#alternate timeline fanfic

[neilarmstrongssmile]

Ok, I need to talk about it. The Five x Lila thing is uncomfortable and kinda gross to me. But mabye I'm not seeing the vision/my discomfort is not the reason it's a bad idea necesarilly. So... here are some reasons besides that on why it's just a bad idea:

1. Why give Five a love story at all? He had a love story, has had it the whole show - love for his family. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve romantic love (with an actual human), but knowing it's the last season and knowing they have only 6 eposodes mabye don't? Introducing the romance in the second to last episode? And developing it through a montague? It's not enough time

2. What's the purpose of the subway station to the story? The only characters on it are Five and Lila (later also Lila's family + Claire), they don't accomplish anything with it, don't find anything useful, don't learn anything new. It's an excuse to have them get lost there, so that they could fall in love. IT'S THE LAST SEASON! Don't waste a cool location like that! Why didn't other characters get there? Why didn't they get Bennifer there and put Ben on one train and Jennifer on another while they think of another permanent safe solution? Use the subway station for actual plot or get rid of it - and that way we don't have the out-of-character falling in love crap

3. Ok, thay are lost, it's been years, they are loosing hope, they are clinging to the only other real thing. There's no guilt? No talk of Diego, Lila's children? There's no false start? They just kiss, remark it's not weird and live idyllicly together? I don't need depressing scenes of them crying for their family and hating themselves for being together, but what we got was not a relationship created by necessity but a normal falling in love story as if Lila isn't MARRIED CURRENTLY to Five's BROTHER! There should be some weirdness, some discussion of what exactly their relationship is, what would happen if they managed to come back. It's inconsistent (with previous characterisation but that's another thing) - are they genuinly in love, or using each other? Is Lila trully happy and in love, or pretending, while being desperate to come back to reality with Diego and her kids? They seem really in love, but after Five finally (5 months!?!?? WTF that's gross) shows Lila the notebook and she leaves she makes it seem as if she's choosing Diego and her marriage. But then she cannot answer 'Do you love him?', gives Five longing glances, is holding his hand... I know that she could be confused and unsure but it doesn't seem as if she doesn't know, it seems like she acts in the way for all the scenes to be dramatic even if it contradicts what happened previously.

4. So they manage to go back, Lila doesn't immedietly confess to Diego, and when the truth comes out Five is mad? He is in the wrong! He went after his brother's wife, he should be apologetic, he should feel weird to be in Diego's home, not combative. Yeah, your love life is complicated and not everything is roses after your return but it's on you YOU WENT AFTER A MARRIED WOMAN! WITH KIDS! And you're mad at her husband for being mad at you? No, he should be ashamed. And ok, get mad later, say that you were finally happy, and now it's gone, scream it at Lila or Diego, but not from the get go. That makes him seem like such a scumbag .

5. You wanted Five to have a romance. In my opinion unnecessary, but do you. You wanted it to be with Lila. In my opinion very weird choice, but sure. Why have Lila and Diego married? We have a 6 year time skip. They could have been just co-parenting and no longer together (and never married). Why make a subplot where Diego thinks Lila is cheating on him (as a joke) to then make it a reality? Why not have Diego and Lila have this season to grow close as friends and co-parent as a unit after years of conflict and have Diego be supportive of this weird incestuous relationship? (TUA unfortunately is no stranger to that, and UA already has weird and complicated relationships all around) instead of falling apart in such a fashion? IT'S THE LAST SEASON at the very least have all our main characters go out without conflict with each other. Five's lat words to Diego were 'I'm gonna kill you'.

It seems they made this whole thing as messy as possible, but then didn't dive deep into the mess to have some actual drama, didn't adress the mess, didn't vindicate any of those characters. And if you're just creating mess and don't engage with it, and it's THE LAST SEASON mabye you should've just left it alone - Lila and Diego together and happy, and Five doing everything to be with his family, safe. I'm dissapointed.

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 - 𝙼𝙰𝙼𝙰 𝙸'𝙼 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙰 𝙲𝚁𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Inspired by Britney Spears x Criminal

: ̗̀➛𝙰𝙽: This is done in a universe where Armando is a teenager, the female reader is also a teenager. There is no adult/minor play in the passage and I do not write that.

Sixteen-year-old Yara was a good girl, never broke the rules, never back talked her parents, and was a straight A student. President of the Debate team, captain of the cheer team, and on student counsel, she was every parent's wet dream. That was until she met Seventeen-year-old Armando Aretas. A guy she kept away from to the best of her ability, but he always seemed to be around. Now, he was in her veins and well, it caused for a rather contentious environment in her home.

"Yara, have you still been seeing that boy?" The booming voice of her father cut through the silence of her room right along with the slamming open of her bedroom door. Grateful that she'd even gotten her door back after having it taken away for a month, she decided to play it cool. "No." Her eyes remaining trained to her phone screen, voice monotone and lacking it's usual emotion. "Well then why the hell is he outside my house?"

Yara's deep black curls bounced as her head swung towards her window. Her body basically moved on autopilot as she went over to her bedroom window. Her heart thumbed so intensely that she felt it in her throat, her ears rung, and her body trembled a bit as she stared at him out the window. There he was, stationed on his shiny black motorcycle that she was still somewhat terrified of. Even in the dark of the night it still shined. He removed his helmet, their eyes locked and it hit her that she'd given up probably the most intense love she'd experience all because her parent didn't like him.

All because of who his family was. The Aretas' weren't known for being the most law abiding, safe and friendly people. They had a strong hold on the drug market in Mexico and it was well known that they didn't care who knew this about them. They operated off the fear that forced people to respect them. Something thar kept her away, but God he pulled her in.

"Yara, don't even think about it." Her father was firm as she spun around. Her brown eyes darted across the room, looking for the best way to get out. "Young lady, you will not be associated with that criminal!" "God, will you just shut up! I stayed away from him; I did what you said. I let him go for you and look how you're treating me!"

For the moment, her father froze in pure shock. It was the first time he'd ever even heard her raise her voice, let alone at him. What kind of influence was this boy having on his perfect daughter. He didn't have much longer to think, because Yara went bolting out her bedroom door heading for the steps.

On the way down, Yara caught a glimpse of her mother, a look of worry and dismay present on the face idetical to her own.

"Yara, honey. Please, this isn't you. It's him its-- that influence." She pleaded running down the steps behind her daughter. This caused Yara to roar in frustration.

"It's not him!! It's you. You guys want me to be this perfect kid that I'm not! I have issues just like everyone else, but you guys don't even give me the space to express them and learn-- I don't have the space to be myself. With him..I do." The knot that formed in her throat was filled with the frustration she'd felt since childhood. The pressure put on her was incomprehensible. "With him, I can be me. I don't have to pretend that I'm ok and I can be flawed. I'm finally allowed the space to-- to just fucking relax!"

"Yarina." Her parents resorted to her full name. "You better watch yourself young lady. Like we said, you will not be associated with that thug." Her wide eyes gazed over her parents. She loved them dearly, but she couldn't continue like this. "Yara, please." Her mother's voice was much softer in comparison to her father as she stepped forward to take her hand, being immediately met with Yara moving backward.

"I'm sorry, but I'm in love with him." She offered one final apology before she quickly turned to exit the home. She wore nothing but pajamas, no shoes, socks, or even a sweater to keep her warm. "Yari." The teenage male rasped as his girlfriend approached.

"Where's your clothes?" His brows furrowed, hopping off his bike to remove his hoodie and pull it over her body. He glanced past her, seeing her parents standing in the doorway. "Let's go." He murmured, handing her his helmet. She knew he'd argue with her about her needing it more than him, so she put it on. Climbing on his bike behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

She didn't know what would happen with her parents, but she knew it wasn't her concern for the moment as he pulled off and she opted not to look back.

[erinwantstowrite]

Forgot if this was ever said but is Itsy Bitsy AU gonna be an actually fic or just side art??/genq

i want to write it sooooo bad as like another one shot or short fic on the side, but i have to wait for the first fic to get done before i can (mostly to avoid any spoilers). there's a lot to decide timeline wise on WHEN to set the fic vs how- could be a situation where we all pretend to know when it's set but we never actually mention it lol

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about an alternate timeline where Geto never defected; he and Gojo took Megumi and the twins in, raising them as one little family. 

Whenever smol Megumi had a nightmare, he would sneak into his parents room and wiggle his littol body in between Gojo and Geto.

Upon hearing Megumi’s sniffles, Gojo would instantly wake up. He'd pull the child in to fit against his tummy, softly shhhing him and telling him it’s safe so go back to sleep. 

Or whenever Geto reads his books on the couch, the twins love mimicking him. Well, Mimiko mimics him with an actual book while Nanako is more content to brush her doll’s hair. But they’re still spending quality time together doing their own activities.

If Geto helps the kids with homework, then Gojo whips up a five-star-dinner. 

When the Gojo/Geto household go on a road trip, Geto dutifully drives and Gojo points out whatever interesting things - cars, scenery, landmarks - they pass by.

Because he’s the youngest, Megumi is awarded the middle seat in the back. He frowns the entire car ride to their destination. 

(“Megoomi! Relax that face, or else you’ll have wrinkles in your twenties,” Gojo teases.

Through the rearview mirror, Megumi glares at him like a grumpy cat.)

A couple years later, teen Megumi steadily grows, and Geto has to tell the twins: “Okay girls, let Megumi-kun have the side. He’s taller than both of you now.”

***

When Megumi enters Jujutsu Tech, he’s fawned over because he has the famous dads in the jujutsu world. Some of the curses even know about Megumi (who has traces of his dads’ cursed energies on him) and want to mess with Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru’s kid. 

Sometimes, a little part of Megumi wishes he could exist without being recognized as Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru’s kid.

But at the same time, he wouldn’t trade them for the world. It’s just that shouldering the expectations and Gojo/Geto name is a lot to handle as a younger teenager. 

The first year consists of adjusting for Gojo and Geto as well, as they have to be professional and treat Megumi as any other student. At times, the line between parents and teachers can be difficult to manage. 

Megumi lives in the dorms now, so he has a space away from his parents. Though he knows he can always crash at his parents' house if he wants. 

In fact, Megumi goes home often to see his sisters - who have opted for normal school - and enjoy his dad’s (Geto’s) cooking. 

***

On his sixteenth birthday, Megumi makes a drastic mistake.

He hadn’t meant to be a party pooper on his special day, it’s just that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night prior, and his body still ached from the injuries he sustained on his previous mission.

Moreover, even though he requested a quiet gathering later in the day, Megumi now sits in front of a cake at ten in the morning, surrounded by his friends and family who have dragged him out to a restaurant that is infamous for having a whole production for customers who dine in on their birthdays. 

Under the pressure of dozens of eyes and non-stop talking, cheering, and singing, Megumi inhales deeply, then exhales, blowing out all sixteen candles-

and making the impulsive wish to be alone. 

***

Megumi wakes up in his dorm room, alone. No signs of people singing happy birthday or the taste of cake lingering on his tongue. 

This is…perfect? 

Megumi lets out a long yawn. He glances out the window, he briefly wonders where all the snow went? Did it really all melt after one night?

A light rapping at his door breaks Megumi out of his stupor.

“Fushiguro! Are you awake?” Yuji’s voice filters from the hallway. “Gojo-sensei sent me to check on you. Our meeting started five minutes ago.”

Meeting…what meeting? Weren’t they on winter break? It had just been his birthday, right? What could the meeting possibly be about?

“Coming!” Megumi calls out, then quickly jumps out of bed to get dressed. 

Walking to the classroom, Yuji whistling by his side, Megumi realizes it’s not even winter anymore. The flowers are in full bloom, and the sun shines down in all its glory. 

Something is seriously off, Megumi knows.

This is proven even further when the meeting Gojo called his students for is to inform them about the upcoming Goodwill Event with their sister-school from Kyoto. 

Megumi has no recollection of his parents discussing this to be so soon, nor does he know how the seasons suddenly changed and everyone seemed to be on the same page except for him.

Feeling sorely out of the loop, Megumi takes advantage of his classmates’ constant chatter to wave his father over. Gojo approaches Megumi’s desk with his hands shoved in his pockets, and black blindfold secured over his eyes.

“Dad, what’s going on? I thought we didn’t start up classes until the new year,” Megumi says. Gojo’s lips twitch into a smile, hesitant yet cheerful.

“Oh? What is this? Are you going to call me Dad after all these years? Megumi is finally coming around!" Gojo exclaims, clapping his hands excitedly. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow in deep confusion. 

"What? But I always call you-" Megumi starts, but Gojo has already turned away to answer one of Nobara's questions.

Megumi's heart sinks.

His father has never turned away from him like that before. Never.

Without thinking, Megumi pulls his phone out and frantically searches for his other dad's number. The longer it takes for Megumi to find the contact "Papa," the more Megumi's heart dangerously speeds up. 

This can't be, Megumi thinks as he finishes scrolling through his contact three times. 

It's- it's not there.

Something is very, very wrong...

When the meeting concludes, every student except Megumi filters out of the classroom.

(Fushiguro? You coming?” Yuji questions. Megumi shakes his head and explains he has to ask Gojo-sensei a couple questions. 

“We’ll meet you at the front in fifteen minutes. I need some new outfits for this event,” Nobara says. She and Yuji shuffle out after that.)

Now alone with his father(?), Megumi asks where his Papa Geto is. 

Gojo instantly freezes at those words. “What did you say?”

“Papa…he’s not here. I can’t find his contact in my phone either,” Megumi elaborates, holding up his device. “Where is he? Usually, you’d be all over him by now.” 

“Who, Megumi, who?” Gojo pushes.

Megumi answers, “My papa, Geto Suguru?” 

Gojo is silent for a short beat, then utters the first thing that his disassociating mind can muster: “You're not my Megumi."

And he slams Megumi against the wall. 

“DAD? PLEASE STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME! I-I DON'T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON!?” Megumi yells, his heart slamming against his ribcage now being on the receiving end of his not-father’s attack.

Meanwhile, Gojo shoves his blindfold off and uses six eyes to scan the boy up and down. But nothing about Megumi's cursed energy seems off. Everything seems to be in place…

This is Fushiguro Megumi. 

"Dad...I'm sorry, I don't know what I did wrong," Megumi whimpers, gripping the wrists that pin him with unmovable strength.

His traitorous eyes begin to tear up, paralyzing fear crawling down his spine. He wants to go back to bed and wake up between his parents after this horrible nightmare, wants to wake up after being squished in the middle seat during their five-hour car ride, wants to go back to the familiarity of his home where his family was-

"I want my Papa b-back…” 

Gojo abruptly releases Megumi from his hold, crystal-blue eyes shaking in disbelief. 

Megumi collapses to the ground but scrambles back up and flees.

What have I done? The two of them think to themselves.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[ghcstao3]

apologies for inactivity here’s a vaguely ghostsoap oneshot w outsider pov from tommy. because ghost’s family is still alive because i said so. rest is below the cut. 1.2k words

-

Watching his younger brother fall in love was a strange thing.

Of course, watching him do just about anything these days was strange enough, but falling in love? For a long time, it had seemed above Simon.

Not once had Tommy ever seen him take time for himself, or let anyone new into his life so long as they’ve been on better terms. It never seemed like something remotely of interest to Simon, either.

Though God only knows how much he deserves to have someone to take care of him for once. From a shitty childhood only made worse by his shitty older brother, then for Simon to have to be the one to put Tommy back on track which led to him falling in love with Beth, and who knows what other horrors Simon would never speak about, it was finally time Simon found someone of his own.

That being said, Tommy hadn’t ever really, truly expected it.

It’s a slow process, but it gradually becomes obvious—to Beth, at least, who will point out signs Tommy hadn’t at all noticed that, when looking back, were quite clear.

Like the uncharacteristic softness in which Simon spoke the name Johnny. The shift in tone when talking about his sergeant though he attempts to maintain a front as to make a show that he knows better than to fraternize with a colleague.

(Though knowing a few stories of the things Simon’s captain has allowed within his task force, neither Beth nor Tommy think it’d be an issue for him.)

But all it had ever started with was a gruff, offhand mention of a new subordinate Simon was none too happy about, because the new sergeant was (and quote), “beyond irritating and without the concept of personal space,” and, “lucky he’s skilled enough for it to be overlooked on the field.” Both Tommy and Beth had tried to argue that surely it couldn’t be that bad, but Simon had only levelled them both a stare he had long since perfected to make even his own brother and sister-in-law look away.

The sergeant isn’t brought up for a while in calls or visits after that, and Tommy is progressively convinced Simon had meant what he said about his disliking. Then Beth asks about it, whether things have gotten better, and suddenly the sergeant becomes MacTavish and he and Simon are almost something of friends. Almost. And from their end of the phone, Beth gives Tommy this knowing look that takes him far too long to decipher, but eventually understands it as her noticing a fondness in Simon’s voice in his renewed opinion of Soap.

It’s odd, figuring these things out about his younger brother. It really, really is.

Then MacTavish becomes Soap becomes Johnny over the course of the next few months, and when Simon visits on one of his rare leaves, for once Tommy doesn’t need his wife’s help in detecting the unique sentiments reserved for this mysterious sergeant. There’s a palpable shift in Simon, a sort of emotion Tommy has never seen his brother express.

It’s unfamiliar, and sure there are things he would never know about Simon, but this? Nearly incomprehensible, at first. It’s new to Tommy as a witness, and new to Simon in general, and it’s all just some confusing mess that neither of them understand in their respective ways.

Though, thankfully, Tommy has Beth for that. Mostly. Whenever she doesn’t scold him for being such a stranger to his own brother.

The worst of the whole Simon-being-in-love ordeal is when Tommy is urged to broach the subject when it started to seem like Simon didn’t realize himself that he was… feeling. Tommy asks if Simon had ever considered that maybe he likes Johnny in a not-platonic way after his younger brother complains about the sergeant being on medical leave for six weeks while he was stuck with training rookies that are (again, and quote), “so green it’s a wonder any of them have made it this far in life,” however Simon only responds with a vehement denial and a quiet not like Johnny would feel the same if I did before he hangs up without a goodbye.

It’s at that point Tommy begins to understand Beth’s frustration with the obvious.

Since Tommy’s question, the ever-present Soap this, Johnny that disappears from conversation with Simon entirely until a month before bi-annual Christmas leave when a near-groundbreaking question is meekly asked—if it’d be alright for Simon to bring someone with him to family dinner. He never specifies who, but it’s easy enough to guess.

(And get it right.)

John MacTavish is somehow exactly and nothing as expected, and it catches both Tommy and Beth by surprise.

He’s talkative, is one thing. That isn’t to say it’s a bad thing, either—they’re both more than happy to finally have someone regale them with the stories that aren’t classified, and John seems just as happy to do so—but also having known Simon for just about all his life and knowing his aversion to chatty people like John, it seems odd he’d be so infatuated.

And infatuated is definitely the right word, when Tommy glances over to see the adoration in Simon’s face watching John speak with such liveliness, an adoration he knows himself guilty of when looking at Beth. It’s the exact same, or so Beth would later say.

Another thing is the touching. It’s subconscious, surely, whenever John reaches a hand out to connect in some way to Simon, but Simon just lets it happen. Leans into it, even. It’s part of what really solidifies the conclusion that Simon has finally found his person.

What really does it, though, is John’s use of Si like the nickname was nothing—and Simon reacting all the same. Even Tommy hadn’t ever been afforded that privilege, and while at first it stings for a very brief moment, once Tommy is over it he settles back into complete disbelief like he’s been told pigs had, truly, learned to fly.

That one had even startled Beth. Had even startled Joseph, who had been told on numerous occasions that his uncle didn’t like when people called him Si. Yet here John sat at the dinner table like Simon hadn’t let him do something previously reserved for absolutely no one.

Later that night, Tommy corners Simon and asks him again about his feelings toward John, because it’s just so painfully clear now. He half-expects another denial, but Simon sighs and shrinks in on himself in a way Tommy hadn’t seen in decades before admitting that he likes John in a very not-platonic way.

That he loves John. That he plans on asking John on a proper date when they get back to Simon’s flat the next day.

Hearing the words from Simon, the word from Simon, is initially bizarre, but Tommy is more occupied with a sense of pride for his younger brother—though expressed in the quieter Riley fashion with an additional wish of luck certainly not needed after seeing how John and Simon act together.

Watching his younger brother fall in love was a strange thing, most definitely. But it also feels rewarding, in some equally strange way, to finally see Simon have something he’s always deserved after so, so very long.

[whiskeyghoul]

With a stranger's kiss || [The worst!Logan x Reader]

A/N: Okay so this needed to be written. I am obsessed with the new song released by one of my favorite bands. I heard it and this idea for a the worst!logan fanfic just filled my head. So please enjoy the hurt and a little comfort. My first time writing Logan too so I am quite excited, though it might mean it is a little ooc.

Recommended listening: Hotel flamingo - Kelsy Karter and the heroines, Tangerine - led zeppelin

WC: 3,4K

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt comfort, logan, soft logan, the worst!logan, alternate timeline angst, strangers to lovers, wolverine x reader, maybe a bit ooc.

Warnings: mentions of death

Your pov.

You were sitting at the bar on a Saturday night. Music was loud, people were chattering carefree. It smelled like beer, fruity mixed drinks and mingled perfumes. There was a highball glass in front of you, condensation on the outside dripped down. The wet stain on the napkin grew ever bigger as you stirred the drink with the straw. You leaned your head on your hand, absentmindedly staring into space. There to heal a broken heart that had left you feeling empty the past few months. Needing a distraction and willing to give it a try tonight.

You had known before going into a relationship with Logan that it would end in tragedy. He was much older, rougher, beaten down by the world around him. The first weeks of knowing him he was angry. Angry at the hand life had dealt him. It was attractive in a way, you wanted to see why this man was so bitter. See if he was able to warm up. He managed to open up to you eventually, your constant prodding and incessant need to be close to him. It weakened his defenses. It turns out he was kind too, flirty, funny at times. You remember the late nights together with him, listening to his heartbeat as you laid together. Silent, needing nothing more than each others company. His hand trailing absentminded patterns on your skin. How he’d kiss your temple, murmuring sweet nicknames and affectionate compliments. Which you gladly returned. Running your hands through his hair, kissing his jaw as you whispered into the intimacy of the night. He was everything to you. And then you lost him.

Wade had tracked you down afterwards, wanting more information on your late lover, to track him down as he said. Which at first had caused you much distress. Angry at Wade for even bringing up the idea. Logan wouldn’t do that to you. Not ever. You remember how the emotions ran its course, grief running its course again. How hot tears rolled down your cheeks as your throat closed. That was a few days ago. You had calmed down again but needed a change of scene. Your apartment was filled with memories of the past. The bar was close to Wade’s place, it was one of the few that played the classic rock songs you loved so much. You had asked Wade to come out but he never had responded. Probably on some weird mission that deserved all his attention. Though you hoped he would show up, so you wouldn’t be alone. Drinking your sadness away, pretending to be fine when in reality you don’t know if you ever could be fine again.

The ice in your tequila sunrise clinked as you raised the cup of the bar. Taking a few big sips, downing the drink in one go with a sigh. Placing the glass back down with a thunk. “You always put away drinks like that, sweetheart?” A familiar, deep voice spoke up maybe 2 seats away from you. You looked over, a familiar face, younger than you last saw him. His hair wasn’t enveloped by the salt and pepper yet, with those little peeks you had only seen in old pictures of Logan. Kitty ears, as you had called them. His arms flexed under a flannel shirt. A cigar, unlit, held between the fingers of his left hand as his right held a glass of whiskey. Logan. Maybe it was the alcohol, or you were dead and this was heaven. Maybe it was a cruel joke played by the universe. But it was him.

No. no. This wasn’t real. This was a delusion. A grief filled hallucination conjured up by the worst parts of your brain. A liquor filled haze that would have you end up in the bathrooms in 10 minutes if it went south. Though this was just your second drink, and your vision was crystal clear. “Only when I have a reason to drink.” your voice was a little choked as you answered him. Feeling that if you kept staring, with no answer, he would think you were crazy. Locking eyes with the man across from you there was a sadness, a loneliness in his eyes. This wasn’t Logan, but he looked a hell of a lot like him, sounded like him. “What’s the reason today?” His voice didn’t carry too much over the music but you were so tuned in to him you could hear him perfectly. As if your body moved on its own you stood up from the high seat. Taking two steps closer. You watched his eyes flicker over you, a moment of something else in those hazel eyes, his lips part as if he was about to say something else before closing them. Swallowing away whatever he had almost confessed. “Life has never been this hard.” You answered as you sat on the chair next to him. Offering a wry smile to him which he returned with a somber nod.

“Even for the prettiest girl in the bar?” His words were sincere, not the empty compliments that you had heard from men before. His eyes held yours with intent, like he was searching for something. Maybe you were looking for something in him too. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, before using that movement to take the whiskey glass from his grip. “Even for her.” you answered as you took a sip, letting the familiar taste shock your senses for a moment. The burn, the warmth, the smell, it was all a memory of him. “What about you, does the most handsome man always drink by himself on a Friday night?” You asked as you placed his drink back for him, your lipstick stain adorning the rim. Though your fingers loosely stayed around the cold glass. “Not just Fridays.” His answer was short as he picked up the glass. Fingers barely brushing yours as he took it. Calloused, large, but gentle. He wasn’t a hallucination, he was physical, real. Following his movement you watched as he put the lipstick stain to his lips, sipping from the same spot. An indirect kiss.

There was a moment of electricity, a connection between the both of you. Two strangers who were so familiar to one another. “Well then, please let me hold you company.” You waved to the waiter, motioning for another round of drinks for the both of you.“I won’t mind that.” He said placing his now empty glass on the bar. It was only a few moments before the new drinks were placed in front of you on the bar. Taking the cold glass in your hands you raised it, “To two people drinking alone, together.” you said with a soft smile. He returned your smile, just the barest uptick of the corner of his lips. “I will cheers to that, sweetheart.” The way he said it, sweetheart, it made your heart ache. The roll of the r, the lilt in his voice as it dipped slightly lower. You heard it so many times, yet you never got your fill. Quickly, you took a sip of your drink, hoping the cold would bury the feelings of sadness under them. Like a layer of snow covering the ground, preventing sprouts until the time was right.

“Someone used to call me that a lot. Sweetheart.” You confessed to him, a morose chuckle leaving your lips. Not knowing why the words bubbled up. They left your lips before you could think them through. “That why you drinking alone?” He asked, as he leaned a little closer. A waft of his cologne crashing into your senses. Like a wave enveloping you, leaving you under the surface, weightless. “One of the reasons.” Another sip of your drinks as you held eye contact. His stare was heavy, he wetted his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “We must be in a similar boat then.” He shifted in his seat, ever so slightly closer. “I moved away because I lost a lot of people. You remind me of the girl I used to call that all the time.” That confession caused another ache to shoot through your heart. He was a little broken, like you, losing the person you loved most. His eyes drifted away from you and to the cigar in his hand. “I’m heading out for a smoke. Join me.” he nodded his head towards the door. Shifting and standing up, you took your drink in your left hand ready to follow him out through the crowd of bodies that separated the bar seats from the door. You felt his hand take yours, chilled finger tips from his drink, looking up to see the cigar already between his teeth, the whiskey glass in his right hand. You thought he winked before quickly turning. An image that would be forever burned on to your brain. He was pulling you through the mass of people, and out into the night.

The outside air was cold compared to the inside of the bar. The smell of weather turning in the air, like at any moment the clouds could break and rain could soak you through. The moon peeked through the clouds every so often. The music is still audible though ever so slightly muffled. Your drinks were placed on the table near the bouncer. There were other people outside, leaning against the brick wall as they talked and smoked. The neon flamingo sign lit the surroundings in a pink hue. Standing with your back against the brick you watched him pull out a lighter, taking a flame to the end of the cigar and inhaling the smoke. Breathing out you watched as the tendrils faded into the night sky. Eyes lingering on his lips, wondering if they would feel the same. Your body was yearning for the touch of Logan, months without it, grieving the loss of him, it had been torturous. And now, a vision of the past that stood in front of you, close enough to reach out. He took another drag of the cigar, holding in the smoke for a moment before breathing out again. Tapping off the ash he held it out to you, quirking a brow up inquisitively. “I don’t smoke.” You said, a shrug of your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around your torso, it was colder out than you had thought. “What do you have to lose?” He urged with a smirk, looking down at you. The pink light casting shadows on the side of his face. Making him look more like the man you lost. You reached out, gently taking the cigar from his hand, fingers lingering a second too long.

You brought the cigar to your lips, breathing in, holding it a second and letting the smoke settle in your system. Your eyes fluttering close. It was just like when you used to kiss Logan, smoke and tinge of sweetness. Though he used to take great care not to kiss you immediately after taking a smoke. Because you would scrunch your nose, feign disgust, because you had been disgusted the first few times. Before getting used to the taste that was uniquely him. Opening your eyes again after a few seconds you blinked away the tear threatening to form. You exhaled, watching those wispy tendrils leave your own mouth. Your gaze locked on him, his expression was weirdly soft as he took you in, like he was burning your image into his memory. Or perhaps he was transported back to the past, to the girl he used to call sweetheart. Holding out the cigar for him you smiled softly, “Yeah, not for me.” you tilted your head, smile fading as you pressed your lips together. Holding back from letting sadness take over. He took the cigar back, eyes glancing at the lipstick stain left behind on the butt, “S’alright. It’s not for everyone.” his voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard the slight quiver in the tone. Emotion taking over. Watching as his Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed away the feelings.

He took another drag, lips pressed where you had left a mark for the second time that night. When his lips left the cigar you saw the tinge of red on his lips. Like how it would have looked when you had kissed Logan, it used to be his favorite shade on you. Instinctively you reached out, overwhelmed, “Sorry, you have something here.” your thumb connected with his bottom lip. As the rest of your fingers splayed out over his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against your skin. You wiped at the lipstick stain until he caught your wrist in his free hand. It was surprising, yet his hold was so gentle. His eyes bore into yours, “That’s okay, sweetheart, I don’t mind.” He said before moving your hand, pressing a kiss just below your thumb. It was tender, a fleeting moment, a living reflection of the past. His lips left just as soon as they had connected with your skin. Still, his grip on your wrist didn’t loosen, he lowered your arms together, to hang between you. As if a bridge connecting two islands. “Was that too far?” He asked. You shook your head no, though it was barely a shake. If he hadn’t been staring you down he might not have even noticed it. “Not at all.” You said softly. He nodded his head, as if to say ‘good.’ before taking the last drag of his cigar. Letting the small stub fall to the ground. Stepping on it to put it out.

The music changed inside. An all too familiar melody started playing. Tangerine. You let out a choked laugh, the irony not lost on you. “You like this song?” he asked. You slipped your hand down, where he had been holding your wrist you were now holding his hand. “I think it’s pretty. Sad, melancholic but so filled with love.” Your fingers found their way between his. Running your thumb along the skin of the back of his hand almost absentmindedly. It was something you used to do quite often, not just a comforting gesture for Logan. It was almost self soothing, to feel his warmth at your fingertips. He hummed in agreement with your sentiment. Something about the scene in front of you made you think back to when you last heard this song, when you had danced together with Logan in the living room. Old songs playing in the background. You had leaned your head against his chest as he had held you close. His heartbeat mingled with the soft acoustics, the rumble of his voice whispering along to the song. Now that his mirror image stood there in the pink neon light, you couldn’t help yourself.

Pushing yourself off of the wall you stood closer, tugging on his hand to force him closer. He let you, a little too easy, so you looked up and stood nose to nose. “Dance with me?” You asked, peering in those hazel eyes, seeing the shift in his demeanor. How his eyes softened as he breathed in. “Anything for you.” His response was quick, easy, like he had said it a thousand times before. His left hand found its perch on your hip so effortlessly, his thumb stroking over the velvety fabric of your dress so carefully, like he had done so a million times before. You let go of his right hand, it quickly went down to your hip. You were letting both of your hands slip up his chest to his shoulders. Feeling the heartbeat under his skin for a moment before latching your fingers together behind his neck. Feeling the brush of the hair at his nape. He started to sway softly, as you stood almost chest to chest, the warmth radiating between the two of you. A coil formed around your heart, tightening with every sway, every small step you made together. Everything around you was falling away. All you could hear was the music. The only thing you saw was him. The only thing you could feel was his touch as the second verse set in.

Thinking how it used to be.

Does she still remember times like these?

To think of us again.

And I do.

Breathing in sync, he leaned slightly closer, his nose nudging yours. There was an edge of hesitation. His eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t seem to find. A brief second, before he sighed and created a little more distance, looking almost defeated. You wanted him to kiss you, even if it was just to see if his lips felt the same. If he kissed with the same hunger. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, “I can’t. ‘Cause you aren’t her. Even though you are just like her.” You closed your eyes, taking in the words you knew were true for the both of you, leaning into his touch. “I know, Lo…” the name slipped from your lips like it was nothing. Because every neuron, every fiber in your body was saying it was him.

In that moment he stood just a little straighter, his touch on your forehead left. You opened your eyes. His were intense, on you, filled with devotion. Your name sounded from his mouth. It lay heavy between you. 

Tangerine, tangerine. 

Living reflection from a dream.

I was her love, she was my queen.

But now a thousand years in-between.

The hands behind his neck unclasped each other, your fingers raking through the soft, short locks at his nape. Realization dawned. A tear escaping your eye, just the singular one as a sad smile was on his lips. “You’re not really him, are you?” you didn’t want to ask, but you had to know for sure. Wanting to live in this moment where you were back together, just a glimpse of what was. “I am. Just not yours, just like you aren’t mine.” Logan’s right hand cradled your face, thumb wiping away the tear that had rolled down your cheek. A similar soothing motion you had done just moments prior. Leaning into his touch your eyes stayed on him, catching every expression, every little look and emotion. “I wasn’t gonna look for you, didn’t think I could handle seeing you.” He said softly, “But when I saw you, with pain in your eyes, I couldn’t help myself. I never could help myself around you.” He continued, stroking your cheek continuously. Soft motions, keeping you grounded, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. A barely there twitch you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact you were completely engulfed by him. Like he was afraid you weren’t real. Like you could slip away at any moment. Just like you couldn’t fathom him being there.

The pain you felt when you saw him for the first time soothed with the knowledge it was Logan. Not yours, like he had said. But a version of him that had loved a version of you. You had both lost each other, and for some inexplicable reason, had found each other again. A little more broken. A little more weathered. But a little lighter too.

“In this moment, you could kill me if you wanted to. I would be happy, just to have been able to see you again. Something I never thought would happen.” You spoke up, “In fact, for a moment, I thought this was heaven.” Logan let out a soft chuckle at that. The idea of a bar, filled with drunk people chattering, being heaven was a strange thought. But it felt like heaven. And so did being outside in the cold of the night. “I thought I saw an angel, too.” There was a slight humor in his tone. His smile is a little lighter, a little sweeter. It was infectious. Biting the inside of your lip, holding back the smile. “Would I be a terrible person if I asked to kiss you anyways?” You asked, knowing he had pulled away before. His gaze softened as he searched your eyes again. “You could kill me if you wanted to.” he echoed your words, your sentiment. 

The moment felt weightless as he leaned in. Hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head. Tilting your head gently. Your eyes shut automatically. The soft press of his lips against yours followed. It was so gentle. Sweet and smokey. Filled with regret, pain, loss, passion, love. Your hands slid to the front of his shirt. Holding on to the soft fabric. His left hand squeezed your hip just a little more. You pulled away for a moment, a smile spreading as you watched him. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”  He laughed, short, but genuine. A melodic sound that made your heart skip. “Nice to meet you too, sweetheart.” He said before his lips found yours again. Letting yourself melt into the feeling. There was a lot that needed to be figured out. Or explained. But you could do that later. When you would both be getting to know each other again like it was the first time.

A fresh start with a familiar stranger’s kiss.

[lachiennearoo]

What if.

Dungeon Meshi modern/human AU where they're alien/cryptid hunters lost in a giant dark foggy forest and have to find Laios' sister Falin who was taken by a mysterious monster

[19catsncounting]

I'm even less normal about Samifer in 2024 than I was in 2010, so here are some random Samifer/Angel headcannons I've come up with for my fic:

The Enochian language is genderless and the very foundation of it rests heavily on Names. An angel's POV would pretty much only refer to themselves as "the angel/the 'class of angel'/Name" (Basically all angels are Lorathi for GRRM nerdos). Before The Fall, Lucifer's name was Samael, but that name was stripped away during The Fall so that Lucifer can no longer refer to themselves as that, and a hole was punched in the Song of Creation to remove the name "Samael," and replace it by adjective titles like "Lucifer."

The first real act of creation by God, when he became God and began to pull away from The Darkness instead of trying to create things just to prove their worth to her, was creating light that was then split into the first four archangels. Michael is therefore not just God's firstborn son, but the first thing in all of creation. (And he's remarkably chill about it)

When God created Gabriel, the idea struck him to create things in his own image, which is why Gabriel is Like That, with God's sense of humor and propensity to Run The Fuck Away from conflict.

Lucifer manipulated events, possibly all the way back to Babylon, to not only try to plant the name "Samael" into the human lexicon but also make sure Sam was named as close to their own name as possible. (This is Super Weirdo Behavior. Michael Did Not need to put his name on Dean like a pair of underwear packed for summer camp.)

Sam thinks that Lucifer is flirting in a super dramatic angel way when they refer to Sam as "the only one throughout all of existence and all of creation," only to find out that alongside Boy King of Hell and True Vessel of Lucifer and The Abomination, another little epithet that existed eons before he was born was "Throughout All Of Existence And All of Creation, Sam Winchester Is The Last And Only Gift For Lucifer Created By God Himself."

"Lucifer's Nephillim" is a metaphor for something completely impossible in Enochian, as in "humans inventing the microwave is as likely as Lucifer creating a nephillim."

Before The Fall, Lucifer commanded the Cherubim, which includes the lower-class "Cherubs," but before humans they were all extremely powerful warrior angels second only to Michael's Seraphim. After The Fall, the ones that didn't die in the struggle were demoted and cast out and put on "grunt duty" on earth, which in turn broke and warped them into the "Cherubs" that they are today due to constant and close proximity with humans.

Angels like autistic heavens because we're the closest humans get to perceiving the Song of Creation in our senses. Lucifer's gonna get trapped by God inside a girl who's autistic about crabs.

Lucifer's first vessel Nick is actually named Nick Campbell, and he's Mary Winchester's first cousin who ran away and became a carpenter instead of a hunter because Fuck You Dark!Fic Nick Storyline I Cared Who Nick Was 8 Years Before The CW Did.

[undertale-writing-times]

I'm not sure if you're still doing these prompts, and sorry if you aren't, but if you are, could you do the lovesick/obsession prompt

"How did I ever get so Lucky...?"

With Dusty?

Maybe the reader could be saying it to him?

Hehe okay :D

I’m having a lot of fun with these yandere things. I never write stuff like this so being able to is... a lot of fun -w-

Dusty felt so lucky to have his datemate.

At first, he was so worried about them leaving him and finding someone else that they were much happier with but then Pappy gave him an idea, they wouldn't be able to find someone else if they weren't allowed to be near other people, right?

He was right!

Ever since he took Y/n away from their world, bringing them to the world of Nightmare's castle, they were both so happy together. There was nothing he would change.

The first few weeks, they seemed upset, and would even shout and complain at him but after a few weeks, maybe months? They seemed fine being here. Then they even started to like it! How amazing, right? Right?!

Now nobody could ever take Y/n away from him. They were going to be together forever.

Today they were laying in his bed, cuddling. He had his arms wrapped around their waist, with his head nuzzled into their tummy, the softest purrs coming from his chest. They had their hand rested on top of his head, petting their fingers against his skull.

His hood was back, something he didn't often do but he trusted his datemate.

"Hey Dusty?"

He makes a soft sound to show that he heard them, just the smallest bit annoyed that they would talk. It was distracting...

"How did I ever get so lucky...?"

That... made him pause.

What?

He lifts his head, looking up at them squinting slightly "what are you talking about?" he asks.

They smile, putting their hands on his cheeks, gently pressing them against his skull. "How'd I ever get so lucky to have you as my boyfriend?" They lean down, peppering soft kisses against his skull and teeth. The best way to kiss him, honestly.

His cheeks quickly get a bright purple blush on them his eye sockets widening "H-Hey!" he turns his head away, tugging his hood up to try to hide his face "Warn me before you do that," he grumbles.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he should have never trapped them here, he should let them see their family, but they don't have a family to return to. He made sure of that himself.

[thegirlwiththeblush]

It Ain't the Being Alone

Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor, Tenth Doctor

Word Count: 1.57k

Fandom: Doctor Who

Song Inspiration: Unknown / Nth by Hozier

Summary: Rose Tyler runs into a couple of strangers who don't really feel like strangers.

a/n: I hope people who need closure from the Doctor and Rose find this fic; I wrote this because I would've loved to see the dynamic between Thirteen and Rose, so hopefully people enjoy my spin on it! Special thanks to my dearest @vorsdany of course for proofreading and being so generous with her encouragement!

Rose Tyler often felt like she was being watched. It wasn’t the typical feeling; it wasn’t anxiety-inducing, nor was she on her guard. It felt as if the stories from her childhood of fairy godmothers and angels watching over you were true; she felt almost protected or safeguarded. Only, she couldn’t pinpoint the source of the feeling.  

 Maybe it was the tall, gallant-looking man wearing a fez and bow tie visiting Henrik’s when she was on shift, flashing her a bright smile in passing that she felt deep in her soul. Perhaps it was the grey gentleman in the velvet waistcoat who passed her as she boarded the bus across town one day, his scowling demeanour fading when she turned toward him.  

 It could’ve been the man she ran into after leaving her mother on her way home on New Year’s, hiding in the shadows and groaning oddly. 

 “You alright, mate?” she’d asked. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself as the snow caught in her golden hair. 

 “Yeah,” he replied, not meeting her gaze.  

 “Too much to drink?” 

 He took a moment to catch his breath, before standing to his full height. In the poor lighting of the alley, she could just make out his umber trench coat and navy suit underneath. He appeared to be wearing a pair of maroon Converse high-tops; an interesting fashion choice, she thought. “Something like that.” His dark eyes settled on hers, and even in the darkness, she could sense some kind of affliction deep in them, something other than intoxication.  

 She smiled softly at him anyway. “Maybe it’s time you went home,” she suggested amiably, no ill intent in her words. 

 “Yeah,” he agreed. His eyes never left hers. 

 “Anyway,” she grinned, bending her knees and leaning forward in a friendly gesture, “happy new year!” 

 “And you.” 

 She took her leave, her scarf swaying around her legs as she began sauntering home, frowning curiously as she pondered the encounter.  

 “What year is this?” 

 She spun back round before fully processing his question. A chuckle bubbled up in her chest and she couldn’t help but let it out as she asked, “Blimey, how much have you had?”  

 He made a strangled, throaty sound, shaking his head slightly, as if to confirm that he’d had, in fact, quite a lot. Her smile faded slightly in concern. “2005, January the 1st,” she said. 

 “2005,” he repeated breathlessly, and she nodded, blinking rapidly. “Tell you what,” he continued, “I bet you’re gonna have a really great year.” 

 Her smile reappeared. “Yeah?” She couldn’t believe she was taking a random drunkard in the street seriously, but there was something incredibly inviting and reassuring about him. The grin he gave her in return, although somewhat rueful for some reason, warmed her to her core, and she looked away shyly, before turning to him once more. “See ya!” With that, she bounded across the street to her home, only looking back once she’d made it inside. He still stood there staunchly, as if frozen to the pavement. She tried to put him out of her mind as she made her way upstairs to her apartment. 

 Ever since that night, the feeling had only intensified, and while she didn’t mind it that much, it was almost impossible to ignore. 

 One day, she’d run off to Potters Field Park, flustered and bothered after a disagreement with Mickey. She couldn’t go home just yet, or her mum would end up complaining about something or other, like her favourite show not being on the telly, or Jimbo not answering her calls. Not that she minded, she just wasn’t in the headspace to be dealing with that right now.  

 She found herself a park bench facing Tower Bridge, the dew from the grass permeating through her sneakers and the cold air seeping into her bones. She sighed as she sat back and regarded the bright, cloudless sky and the world before her blankly. In her zoned-out state, she barely noticed the blonde, wiry woman approaching her softly and slowly.  

 “Hello,” she began, startling Rose out of her daze. “Mind if I sit here?” A thick Yorkshire accent imbued her words with a gentle excitement; Rose couldn’t help but think she must be a long way from home.  

 “Yes, of course,” she replied, scooting over to make more room for her. The woman’s long, periwinkle trench coat splayed out across the bench, and she scrambled not to let it encroach on Rose’s personal space. Tucking it underneath her, she made herself comfortable, sitting on her hands and drawing her mouth into a tight, straight line. They sat like this for a moment, in uneasy silence while Rose wondered why she couldn’t have found her own park bench, before she finally spoke.  

 “I wonder if I could ask you something,” she said, turning to Rose with her eyebrows furrowed. “Some advice, I suppose.” 

 Rose raised an eyebrow quizzically. “You’re asking a stranger in London for advice?”  

 “There’s something about you that makes me feel like we’re not really strangers.”  

 Rose was about to scoff at this, but she hesitated, staring back at the mysterious woman. She couldn’t help but feel as if... she was right. She couldn’t put a finger on why, but she couldn’t argue her bizarre point.  

 “Go on, then,” she finally agreed.  

 “I lost someone,” the woman continued, “many years ago. Many, many years ago.” 

 “Blimey, you don’t look like you’ve lived ‘many, many years.’” 

 The woman grinned. “Thank you. My skincare routine is out of this world.” She suppressed a giggle, as if she’d told a hilarious inside joke, and Rose blinked several times, but disregarded it.  

 Shifting awkwardly on the bench, she went on. “I can’t seem to get over it, no matter where I go or how much time passes. I can’t stop myself from going to see her, even just to know she’s okay, or to see that beautiful smile again.” She beamed proudly. “Her smile is one of the most precious things on this amazing planet.” 

 “Ah, so she’s still alive?” Rose clarified. She was struggling to keep up. 

 The woman scrunched her nose. “Well, sort of. Not really, but in a way. It depends.” 

 Rose was beginning to accept that this person was not entirely sane; how in the world did someone’s existence depend on anything? Nevertheless, shaking her head in bewilderment, she asked, “And what advice did you want to ask?” 

 The woman had been distracted by a small, round house sparrow, hopping through the grass in search of scraps, all alone. “Now I’m not sure,” she admitted, still staring at the lone bird. “I suppose just... what to do. How do I keep going with this grief weighing me down?”  

 A twinge of pity pricked Rose’s heart. “This girl really meant a lot to you,” she murmured the obvious. 

 “She was like an angel to me,” the woman concurred, biting her lip and turning her head as the sparrow bounced its way over to them.  

 “How long has it been since you last saw her?” 

 “Ah, now there’s a very difficult question to answer,” the woman laughed as she looked up, but when she met Rose’s exasperated gaze, she cleared her throat and corrected herself, looking away ashamedly. “Quite recently, actually.” 

“Don’t you think, maybe,” Rose suggested, sighing and wondering once again why she was having such a deep conversation with a stranger, “that to get over her, you need to stop seeing her? Unless you’re visiting her grave, I’m still not quite clear on whether she’s alive or not.” 

 “Let’s just go with alive.” 

 “Well, alright.” 

 The woman seemed uncomfortable from being confronted with this point. She mulled it over, grabbing an item from her pocket and rotating it between her fingers. Rose could not discern its purpose or even shape; it appeared to be a distorted shaft of metal, with a glowing amber core running through it, reaching a glowing head at one end. “I suppose you’re right,” she murmured.  

 “I know it can be hard, the loneliness and missing them and what you had,” Rose sympathised. 

 The woman’s face contorted in deliberation. She allowed herself a moment to arrange her thoughts before responding. “I don’t think it’s the being alone that’s worst. It’s more, the being unknown.” Zoning out, she pressed a small button on the hunk of metal, producing a buzzing and whirring sound that startled Rose. “Sometimes I think there are some people who are better unknown.” 

 Rose wondered whether she meant the girl she so dearly missed, or perhaps, herself.  

 The woman stood up abruptly, shoving the metallic item back inside her coat and smoothing the fabric. “Well, I shouldn’t bother you any longer,” she announced, beaming warmly at Rose. “Thank you for your help.” 

 Staring back dazedly, Rose shrugged. “It’s no problem. I hope you are, er, able to find your peace.”  

 The woman’s expression turned rueful. “Thank you,” she replied. “Me too.” 

 As she sauntered away, Rose called after her, “Wait!” 

 She turned back with a small smile and eyebrows raised, almost as if she’d hoped Rose would call her back. 

 “You never told me your name,” Rose said. 

 The woman’s smile grew into a cheeky grin, and she raised one finger to her lips. “Spoilers,” she said. With that, she turned away again and strode off, leaving Rose utterly baffled and ready to go home for a very long nap. 

[axleboost]

Naruto Fanfiction | Life Without Kurama, Chapter 14

Senju Princess Tsunade finds herself up against a wall in this chapter. Is there truly a medical challenge beyond her skill level? If so, what hope is there for the patient in need? Read on and watch the full story unfold!

[aerascreamer]

Chapter 4 of my Batfam Big Bang fic is out !

[ask-duotale-b2fc]

Yum yum vegetarian food

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Prologue Start | Chapter 1 Start | Previous Page | Next Page

𖤐~~~~~~𖤐~~~~~~𖤐

Do you like DND? Undertale? Deltarune? Anything nerdy tbh? Wellll... We have a discord group lol. We're opening invites for a bit, preferably to people 17+! You can join if you wanna nerd out about [adjusts glasses] how much you like that one bard from YouTube named Tom Cardy....? Why is this in the script?...

[werewolves-and-winchesters]

“But I can change it, I can save them all?” he asks, hopeful.

“Think of destiny as a leaf floating on the surface of the river. With no intervention, the leaf will eventually be brought to the end of the river, a path which seems obvious from outside perspectives. There are many instances that can influence the course of the leaf, either directly or indirectly, but oftentimes the end result remains the same.”

“So you’re saying that even if I directly intervene in something, there’s the potential that the end result will still be the same?” he asks. “All roads lead to the same ruin, more or less?”

“Correct.”

Gojo Satoru dies at the hand of Fushiguro Toji outside Jujutsu High in the spring of 2006 but instead of passing on, he's given a choice - move on, or return back to the point in time when he died. When he chooses to return, he's gifted a vision of the future: how his life is set to play out if everything is left unchanged.

All decisions have consequences but how will he remember what those are if that vision is erased from his memory before he returns?

[purpurussy]

writer's block is debilitating atm. i want to write soooooooooo badly but im just sitting here staring at google docs with 0 neuron activation

[leopeiros]

The One in which Wei Wuxian Died

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Got an idea for an au in the dead of the night which I might flesh out later. Idk. But for now, here’s what it amounts to.

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Wei Wuxian, post-canon, happily married to Lan Wangji, is not in fact getting along with his in-laws. And by in-laws, I mean Lan Qiren. Lan Qiren is convinced that Wei Wuxian is the devil incarnate that stole away and seduced his well behaved nephew, corrupting him. Nothing new from the man who held a grudge against a literal fifteen year old. He does not hide the fact that he believes things would be better off had Wei Wuxian not existed in the first place.

Wei Wuxian, who is in fact a talismanic genius, decides that if Lan Qiren wants a world where he doesn’t exist so badly, he’ll help the man out. He then spends the next few weeks developing a talisman (or array, if that works better) that will allow Lan Qiren to view an alternate timeline in which Wei Wuxian does not exist. He promptly presents it to Lan Qiren, explains the concept, and laughs as he tells Lan Qiren to use it whenever he wants to relax.

Most importantly, Lan Qiren is a spectator to this timeline. He is unable to influence it.

(While Wei Wuxian perhaps no longer blames himself for certain events, like the Wens attacking Lotus Pier, considering they likely would have done so no matter his perceived slight, he does not think through the effect his not being there would bring about during other such events. So while self blame is not as prevalent as it once would have been, he does not think the world would find detriment in his absence. He is wrong.)

Now, with the initial setup out of the way, let’s dive into this alternate timeline, starting with the first divergence; Wei Wuxian himself.

In this timeline, Wei Ying, nearing six years old, succumbs to a fever brought about by infected dog bites after his first encounter with them on the streets. (His little spirit is very happily enjoying spending time with his parents in the afterlife. he’s probably the only carefree individual in this timeline.)

Lotus Pier, despite Wei Wuxian having never stepped foot within it, is still wrought with tension. Jiang Cheng still develops an inferiority complex, and Jiang Yanli still takes it upon herself to parent her little brother in the absence of any real parenting from Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian, who are too busy fighting with each other to pay much attention to their children aside from using them as ammunition for their ire. While the main family is dealing with this infighting, the Jiang Sect stagnates and weakens under the mismanagement of their appointed Head Disciple until Jiang Fengmian finally catches wind of this during one of Madam Yu’s night hunts when she’s not around to distract him. A new Head Disciple is chosen, but the damage will take time to repair.

Cloud Recesses is relatively calm, the year Wei Wuxian was meant to attend. With a few distinct differences. Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are not friends without Wei Wuxian to act as a buffer between Jiang Cheng’s headstrong personality and Nie Huaisang’s far meeker disposition. Lan Wangji does not spend the year falling in love with a troublesome rule-breaker, and continues to seclude himself away behind an icy disposition. Su She drowns during the confrontation with the Waterborne Abyss. The students come, study, and leave. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s engagement remains intact by the end of the year. Lan Wangji does not come out of his shell, and Lan Xichen continues to worry about his brother.

Wen Chao still performs poorly during the archery competition. The Lan sect is still burnt down. The indoctrination still occurs. Mianmian is branded on the face. The disciples manage to escape with few casualties, but the Xuanwu of Slaughter remains alive. Lan Wangji will never regain full mobility of his leg despite the strength of his golden core.

Lotus Pier still burns. Jiang Yanli, safe in Lanling at the time, becomes the sole survivor of the main family. Without Wei Wuxian there to temper his impulsivity, Jiang Cheng joins back in the fight after being sent away and dies alongside his parents. The Jiang sect dissolves with so little members left with no one suitable to lead them. Jiang Yanli officially marries into the Jin sect the year after.

The Sunshot Campaign is still formed, but lacking the support of both the Jiang and the Jin (whose contribution is so minimal it barely counts for anything), it was doomed from the beginning. The Wen storm Qinghe Nie whilst the Sunshot Campaign gathers its forces, and Wen Xu takes Nie Huaisang hostage to force Nie Mingjue to come fight them. The Sunshot Campaign is thusly defeated, and as it’s figurehead, Nie Mingjue is beheaded.

Following this, Jin Guangshan openly allies himself with Wen Rouhan, whilst both the Lan and Nie are absorbed into the Wen sect. Anyone who protests this is executed or used for more of Wen Rouhan’s experiments regarding resentful energy.

It is during this lull in activity that Jin Ling is born to Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli. Things are peaceful in Lanling for approximately two years until Wen Rouhan sets his sights on completely conquering the cultivation world and targets the Jin sect. Jin Guangshan dies after his core is crushed by Wen Zhuliu. Following a promise made to Jiang Yanli, Jin Zixuan flees with Jin Ling after Jiang Yanli is captured to buy them time to escape (the only reason it is not Jin Zixuan buying time for Jiang Yanli and Jin Ling is that he has a better chance at being able to protect their son, given Jiang Yanli’s weaker cultivation). She is brought to Nightless City after Wen Xu takes an interest in her.

After an entire year on the run from the Wen, Jin Zixuan is finally caught in Yiling. He puts up a significant fight to protect Jin Ling but is ultimately injured. This is where Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen show in the narrative. They help Jin Zixuan fight off the Wen soldiers, but Jin Zixuan is dying. He entrusts Jin Ling into the care of the two rogue cultivators, making them promise to keep the boy safe. The two agree. So they leave Jin Zixuan in Yiling and travel to the safest place Xiao Xingchen knows; a place he knows accepts orphaned children. He takes Jin Ling to the Celestial Mountain, upon which resides none other than Baoshan Sanren.

(Jin Zixuan, for his part, does not die. Wen Qing, who although has since been called back to Nightless City to resume her work as Wen Rouhan’s personal physician, occasionally travels to Yiling to check upon the supervisory office still under her management. Wen Qing, who has developed a tentative friendship with Jiang Yanli, chances upon Jin Zixuan and beyond all odds, recognizes him as Jiang Yanli’s husband from before her capture. She promptly smuggles him into the supervisory office to treat him. His core is irreparably damaged by a poison made from resentful energy that Wen Rouhan has Wen Qing helping to develop. If left unchecked, it would continue to ravage through the meridians until the pain immobilizes the affected cultivator, leading to eventual death. To prevent this, Wen Qing surgically removes Jin Zixuan’s golden core.)

That’s where my subsequent timeline ends, but there are still ideas for this that I have. Because without Wei Wuxian, the solution for this timeline’s happy ending is far more complicated.

These new circumstances, however, lead to some pretty interesting dynamics that can be explored. My main idea obviously centres around Nie Huaisang, who with the loss of his brother is most certainly plotting the downfall of Wen Rouhan. But the most interesting dynamic I can think of would have to be between Meng Yao and Mo Xuanyu. Meng Yao, who did not stab Wen Rouhan and therefore was never acknowledged by Jin Guangshan. Meng Yao, who with Jin Guangshan dead, has no way to obtain that approval, and so therefore does not align his entire being with being the perfect son. And Mo Xuanyu, who without Wei Wuxian to invent demonic cultivation, might just end up as the founder in this timeline (because he’s pretty and tragic and I adore him).

Either way, the main rebellion would likely consist of Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao, Mo Xuanyu, (perhaps) Lan Wangji, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen, Jiang Yanli, and Jin Zixuan. (And if this lasts long enough, Jin Ling as well.) I say perhaps for Lan Wangji due to his injured leg, though he could still contribute utilizing musical cultivation.

Oh, and the Xuanwu of Slaughter is still an issue in this universe. Unless they can weaponize it against the Wen, which would be pretty cool.

(Wen Chao does in fact become the Wen’s very own version of Jin Guangshan, leaving illegitimate heirs all over the place.)

Of course, none of this is set in stone. If anyone wants to play around with this au, you’re totally free to do so however you’d like. I’m sharing this mostly in case anyone else finds it interesting, and because I’ll probably never actually write a fic for it. This mostly just started out as a brain teaser trying to figure out what would happen if Wei Wuxian wasn’t part of the plot, considering that although he did contribute quite a lot to the canon events, a lot of things were set in motion long before he was even born (like Jin Guangshan’s corruption and Wen Rouhan’s plans to conquer the cultivation world).