery from an infection and during his feverish haze he just keeps crying out for duke and saying that he's sorry and then going between cursing gotham for being a bastard and then praising it

tim obviously barely lets himself heal before he’s starting to design prosthetics so that he can figure out how to get dukes body back (he doesn’t care if it takes his own, he just needs duke to be safe and whole again)

he figures out the equivalent of automail and makes bernard and alfred install it on him despite them begging him to stop and realize that he’s putting himself in incredible danger, he insists and they finally give in (he almost dies again from the installation and the subsequent infection)

alfred insists that it’s going to be a long and hard recovery, but tim is determined to do it in as little time as possible, he reaches out to some of the jl members and asks for help with healing, getting the recovery time down to just under a year (even with the jls help, this seems incredibly quick. they all decide to just take it at face value because it’s a miracle)

when asked what he meant when he was talking about gotham being a bastard and then switching to praising it, tim just went a little pale and then glanced at duke and then his own arm and brushed it off with a shaky voice

im not entirely sure how to work with the alchemy and/or equivalent, duke is already a meta so i’d make sense that he can use his current abilities as well as potentially understanding how to use alchemy if i go that way.

as far as it goes with tim, i think that he has enhancements, he is a little bit stronger, he heals just a little bit faster, he’s got more stamina, etc. but he’s also got something that no one else does.

he hears gotham. not all the time, but if gotham feels like teasing him or testing him, he hears her. while in gotham it’s almost as if he knows everything that’s happening. while on one of his first patrols back after the surgery with jason and duke, he stops dead in his tracks, completely tense and when the other two notice that he’s stopped they look back and him and he just stands there for a minute before shaking his head and backing up, telling them not to go that way, that it’s not safe and they need to leave. when jason starts to tease him to ask if he’s a scaredy cat, tim just shutters and grabs jason’s arm to haul him away.

they find out the next day that a massive shootout went down, along with the building they were about to walk into collapsing completely, everyone in the building (criminals, thankfully. no civilian injuries) crushed and dead. they ask tim how he knew and he just said that he had a feeling. they learn quickly to listen to what tim says when it comes to gotham.

if i do give them alchemy i think that it’ll be a surprise to everyone.

they’re in a fight, all of them for once, an arkham breakout. tim and damian are fighting near eachother while duke is across the room fighting with dick against some of the goons. tim glances over and watches as a goon takes out a gun and aims it at duke, tim is too far away, even dick, less than 10 feet away is too far, none of them will make it in time. tim will never know why he did it, but he shouted at duke and then clapped his hands together, shoving them on the ground, surrounding duke in a concrete orb, the bullet hitting the orb instead of the neck of dukes armor (his seal, if the seal gets broken, his brother is gone) like it was aiming for. as soon as tim clapped, it was like something clicked. he finally understood, it felt balanced, it felt equivalent. tim stood up and hit the goon who dare try and take a shot at his brother with his bo staff and knocked him out. once they had taken care of the rest of the goons, he clapped again and the orb surrounding duke falling back into place as if it had never been disturbed.

after being confused for a moment, seeing the others about to question tim on what the hell was that, duke chuckles and asks why tim bothered to surround him when he wouldn’t feel it anyway, he watched tim’s face fall before tim walked over to him and rested his forehead against the cool metal of dukes armor and whispers that he’s always going to protect him, and that it doesn’t matter if he can’t feel it it would still hurt, and that he’s so sorry for putting duke in this situation and he’s going to find a way to fix it he swears.

[slyvester101]

Fuck it, I’m posting the first part while I finish the rest take it

Here’s God!Tucker au: Part 1

+++

Wash found Tucker by accident.

He had been traveling, trying to get back to Armonia in time for the peace talks, but he’d gotten sidetracked helping out a town with some trouble makers and then was delayed when the bridge that marked the border crossing into Chorus broke down, forcing him to go all the way around.

And then the storm rolled in.

By the time he found shelter in an abandoned temple, he was soaked to his bones, armor completely ruined by the wet that seeped into them. He guided his trusty steed in, mumbling a quick prayer of thanks for the shelter and please don’t strike me down for bringing my horse in here. I really don’t want to leave her outside in the rain.

Wash gasps when he enters, gazing in awe as he looks at the scenery around him.

The temple is large and open, beautiful columns of stone lining the whole room. Even with the flora that has seeped in, vines winding around pillars and across the ceiling, flowers blooming from their bushes, branches of a large unkempt tree escaping into the ceiling, it all has an air of elegance that has Wash holding his breath, like it’d be disrespectful to let the air from his lungs taint the marble and stone.

But the most glorious thing about this place, the thing that has Wash making his way deeper into the temple, is the giant sculpted statue on the back wall. It almost reaches the ceiling, the figure depicted kneeling as he reaches out with his hands cupped. Rain water fills it now, but Wash sees the glisten of gold coins as an offering sunken at the bottom.

The figure is surrounded by decaying gifts, bouquets that have long since eroded, food that is barely identifiable, and trinkets made of the finest metal and gems rusted and broken after years of neglect.

Wash thinks he understands why this god was so well-loved. His face is soft and kind, the curl of his lip happy and maybe a little mischievous, long locs fall over his shoulder and down his back, gold making up the beads of his lovingly carved hair. He looks like a dream, a figure Wash would’ve been more than happy to worship just to look at him.

He steps in front of the statue, carefully observing every detail. On the back wall, right above the figure, a single line of carved text reads:

Long live the god of giving

God of giving, huh?

Something rises in his gut when he realizes the name of this god has been left out, not a trace of it written anywhere on the walls or on the trinkets left behind.

It dawns rather suddenly on him as he tries to name the feeling, something oddly familiar about the situation of a god so beloved also being so quickly forgotten.

This wasn’t a god the people worshiped, this was a god the people used.

The decaying gifts ring hollow under Wash’s revelation, the statue, while still beautiful, humming with a new sense of entrapment and sadness. By the state of the temple, it seems like this god ran out of things to give, abused and rung out for all he was worth until he stopped being useful.

Wash has seen it before, watched people beg for favors, for miracles, for the impossible, only to ditch their god the minute they receive their blessing, never even giving thanks, only ever coming back to ask for something else. He’s seen temples be built, be full and then be torn down and left for ruin in a matter of months.

He usually doesn’t care, doesn’t pay enough mind to all the new gods coming and going. He really only prays and worships out of habit, a polite set of manners that have been engraved into his soul (and he doesn’t have a death wish. There are certain gods willing to kill if you disrespect their temple or their people).

But there’s something about this statue, about this god of giving, that makes Wash wonder if maybe he’s a spiritual man after all.

“I would’ve never stopped worshiping you.” He whispers to himself, slowly getting on his knees and reaching up to cradle the underside of the statue's hand.

“I would’ve given you everything. Lose myself by offering you all I am. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re gone because…

Because I think I would’ve given you all my love.”

“Is that a promise?”

Wash turns to face the voice, his sword already unsheathed and ready to cut down the intruder—

Oh. Oh shit.

“You— You’re—“

“Lavernius Tucker, god of giving. Pleasure to meet you.” The man smiles brightly, the same warm and mischievous one depicted on his statue.

Wash eyes widen as he snaps to look back and forth from the man and the statue and—

Holy shit.

He’s… smaller than Wash was imagining, not the same plump and soft figured man they carved into the stone. He’s got more angles to him, lean and thin without much mass covering his body. There’s a tired droop in his shoulders, eyes weary and slanted. Wash thinks he’s leaning on a pillar more for support than for seduction.

“Are you alright?” Wash snaps out of his daze, shaking off the shock as his blood bred need to help takes over. He steps towards him, dropping his sword without a second thought in case the god keels over suddenly.

The man—Tucker—seems surprised at the question, standing a little taller as Wash comes forward with the same energy as a mother hen. He lets Wash crowd him, his hands gently skimming over his body for injuries.

“Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Just been a while since anyone has come here, especially someone as… sweetly devoted as you are.” He sways forward into Wash’s touch, his eyes fluttering as he soaks up the blessed affection.

Wash shuffles in his feet but doesn’t pull away. He’s never really met a god before, so he’s not sure what the proper reaction to a god showing favor is. It certainly doesn’t feel right since Wash just got here. “I— I haven’t

even worshiped you before.”

“Mmm, but I can practically taste it off you.” Tucker traces his hands over Wash’s chest until they hang gently on his shoulders, the touch sending shivers up Wash’s spine. “You may have stayed here to hide from the rain, but you didn’t need to say anything to me, didn’t need to pray or give thanks. But you did. You did and now I’m bound to you, my loyal little devotee.”

“Bound to me?”

He nods, giggling as he pushes himself closer to Wash to clasp his hands behind his neck. “You’re my only follower now, silly. You’re the one whose belief gives me power and with power…” He nudges his nose into Wash’s cheek and Wash can’t help but drop his head to meet him there, something deep in his bones singing as this gorgeous god seeks out his attention.

Tucker practically whimpers at him, resting their foreheads together as Wash moves to place his hands respectfully on his waist. He’s shaking, Wash notes, possibly from years left neglected and bound to this fragmented temple.

He breathes in deep and slow, savoring the feeling of being so carefully worshiped, something he’s never had in all his centuries of existence.

“With power,” He continues, “I can give you anything you want, just say the word.”

Right, god of giving. Probably thinks that Wash’s affections are an offering in turn for a wish or a miracle. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful to this fragile looking god. He deserves to be worshiped, to be loved and respected, his name sung in glory by all those who follow him.

Wash makes his choice.

“What if I just want you?”

Tucker startles at that, shock evident on his face. Wash keeps his face serious, not a single bit of doubt or hesitation to be found. He wants this, wants him, whatever that means.

His god seems to drop at that, like a puppet without its strings. He practically glows when he smiles again, something so much more genuine and happy then the one he had before, the one that’s immortalized on his statue.

Wash thinks that this is the Tucker that they should've worshiped all those years ago. Tucker kisses his cheek, a submissive little thing that has Wash heating from his cheeks to his shoulders, and proudly proclaims to Wash—

“Then I’m yours.”

Part 2

[seeyabythemarina]

This is my funeral

trained au by shyhearted on a03

When bruno dies the magic keeps his soul to watch over the family. He sees his funeral, how his sister either don't care or are happy he's dead, etc. Happy he'll feel some regret maybe he'll just be angry he died and not mira. Who knows, but he does get some beautiful paternal tough love from pedro.