#a miracle and a disaster all at once

[plastiquefruit]

isn’t it FUN

When you stand up and your brain just fuzzies out and your eyesight starts going dark and it takes every scrap of will to remain upright and not collapse like a heap of disconnected bones

Yeah.

F U N

[littlexdeaths]

when band practice doesn’t go as planned…

older brother’s best friend eddie x fem reader

warnings: keith is the unnamed freak in this au, alluding to some some spicy activities so 18+!

it’s a recipe for disaster masterlist.

“dude, when did your sister get so hot?”

eddie’s head lifts at the mere mention of you, but his jaw clenches when he notices that gareth is all but oogling you from inside the garage.

you’re at the end of the driveway, dressed in a red and white gingham bikini top and the shortest pair of shorts imaginable— washing your car. why you’d chosen to do this during their scheduled band practice is obvious to him, but it has your brother groaning in annoyance.

“jesus, don’t talk about her like that. that’s my baby sister.”

sid throws a sideways glare his friend’s way, to which gareth just holds up his hands in defense.

“i mean… he’s not wrong,” keith says under his breath which earns him a guitar pick to the forehead.

“it is a tad distracting,” jeff chimes in.

“oh for christ’s sake—- hey! mouse!”

you perk up at the nickname, resting your soapy hands on your hips. “why can’t you go to the damn car wash like a normal person?” sid shouts your way, oblivious to the way your eyes meet eddie’s behind your sunglasses.

or the hint of a smirk that’s tugging at the corner of your glossed lips.

“and why can’t you close the garage door if i’m too distracting?” you fire back, enjoying the way the rest of the guys quickly divert their attention away from you.

your brother is a little stunned by your response, not used to hearing you talk back to him. instead of trying to reason with you, he just flips you the bird. to which you mirror him with a playful grin. when they go back to practicing and you return to washing your car, eddie feels like he can breathe again.

he, by some miracle was able to hold his tongue during that entire interaction, as he knew he’d say something he’d regret later if he opened his big mouth.

because if your brother had any idea of what he planned to do to you when practice was over— he’d be a dead man.

but try as he may, eddie can’t keep his eyes off you the rest of practice.

he’s so distracted that he fumbles through most of the songs in their set list. and he completely fucks up his big solo when glances up to see you leaning across the hood of your car. with your ass perched in the air as you guide the soapy sponge along the metal frame. it’s safe to say the rest of the guys are throughly annoyed once they wrap things up.

eddie is just grateful that his guitar has been able to hide the raging boner he’s been sporting for the last half hour. or he’d really be fucked. but as you glance up at him innocently from under your lashes, eddie knows better.

and when he bends you over his lap later, it’s more than deserved.

[chiefdirector]

Earthquake | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Earthquakes were nothing unfamiliar to the residents of Los Angeles, so much so that if there was a period of time without a quake, it would be seen as some form of miracle or divine intervention. After having many quakes and natural disasters, you adjust. Tim never had to adjust to the infamous LA earthquakes, he was born and raised here. Something like a quake was just another Tuesday to him.

Before he would have scoffed seeing his colleagues so disturbed by the idea of a quake, but now he felt sick to his stomach. He could feel the nausea rise up his throat as he called out over the radio again, hoping that his fears would be satiated.

“Control, this is 7-Adam-100. Status report in Detective (L/N).” He said, trying not to let his voice shake as the ground did moments ago. “Control-“

He was cut off by the gruff reply of some poor control officer who would no doubt feel the wrath of Sargent Bradford. “No reply. Detective (Y/N) is currently unreachable.”

Quickly, he raised the radio back up, this time practically barking his question out. “When was the last time you had contact?”

Tim held his breath as the radio remained silent for a moment. He did not believe in anything supernatural but by god did it feel like time stopped.

“Over an hour ago; at 15:42.”

“Goddammit,” he snapped, almost throwing his radio across the briefing room.

Seeing his rage, Chen sidestepped away from his current line of trajectory, quite liking her head without a radio sized dent in it.

The first quake had hit at approximately 15:47. Tim knew what (Y/N)’s silence implied. He tried not to think of the worst case scenario, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t used to nice things, he wasn’t used to being happy and now that he had finally found joy and happiness, it was only natural that the universe would take it away again.

“Tim,” Chen said timidly. If Tim did not know any better, he could have mistaken her for a child in the way she was slightly cowered away from her. “I had control send her last location to our box, we can go now. I’m sure Grey won’t mind.”

He quickly snapped out of his thoughts, channelling almost all of his energy into the task ahead of him. The small fraction of energy he left aside was to stop him from assuming the worst; thinking of all the horrific outcomes would do him no good.

—-

Tim was never one to spend time with his feelings, if anything he repressed them. When he was a kid, his father used to tell him that emotions were weak, and that ‘real men don’t feel.’ He had taken that mindset into the military, and into the LAPD. It was only when (Y/N) had started to break down his walls did he let himself feel emotions properly for the first time in years. It was like seeing colour for the first time. However, despite all the good it did him, he couldn’t help regretting it slightly as he sat in the passenger seat of the shop, watching Chen drive closer to when (Y/N) was last seen.

“Can’t you drive quicker, Chen,” He snapped, flickering his eyes from her to the road and back to the patrol officer once again.

“Not without breaking fifty traffic laws,” She rebutted. Now that he wasn’t her training officer any more, she would have given him a bit more attitude but now isn't the right time for that, even she could recognise that. “We’re nearly there, the GPS said that her shop was last seen…”

Chen’s words trailed off as the two officers watched as a car wrapped around a tree came into view. The front was completely smashed, with glass and shrapnel landing almost everywhere. There was a small trail of smoke coming from the engine. The car was easily recognisable as one of the LAPD patrol vehicles, the exact same type that Detective (L/N) had left the station in that morning.

Without thinking, Tim sprinted out of the vehicle whilst it was still moving. Without waiting for Chen to stop, he moved with near inhuman speed towards the wreckage. Trying to see if there was any sign of life from within.

“(Y/N)” he called, looking in through the shattered window. Blood was spread across the steering wheel and the driver's seat, glass haphazardly brushed aside from the spot. Tim recognised her handbag tucked in the passenger footwell. IT was the only sign that she had been in the car at all. “Please, baby, say you're here.”

“Any luck?” Chen said, jogging over to his side. Tim needn’t respond though, the tragic look on his face said enough. “Oh god, she isn’t… is she?”

Bradford just shook his head “There’s nobody here. Completely empty. Call it in.”

Lucy nodded, taking a step away to report what had been found. Tim just sat leaned against the car. Briefly he shut his eyes, trying to ground himself back to reality. A part of him wanted to pinch himself to wake up from this nightmare, but another part of him knew that it wasn’t a dream at all.

Slowly, he began to move himself upwards when he heard a rustling in the shrubbery. On instinct, he raised his weapon, calling out for the intruder to raise their hands. He got no such reply except another round of rustling, except it didn’t sound like it was caused by the wind, it sounded too human-like to be anything natural.

Keeping his paces light, he followed the sound as made his way into the shrubbery. He made it only around twenty feet before he saw the cause of the rustling. (Y/N) lay leaned up against a tree, dried blood sat on her forehead and down her left cheek. The rest of her face seemed like it had already started to swell and bruise from the impact. The most jarring thing was not the injuries or the dirt decorating her body, but it was the light-hearted gratin she wore.

“Hey Timmy,” she said, voice light and airy, as if he had woken up early on a sunday morning and not that she had almost died.

“(Y/N),” he practically cried rushing to her side. He gently cradled her face, trying to get a better look at the gash on her forehead from where she had slammed into the steering wheel. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She flashed him another grin as she raised her hand to rest on top of his. “I’m fine, mildly concussed maybe, but I’ll live. And the car crashed, I was knocked off the road when the quake hit. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“Why didn't you call for help, do you know how worried I was?”

“My radio is in the car, which was on fire by the way.” She said, almost too lightheartedly for the situation, before her tone turned sombre, “I’m sorry I worried you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Just don’t do it again, I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Ignoring her protests that she could walk by herself, he moved to pick her up bridal style and carry her back to his shop, where Chen was waiting for him. Sure, he was prepared for an earthquake, but Tim wasn't prepared to lose (Y/N), not now, not ever.

Masterlist

@rookietrek @kmc1989 @augustvandyne

[magics-neptunes-things]

Clouds

Trigger warning : Angst, car accident, hospitals.

PART 2 (Ona's POV) IS HERE

______________________________________________________________

Celebrating a new victory for FC Barcelona, you find yourself with almost all of your teammates in an establishment which has been privatized just for you. It's now 2 o'clock in the morning and you saw Mapi and Ingrid slip away more or less discreetly already one hour ago. You think you were the only one to see them go and you couldn’t help but wink at Ingrid when your eyes crossed. She blushed slightly before raising both eyebrows in your direction.

Well maybe you weren’t in the best position to tease her, Ona was sitting on your lap with her drink in her hand while talking with Alexia. Even though you’ve only been together for a one year and some more, you can’t deny that you’re already totally crazy about the spaniard. You met the summer she came back from Manchester.

You had already met her several times on the football fields, already noticing her beauty, but when you got to know her more it was like love at first sight. And by a real miracle, it seems that the feelings are shared. You still wonder every morning when you wake up next to her how a woman like Ona Batlle could focus her attention on you.

Lost in your thoughts, you come back to earth only when you feel her lips gently land in your neck.

"Dance with me?" she asks and you smile lightly.

"You know that I'm a terrible dancer"

It was true. You're a forward and you have good dribbling skills, but when it comes to coordinating your moves on a dance floor, we’re not far from disaster.

Ona pouts and you roll your eyes. That’s enough for her to jump on both legs with a big smile, understanding that you just gave up.

"So smitten"

You hear Alexia teasing and make her a grimace over your shoulder as Ona drags you to the dance floor, making her grin in return. Alexia is your bestfriend and you know she's in really very happy you found someone to be happy with. And the Someone being Ona Batlle, she didn't understand why she never thought to introduce you before.

You have to admit that you have fun with Ona on the dance floor. You weren't really dancing, more goofing around, laughing and swaying when the music go soft.

That's actually where you are, your arms keeping your girlfriend very close to your body. Her hands are around your neck and you kind of got lost in her beautiful eyes. She kisses you and you happily kiss her back for some minutes. You're maybe not out for the rest of the world, but your friends and family know about you two.

"Shall we go home?" you ask a little after.

Ona nods and after taking the time to say goodbye to the girls who have not left yet, you find the fresh air of the Barcelona nights. As you are just next to your appartment, you choose to crash here for the night. Ona being a little smaller than you are, she would wear one of your shirt for the night.

You smile when the spaniard grabs your hand to walk, arching an eyebrow.

"I’m not sure being like this gonna keep people from suspecting that something is happening between the two of us, Love."

Ona shrugs, looking at you from the corner of her eye.

"Well maybe that way people will stop imagining that you’re dating that B team guy."

She pretends to throw up and you can’t help but laugh. That was like two weeks ago for a gala, you posed with this boy for a simple photo and Twitter practically caught fire. So did your secret girlfriend’s jealousy. Your parents are conservative, so you’ve never talked openly about your sexuality. That probably played a big part in this case.

"You know you have no reason to be jealous"

"Yes. Still."

You smile once more and kiss her cheek before crossing the road. From that moment on, everything seemed to be idling. The headlights of a car approaching too fast, the squeaks of the tires and the terrified cry of Ona after the impact. You just had time to take her in your arms and push her out of the way of the car. That's the last things you can remember.

******************

When you wake up, you can't feel anything, but in a good way. You can't open your eyes either, but you feel like you're floating. Remembering a conversation you had with Ona while looking at the stars on her balcony, you make the decision that you are simply lying on a cloud. As the time pass, you begin asking yourself what you are doing on this comfy cloud. That's when the memories came back and first you wonder if Ona is safe. You heard her scream before going numb but it wasn't a cry of pain, physical at least.

And then, you wonder if you are dead. But if that means you saved Ona’s life, is there a better way to die? Probably not.

You feel something a little bit after, that surprises you, even makes you panic a little. Something touches your hand and you feel your heart racing. Strange, for someone dead right?

"What's happening?"

Man this voice, you could recognize it between a thousand, even distorted by anxiety like now. It's Ona's voice.

"Looks like she’s reacting to your touch. That’s pretty good."

You don't know this one, but if she can make feel Ona better, you like her already. The tonality make you imagine an old lady, with grey hair and glasses. Ona stay silence after but you can feel her fingers gently caressing your hand.

"I don't know where I can touch you without hurting you more" she mumble, making you wonder what you look like.

******************

You get bored and wonder what would happend if you just let yourself fly higher. If you let go. So you let yourself go and you start to feel lighter and lighter.

Until you were punched in the chest, brought back to your cloud.

The force of the blow cuts your breathing briefly and a new voice, which you also know very well, sounds in your ears.

"Oh no, don't you dare do that. Not now that I finally managed to convince your girlfriend to come home, shower and change."

Well excuse yourself Miss Putellas but what the hell are you doing on my fluffy lovely cloud? That said, the firmness of her voice changes you a little bit from the sweetness of the one Ona is talking to you with. So you stay on your cloud until your lady comes back. She does a little later, after a door slammed.

"What the hell happened?"

You feel her hands touching your face as Alexia’s voice explains in the background what happened, explaining that everything is fine now.

******************

Time fly again and you wake up in a middle of a conversation. Ona is here once again and you realise that she's talking with her mom.

"I'm so mad at her" you hear Ona say.

"I understand. But I'm more grateful. She saved your life."

You can perfectly picture the scene, Ona in her mother's arms while she gently rocks her. Ona's mother as always been affectionate, even with you. You were at first surprised by the welcome hugs, but it's kind of nice. Your parents aren't really fond of the life you choose, being gay and a football player, so you don't really catch with them a lot. But it's ok like this for you.

"What am I gonna do if she doesn’t wake up Mama? I can’t live without her"

Ona’s voice is choked, meaning she must be crying. And it makes you want to do it too, or at least make her understand that you are still there and that you can hear her. But you don’t know how to do it, even opening your eyes seems impossible. Thanks god, her mom is here.

"She will wake up, Ona. Your story isn't finish now."

A silence passe only interrupted by Ona’s sniffs.

"Your brother is here"

"But I told him not to come" Ona frowns.

"As if he was going to listen to you. He knows you need him and you are as stubborn as each other."

A new silence comes, smaller this one.

"Will her parents come?" Ona's mother ask.

"No. They said they’d come when she woke up. Not sure I’ll let them in though."

While Ona seems angry with this information, you're not really surprised. Like you said before, your parents aren't really supportive of you. Their only daughter did not really meet the expectations they had. You haven’t seen them since Christmas two years ago, last year you spent it with Ona and her family. As for the summer holidays, you preferred to fly away to rest in the sun with your friends and Ona. In any case, they themselves did not mention a possible meeting.

******************

Time has continued to stretch, but you have no idea how long you have been there, floating on your cloud. What you do know is you’d like to know how to get back to your people. You have daily visits, Alexia, Ona’s parents and brother, your teammates and obviously Ona who seems to camp by your side.

Ona talks to you often, makes you listen to music or keeps you informed of your condition. You apparently have bruises all over the place, four broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. With serious head trauma, but contrary to the doctors' fears, you have no cracks in your skull. You were relieved to learn that you had nothing on your legs. That way you will return to the fields easier.

Alexia tell you about Ona, usually being there when your girlfriend leaves your bedside to take care of herself. Alexia encourages you to come back to Ona, explaining how much she needs you. She sometimes adds that she also wouldn't mind to have her bestfriend back.

Others, like Ingrid, Aitana or Lucy, stay here in silence, but their presence are great too. Some of them take your hand too, usually Ingrid. You hate being alone but you have to admit that you really rarely are. Even Laia flew back from Manchester for some days, wanting to be here for Ona.

******************

"Today is our birthday"

Ona's voice is sweet as always but the information startle you a little. The day of the accident, you still had two weeks to think about a memorable day for your girl. You already had the gift, but not the rest. You had not imagined that so much time had passed since.

"I found the necklace, I didn't mean to but I was looking for one of your hoodie and the box just fell on the floor."

She speaks quickly, as if she expected you to wake up and scold her. Once again you can easily imagine the expressions on her face, the way she would look her shoes and the slight reddening on her cheeks. Instead, you feel your heart swell with love for her a little more. And the bip of the monitoring - that you’ve been hearing for some time now - seem to want to transmit the information to Ona by accelerating a little.

She's closer now, you can smell her shampoo as she gently strokes your hair. When she talk again, her voice is a whisper.

"The necklace is beautiful, but I promise you’ll never have to give me anything again if you wake up today. I want nothing but your presence by my side. I miss you so much."

You miss her too, you have to admit. You miss hugging her, kissing her or watching her like the creep you are while she's sleeping.

So this time, you try to open your eyes, with all that you have. It take some time, Ona keeps talking, but you can’t focus on what she’s saying and the efforts you’re making at the same time.

It takes you some time, but you eventually succeed.

Everything is too bright suddenly and you close your eyes immediately. The hum of Ona’s monologue stops instantly and you hear the sound of a chair rattling the floor. But you try again, this time long enough to allow your eyes to get a little better at the ambient light. You feel the mattress sag at your waist, before your eyes can finally focus on the one thing that really matters. Ona’s face.

She looks at you too, looking too stunned to speak.

"Nice necklace" you mumbling, your voice hoarse and broken from not being used for two weeks.

Ona kind of broke down, bursting into tears and lying half on you, her face buried in your neck. You slowly raise your arm - your muscles all seem numb - to caress her hair.

"You're awake"

You hear Ona repeat this phrase several times, before she gets up to look at you again.

"You're awake" she says again, this time while looking at you.

"I love you" you prefer answering, focusing of what matter for you. Not being able to say it back for so long was kind of frustrating.

She smiles between her tears and kiss you with all the love and tenderness she have. You reciproque the kiss as well as you can, and just when Ona pulls back you hear the door of your room being open.

"They didn’t have the coffee you like anymore, I hope it fits you. They’re all filthy in this hospital anyway" Alexia grumbles without looking in your direction.

"Well hello to you too Miss Putellas" you said.

Alexia turns in your direction so quickly that you wouldn't be surprised to learn that she have a stiff neck. The surprise made her drop the cup of coffee she was holding in her hand and it took her a few more seconds to rush to the two of you.

And for the first time since you are here, you hear Ona’s laughter ringing in the room.

[000marie198]

What were to happen if Sonic and Tails both became babies? Y'know, besides Knuckles and Amy having to wrangle their clingier than usual sibs.

Imagine two gremlin twin kittens who just got reunited staring at you with these faces:

:3 :3

Moments before disaster strikes

.....

But this happens after they are placed in the same space together and make friends.

The first instinct of baby Tails would be to pounce on his fellow age mate cuz he wanna play

The first instinct of Sonic would be to yip in terror and roll away from the fox and tremble while still curled up in a teeny ball. He won't know it but his action will make baby Tails pause and tilt his head in confusion and then curiously approach the still trembling ball to nudge it. It pricks him due to quills and he also yips and scuttles away, then whimpers and sniffs, holding his bleeding snout.

The hedgehog, recognizing the sounds as expressions of pain and fear and not sensing anything else for a full minute uncurls slightly to make a little peek at the kit, he's cautious but also curious.

They don't really have the memories of their lives but the general instincts and bonds are there and seeing the teary blue eyes and soft sad sniffles... Little hoglet is not able to handle it and uncurls completely and whimpers too.

He hurt the other. He doesn't want the other to be hurt. He's really sorry he hurt the other.

Little hoglet stumbles towards the sniffling kit and pats him with his little paws over and over till baby Tails stops tearing up with a hiccup and stares curiously at the hoglet.

Baby Sonic let's out an open mouthed smile. Tails gets curious and comes closer, which reactivates the hedgehog instincts and Sonic rolls away again.

Baby Tails realizes the other one can get scared if he comes close without warning or pounces so he doesn't do that. He just sits and waits, tails lightly swishing back and forth, watching baby Sonic till he calms down and uncurls, meeting the fox replicating his earlier smile.

Big wide eyes staring at each other and slowly they both become comfortable enough to actually start communicating, in babbles and gestures but it's still communication.

In a while, Sonic's stomach growls, he has always had higher metabolism okay. Baby Tails starts sniffing around to find him something to eat. He sniffs something he likes, FLIES OUT OF THE PEN, locates a cookie and brings it to Sonic. The hoglet muches on it and offers it to Tails after 3 or 4 bites. Tails also munches on cookie.

They start competing on who can munch louder, it's a miracle one of them hasn't choked on a crumb while giggling so much.

They bond over chocolate cookie :]

........

There's a lot more moments we can add afterwards, aka once the two have become friends. .

Both babies would literally have that package deal, Do Not Sperate level separation anxiety specifically and only when it comes to the other.

Knuckles would carry Tails away to feed him something and Sonic would start wailing and reaching, Tails doing the same. They are very loud and they won't shut up till you reunite them, which will end up in close hugs and sniffles

There was that one time Amy had to take Sonic away for a little bit to give him a bath and Knuckles had to fight to hold a frantic clawing fox kit away, especially when Sonic's cries of sorrow turned into screeches of fear. This was so not easy.

Tails bites both their older friends after that while Sonic naps in the background all freshened up and tidied.

........

You cannot leave the babies unsupervised anywhere! They will work together to escape one way or another no matter where and they will drive everyone nuts looking for them only to be found inside a barely ajar cupboard with cereal scattered all around them and blinking like deer caught in a headlight.

......

You give one of them a toy or teether or rattle and they'll fight over it and scream. Sighing, you take away the toys. Next time you make sure to give both of them identical toys. They still look at the other and try to snatch it, starting another fight.

.......

There are two gremlins rolling around and flying all over the house, getting into the craziest, unreachable places. Sonic just scuttled under the fridge, Tails is perched on a ceiling fan. Everything is scattered

.......

The next time baby Tails pounces on the hoglet to play with him, Sonic doesn't curl up in fear

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Prologue: In Search of Lost Time

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst if you squint, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance (not even y/n dw), some swearing, use of 2nd person for the reader (I know I know but I promise it makes sense for the story)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is the first english fic I've written, so I'm terrified. Anyway, Trimetravel! AU with Sebastian Sallow. Some background info: Reader is not MC; Reader is a Gryffindor, MC was a Slytherin; MC was a Pureblood, Reader is a Muggle Born. Also, english is not my first language so if you find any mistakes, I deeply apologise. Not proof-read (for obvious reasons).

→ Find the rest of the fanfiction here on AO3 :)

"For we are not as faithful to the being we have most loved as we are to ourselves and sooner or later we forget her — since that is one of our characteristics — so as to start loving another." - Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

If a chasm had opened under Sebastian's feet and swallowed him all the way to the depths of hell, he would have gladly accepted his demise there and then.

Unfortunately, its mercy seemed to be out of business that day — or any other day in his life, really.

Sebastian paced the corridors, a frown adorning his face; he had just come out of the Headmaster's office due to the absolute disaster that had occurred to him just a few hours prior.

After weeks of research, he had finally found something that could help him, a breakthrough with which he could finally achieve his goal. An artefact so powerful that it could break the fabric of time and space, something that could help his poor sister live a happy and healthy life again. He did not care that they were not on speaking terms at the moment: he would find a way to talk to her so that she would take this last chance. He would force her if he had to. It was his last hope, and Merlin knows he had tried everything.

If he had known about the artefact's effects earlier, he would have thought twice before using it.

"So, Mr Sallow, could you be so kind as to tell us how you came to be in our time?" the Headmaster, who had earlier introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, had asked him.

Truth was that not having stopped dwelling with the Dark Arts in search of a cure for Anne had led him to find himself in another timeline instead. His face twitched: in terms of unlikelihood, the scales seemed pretty unbalanced.

It had been a brief conversation, really, with Sebastian omitting some details (like his friendship with an Ancient Magic wielder or the murder of his uncle, for which he bore full responsibility) and grimacing against his own will when the Headmaster had looked at him through his half-moon shaped glasses as if asking him, 'Why are you lying to me?'

He had pushed the thoughts away as quickly as they had come: it wasn't like he could read his mind... or could he?

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when the Headmaster had dismissed him after giving him specific instructions on how to behave until they found a way to return him to his timeline — one of which was, "Please don't inform anyone of your condition unless it's absolutely necessary." That had seemed quite reasonable to him, so he nodded.

The artefact was damaged, as expected, and unlikely to work again unless a powerful form of magic came into contact with it and repaired it: something like Ancient Magic, perhaps, or a miracle.

"I see you're still causing trouble everywhere you fare, aren't you, Mr Sallow?" the familiar voice of Phineas Nigellus Black had mocked from his portrait, effectively startling him. Sebastian had looked up and into the eyes of his old Headmaster, his mouth falling open at the sight of him. He looked old, weary, and angrier somehow — yet, in a way, he had brought Sebastian some form of comfort, almost. A sense of familiarity.

Before he could have said anything, Black had disappeared, and a woman with severe blue eyes and long robes had escorted him out of the office.

-

Sebastian looked around at his familiar surroundings, which would have been almost comforting if not for the nameless faces looking at him with curiosity: Hogwarts students tended to recognise each other effortlessly, and anyone who didn't fit into that bundle of familiarity was to be ostracised. He remembered all too well when he was the one helping the new fifth-year find her way around those same corridors, except he didn't need guidance: this was his home, after all.

But he did have a guide, and she wasn't as charming a student as he was either.

The Head of the Gryffindor House walked right next to him, a stern expression on her face made even more prominent by the shadow of her large witch hat. The woman Sebastian had come to know as Minerva McGonagall was also the Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress, at least it seemed that way, which was no doubt why she was accompanying him rather than the Head of his own House.

Sebastian decided not to ask himself any questions and do what the Headmaster told him to: attend class, fit in, and pretend to be either a transfer student or someone with a complex background — he hadn't decided which story to tell yet (and both, in a way or another, would be true).

The clacking of Professor McGonagall's shoes stopped so abruptly that he almost would have missed it if she hadn't started speaking.

"You're about to meet two of your new classmates. Prefects of the Gryffindor House." She raised her left arm in their direction, and his eyes followed it to two red and gold robes leading into warm faces.

"I am pleased to introduce you to Ms Hermione Granger—" she gestured to the girl with curly hair to her left, who wore a friendly smile all while maintaining a serious and clean look, "—and Mr Ronald Weasley." Sebastian's eyes shot to the boy to his right when he heard the familiar name, and to be honest, he might not have needed an introduction at all: the red-haired boy gave him a wry smile, his freckles standing out even more in the natural light. He would have recognised those features anywhere.

Finally, Sebastian noticed their uniforms. He didn't pay much attention to the boy's — he himself also wore a very similar one, uncomfortable and informal as it seemed to him — for his eyes were fixed on the girl's. She was wearing a grey cardigan with red and gold trim, the colours of her House, and her skirt was much shorter than he remembered, with black denier tights covering the rest of her legs. Sebastian felt himself blushing slightly and averted his eyes.

He wondered why the Slytherin prefects were unsuited to the situation: at the end of the day, he was a Slytherin, too. Sebastian didn't undergo the Sorting again — the Professors didn't seem to deem it necessary, not to mention the Hat had recognised him from his shelf, too. He didn’t forget easily.

McGonagall turned back to Sebastian and briefly adjusted his robes, her face softening slightly, "For the time being, it is best if you don't draw attention to yourself. We will find a solution," she straightened her posture and nodded at him, "Welcome to Hogwarts." She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving him with the two Gryffindors.

He studied their faces for a moment, searching for the right words to say, deciding on which story to tell, but the only thing he could muster was: "How come you're Gryffindors?"

The two students stared at him, appalled, and he mentally slapped himself. He wanted to correct his statement and explain his intention, but the girl stopped him before he could even form a coherent thought.

"You're wondering why they asked us to guide you and not the Slytherin Prefects, am I right?"

Either his question wasn't that unclear, or the girl had excellent deduction skills, and judging by the epiphany on the other boy's face when he understood the meaning of her words, it was most likely the latter.

Sebastian sighed inwardly and nodded, mentally promising not to stumble over his words again.

The boy — Ronald, Sebastian recalled — chimed in: "Because otherwise you'd have to deal with Malfoy, and he's an idio—" the girl slapped him on the arm and gave him a warning look before turning back to Sebastian.

Malfoy, Sebastian thought. A family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was clear why a Weasley would want nothing to do with him.

Sebastian wondered if they still held the same values as in his day: if the Malfoys were still blood maniacs, and so was the person they spoke of, or if he wanted to distance himself from his family as Ominis did. Judging by Ronald's opinion of him, Sebastian did not think that was possible, but then again, he did not know the fellow. Maybe, Sebastian thought, things had moved on after a century: no blood wars, discrimination or superiority complexes. Perhaps this was all just a simple rivalry between two students from different Houses.

"Professor Dumbledore thought us to be best suited for this difficult situation. No other student but us knows about your... misadventure," said Hermione.

To call it a "misadventure" would be an understatement , Sebastian wanted to say. As it turned out, however, he didn't need a story to tell. He didn't know whether to feel betrayed by the Professors who had decided to disclose that information or relieved that he didn't have to go through it all alone. A beat of silence followed, in which Sebastian could only nod at the girl's words, and then it was interrupted abruptly.

"Where have you been?" called a voice from the end of the corridor, directly behind Sebastian.

He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him.

He definitely didn't have to go through it all alone because there she was. Standing a few feet away from him, looking straight at him, was the person who had accompanied him on all his adventures.

She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.

He felt his lips twist into a grin, and he beamed at the sight of her. Had she been looking for him?

He frowned a little as he noticed her expression: she seemed annoyed, almost angry. Perhaps she had no intention of following him and had just ended up here for no reason? Were the two of them connected on a deeper level than he thought? Or perhaps she was just worried for him and angry he didn't look for her too?

The girl started to walk towards them, and his smile widened even more the closer she got.

She was almost there when he realised she wasn't sparing him a glance.

Instead, her eyes were focused on the red-haired boy next to him, who was staring at her in horror, looking completely terrified.

Sebastian looked back at the girl, finally noticing the red and gold tie around her neck where a green and silver one usually belonged, a crease in her eyebrows that wasn't there before, and her eyes were a different colour than he remembered.

What the hell is going on here?  he thought, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Ron, for God's sake, I've been looking all over for you! Do you intend to give me back my book before class starts, or should I pull a new one out of a hat because you can't use your own?" she threw her hands in the air disapprovingly.

Ron stuttered briefly before hesitantly pointing at the Slytherin boy next to him, "I've just had too much to do. Prefect stuff, you know."

The girl scowled at him before turning to the said boy, her eyes softening slightly. "Oh! You're the new fifth-year!"

Sebastian's eye twitched. How bloody ironic.

"I'm Sebastian Sallow," he replied feebly, body stock-still like marble.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled politely.

And then she introduced herself.

His breath caught in his throat. Sebastian could have recognised that surname anywhere, but her name fell completely deaf on his ears.

You weren't her.

--

→ Chapter 1

[vidavalor]

It's really funny that Aziraphale didn't-- from the get go-- just miracle Gabriel some damn pants.

Instead, he was all well... hello, supreme archangel that my husband once said was beautiful... it does appear that you really have *no memory of who you were whatsoever and are just colossally hot and dumb* oh Lord, this is both terrifying and absolutely hilarious, wait 'til Crowley sees this... here, just drape yourself in my thin, tartan blanket, Jim... that's it, oh that's perfect actually, you look like I'm living out some Roman fantasy over here... just don't answer the door and stand there... wait, no, you need to be doing something... here, take this YELLOW. FEATHERED. duster and clean our books... oh, at this point I don't know if I'm trying to make Crowley jealous or amused or both or if after he gets over the shock, he's going to very into this and I don't really care which... ok, don't answer the door, I'll be right back with my demonic paramour who once asked me on a date around making fun of a statue of your dumb ass and who literally loathes you for trying to murder us and for being an all-around general prat and once he gets over the WTF anxiety fit he'll have and the fact that we need a plan for this disaster, I really think he's going to be very amused that it took me all of fourteen seconds to turn you into our domestic house boy... not actually, old chap, don't worry, we've evolved into a serial monogamy we don't really talk about at this point but one day, he will laugh very hard at this and I do so love to make him laugh...

*goes to coffee shop to explain that there's a bit of trouble and it's terrifying but it's also, at the same time, hilarious and just wait 'til Crowley sees who's playing tartan toga servant boy in the bookshop... whole bloody neighborhood now thinks (knows) he's the kinky old gay bookseller so might as well just lean into it... this'll top even making the Archangel Michael miracle me a bath towel, Crowley...*

Nina: Morning, Mr. Fell! Details, please, on the stark naked Don Draper that just walked up the street and hugged you hello in front of the entire neighborhood.

Crowley: YOU WUT

Aziraphale: Thanks a bunch, Nina. I never know what to get him for his birthday and now you've ruined it.

[merakiui]

Mother

yandere!kabukimono x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, pregnancy, implied codependency, brief mentions of murder/death, brief mention of childbirth note - recently i was inspired to write a kabukimono story, so i hope you can enjoy it!

i. the miracle of life.

There is a little human growing within you.

Kabukimono has never heard of such a phenomenon, but according to you it’s a normal facet of life for all creatures. He, who has only ever interacted with men, young and old, and the occasional grandmother, has never known the word pregnancy. It’s a complicated concept he struggles to parse at first—like that first sip of sake or the stickiness of a sweet. It’s something that leaves you pleasantly rounded like a ripe lavender melon, softens the skin on your bones, and allows you to grow into the kimono that was once two sizes too large. It’s something you speak of with overwhelming warmth, a fondness so enticing it’s almost tangible. It’s something the men at the furnace discuss with great pride and merriment, swapping stories of their beautiful, beloved wives and the tiny miracles that dwell within the womb, adoration painted upon weathered countenances. 

Miracles. Kabukimono has heard the word once or twice. Miracles, as he has come to learn, are wonderful things wrapped in silks. Newborns swathed in softness. Frail humans who manage to overcome illnesses that are said to snuff both body and soul with the excruciating passage of time. Sometimes a miracle is simple and not nearly as exciting as tales of heroes and villains or a mortal fight for recovery. Sometimes a miracle is waking up to begin another day. Sometimes it's torrential rain battering thirsty farmlands. Sometimes it’s a delicious meal prepared by a loving hand. 

If Kabukimono’s existence were to be defined as a miracle, it would be both a grandiose, gilded lie and bittersweet flattery all in one pretty package. Miracles are wanted, loved, and accepted. Disasters, curses, failures—however you wish to name the wandering puppet—are unwanted, despised, and abandoned. Kabukimono may not know every truth of this vast world, but this is one he’s understood from the moment he awoke in a lonesome pavilion. 

There is a little miracle growing within you. 

“Although they’re not very little now,” you remark, taking his cold, bloodless hands in your warm, blood-filled ones.

You guide them to your belly, secured snugly with a hara-obi, and he averts his gaze, if only to be respectful of the bare flesh you’ve put on display. The men at the furnace note he often stares at you; they’ve said it’s unbecoming of a young man to fix licentious eyes upon a maiden. Once, they joked of repentance for invasive gazes: A man who strays too far from his honor when a lady is involved shall gouge his eyes out and present them to her in hopes of earning forgiveness. Kabukimono, unable to comprehend the sarcasm or the laughter, procured a shard of shattered glass, raised it to his eye, and was promptly stopped by a very concerned Niwa. 

“Now listen here,” he had said, addressing the group of chuckling men, “it’s not very honorable to trick others.”

Kabukimono knows that there are two types of tricks: the painful kind and the painless kind. Betrayal falls under the painful category. Swapping his bitter tea for sake falls under the painless category (though he was not spared of the dizzying, disorienting effects or the subsequent hangover). Had he sliced his eyes from his skull, he wonders if he would have felt the sting, the agony, the fluid filling empty eye sockets—if such fluid even exists within his unique anatomy. Kabukimono is grateful for Niwa, for he often rescues him from painless tricks that may turn painful should he follow through with blind trust. 

And, had he truly lost his eyes that day, he never would have had the pleasure of looking at you like he does now. 

“Not very little…” he parrots, and he can practically feel the heartbeat from your miracle the moment his hands rest upon your belly. It shimmers in the candlelight, but that’s only because you’ve applied herbal oil meant to soothe weary muscles and prevent stretch marks. “How big will it become?”

You hum, idly trace patterns onto the tops of his hands, and say, “It’s difficult to approximate. Imagine…a very big lavender melon.”

Kabukimono can do that. He peers past you at the purple pile on the table, spoils from his last walk. He always returns with too many, but then pregnancy leaves you with a voracious appetite and sometimes you can eat more than one melon in one sitting. It’s very admirable, so he brings more each week and you never stop him. 

“That’s big,” he mumbles, awestruck, and he slides a hand across the width of your stomach. “How does it fit?”

“It’s a miracle.”

“Oh.” He leans closer, suspecting he feels movement from within, and he’s proven correct when something shifts under his palms. His eyes, blown so very, impossibly wide, flick up to yours. “It… It moved!”

“Of course,” you say, smiling, and your eyes are the prettiest gemstones in the moonlight. He could stare at them forever. “They kick and squirm often. This, too, is the sweetest miracle.”

“How so?”

“A restless baby means they are alive and well within.” You look like a statue of the gentlest goddess when you cradle your stomach. “It’s all I could ever hope for.”

Curiously, Kabukimono withdraws his hands and lifts the hem of his silks to view his own flat, porcelain stomach. He presses a palm against synthetic skin. It’s cold, but there is life crackling beneath his hand, just barely contained within the frame his mother personally sculpted. 

Mother. It’s another word he knows well, but he cannot seem to apply it to anyone other than his creator. But, as he has come to learn, a mother is meant to provide and protect. His mother is currently absent, so she cannot do those things. 

“You must have something you want.” 

Kabukimono lowers the fabric, cinches it tight, and peers at you. “Something I want?”

“Like a miracle of your own.”

“I am unable to conceive a miracle.”

You stare at him for a moment before laughing a quiet, melodious laugh. “It doesn’t have to be a child. It can be anything you want.”

His hands rise to his chest and he intends to admit his true wish—a heart and a place amongst humans—but instead he says, “I would like a mother for myself.”

“Do you not have a mother, Kabukimono?”

“I do… I did.” He shakes his head, finding that the admittance is too troublesome on his tongue. “I’m…unsure.”

You nod, your features softening with understanding. “Perhaps something else then?” Kabukimono reaches out to touch your belly, hesitates, and draws away, conflicted. You offer an encouraging smile. “You can touch. I don’t mind, and I don’t think the baby minds either.”

And so he does.

“I want to see your miracle when it’s brought into the world,” he whispers, speaking more to your baby than to you. “And I would like to know the miracle of life.”

As if in response, your little miracle kicks.

ii. the miracle of death. 

Your little miracle almost fell from the sky that envelops it.  

On the way to the furnace, a man bumped into you and you were sent stumbling on uneven ground. Kabukimono does not want to think of what could have happened if he hadn’t been a few steps behind—if he hadn’t rushed to your aid with a quickness rivaling lightning. He’d caught you in his arms and, noting the raw panic sullying such a friendly face, could only exhale a slow, relieved sigh. 

When you fell, you were holding your belly, shielding it as if it was worth more than your own life. When you fell, the man who had been the catalyst for this short-lived horror did not jump in to catch you. When you fell, you were a sliver away from tragedy. 

Kabukimono tastes red-hot anger in his throat, but he cannot understand where it’s coming from or why it consumes him entirely. But he must get it out of his system. It’s unpleasant and wrong and sordid. He doesn’t like it. Not at all.

And so, later that same day, he repays terror tenfold and leaves the man clinging to the strand he calls life.

“I won’t allow you to take my miracle away.” It’s spoken like a fact, shot through with syllables of deadly certainty. The sharpened tip of his blade prods at the man’s abdomen, a warning, a threat, and a promise all at once. For nearly taking a life, you shall pay for it with your own.

“Your mother?” the man had sputtered, terrified and confused, sticky with sweat and tears. 

Kabukimono does not let the man speak again, for the sword sinks into his stomach, and unease morphs into painful torment. To be certain the man won’t survive, Kabukimono twists the sword, sullies his hands in the process, and yanks it free with startling strength. Blood speckles a pristine canvas. It’s warm and wet.

He did not say mother. He did not. You’re a miracle. You are not his mother. You will be a mother to your miracle, not him because he isn’t a miracle. 

He did not say mother. 

Kabukimono finds himself sitting across from you now. There is a ghastly tear in crimson-spattered silks. You suspect the truth in the liquid staining his attire. Surely you must. But you keep your lips pursed and thread the needle through with expert fingers, humming as you work. Kabukimono sits primly, watching you with bright, indigo hues. You hum a melody he has never heard before.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m uninjured.”

“I’m glad.” You snip the excess string away and tuck the needle into your sewing kit. “It’s fixed. I’m sorry if it looks a little awkward. I’m not the best at—”

“It’s perfect,” he insists, admiring the stitching as if it’s the most valuable thing in all of Teyvat. Irreplaceable, for no one could replicate your exact pattern, and that’s what makes it so special. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He’s quiet for all of two minutes before the silence shatters his resolve. “Your miracle…” He frowns, suddenly ashamed. “He almost hurt your miracle…”

“But he didn’t, and I have you to thank for that.” You hold your hands out, palms up, and add, “Your hands aren’t meant to break and destroy others. You were given these precious palms to embrace others, to protect others, to respect others.” 

Slowly, he places his hands in yours. His seem to weigh heavy like a grimy sin, yet somehow all it takes is a single touch from you and all of his filth is cleansed. His fingers curl around yours, entwining like vines.

“I will embrace others. I will protect others. I will respect others.”

You squeeze his hands reassuringly. “When you’re upset, rather than acting rashly, take a step back and sit with your feelings. If the unpleasant thing persists, come to me and we can discuss. But please don’t take your frustrations out on others. You weren’t made to hurt others.”

“Then if I was not made for destruction, what else could be the purpose for my creation?”

To that, you’re unable to produce a satisfactory reply. Instead, you pull one of your hands free, lick your thumb, lean towards him, and scrub the blood from his cheeks. He blinks at you, unaccustomed to such consideration. The men at the furnace often tease him for trailing after you like a lost, little duckling, seeking your approval and affection. Tonight, since the men are nowhere in sight, he thinks he can allow himself to be greedy without any admonishments from Niwa or Katsuragi. You sure do like that (Name), huh? the latter often muses, exchanging wary, furtive glances with Niwa, as if both are preparing to weather a calamity. 

Kabukimono always speaks the truth unless he must take care to conceal it. So when he tells them, I like her more than I like the world that surrounds me, he means it. Because without you there is no world.

“Thank you, Mother,” he murmurs, as if it’s a secret, a title not meant to be uttered by him. 

Oh, he said it again. He said mother. 

iii. the miracle of motherhood.

Kabukimono kneels at your bedside like an angel of death dressed in the purity of white. He watches you throughout the hour, listening to your cries, your groans, your hisses, while a grandmother assists below, whispering soothing consolations that somehow reach Kabukimono’s ears despite the shrill noises that fill the room. Kabukimono has learned she’s a granny who delivers life, so he puts his faith in her to take good care of you and your miracle.

The process is much longer than he anticipated. Though you’re covered in sweat and tears, your chest heaving, your hand searching for him in the midst of the commotion, you are the most beautiful miracle he has ever known. He closes his hand around yours and you squeeze so hard you might just tear his wrist from the joint. But it doesn’t hurt him, and he spends the afternoon at your side, watching the toll the miracle takes on your body.

He never blinks, burning the scene into his retinas. 

Some time later, you are holding your miracle in your arms, tears tracking down your cheeks in salty streaks. Kabukimono watches mother and child with wide, adoring eyes. After all this time, your miracle is finally here! You’re holding such a fragile human and there is love trickling from your lash line. Kabukimono wants to cry with you, but the tears won’t come. 

So instead he smiles. You seize his wrist and drag him down to where you rest, and the smile widens.

“Your miracle is leaking,” he observes, and you snort in amusement.

“Crying,” you correct, bumping your forehead with his. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

Kabukimono is inclined to agree, but your eyes are not on him. For the first time in the many months he’s been acquainted with you, he is not all you see. Somehow that saddens him, carves a hole into him, but he can’t mourn. He shouldn’t. He’s come to learn that the miracle of childbirth is an occasion worthy of celebration. He should be happy for you—and he is—but there is a pang in his chest. Something is not fitting where it should. Something is amiss.

“I think I’ll name her…Aika.”

“Is it common to give miracles names?”

“Of course. Everyone has a name, even you. We’re all given one the moment we’re born.”

Even me… 

Aika continues to cry and you rock her to and fro in your arms, shushing her with a song. She settles within minutes, lulled to sleep, and you follow shortly after. He refuses to leave your bedside, preferring to watch over you like a dutiful guard.

Kabukimono weighs his two warring wants: a name of his own, generously given by his mother, and you. In this very moment, you are attainable. A name, however, is not. But perhaps he can survive without one if it means you’ll accompany him through nameless wandering.

He’s only ever whole when he’s with you. 

iv. the miracle of rebirth. 

The Balladeer stands at an all-too-familiar doorstep. He has since swapped his pure linens for a shroud of darkness, and he’s taken on a new alias (he refuses to call it a name, for only you can grant him one). You haven’t changed in the many years that have since followed, for you are not fully human like him. Yet you veil yourself in the wonders of humanity, always empathetic in nature, tainted with weak emotions. You will never be human, but then neither will he and there is catharsis in similarity. The both of you stand on equal ground in that regard, or so you might have thought. 

He is better because he feels nothing, or so he believes. Perhaps, in the center of the labyrinth that is his mind, he recognizes his flaws and the fact that he is worse because you can accept the many aspects of humanity. 

Shrugging these irritations away, he composes himself, squares his shoulders, and knocks thrice. He could forego etiquette altogether, kick your door down, and force himself inside for the sake of a cruel surprise, but he refrains from doing so. He suspects your newest miracle might tumble from your sky if he shocks you and then you will never know the sweet cycle of motherhood again.

You know better than to ignore Death when he comes knocking. The door opens wide; there’s no need to crack it and peek through the thin sliver when you’re already aware of the person who awaits you on the other side. 

As he has observed over the course of many months, you do have another miracle, hidden under the softness of a floral-patterned kimono. He smiles at you, sharp and wicked under a blanket of stars, and spreads his arms for a hug.

“Mother,” he says in a sarcastic singsong, knowing it unnerves you terribly when it spills like sin from his lips. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Like an old habit, you welcome him in. Beyond your doorstep, the corpse of your most recent lover lies slumped and bloodied, decapitated and disemboweled, dragged so far there’s a vermilion trail marking the path. Sometimes you think these humans are not killed by The Balladeer but rather by the sheer ferocity of the hatred and anger he harbors. He’s always diligent with each of your lovers, swooping in the moment he catches their scents, like a predatory cat finely tuned for slaughter. 

He palms at your stomach, uncharacteristically gentle. “Aren’t you just full of miracles, Mother?”

There is a little human growing within you, and The Balladeer has made it his duty to bear witness to the birth of each one of your miracles.

[captain-hawks]

Hello hello! I've recently discovered your writing and am going absolutely WILD over it, especially your kn8 fics!!

But I would love to request Kenma Kozume(timeskip) and bathroom/shower with the reader as his roommate and helps him destress after a long day of working for his company and youtubing !!

collaboration

kenma kozume x f!reader

Kenma's nearly content to ignore his accidental discovery of your late night activities...until the sight of you wearing one of his shirts snaps the last remaining fragile threads of his willpower.

wc: 1.1k

c: 18+ only, and they were roommates, streamer!kenma, camgirl!reader, (guilty) masturbation, handjob

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — PART V

It’s a miracle, Kenma thinks to himself as he lays one palm flat against the smooth tiles of the shower wall, that he’s lasted this long.

His cock hangs erect and flushed between his legs, precum leaking from the tip, and a satisfying flood of pleasure surges through him when the fingers of his other hand close around its girth.

Eight months he’s lived with you in this two-bedroom apartment, eight months of soft, mumbled ‘good morning’s over coffee and late nights spent watching bad movies and playing video games on the couch. 

You’re his roommate.

You’re his friend.

And he’s spent the last two months trying to forget about his accidental discovery of what exactly you’d fucking meant when you grinned at his streaming set up the first day you moved in, idly commenting that you “stream on occasion, too.” The answer to his question, though incredibly belated, came in the form of your tits on his computer screen late one night as he fervently searched for material to quell the aching need tented in his sweatpants. 

He didn’t realize it was you, not at first. Not until you moved over just enough as you began to finger yourself to reveal a familiar, brightly-colored collage of posters behind your bed. 

Kenma likes to think he’s been a decent roommate—he’s gone to whatever lengths necessary to think of anything but the swell of your perky tits and the sight of the slick arousal staining the inside of your thighs while he’s jerked off in the days since. He even blocked his own access to the website you stream on to avoid any future misclicks driven by selfish temptation and curiosity.

(Kuroo laughed so hard he cried when he told him and proceeded to call him a masochistic idiot.)

He might have even been able to move on past the entire thing unscathed…if he hadn’t stumbled out of his room today after streaming a grueling, infuriating six-hour-long raid to the sight of you bent over in front of the fridge wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pale pink cotton panties.

That still was nearly a recoverable offense, if not for the goddamn fact that the black t-shirt in question was his.

Even now, with his eyes firmly screwed shut as hot water pours down his back, the sight of KODZUKEN written in large, white letters across your shoulders is an insistent, hungry echo against the darkness of his eyelids. 

Just this once—

Kenma lets himself remember the way your tits bounced as you scooted back across your mattress, the shape of your pert nipples, the way your hips arched up off of the bed when you slipped two fingers into your cunt. 

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock. His head drops against the tiles, water sliding down the damp strands of his hair as steam fills the room. His balls ache.

He’s a fucking terrible roommate.

Kenma strokes his cock and bites his fist and wonders if you’d let him come all over your tits. 

(He wonders if you’d wear that shirt while he fucks you.)

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist wishing he was sinking his cock into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. His chest shouldn’t be heaving at the thought of burying his face between your thighs and lapping at your swollen pussy until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.

And suddenly, as disasters often go, a few unfortunate events occur simultaneously—

The bathroom door Kenma left unlocked in the midst of his frustration bursts open.

You loudly announce that you need to brush your teeth quickly.

And Kenma groans your fucking name while he’s pumping his throbbing shaft, the sound easily carrying across the bathroom tiles.

Kenma freezes, and everything goes silent, save for the sound of the running water pouring from the shower head. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He gapes, turning to look at the shadow on the other side of the frosted glass of the shower door.

“Can I help?” you continue when he doesn’t respond.

Kenma knows he’s never quite had a way with words, but now he’s well and truly at a fucking loss in this moment. 

“Why?”

Your soft laugh goes straight to his dick. “Because I want to.”

When the shower door slides open partway, you’re still wearing his shirt, and Kenma allows himself a brief moment to freely take in the sight before him. 

“Hope you don’t mind I borrowed this,” you tell him, lips quirking upward in a smile as you tilt your head to the side slightly. “I may have accidentally left something in your drawer to make up for it.”

Kenma blinks, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over what you mean, because a moment later, you’re leaning into the shower just enough to wrap a hand around his shaft. He exhales roughly, taking a step backward, the door of the shower pressing into his shoulder blades as he turns his head to the side to glance at you.

He’s so hard, it hurts.

You run your teeth over your bottom lip as you stroke him, fingers deftly sliding up and down his length, breathy sighs leaving your lips as he gives in to the urge to rock his hips forward into your touch.

“Have you been watching my streams?” you ask him, lips hovering against the shell of his ear.

“Once,” he exhales sharply as your fingers clasp his balls before stroking from his base to his tip, thumb sliding over the precum that continues to steadily leak out.

You smile at him, like you know how fucking hard he’s been trying to maintain some modicum of respect for you as his friend. And then you send all of his good intentions spiraling in to a fucking ditch—

“That’s a shame. Personally, I like watching yours right before I stream.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s never been this hard in his life, not when your fingers are wrapped around his cock in the shower while openly admitting that you livestream yourself masturbating to him playing video games.

And because you clearly know no mercy, you tack on, for good measure:

“We could collaborate…”

Kenma comes so hard he nearly blacks out, his hips sloppily jerking into the grip of your fist as he slams both hands against the wall and groans, hot, sticky ropes of cum spurting from his cock and painting the gray tiles below.

—

Later, after Kenma finds a lacy, red thong nestled amongst the shirts in his dresser, he doesn’t feel bad at all when he fucks his fist with it wrapped around his cock.

—

And while he’s not quite ready to run the risk of someone on your streaming site recognizing Kodzuken while you’re whimpering and gasping as you ease yourself down into his length, his viewers are none the wiser when you take his dick into your mouth from beneath his keyboard in the middle of his next raid. 

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-four

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: I wanted this to be a slow burn/enemies to lovers but god damn it's so hard to write because I already want Reader and Noah to get together.

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo

With a loud sigh, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and walked towards to front end of the bus. On this bus, I shared it with Davis, Matt, and Bryan, and sometimes one guy from the band would pop in every once in a while: except Noah. At least if he did, it was when I was asleep or not around. Especially lately, Noah and I avoided each other. After the disaster of a dinner a couple nights ago, I refused to speak to him even about work. I went to everyone else instead of him if I had a question, which I didn't often since I knew what I was doing.

I didn't want to think about Noah right now. Not when my mind should only think about my mom.

Lana told me that even though my mom was having a lot of good days, she still refused to speak to me. I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't break but I couldn't cry about it. I needed to focus for work and not give anyone a reason to figure out something was wrong.

We were close to the next city, less than an hour away, and we would hang out in Dallas for two days before heading out once more. Matt mentioned he had a surprise for everyone so called for a bus meeting which is where I found everyone with two surprise visitors.

Folio and Noah.

Giving a small smile to the former, I sat next to him at the table and he returned a smile. Noah was sitting on the long couch of the bus, chatting quietly with Bryan. They must have joined when we stopped last and I was asleep.

Noah's eyes burned hot at the side of my face but I ignored him as I bumped shoulders with Folio. We had been texting a bit the last couple days and have gotten pretty close; no romantic feelings involved. Folio had been a great friend and someone to vent too. I never told him about my mom, though. That was something I would take to the grave.

"Where's Jolly and Nick?" I asked.

"They stayed on our bus. They wanted the peace to sleep."

I nodded before pointing to Matt, who was standing at the front of the bus rubbing his hands together. "Any idea what this is about?"

"No fucking idea," Folio chuckled.

With my phone buzzing in my hand, I dared a peak at the notification to see another subscriber to my Only Fan's page. I didn't have many followers but enough to keep some money coming in. I could pay Lana her first paycheck and the extra income coming in was nice. I wasn't rolling in money but wasn't struggling on how to pay for things. With being constantly surrounded by the guys, I wasn't able to post much, just one other video and a few provocative pictures. I never showed my face, only from the neck down and never naked. I always had some short of clothes or underwear or an arm covering the private areas. Maybe that was the reason I had little subscribers, but it was the rules I set for myself when I started this.

"So, I bet you're all wondering why I called this meeting," Matt spoke while clapping his hands.

Folio muttered a joke to me under his breath which earned a loud laugh from me. Everyone looked our way, and I leaned back into the booth cheeks on fire.

"What's so funny?" Matt quirked a brow.

Noah's eyes pinned me to my spot as I glanced over to him. Something flashed behind those brown iris' while his jaw ticked.

"Nothing, Mr. Dierkes. Please continue with class," Folio joked with a smirk.

I had to bite my lip so I wouldn't laugh again.

"As I was saying," Matt began ignoring Folio. "It's been a week on tour and we've all been working tirelessly to make sure every show fucking rules. But there has been some tension within the group."

"I don't think you feel the same tension as some of us do," Noah said with his eyes on me.

Our eyes matched with intensity, and I let out a deep breath wondering what he meant by that.

Tension? Of course, there was tension between us but that's because we disliked each other.

Folio noticed I was ready to speak, so he pinched the bare skin of my shoulder which caused me to yelp out in slight pain.

"What the fuck was that for?" I seethed.

He nodded towards Matt to continue on, who looked displeased at being interrupted by our antics yet again.

In our days of texting, I told Folio about how it irritates me how Noah acts around me when we're alone versus when others are around. I also may have told him about my tiny feelings for Noah, which Folio told me it was pretty clear how I felt. While I thought no one noticed, Folio saw the stolen glances, the way my body reacted differently when Noah was around, or the way the corner of my lips curled up when Noah spoke or sang.

Always so perceptive.

I tried to get out of him why Noah was so upset about that night in Chicago but Folio refused. He said that was Noah's secret to share.

I tasted blood with how hard I bit my tongue and reluctantly gave Matt my attention.

"Since we'll be in Dallas for a few days, I rented an Airbnb for us to stay at as a way for us to bond or whatever the fuck. There's a pool and grill we can have a pool day on our off day," Matt said with a smile.

My heart sunk deep into the pits of my stomach. At least when we stayed in hotels, I had my room, sometimes doors down from Noah. But now, all of us staying in a house means it would be harder to avoid him.

"Is that necessary?" I questioned.

"Yes," Matt deadpanned. "If you want a hotel, book it on your personal card."

Low blow.

"Whatever," I grumbled while crossing my arms.

He simply gave me a large smirk before speaking again. "The only issue is that there aren't enough beds so some people will have to bunk together or sleep on the couch."

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered while running a hand down my face.

I didn't care the house situation, I would sleep on the floor if I had too if that meant I wouldn't share a bed with anyone, especially Noah. I liked these guys but not that much.

Folio patted my shoulder and whispered low in my ear.

"Maybe you and Noah should bunk together. Team bonding or whatever."

"Fuck off, Folio," I playfully smacked his chest before rising to my feet, his arm falling away from me. Noah was still staring at me and I knew with how close Folio and I had been, he wasn't happy. His jaw clenched so tight, and his hands balled into fists in his lap.

I didn't bother giving him another glance as I turned my back to him to retreat into my bunk to mentally prepare for this team bonding bullshit Matt set up.

Okay, I had to admit. This house was fucking sick.

There were large floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto a beautiful backyard and if you looked past that, you could see the city down below the hill the house was on. It was a large open floor plan with a living room, kitchen, and bar with a pool table off of the dinning room. Upstairs was an open loft area with a large sectional couch and four bedrooms.

While I was in my bunk on the bus, the room situation had been decided by drawing matching straws. No one bothered to ask for me to draw because somehow by the Gods below, Noah was the last to pick and was only left with the color red.

Jolly and Nick.

Bryan and Davis.

Matt and Folio.

Noah and I.

When Folio told me the sleeping arrangements, I wanted to cry in anger. It seemed as if no matter how hard I tried to avoid Noah, something yanked us back together. Folio offered to swap with me but I declined, already deciding that I would sleep on whatever couch was provided.

A warm presence encased around me, making the hairs on my arm prick, and I peered up to my left seeing Noah standing next to me in the house's entryway.

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," he said.

I blinked, somewhat surprised that he offered that. I fully expected him to lock me out of the room.

"I'm smaller than you. It might be better for you to sleep on the bed," I offered.

Was I being nice?

My body shivered at the thought.

Noah shook his head then hoisted his back over his shoulder. "Take the room, angel. You're the only girl here. You should have some privacy."

Was he being nice now in front of the others? They all stood less than a few feet from us.

Did I wake up in the twilight zone?

When I went to protest yet again, he shot me a look that caused my lips to pull tight together. We stood in silence for a few moments and I let out a soft breath.

"Thank you."

Noah made a noise in his throat and his eyes glittered as they darted between mine. His large hand brushed away hair from my face and I leaned into his touch, all the pent up anger between us melting away.

The question weighed heavy on my tongue as I pursed my lips a few times.

"Why do you call me angel?" I finally croaked out.

His hand was now wrapped around the back of my neck, the pads of his finger pressing deep into the skin, and shrugged.

"It feels right."

I raised a brow. "What if I don't like it?"

"Too bad. It stays, angel," he dragged out the last word with a large grin.

Irritation flared inside of me but before I could say anything, the warmth around my neck was gone as Noah walked away. I blinked after him, watching as he tossed his bag onto the couch before stepping outside into the large backyard.

"Soundcheck is in one hour!" Matt called out, his voice carrying through the open space.

With that, I forced my feet to take me upstairs to the bedrooms so I could get ready. The only room left was the closet one to the stairs and directly across the long sectional couch. If Noah would sleep here tonight, he'd be able to look right into my room and see me laying in bed. The thought made something ignite in my stomach but I ignored it.

This was the only room with a bathroom attached which made me wonder if the guys purposely gave me this room. As I placed my things throughout the room since we were going to be here for a few days, my phone rang loudly from its spot on the bed as I was in the bathroom and rushed to answer it in time.

"Hello?" I asked breathless

"Hi dear. How're things?"

I smiled into the phone at Lana. "Good. I'm going to be heading to the venue soon to set up. Everything alright?"

"Well," Lana started.

My ass fell into the bed with a groan and prepared myself for what was about to come.

"What happened?"

"Your neighbors found your mother in their bathroom this morning; in their shower."

I pinched my eyes shut with a groan. "Please tell me it was the Johnson's. They know what's going on with her so they would understand. Well, as much as I hoped they would."

"Yes, thankfully. I was able to bring her back home without incidents."

"Good," I let out a long breath. "How is she now?"

"She's fine, in her room resting but-."

"I don't like the sound of that but," I noted.

"Y/N, I know you love your mother and want the upmost best care possible for her."

I nodded. "But."

"But I think your mother would be better in a home where someone can watch and monitor her twenty-four hours of the day. I can only do so much especially when she takes off."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, not wanting to cry. This conversation was one I knew I was bound to have at some point. My mothers Alzheimers was getting progressively worse and soon, I feared there might be a time where I couldn't handle it.

But now wasn't that time.

"I'll think about it," I said after a few beats.

It wasn't a lie, per se. I would think about it, way down the road.

"I'll see if she wants to talk," Lana said.

"No, it's alright. I don't want to bother her."

I couldn't stop the sob that escaped my lips.

"Alright dear. I'll call you tomorrow."

After we said our goodbyes, I let my phone clatter to the floor at my feet then plopped down onto the bed. Tears pricked at my eyes and I dug my palms into them, hoping it would force the tears away. My mom was the most important person in my life. We were all each other had after my father died, so being so far away from her when she needed me the most made the guilt rip me apart.

Was this job worth it? Was the money worth it?

These questions kept replaying in my mine over and over as I laid on the bed staring up at the ceiling. A few tears escaped drying to my warm cheeks. The money was worth it; it had to be. I still wasn't making a lot of money from Only Fans so whatever I made doing this, I needed.

There was a soft knock on my open door and my breath hitched when I noticed Noah leaning against it. How long had he'd been there? Did he hear my conversation with Lana?

I sat up in bed while covertly drying my eyes.

"The manager at the venue said the set up for merch has to be in the hallway downstairs. Is that alright?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I've been put in weirder places so it's fine."

Noah gave a curt nod while crossing his arms over his chest. I suddenly felt small under his eyes and rose to my feet hoping that watching me gather my things to get ready it would be a silent dismissal. But no, he continued to watch every single movement I made.

"Is there anything else you need, Noah?" I asked with a sigh, finally looking at him.

His black shirt clung to the thick muscles of his arms and chest. His brown hair had fallen into his face in a tousled mess from being on the tour bus the majority of the day.

Noah was breathtaking in every single way, and my core practically begged for some kind of friction.

Not now, traitor.

"Have I mentioned how much I love hearing my name coming from your pretty little mouth?," he mused while licking his own.

My legs squeezed together, my body screaming with that small release against my core, but I refused to let him know how bad he was affecting me.

"Is that it?" I asked.

Noah said nothing as he walked over to my open suitcase and riffled through it, obviously looking for something.

"What are you doing?"

My heart raced as I watched him, knowing that if he picked up that red t-shirt, he would find the variety of sex toys I use for my videos. What he found, though, was something I hadn't expected him to. An old shirt of his that I borrowed from the last tour. It was the second night and Bad Omens played a sold-out show. The crowd was alive the entire night and every one of us was buzzing with excitement. Once we returned to the hotel that night, we all jumped into the outdoor pool even though it was pretty chilly that night. Noah offered his dry shirt to me so I could warm up which at the time I took gratefully.

That night was before the night in Chicago. Before Noah's attitude toward me changed.

It got buried along with my other things after the last tour and forgotten about.

Bullshit.

I may have worn it to bed some nights; so much so that his scent had faded while ago.

Noah tossed the shirt over to me and I caught it just before it hit me in my face. My lips stuttered trying to come up with an excuse because I still had it.

"Wear that."

"Excuse me? I asked irritation lacing my words. "Since when do I take orders from you on what I wear?"

He closed the distance between us in two large steps, his fingers tilting my chin up towards his face. Our lips were so close, I could almost taste the beer he must have had before coming into my room. And the hint of bourbon and spice from his cologne filled my senses.

So warm and familiar.

"There's a reason you kept it, angel. Might as well wear it."

Noah's voice was dark and heavy, laced with something I could pinpoint. His eyes were just as dark as his words and I swallowed hard. My body flared with desire, heat pooling between my legs, and I let out a breathless whine eventually nodding.

"Good girl," he breathed across my lips.

His eyes darted from mine down to my lips where it stayed for a long moment before he dropped his hand from my face then left me standing in the room with a heavy wetness and an ache between my legs.

[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.

[exhaled-spirals]

« Known globally for highly stylized genre films depicting the gritty underbelly of society with brutal violence and crimes, South Korean cinema was long characterized by what one film critic famously called “dark blue filter thrillers” mostly made by and starring men. If women appeared at all, it was often as one-dimensional clichés, serving as plot devices like a femme fatale, a murder or rape victim, an innocent lover or wife, or a self-sacrificing mother.

To challenge this norm and support women filmmakers, some women started to not only watch female-driven films but also buy more tickets than they could even use for such movies in a campaign called “spirit-sending”— meaning they would be at the theaters in spirit. The campaign turned a surefire box-office disaster to an award-winning hit, saving the career of a rare female director.

“It was truly a miracle,” Lee Ji-Won said of Miss Baek, her 2018 debut film about a female former convict trying to save a little girl from abusive parents. The drama, which portrays the friendship between two abuse survivors, was such a rarity in an industry dominated by what Lee called “films with cops, gangsters, naked women, or rom-coms” that it was snubbed by almost all investors and distributors. One investor promised to fund it only if Lee changed the lead character to a man. Another bet that “the disaster-in-waiting” would perish in cinemas in a week—a warning that almost materialized, as the film’s opening-day sales were so poor that it was projected to sell less than a quarter of the tickets required just to break even.

“Everybody, myself included, was so sure that the movie would crash and burn, and my career was over—until weird things started to happen on social media,” Lee told me.

Impressed by the rare women-led film with complex female characters, made by an even rarer woman director, many women watched it again and again, buying tickets even when they couldn’t attend. Ticket sales rebounded sharply as #SendingSpirit became a viral hashtag that continued for months until the film broke even. Miss Baek eventually won rave reviews and swept major awards, and the same investors who’d once snubbed Lee began to court her, begging to see her scripts.

“The gesture of solidarity by all these women was just overwhelming,” Lee said, wiping away tears. “They, like me, were so thirsty for movies portraying women as complex, multidimensional human beings.” In 2021, she finished shooting her second movie, featuring some of the country’s biggest stars.

The “spirit-sending” campaign lived on to drive the success of other women-led movies, like the film adaptation of Kim Ji-Young, Born 1982, allowing such films to defy the boycott campaigns that often targeted “feminism-stained movies.” While the film was hit by thousands of 0 percent ratings even before its official release (causing a vast gender disparity in its ratings on the top web portal—2.99 among men and 9.45 among women), Kim Ji-Young eventually became a hit watched by millions at home. Female-driven movies have grown in numbers and ticket sales since, led by a new generation of filmmakers like Lee and some male filmmakers as well. »

— Hawon Jung, Flowers of Fire: The Inside Story of South Korea's Feminist Movement

[book--brackets]

DragonLance: Chronicles by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman (1984-1995)

Once merely creatures of legend, the dragons have returned to Krynn. But with their arrival comes the departure of the old gods--and all healing magic. As war threatens to engulf the land, lifelong friends reunite for an adventure that will change their lives and shape their world forever . . .When Tanis, Sturm, Caramon, Raistlin, Flint, and Tasslehoff see a woman use a blue crystal staff to heal a villager, they wonder if it's a sign the gods have not abandoned them after all. Fueled by this glimmer of hope, the Companions band together to uncover the truth behind the gods' absence--though they aren't the only ones with an interest in the staff. The Seekers, a new religious order, wants the artifact for their own ends, believing it will help them replace the gods and overtake the continent of Ansalon. Now, the Companions must assume the unlikely roles of heroes if they hope to prevent the staff from falling into the hands of darkness.

Princess Academy by Shannon Hale (2005-2015)

While attending a strict academy for potential princesses with the other girls from her mountain village, fourteen-year-old Miri discovers unexpected talents and connections to her homeland.

Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson (2023)

The only life Tress has known on her island home in an emerald-green ocean has been a simple one, with the simple pleasures of collecting cups brought by sailors from faraway lands and listening to stories told by her friend Charlie. But when his father takes him on a voyage to find a bride and disaster strikes, Tress must stow away on a ship and seek the Sorceress of the deadly Midnight Sea. Amid the spore oceans where pirates abound, can Tress leave her simple life behind and make her own place sailing a sea where a single drop of water can mean instant death?

Parasol Protectorate by Gail Carriger (2009-2012)

Alexia Tarabotti is labouring under a great many social tribulations.

First, she has no soul. Second, she's a spinster whose father is both Italian and dead. Third, she was rudely attacked by a vampire, breaking all standards of social etiquette.

Where to go from there? From bad to worse apparently, for Alexia accidentally kills the vampire -- and then the appalling Lord Maccon (loud, messy, gorgeous, and werewolf) is sent by Queen Victoria to investigate. With unexpected vampires appearing and expected vampires disappearing, everyone seems to believe Alexia responsible. Can she figure out what is actually happening to London's high society? Will her soulless ability to negate supernatural powers prove useful or just plain embarrassing? Finally, who is the real enemy, and do they have treacle tart?

Wayward Children by Seanan McGuire (2016-present)

Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children  No Solicitations  No Visitors  No Quests 

Children have always disappeared under the right conditions; slipping through the shadows under a bed or at the back of a wardrobe, tumbling down rabbit holes and into old wells, and emerging somewhere... else.

But magical lands have little need for used-up miracle children.

Nancy tumbled once, but now she’s back. The things she’s experienced... they change a person. The children under Miss West’s care understand all too well. And each of them is seeking a way back to their own fantasy world.

But Nancy’s arrival marks a change at the Home. There’s a darkness just around each corner, and when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Nancy and her new-found schoolmates to get to the heart of the matter.

No matter the cost.

Codex Alera by Jim Butcher (2004-2009)

For a thousand years, the people of Alera have united against the aggressive and threatening races that inhabit the world, using their unique bond with the furies--elementals of earth, air, fire, water, wood, and metal. But in the remote Calderon Valley, the boy Tavi struggles with his lack of furycrafting. At fifteen, he has no wind fury to help him fly, no fire fury to light his lamps. Yet as the Alerans' most savage enemy--the Marat horde--return to the Valley, Tavi's courage and resourcefulness will be a power greater than any fury, one that could turn the tides of war...

The Belgariad by David Eddings (1982-1984)

Long ago, so the Storyteller claimed, the evil God Torak sought dominion and drove men and Gods to war. But Belgarath the Sorcerer led men to reclaim the Orb that protected men of the West. So long as it lay at Riva, the prophecy went, men would be safe.

But that was only a story, and Garion did not believe in magic dooms, even though the dark man without a shadow had haunted him for years. Brought up on a quiet farm by his Aunt Pol, how could he know that the Apostate planned to wake dread Torak, or that he would be led on a quest of unparalleled magic and danger by those he loved - but did not know? For a while his dreams of innocence were safe, untroubled by knowledge of his strange heritage. For a little while...

Monk and Robot by Becky Chambers (2021-2022)

It's been centuries since the robots of Panga gained self-awareness and laid down their tools; centuries since they wandered, en masse, into the wilderness, never to be seen again; centuries since they faded into myth and urban legend.

One day, the life of a tea monk is upended by the arrival of a robot, there to honor the old promise of checking in. The robot cannot go back until the question of "what do people need?" is answered.

But the answer to that question depends on who you ask, and how.

They're going to need to ask it a lot.

The Once and Future King by T. H. White (1958)

Once upon a time, a young boy called "Wart" was tutored by a magician named Merlyn in preparation for a future he couldn't possibly imagine. A future in which he would ally himself with the greatest knights, love a legendary queen and unite a country dedicated to chivalrous values. A future that would see him crowned and known for all time as Arthur, King of the Britons.During Arthur's reign, the kingdom of Camelot was founded to cast enlightenment on the Dark Ages, while the knights of the Round Table embarked on many a noble quest. But Merlyn foresaw the treachery that awaited his liege: the forbidden love between Queen Guenever and Lancelot, the wicked plots of Arthur's half-sister Morgause and the hatred she fostered in Mordred that would bring an end to the king's dreams for Britain--and to the king himself.

Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong (2001-2012)

Elena Michaels is the world’s only female werewolf. And she’s tired of it. Tired of a life spent hiding and protecting, a life where her most important job is hunting down rogue werewolves. Tired of a world that not only accepts the worst in her–her temper, her violence–but requires it. Worst of all, she realizes she’s growing content with that life, with being that person.

So she left the Pack and returned to Toronto where she’s trying to live as a human. When the Pack leader calls asking for her help fighting a sudden uprising, she only agrees because she owes him. Once this is over, she’ll be squared with the Pack and free to live life as a human. Which is what she wants. Really.

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

As a Dad: Donnie Edition

Authoritative

• he was never a stick in the mud or off the walls, he's more of an in the middle of all his bros when it comes to personality

• out of all his brothers, you'd think he's the most qualified to be a dad, he thinks he is, but he's as much of a disaster as the rest

• he relies heavily on research once the baby is born (biologically by miracle or adoption) but then when the science back fired, he had an epiphany

• 0-8 month stage was the hardest for him because he doesn't do well with screaming and crying but he knows the baby can't help it so he just wings it

• he discovered science isn't what helps him be a parent, it's getting to know the child so he's a pretty hands on dad

• the toys are all home made and cater to brain stimulation and growth

• he definitely takes the child everywhere with him cause that's now his little friend

• sleep schedule is all messed up so he's usually the one to take the night shift

• loves the walking and talking stages cause now he can start introducing the kid to his non-deadly projects

• thus begins the 2-8 stage. poor donnie

• he has way more patience than leo could ever have cause he's a middle child, so he becomes a more gentle parent

• not a yeller and not a physical punishment kind of guy. the naughty corner is definitely a thing

• this is the stage where he reads up on how to deal with tantrums and redirecting, so he becomes the de-escalation king

• it worked until puberity.

• 13-17 were not fun for him and he really felt splinters pain from when he was this age

• the kids are respectful and really nice kids, until they are fighting with each other or being told no

• grounding became a thing and donnie isn't the best at sticking to his punishment (lets face it, he's a softie), however he still reads those books and knows he can't back down

• he often invites his kids to his lab and to help him with his projects, it's his way of spending time with them

• the kids think donnie wont find out things but donnie always knows

• sometimes his head gets stuck in his computer or in a project, but he always makes time for his kids

• he's a binge watcher so he watches tv shows and movie series with the children all the time

• kids are super smart so an A/B average is no problem and he's their personal tutor when they need it

• never forces his interests on the kids but he teaches them things he thinks they need to know

• boy dad coded but if he had a little girl he would also be a great girl dad

• his tinkering sessions with the kids is his time to really figure out what's going on in their heads, thus creating a judgement free zone

• not an overly affectionate dad but he's very supportive of all the kids do

• he definitely says it's parenting

• he's the fun parent by far

• he will make sure your kid excels in whatever sport or activity they decide to take up, but also teaches them not to be little jerks about it

• no problem playing dress up or getting his make up done

• no problem rough housing or wwe wrestling after you said no

• he may be the man of the house, but he usually says that you're the boss so the kids have learned to ask you first over him if they want something

• he is always attending every event the kids have and watches through security tapes or he sneaks in

• he teaches his kids how to dominate the world

• he has the best bedside manner when his kids are sick or upset about something

• he makes science nicknames for your kids and still calls them by them into their adult years

• honesty and respect is the one thing he instills in the kids

• he lets them have ice cream for breakfast on their birthdays

• type of dad to call and ask what you're doing rather than text

[mn-light]

Promise II

Rayne Ames X reader

Part I, II

･ﾟﾟ･｡ The mission that day was supposed to be routine, just like any other they had undertaken before. But as they delved deeper into the heart of the enemy's territory, danger lurked around every corner, waiting to strike with deadly precision.

You and Rayne moved in sync; your steps were measured and purposeful as you navigated the treacherous terrain. The air crackled with tension, each breath you took heavy with anticipation and dread.

Suddenly, without warning, chaos erupted around you. Enemies materialized out of the shadows, their dark magic swirling around them like a malevolent fog. Rayne's voice cut through the chaos, a beacon of strength in the midst of the storm.

"Stay close," he commanded, his tone firm and unwavering as he raised his wand in defense. But even as he fought with all his might, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, a silent fear that threatened to consume him whole.

You fought alongside him, your own magic flaring to life as you unleashed a barrage of spells against your foes. But the enemy was relentless, their attacks growing more ferocious with each passing moment.

In the heat of battle, disaster struck. A blast of dark energy slammed into you with brutal force, sending you crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and agony. The world blurred around you, pain blossoming like a wildfire across your body as you struggled to regain your bearings.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you felt Rayne's presence beside you, his voice a distant echo in the chaos. "Stay with me," he urged, his words a lifeline in the darkness threatening to consume you.

But try as you might, you couldn't hold on. Darkness crept into the edges of your vision, dragging you down into its cold embrace as everything faded away into oblivion.

In that moment, as the darkness claimed you, a sense of despair washed over Rayne like a tidal wave. He watched helplessly as you slipped away from him, his heart shattering into a million pieces at the sight of your pain.

Rayne refused to abandon you. With desperation gripping his heart, he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch your cheek.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, stay with me."

But the darkness was relentless, its icy tendrils tightening around you with every passing moment. Rayne's heart shattered as he watched helplessly, his own magic pulsing with a frantic intensity as he tried to hold back the encroaching shadows.

"I won't let you go," he vowed, his voice raw with anguish. "I'll fight for you, no matter what it takes."

With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, Rayne poured every ounce of his strength into shielding you from harm, refusing to give up even as hope threatened to slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

And in that moment of despair and uncertainty, Rayne clung to the fragile thread of hope, praying for a miracle that would bring you back to him, safe and whole once more.

[friendship-ditch]

Alive

(Jody Moreno x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: Your and Jody's conversation after you "blew up" in Sydney Harbor.

Warnings/Notes: A few mentions of suicide and death and not totally canon compliant, but also lots of fluff

Word Count: 1813

  It was all over the news; The Explosion on Sydney Harbor.  

  An act of aggressive suicide, they called it, Y/N’s attempt at one final show before being arrested for her murder.  The news speculated you killed the other stunt worker to take their job, get yourself back on track in the Tom Ryder movies.  The media viewed you as a selfish asshole, who, when approached with a struggle you knew you couldn’t escape, decided to go out with a destructive bang and blow up a bunch of oil containers.

  The cameras caught the explosion pretty well.  You could see your flaming boat circle the oil, and then leap at it.  The quality diminished from how bright it was on screen, but the flames were licking tall into the sky.  

  You’d certainly died.  You’d blown up into pieces.  The last remnant was your Miami Vice jacket found floating in the water.  Boom.  Y/N was dead.

  But you weren’t.  You couldn’t be, you just couldn’t.

  Jody rewinded the video on her laptop for the seventh time in a row.  Her eyes were burning from how close she was to the screen, surveying every damn pixel for any hint of you.  

  She’d spent the whole night awake, the idea of sleeping making her feel sick.  Gail’s call had sent her into about two hours worth of tears until she remembered your previous work years ago of riding boats over flames constantly.  

  It took her a few hours to actually convince herself to watch the news once it came out, fearing the worst; your dead, burned body?  Or the fact that you survived and they caught you…  Both options terrified her.

  By some miracle, the result was neither.  All the news had to share was the explosion… and that was it.  Nobody had really gone out and investigated the waters yet, but the common assumption was you had died.

  Jody was the first, and likely only person to call bullshit on this.  The realization that you might still be alive was enough to keep her going.  And so, there she was, as close to her computer screen as she could be and rewatching it over, and over, and over.

  She was so engrossed in the video, that she didn’t notice her door cracking open, nor the alien-dressed-human stepping inside.

  Your body moved awkwardly, confined to the tight and uneven spaces of one variation of the Metalstorm alien costumes.  You moved with the grace of a newborn colt trapped in a sea of molasses.  It was a miracle you made it inside without Jody noticing you.

  You planned to take the helmet off once you got in… that part of the plan slipped your mind as after everything you’d been through, you were just so excited to see Jody.  You reached out a hand and touched her shoulder.

  And Jody beat the shit out of you.

  “It’s me!”  You exclaimed as she practically threw you around like you were weightless.  To your luck, the voice distorter was jacked and all it sounded like was a bunch of alienish mumbling.

  Jody nearly choked you.  When that didn’t work, she grabbed a pen and stabbed it into your leg.  Your cry of pain was distorted once more and soon you were on the ground.

  Aimed like a warrior about to slay her worst enemy, Jody held her pen up, most likely aiming for your chest.  Was she actually going to kill you?  At this point, probably.  Just another disaster on the Metalstorm set; Jody Moreno, new director, jailed for murder after death of girlfriend, insanity suspected.  Another one for the books.  Could Gail Meyer recover?  Could Tom Ryder?  

  You stopped her death blow, arms shaking from her sudden strength.  She wasn’t kidding about working out after you vanished.

  Jody’s eyes were filled with an almost scary ferocity, her body shaking too with the urge to implant the pen right into your chest.  What did she have to lose?

  That rage vanished from her face the second you managed to form your trembling hand into a thumbs up.  Jody gasped and threw the pen aside, then tore your helmet off.

  “Y/N!  I knew you weren’t dead, oh god…!”  Jody’s voice immediately went from fierce to breathless as reality set in on her.  She sat you up, ignoring how bulky your costume was, and how sweaty you were from the whole thing.  Her hands cupped your face in a frantic motion to keep you from disappearing again.  Jittery fingers ran through your hair, then back to your face, and finally down to the costume.  She didn’t know what to grab or hold, too excited and overwhelmed.  “Are you okay?”

  You chuckled weakly, propping yourself up against the couch with her help.  “I think…  You got the pen out before the ink poisoning could set in, that’s good.”

  The sparkle in Jody’s eyes was replaced with guilt and she frowned worriedly, her gaze turning to your leg.  “I’m sorry.  You scared the shit out of me, if I knew it was you…  I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.  It was cool.”  Your voice was a little raspy, and your leg felt like it was on fire, but you tried your best to push past it for Jody.  You tried to reach out and tousle her hair but all the obtuse gloves managed to do was sort of just poke her in the side of the face.

  “I knew you weren’t dead.”  Jody whispered again, setting her hands on your shoulders.  “The… the Miami Vice stunts..”

  “You remembered…”

  “Of course.”  She murmured.  “But… what happened to you?  Gail said she sent you off on a plane, you caused an explosion in the harbor, you murdered–”

  “I didn’t murder anybody.  Tom framed me.”

  “He what?”

  It turns out, once you actually explained the whole thing to Jody, she understood it a lot easier than with your movie analogies.  At the end of it, she was practically fuming.

  “Who else knows you're alive?”  Jody asked quietly once you finished.

  “Nobody.”

  “You shouldn’t be here!  We have to burn your finger prints off and send you across the border right now!”  She exclaimed in a loud whisper, grabbing your hands.  

  “No, no!  That’s the point!  If they think I’m dead, they’ll come back and finish the movie.”  You squeezed her hands tightly in return.

  Furrowing her eyebrows, Jody sat back on her heels.  “The movie?  That’s not important, Y/N.  You’re more important.  We need to hide you until we can prove you’re innocent because I’m not losing you again.  It’s just a stupid movie.”

  A stupid movie?  WHAT?!  For all of the years that you knew Jody (around 3-ish, probably, you’d lost count), even before you dated her, all she could talk about was how badly she always wanted to make a movie of her own.  She had countless notebooks with ideas scribbled in even the margins, notes on her phone full of words that made sense only to her of assorted plots and endings to ideas that didn’t even relate, and always doodled on every piece of scrap paper she could get if it was big enough for her to draw up a new mock design.  Jody had poured her heart and soul into this movie and you knew damn well that letting her give up on it would crush her.  There had to be a way to keep Jody from going to directors jail and you out of the more general jail.

  “It’s not stupid!  It’s an amazing movie, Jody.”  You blurted out, cutting her off from her rambling.  “You’ve worked your whole life to get to this point, and you deserve this more than anybody.  Your story deserves to be told and the world deserves to see your work and your never ending dedication.”  

  Jody stared at you.

  “You have… a way of viewing the world that’s so extraordinary and creative and your stories are always gorgeous, whether they end happily or not.  I’m not letting you give up on your dreams because I know it’ll break your heart just as much as if I went to jail…  Maybe I couldn’t get us our happy ending, and I don’t know what you have planned for the end of the movie, but I’ll be damned if Space cowboy and Aliena don’t get to cross the big screens.”

  Out of breath from your rant, you dipped your head for a second to fill your lungs.  In the split second you looked away, you must’ve missed a thousand thoughts in Jody’s eyes, as when you looked at her again, soft tears were dripping down her face, and her eyes were so.. so big and staring at you as plucked the moon out of the sky and offered it to her on one knee.

  “Jody…?”  Your expression softened into a frown.

  Jody tried to respond, but words failed her as all she let out was a soft croak.  She wiped her face, then slipped her arms around your neck and kissed you.  It was like a movie, no… better than the movies.  

  She only broke away when there was a sputter of knocks at the door.  It was Gail, excitedly calling Jody out to talk.

  Jody rested her head against your costume and sighed.  “In a minute, Gail!”  She called, standing up and pulling you to your feet.  “We have to hide you.”

  Did you think it would be easy to hide a woman in a bulky, beaten up and firm alien costume?  Of course you didn’t, and you’d be right.  

  It took at least 5 minutes for Jody to eventually just hide you by her bed.  She threw your helmet at you and then dealt with Gail who neither of you were the biggest fans of anymore.

  Once the annoying woman finally left, Jody ran over to you again and grabbed your hand.  “I have a plan to fix everything and clear your name.”

  “Do I get to beat the shit out of Tom Ryder?”

  “No.”

  “Does it involve finishing Metalstorm?”

  When a soft smile pricked the corners of Jody’s lips, you couldn’t help but grin.  You’d both get what you wanted; Metalstorm to finish, and keep you out of jail.  It couldn’t get any better.  

  “I’m in.”

  “You’re sure?  It’ll be a little dangerous.”  Jody teased, as if you weren’t the one that survived an explosion less than 24 hours ago.  She slipped a hand onto your shoulder, finding the latch on the back of the costume.  “Let’s get this off of you.”

  You chuckled and nodded.  Once she helped you slide out of the bulky mess, she scooped you into the tightest hug.  You buried your face into her neck, inhaling her familiar scent and closing your eyes with a smile.  “I’m sure.  Let’s beat the shit out–let's save your movie, and me.”