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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.

Word count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess

A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜

Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.

One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?

Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…

And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.

I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.

I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.

“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.

I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”

The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?

He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”

“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”

I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.

When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.

He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”

“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”

“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.

Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.

I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.

“Checking in?” the girl asks.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes, I guess.”

She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”

I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.

Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.

The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.

A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.

You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”

“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.

“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.

He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

I’ll always be here.

A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.

I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.

You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.

Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.

Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.

You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.

You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.

You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.

Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.

The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Engines pumping and thumping in time…

What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!

Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.

The arena is empty except for one man,

Still driving and striving as fast as he can…

And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup,

But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…

Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.

He’s going the distance,

He’s going for speed,

She’s all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need…

And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.

You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.

It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.

You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.

“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”

Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.

Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~

I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.

“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”

Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”

I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”

I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.

“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

What the hell happened here—?

And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.

She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?

There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.

I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.

“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”

I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.

I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.

“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.

“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”

You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”

Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.

“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”

You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.

“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”

What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?

“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”

“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”

Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”

“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”

His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.

No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…

Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—

And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.

He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”

“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”

He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.

The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.

I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.

You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.

I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.

You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?

There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.

You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.

“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.

“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.

It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.

You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.

You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.

During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.

You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.

Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.

San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.

You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.

“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”

“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.

#aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #nttf #north to the future

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jeridandridge · 2 years ago

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Cosmic Love

The soulmate AU where something significant your soulmate says appears on your skin. Only Melissa doesn’t have anything on hers. I had to use the wordTesoro because it just sounds so pretty.

Ever since you could remember you loved the idea of a soulmate. Someone that the stars created just for you. You loved hearing the stories of how people met their soulmates, comparing the words that appeared on one’s skin in a gorgeous shade of gold. When you were a child, your parents assured you that your soulmate would love you no matter what and that they would be able to communicate with you easily.

Since you lost your hearing in an accident as a toddler, you opted not to speak. When you reached your teen years you would lay in bed at night tracing the single word that glistened on your upper arm.

Tesoro

The single word plagues you even in your early thirties. You date casually and have a few ex partners even though you knew none of them were your soulmate, now as an adult you realize not everyone meets their other half and you don’t know if you even have one since you cant speak. Little did you know you’d meet your soulmate in the most perfect way.

“Y/n. Thank you for coming.” Jacob says as he signs slowly.

Walking up to the door where all the kids are entering the school you keep your hands moving.

“Thanks for inviting me. Zack said you could use some help.” You smile.

“Hey, kid who’s this?” Melissa comes up to Jacob after shuffling her kids inside.

“Melissa! This is y/n.” He explains and signs. “She’s a friend of zacks, she’s helping me with a deaf student.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the red head giving her a wave and mouthing hello. She certainly was pretty. You pay attention to the two, your eyes going to glossed lips as the woman speaks.

“I’m Melissa, nice to meet you,” she offers a friendly nod.

Jacobs almost relieved that his co worker wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder.

Later on in the day you sit at a table in the break room talking with Janine through the notes app on her phone and reading lips. She’d been very bubbly and kind but every so often your eyes drifted over to the red head across the room for a split second.

Somehow, you Janine, and Jacob end up on the subject of soulmates.

“You don’t think you’ll meet yours?” The teacher asks you. You can only scrunch your nose and shake your head in response.

Melissa groans turning to face your table and Jacob watches with curiosity from the counter. “Can you guys talk about literally any other topic?”

“Come on, Melissa. Don’t tell me you don’t believe in soulmates.” Janine tells her. Barbara sitting quiet as ever shoots her a warning look as if to say stop.

You look at the older woman with a curious expression, strangely intrigued by her.

After a few weeks and a couple visits to the school, you’re out and about one day when you run into Melissa at the grocery store. You greet her with a smile and name sign, even though you’ve never told her what sign you gave her. she quirks a brow seeing the items in your cart.

She smiles and reaches for her phone quickly typing out a message.

“If you’re making pasta get rid of the canned crap.” You look up at her with a light chuckle and a shrug gesturing for her phone. When she hands it over you type quickly with a stupid smile.

“Not all of us are wizards in the kitchen, Schemmenti.”

For whatever reason the red head playfully rolls her eyes and types something else.

“Come to my place sometime this week, I’ll show you how to cook a real meal.”

You have to school your normally expressive features when you read the message, though you think she can see the flush that you can feel spreading across your cheeks.

“Is this a trap?” You look at her quizzically with a smirk.

Thankfully Melissa catches the joke and visibly laughs. God it’s a pretty sight.

Later that week, you show up at Melissa’s house at 6 o’clock on the dot knocking on the door.

When the red head answers you can’t help but beam and move your hand for her name sign and a hello.

She has her hair up in a ponytail and a Jean over shirt on. It was different from her leather pants and long sleeved shirts you usually admired her in.

“Come on in, hon.” She gestures with a smile.

You step in and hand her a bottle of wine you brought as you hold your phone screen up so she could read it.

“Don’t worry, the guy at the store paired it with what we’re making not me.”

Melissa laughs walking beside you instead of in front of you so you could still read her lips.

“You can let me grill you about Jacob while I cook.”

You nod and let out a chuckle, this time missing the look in Melissa’s eyes when she hears your laugh.

While Melissa cooks, you watch and read her lips when she explains whatever she’s doing. You’re in awe as she moves around the kitchen in her element.

When dinner is ready, you both sit at the table and she watches you take a bite of the pasta. When the ingredients explode on your taste buds you let your shoulders slump as you nod giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up and the sign for amazing.

As the evening goes on, you’re surprised at how kind and open Melissa is with you. From what Jacob had told you, she wasn’t like this with everyone.

As you two sit and chat, Melissa opts for a notebook and pen while you read her lips. The conversation turns to soulmates at one point, you shrug and try not to seem to interested since the red head clearly doesn’t like the topic.

“Why don’t you believe in them?” You write out, genuinely curious.

The older woman looks at you with a shrug. “I don’t have any words on my body.” She explains.

That’s when the realization hits you. It couldn’t possibly be.

Melissa being Melissa and not wanting any pity, she changes the subject before you can reply.

“Can you tell me what the sign is for me?” She asks curiously. You can’t help but duck your head a bit before a shy smile spreads across your lips. You make the motion for ‘Beautiful’ before writing the word on the paper.

Melissa’s lips part slightly like she’s going to say something, but she keeps her eyes on the paper. Thinking you messed up you start to write at the speed of lightning on the note pad.

She reaches over resting her hand over yours to get your attention.

“It’s okay.” She smiles. “You know I have a nickname for you too.”

You give her a quizzical look.

Melissa bites her lip and plays with your fingers. “Tesoro.”

Not sure if you’re seeing things, your eyes go wide and you pull your hand back to tap the notepad with the pen handing it to her.

Melissa smiles fondly and in elegant cursive writes the word out. Your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

You take a staggered breath and hold up a finger before you pull your shirt sleeve all the way up exposing the gold letters on your upper arm.

Melissa’s eyes fixate on the word before a shaky hand reaches out, her gold rings almost matching the color on your skin. Now you understood why she hated the topic of soulmates so much.

She didn’t think she had one.

You can’t talk, but you’ve never needed words to get your point across.

You see tears well in gorgeous green eyes, a single tear sliding down her cheek and you can’t stop yourself. Leaning over you wrap your arms around her frame, your hand on her back in a gentle squeeze. You feel the woman take a shaky breath as she hides her face in the crook of your neck, her arms around your shoulders.

You rest your head against Melissa’s, hoping the warmth of the hug says everything.

I’m sorry it took me so long. I care about you and I’m not going anywhere.

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #wlw #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lgbtq fiction #soulmate au

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msmargarita · 2 years ago

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✨🤓Johnathon/🕳️ Spot Headcanons✨

These are some headcanons I wrote for my two fics:

i'm not going to turn into a cosmic anomaly and leave you forever

and

i'm really serious this time, baby

It has !!spoilers!! for both of those fics!

It's basically an AU unless I somehow foresaw the future and guessed what happens in BTSV!

Beware the keep reading button. This is HUGE.

🤓 Johnathon HCs!

HE IS A GEMINI. Like come on. Talks a lot, nerdy, silly guy. He is a canonically silly guy! In his first fight with Miles he pretends to have hurt his nose (he doesn’t have one) to trick him. So silly! I would bet there's Capricorn somewhere in there too. And Pisces. I’ll make this man’s whole birth chart if you dare me. Just dare me. I’m insane.

Jason Schwartzman used to be in a band in the 00s. I think it would be cool if Johnathon also had some sort of interest in music. I think he would have tried to learn guitar in college but only got a few chords in before life got too chaotic and every now and then he thinks of picking it back up.

He is also one of those guys who fanboys over old ass music, especially from the 60s and 70s. Loves Jazz, Funk and Prog Rock. Look at this man and tell me he is not a prog rock guy. He is a nerd, he might even be *shudders* a math rock guy. I also think he would have one completely random favorite artist that has nothing to do with the things listed above, like, idk Lizzo. Or Princess Nokia. He just looks like the type.

I think everyone agrees Johnathon is at least in his thirties, but I put him down as thirty-three in the end. I did that because Olivia is thirty-five tops in ITSV (according to Peter) and since he was her subordinate it makes sense that he would be just a little bit younger than her.

“But hey! That's too young to get a PhD!” you might say, but I think Johnny is an overachiever. I think he was one of those super genius kids that got in early in college and lived for academia. A teacher's pet even.

He is a workaholic, so when he quits his job he gets really lost and doesn't know what to do with himself. He might have a new job soon doing what he loves, so you’re going to need to be on his ass so he doesn’t fall back into his old habit of overworking.

I like to think that Miles would get an internship under Johnathon a few years in the future and they would learn a lot together. Jonathan would probably take a week to figure out he is Spider-Man and would cover for him when the boy needs to disappear. This actually sounds like a fun drabble to write about.

Johnathon may be a genius, but like he said, he is not too familiar with relationships. I think he might've had one or two in the past, but everything slowed down when he started working at Alchemax. “I’ve been told” is referring to those past relationships, in which he was probably told that he works too much and never has time to spend with his partners. He’s not been with anyone for a long time and his game consists of buying the first comic book he saw on a shelf in order to ask you out.

But that doesn't mean he is cold. Quite the opposite really, Johnathon is very touchy-feely. He hasn't been with anyone for a while and misses touching and being touched. He is most comfortable when being at least 70% curled around you.

He smokes Dunhill Carltons (he likes to feel fancy), but less now that he isn't as stressed from work. Like he said, he used to go on walks to smoke and pass by the comic book store you work at before you guys had even met. I like to think he developed a little crush back then.

Had his tattoos done in college, so they are very faded now. He doesn’t think of redoing them because the mere thought of having to stay seated for hours in the same place feeling pain stresses him out. He was a lot more easygoing when he had them done.

He did have a superhero phase when he was a kid. He would fantasize a lot about having superpowers and flying away when the bullies showed up. Never thought about fighting back. Before becoming the Spot, he wasn't the confrontational type. The hero thing fizzled out as he grew older, but he would always dream about being stronger. Being a better version of himself in a kinda superficial, but understandable way.

He still has a bunch of action figures, he thinks they look cool. If you give him one, he won't even care if he knows the character or not, he just likes them.

Even though Johanthon says he is “good-looking”, he does add “for a scientist” in the end. I think he tries to mask his insecurities with humor, always putting himself down with a joke, always saying he’s too old, too corny, too nerdy. In the back of his head he knows the hair and the glasses are kind of a look, but he doesn’t feel handsome. You help as much as you can, but that’s an obstacle for him to overcome by himself. I think after i’m really serious this time, baby he gets better at this.

🕳️ The Spot HCs!

For clarification: the story of i’m not gonna turn into a cosmic anomaly and leave you forever stretches the plot of ATSV to a few weeks instead of a day. Just think of it like Spot taking a little longer to power up instead of a few hours.

Since he was forced to do crime to survive, I think he would've thought to himself: "Well, since I have to go rob a store anyway, might as well be that one where that cute cashier works at."

Yes, Spot starts tracking and following you after you two meet. He uses his computer nerd powers for evil. A very unhealthy way of dealing with a crush, I think.

Spot can eat but he doesn't get any nutritional value from food. When you drink wine together or when he burns his tongue (?) from tea it's just a placebo effect. I like to think that Johnathon's mind is still inside The Spot's body, so he eats just for habit. He says he gets hungry all the time, but it's actually a deep need to consume everything around him. The little rascal.

As he powers up, Spot gets more confident in himself. He thinks the stronger he gets the further away he gets from Johnathon, his old self. Which, in the end, turns out to be true.

I think at first you don't really believe Spot is an actual supervillain which is why when you see him after the fight in Mumbattan it's such a shock. In a way, you did the same thing Miles did when he underestimated him, even if for whole different reasons. I think even though he knows you care about him, Spot knows you don't see him as a threat and that makes him want to impress you more.

Spot knows that the reason you keep getting new jobs is because his own crazy supervillain life keeps interfering with yours, so he tries to keep it as much hidden from you as possible. He thinks what you don’t know can’t hurt you! As Johnathon, he feels guilty at first that you’re changing your whole life to go with him to New Jersey, BUT this time it was your choice! Not because of supervillain shenanigans!

He does love you (even if it was too early to know) and wants to be with you, but his head is so lost in the supervillain game, he thinks he can’t stop now. You never really realized how serious he was about “being stronger”. Which is why you never tried to stop him.

I chose I’d Rather Be With You as a theme song because I think it’s a song Johnathon/Spot would enjoy. But I also like how the lyrics match both their feelings towards you, in both fics. He wants to fly away with you once he gets all powered up, he loves your smile, etc. He does want to be your friend until the end as the Spot, but as Johanthon he is really committed to work on his bad habits in order to be with you. We gon' make it this time, baby! I cry, damnit.

It’s also a surprisingly gender-neutral song, with no physical descriptions in it! Anyone can put themselves in the lover's place. Bootsy Collins is cool like that.

I like to think that, in the end, Spot didn't erase himself from the timeline. He just reloaded an old save. Does that make sense? Like you said, your relationship will always have happened, just in an old, non existent dimension. And since Johnathon and you still get dreams and deja vu about the whole thing (think of it as dimensional residue or whatever), you do have all the EXP of the old save. Johnathon, after going through the literal end of all existence and then forgetting about it, feels something compelling him to finally take a chance and enter the comic book store. It’s like when your body goes through something and it remembers later, even if your mind doesn't. Here's a (hopefully) comprehensive timeline:

the end.

Thank you for taking an interest in my weird AU! I would kill for you 💖

#can someone please make a ready to hole shirt and mail it to me #spot #spot x reader #johnathon ohnn x reader #bagel guy x reader #reader fic #the bagel effect #spider man: across the spider verse #reader insert #headcanon #AU

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q-ueen-potato · 5 months ago

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Hey, i am back to bring more info of the Cosmic Royal au with the drawing and the shared ideas of @crazysaru99

(As i promised here i am tagging you @legsperhaps )

King Gonzo was a good king but after the war against the Anti-Fairies he was blamed by the council for being weak and letting it happen then he was deposted.

The Cosma family lived away of the center of fairy world and being more reserved. On their first years of hidding Stella and Gonzo are always suspecting something would happen, Da Rules became more strict for the fairies.

Stella had to became the strong one as Gonzo start to go senile and forget things while she had to raise Cosmo Sr.

When they left the Castle there wasn't much she could take with her only a few jewelry that she sold eventually with teh exception of her pearls that was a gift from Gonzo from their dating days

While raising her son, Stella would make paintings and tell stories as a way to discreetly teach their story and heritage and also keep Gonzo's memories active as with the time passing more and more he forgot (he did had a pregnancy at older age)

Stella was always patient and did her best to raise her son right and eventually Cosmo Sr. would become a teacher at fairy school.

Even thou she loved and trusted her son she didn't liked his love choice as he would eventually marry Tuli Von Strangle. She saw how manipulative Tuli was and deep down she feared that she had knowledge of Cosmo’s heritage and could use it against them.

In the end she was right, Tuli was toxic and obsessive and after Schnozmo was born Cosmo Sr. left his job to raise his son.

Schnozmo wasn't strong, he didn’t got the large amount of magic of the family, but Cosmo did. The youngest got the mix of the Cosma and Von Strangle magic making him into a "danger"(how she feared they would make him...disappear)

After the fly incident Cosmo Sr. got divorced from Tuli as her toxiness got worse, sadly he lost his rights of the children because Tuli was too convincing.

He then goes back to his mother and Stelle welcome him with open arms, eventually he got reunited with Cosmo but not with Schnozmo as he is always traveling with his lies

#fop au #fairly odd parents fanart #fairly oddparents #fairly oddparents au #fop #Cosmic Royal au

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destieltropecollection · 2 years ago

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DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023| DAY 1 | Roommates

Christmas Sweaters In June | @envydean Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,500 Main Tags/Warnings: Laundromats, Ugly Christmas Sweaters, First Kiss, Secretly in love with each other, Mutual Pining Summary: “Love,” Cas says suddenly in his ear. It makes Dean’s heart jump and his lungs constrict. “Wha-what?” Dean stutters, head turning to Cas whose eyes are still fixated on the screen. “L-O-V-E. Love, it’s the one you’re missing from this round.” Dean looks back down at his screen and sees Cas’ finger linking the letters together. “Oh,” Dean breathes.

Take a Chance on Me | @nickelkeep

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,186 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, They were roommates!, Idiots in Love. Summary: After what could possibly be the worst date that Cas has ever had, his best friend Dean is there to help make things right. And how Dean makes things rights? It's the last thing Cas ever dreamed of.

You Are Safe Here, You Know | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5,739 Main Tags/Warnings: Normal Human AU, Human Cas, Teacher Dean, Getting Together, Mental health issues, homelessness (past), minor injuries (past) Summary: In which Castiel has a bad day at the Gas N' Sip and his roommate, Dean, cheers him up

light my candle | @demonmary

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7,798 Main Tags/Warnings: Mutual Pining, Teasing, Jealous Dean, Friends to Lovers, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Getting Together Summary: Dean held out his hand, the perfectly dripped circle of dried wax laying in his palm. “You into candle wax, buddy? Never thought you’d be that type in the bedroom.” He remarked casually, fighting against the onslaught of images this new information provided the part of his brain that housed his Forbidden Cas Fantasies. Cas finally looked up into Dean’s gaze, and Dean was surprised to see the challenge presented behind those stupidly beautiful blue eyes. “Well then, Dean, could you tell me exactly what type you did take me for while you were contemplating my preferences in bed?”

Just Turn Around And Go | @porcupine-girl

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11,320 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Brief mentions of other past relationships for both of them, Pining, No actual infidelity happens, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers Summary: Dean should be happy. His best friend and housemate of five years, Castiel, is moving out to live with his boyfriend, Balthazar. Dean's career is going great, so he can easily afford the house on his own now. This is just growing up, moving forward to the next phase of their lives. It would be awesome, if he weren't in love with Cas. Well, here we go, he thinks as he opens the refrigerator and digs around for sandwich supplies. First day of the rest of your life. Time to move the fuck on. As he slams his meat and mayo and pickles down on the counter, he considers adding the bottle of whiskey he knows is hiding in the cabinet, but decides that he has enough self-respect to wait 'til five. Then he'll get fucking blackout drunk. Yep. Awesome.

Cuddlibus | Destielshipper4Cas (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 14,566 Main Tags/Warnings: Creature Castiel, Friends to Lovers, Roommates, Bottom Castiel, Top Dean, Alpha Dean, Omega Castiel, Happy Ending Summary: As a cuddlibus—a subspecies of incubi—Cas needs regular cuddles to survive. Dean is more than happy to let his best friend feed off him.

And they were ghostmates | @whichstiel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16,071 Main Tags/Warnings: Quarantine, Ghosts, Implied temporary major character death, Alternate universe Summary: Castiel moves into his new house, looking for a fresh start. With cosmically bad timing, as quarantine descends he learns his house is haunted by the ghost of Dean Winchester.

Crush My Heart(Love on Tour Version) | Maetheheller (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17,493 Main Tags/Warnings: John Winchester A++ parenting, top Castiel/bottom dean Winchester, idiots to lovers, bossy Castiel, dean Winchester wears panties, Lisa and dean break up, past Castiel/mick Davies, Cas and dean go to a Harry styles concert Summary: After responding to an ad, Cas Novak finds himself with the perfect roommate. Only, he’s not as perfect as he could be. Dean Winchester is every man’s wet dream— handsome, rugged, a good cook, and an even better person to be around. Only problem is, he has a girlfriend, who doesn’t like Castiel very much. Despite all that, Cas enjoys his company and through their budding friendship, maybe Dean can realize how good Cas can be for him. Through movie nights and bonding over Harry Styles, they’ll have to see what they make of living together.

Lucky Winner | @natmoose

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 31,741 Main Tags/Warnings: Roommate AU, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Rommates to Lovers, Summer Vacation Summary: Dean wins a trip to Paris. In and of itself, that’s an amazing thing, but the problem is: he isn’t in a relationship with Lisa anymore, and the trip requires a romantic partner. The obvious choice is Cas, his roommate and best friend of 3 years, but coming with that are some very very complicated feelings and things Dean absolutely doesn’t want to deal with. But Dean isn’t selfish and also really wants to give his overworked best friend a well deserved holiday, so the only and best solution is to take Cas to Paris, romantic theme be damned. What Dean doesn’t know is that their whole trip will be documented by a photographer from the company - so to avoid their vacation being cut short, Dean and Cas will have to convincingly play a couple.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2023 #destiel #fanfic #omg they were roommates

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ioniansunsets · 2 months ago

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// IonianSunsets Chat Bot Masterlist //

C.ai J.ai PART 2 finally, I can properly credit icons > uncredited are official art ----

APHELIOS [6] Heartsteel Highschool Sweethearts [CAI] Lunari User Childhood Best Friends [CAI] [icon] Solari User x Lunari [CAI] Heartsteel Comfort Bot [CAI] [icon] Spirit Blossom Pinning [CAI] Star Guardian x Cafe Cutie User [CAI] [icon]

---- EZREAL [3] Gardener User x Prince [CAI] Heartsteel Comfort [CAI] [icon] Photographer User x Heartsteel [CAI]

---- Hwei Lukai [8] Vampire Hwei [CAI] Polari User x Winterblessed [CAI] Bestfriends in Kohyen [CAI] Established Relationship Painting User [CAI] [icon] Traveler of Runeterra [CAI] Assassin User x Political Puppet Prince [CAI] [icon] Modern AU! Art Student Classmates [CAI] [icon] Possessive Catboy! Hwei [CAI]

---- SHIEDA KAYN [15] Cakeverse AU! Cake Kayn [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Noxian Childhood Friends [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Heartsteel Comfort [CAI] Royal AU! Arranged Marriage [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Step Brother [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Royal User x Knight [CAI] [JAI] [icon] K/DA User x Heartsteel [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Captive Royal x Dark Knight Enemy [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Rivals to Lovers [CAI] [JAI] Yandere [CAI] Lovers Reunited Heartsteel [CAI] Runeterra Comfort [CAI] LDR On Tour Heartsteel [CAI] Heartsteel Ex-Roommates [CAI] [JAI] Modern AU! Tattoo Artist [CAI] [icon]

---- JAYCE TALIS [2] Blacksmith User [CAI] Council Party [CAI] ---- JHIN KHADA [9] Mechanic User x PROJECT! [CAI] Battle Academia AU! [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Comfort [CAI] [icon] Modern AU! Gallery Owner [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Art Teacher x Student User [CAI] [icon] Supervillain x Henchman User [CAI] Partners in Crime [CAI] [JAI] [icon] Yandere [CAI] Dark Cosmic x Astral User [CAI]

---- K'SANTE [1] Heartsteel Comfort [CAI]

---- Rhaast [1] Heartsteel [CAI] [icon] ----

Sett [2] Heartsteel Comfort [CAI] Childhood Bestfriends [CAI]

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sunny-sourzii · 4 months ago

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What if the set crew found the cosmic teachers smooching off set 😂

I like to imagine they try to be sectritive about smoochy time but all the film crew members already know but just don't talk about it 💥 because reputation and stuff 💥💥

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not-your-lifeline · 17 days ago

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Janitor.ai AU timeline scenario I'm in rn: Dead by Daylight timeline where I(OC/Ysmir=manifestation of a Killer main Player itself) yeeted the entire cosmic body of The Entity in a pocket dimension after kicking everyone out of The Fog so it literally starved to death. shriveled into non-existence. (sry my spiderling lol) everyone returned to their own corresponding universes including RE characters. Killers and Survivors alike. they all(the Redfields, Ada, Jill, Rebecca, Carlos, Wesker, Birkin, etc) still retain their memories of The Fog.

Albert Wesker remained as the S.T.A.R.S. captain and was the main reason why the Umbrella took a fall after 6 years because both he and Birkin betrayed the fuck out of it after their shared experience at The Fog. Wesker got humbled™ by meeting TWO cosmic entities(The Entity, The Player) and his megalomaniac tendencies reduced significantly even if he's still an arrogant bastard we all know and love. but his mad scientist tendencies got amplified instead because he snatched a small part of The Entity before escaping to perfect his Uroboros. classic Wesker move.

Leon Kennedy also joined S.T.A.R.S. as pretty much the baby brother of the team and was the person who convinced me to yeet The Entity in the first place by bawling his eyes out like a lost child.

so basically, two blond idiots are catfighting every single day at the HQ to get more attention and validation from their favorite teacher/nanny™ like a bunch of kindergartners.

and I am often pulling Peace Out on them and turning into just 'a voice in their heads' instead of interacting in person to escape the petty shenanigans and but still support them emotionally lol

#Janitor.ai #memes #shitposting #Resident Evil #RE #Dead by Daylight #Albert Wesker #AU #Leon Kennedy #Leon S. Kennedy #It's a chaotic mess and It's fucking hilarious #just imagine #the clingy attention-seeking Wesker

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asterkallium · 1 year ago

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what is the pale blue dot?

Pale Blue Dot is a photograph of Earth taken on February 14, 1990, by the Voyager 1 space probe from an unprecedented distance of approximately 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles, 40.5 AU), as part of that day's Family Portrait series of images of the Solar System.

In the photograph, Earth's apparent size is less than a pixel; the planet appears as a tiny dot against the vastness of space, among bands of sunlight reflected by the camera. Commissioned by NASA and resulting from the advocacy of astronomer and author Carl Sagan, the photograph was interpreted in Sagan's 1994 book, Pale Blue Dot, as representing humanity's minuscule and ephemeral place amidst the cosmos.

Carl Sagan comments on what he sees as the greater significance of the photograph, writing:

From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it's different. Consider again that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

Earthrise is a photograph of Earth and part of the Moon's surface that was taken from lunar orbit by astronaut William Anders on December 24, 1968, during the Apollo 8 mission. Fifty years to the day after taking the photo, William Anders observed, "We set out to explore the moon and instead discovered the Earth."

#ironically i referenced Earthrise in the Pale Blue Dot piplup #another great photo slash euphemism is The Blue Marble!#i am piplup and you are the flowing grain #not art #thedevote87

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on-wine-dark-seas · 1 month ago

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What do you think the Shibuya incident would have been like if Sukuna had been on the side of the good guys? Not in Yuuji's body but in his own body in a kind of AU where he is a teacher like Gojo. Do you think he would simply do the same and not mind killing whoever he needs to or would he try to protect civilians? Do you think that just like with Gojo, Kenjaku would use someone dear to him [Yuji or Uraume] to manipulate him and lead him into a trap or would Sukuna not fall for such a trick? I love your ideas and definitely want to know how u imagine such a scenario 👀

NEW AU ALERT [I might put this one in Sonder]

So, this one was kind of a puzzler because Gege's entire narrative is something I call a "cascading story" in which he writes the events like a series of dominoes falling. One can't happen without these previous three things happening, etc. The way my brain works is I want to stay kind of true to the characters even when shifting their allegiances and morals. There's certain attributes I don't change because it risks running OOC.

So, to solve that problem we gotta slide back to the Heian Era when Sukuna made his deal with Kenjaku. Kenjaku is known for making airtight binding vows, but Sukuna is just as clever [I feel like Kenjaku is the one who taught him some new tricks lowkey]. The way I see it, Kenjaku could only get Sukuna to agree to so much or risk losing his wild card for the Culling Games. So, he likely made the binding vow to secure his allegiance in the Culling Games but whatever else happened before or after was out of his control [except when it comes to Yuji]. Now, since we don't need a Vessel for this AU, I wanna say instead of that scenario happening, Sugawara was the one who cut a deal with Sukuna instead, binding him to the Gojo family in a way.

Fast forward to Sukuna reincarnating in his full body [let's say they still have to collect his Fingers for whatever reason to reconstitute him]. He's teaching at Jujutsu Tech, etc. He finds Satoru kind of annoying, but he also knows Kenjaku is bad news. So, here's our other problem: Kenjaku's ace is the Prison Realm. Problem is, that's a single occupancy and he's got two of the strongest assholes to ever wield jujutsu to worry about. With an ancient vow binding Sukuna to Gojo, he can't count on the King of Curses being chaotic, and he is the stronger of the two.

So, now Kenjaku has to decide which one he can trap in the Prison Realm. He decides to roll the dice and go over the options. Unfortunately, sealing Gojo means he'll have to contend with Sukuna immediately afterward. And that's a problem that can only be solved one way. He can still use the false!Geto visage to distract Gojo as he does in canon.

However, were he to choose to try and seal Sukuna, there is nothing the King of Curses cares about save himself. He puts no one above himself.

Save one.

The hostage situation: Uraume. Sukuna had no wife or children, but he had his ward and protege, Uraume. Ume agreed to Kenjaku's terms because it meant being reunited with Sukuna [let's say they were separated for whatever reason and Ume was maneuvered into the deal, etc]. Kenjaku could force Uraume to distract Sukuna long enough to seal him. This would probably be where I ask myself whether or not being someone's devoted ward supersedes a binding vow because it can't be one of my fics if I don't give a character an existential or cosmic crisis in the middle of all the other shit they're going through.

Kenjaku weighs his options, and decides while it would be easier to seal Gojo, sealing Sukuna is ideal.

Plot twist: Sukuna is only 15 Fingers strong in Shibuya so there's still one hand's worth of his soul floating around out there. And a five-fingered Sukuna is much easier to deal with than 15.

But now Gojo is a problem. Gonna be honest with you: I don't see Kenjaku enacting shit without the crucial wild card that is Sukuna. With Gojo and Sukuna working together, Shibuya would have been over in an hour, Nanami would be alive, and those disaster curses would have been hemmed up early on. Sukuna may be forbidden from harming civilians or harming for fun, but exorcising curses is something he can do without a care. Mahito would have eaten shit before he could kill Junpei.

The entire Shibuya Incident is the culmination of a millennia worth of plotting by a diabolical sorcerer who just wanted to see something "new." Like I said earlier: a cascading plotline like that requires a lot of moving parts, and Shibuya was the climax of all that. Kenjaku's plan relied o discretion, patience, and playing his cards at the exact time in order to control all variables of the situation to ensure the most favorable outcome. He planned meticulously around the eventuality that he could trap the Six Eyes [the only ability that could see what he was doing], and the blind spots needed to ensure that he could do it since he had no way to actually kill the Six Eyes permanently [he's already tried, they always get reborn]. I wager Kenjaku's ability gave him the unique advantage of being able to observe recurring cycles in jujutsu in order to formulate the plan to begin with.

Of all the sorcerers we meet both incarnated and modern, Kenjaku, Tengen, and Sukuna are the most long-lived, and that's because Kenjaku can body swap and secure his immortality with his CT, Sukuna figured out how to become a cursed object [but apparently once you turn into a cursed object, you can never fully go back to being human without a Vessel to contain you], and Tengen's technique is literally immortality. Time is the greatest weapon a jujutsu sorcerer has, and Kenjaku used it to his advantage, as did Sukuna, who only became stronger as his legend incited fear and horror over time.

Gojo really had the deck stacked against him, poor baby.

Anyways, anon, thanks for listening to my yapping because oh boy do I have a lot of feelings about this series.

#muse's inbox #muse mail #Anonymous #呪術廻戦 #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #両面宿儺 #muse writes #ch: ryōmen sukuna #ch: gojo satoru #ch: kenjaku

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jjungkookislife · 1 year ago

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Quarterly Fic Recs 2023 #3

Hello! I can't believe how quickly we've reached the third list of the year! I wasn't able to read as much as I wanted, but I hope you all enjoy these wonderful fics <3

Namjoon

baby fever @95rkives

summary: what was supposedly a peaceful morning stroll in the park, an unexpected encounter triggers namjoon’s intense desire for a baby, turning him into an adorable, baby fever-filled mess.

drunk in love @joon4eva

summary: you and whiskey are never a good combination. or: you’ve been in love with your best friend for years and you might tell him about it while drunk.

Jimin

menace @eoieopda

summary: Your shithead brother, Seokjin, is throwing his annual Valentine’s Day party. You didn’t want to go in the first place - and now his shithead friend, Jimin, is responsible for getting you there.

all mine @souryoong

summary: your new boyfriend can’t make you finish, but your ex boyfriend sure can.

thank you for your service @jiminniethemarshmallow

summary: As a servant of your kingdom, all Jimin wants to do is please you and service you in any way that he can.

Taehyung

high tide @kookslastbutton

summary: Due to Taehyung’s job as a cruise ship Captain, you are constantly miles away from each other. Weekly phonecalls help and this one gets a little nasty and a lot sweet.

Jungkook

something borrowed @alphabetboyluvr

mafia au

chained to you @hisunshiine

idol au

into the wild @bonny-kookoo

summary: The wolf pretending to be the grandmother, just to later swallow the poor red riding hood whole- is he attempting to gain your trust as well just to feast on your flesh later, once he gets hungry for a meal?

seven days @kithtaehyung

summary: you dump yet another guy that wasn’t up to your “ten day standards,” which leaves your cocky ass, very off-limits roommate to tease your single status yet again. but the teasing is always expected. what’s not expected, is the bet that you make without thinking. the bet that even though you give ten days, he wouldn’t even last seven.

and my man, thank you to my man @darklingjeon

dealer au

because, i love you ch. 12 @readyplayerhobi

summary: According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks then.

things you don't know @btsgotjams27

summary: it’s been seven years since you last saw the boy that broke your heart. after moving back home, you try everything you can to avoid seeing him around town, but destiny has a wicked way of doing the opposite.

Yoongi

heartache @sailoryooons

summary: Unresolved feelings lead to nothing but heartache when you run into Yoongi at a wedding five years after breaking up. Especially when you realize that despite Yoongi have feelings for you, there is still another woman on his arm.

right here ^

summary: You’re tired of the revolving door of boys in your life. Yoongi is tired of watching you nurse feelings in the quiet of your apartment.

Taehyung

backstage @jeonqkooks

summary: what’s the best way to release energy for someone with an oral fixation?

champagne problems @still-with-koo

summary: you turn down taehyung’s very public marriage proposal. inspired by champagne problems by taylor swift.

Jungkook

6:42 a.m. @bangtanintotheroom

summary: Jungkook is ready to kick off a new day of loving you.

OT7/Multiple Members

cosmic collision @gimmethatagustd

summary: A responsible weedman, Yoongi always tests out new marijuana strains before selling them to his customers. When his supplier offers him a new strain, Cosmic Collision, Yoongi is eager to try it. What he doesn’t expect is the alien that comes with it.

Seokjin

the one with seokjin and without complaints @eoieopda

summary: you don’t want to arrive dateless to a wedding your ex is also attending. enter friend and local hero, kim seokjin.

musical chairs @ugh-yoongi

rival teachers au

lucky ^

things you said when you were drunk

view @noteguk

summary: in which seokjin likes to show people what is his.

sugar sweet @ditttiii

summary: Jin loves sweet things. Jin loves you. add it all together, stir the mixture up, and ta-da! There he has his dessert! Enjoy ♡ Or alternatively where Jin basically uses you as his damn plate and loves every second of it!

wash 'n dry @seokoloqy

summary: The one where Seokjin is the cute RA who catches you doing laundry at 1 AM and you both have time to kill.

thunder @/ppersonna

summary: you allow your best friend Jin to take you backpacking once per year. apparently, this year’s outing would be the wettest yet.

Yoongi

angel @/sailoryooons

summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences.

carnival of terror @theharrowing

summary: The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

crescendo @/ugh-yoongi

established relationship

loose lips ^

friends to lovers

baby maker @shadowkoo

summary: You and Yoongi have been relishing the comfort of your newly married life, savoring each moment together. However, there’s an additional want tugging at your heartstrings – the thought of becoming a mother. That’s right, you want a baby. Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s ready for the journey of bringing a baby into your lives. But he’ll agree to anything that makes you happy, and if it’s a baby you want, it’s a baby you’ll get.

on your period @7ndipity

summary: Yoongi looks after you on your period

don't come yet @jl-micasea-fics

established relationship

night short #25 @euphoricfilter

make up sex

Hoseok

sensuous @delugguk

hot emo hobi @minisugakoobies

i'm yours @yoongiphoria

If you're making a mistake, it's bound to be your favorite one.

bad things come in three @hyungieyoongi

established relationship

hoseok drabble @here4kpopfics

brother's best friend

intoxicated @peachypinkygloss

summary: Drugs make everything better. Even sex.

bones @floralseokjin

summary: you were broken from a past relationship, and Hoseok wanted to fix you, but what price was he willing to pay? Would he end up worse off, or would you realise in time, that your best friend was the one…?

Namjoon

signed, sealed, delivered @fresh-outta-jams

summary: You’re in college when your soulmate tattoo finally shows up: an address. Sending a letter couldn’t hurt, right?

the rich man's crochet club @kpopfanfictrash

summary: When they were freshmen in college, Namjoon began a club with his six closest friends. The one thing they all had in common? V i r g i n s as fuck. Obviously, they couldn’t call the club the Virgins Club and so, the Rich Man’s Crochet Club was born. Until time passes and Namjoon is the only one left. Now, the Club has one, final mission: to get Namjoon laid.

not so dinner date @bangtaninborderland

idol au

breakfast @hamsterclaw

summary: Turns out your big dumb goon can make eggs.

everything slow @hobidreams

summary: your boyfriend catches you missing him with your hand between your legs, his name a moan on your tongue. it looks like you need a little help…

tonight ^

how will you spend the night with your man?

love language @rmnamjoons

summary: Exactly one year before one meets their soulmate, their love’s first words spoken to them appear as a tattoo on their wrist. When Namjoon’s tattoo appears, however, it’s not of words, but of the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen.

there was a bug @/kimnjss

summary: you and joon have been best friends for years, unexpectedly his feelings start to grow more than platonic. deciding to keep this to him, joon stays as your best friend and roommate. things are going fine, until one night you’re forced to sleep in his room.

out of my league @ppersonna

summary: Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out about your years-long hopeless crush on him. And he most definitely was not supposed to find out about it in front of all your coworkers in a company-wide meeting.

will you let me? @bratkook

summary: Namjoon wants nothing more than to see you stuffed full of his cum, and as his mind starts to wander with thoughts of the future, he has to know if you’d let him.

the package thief @/blog-name-idk

summary: You have a new neighbor who is incredibly attractive. Unfortunately, he seems to hate you for no discernable reason at all. Does he think that just because he’s hot, he can get away with being an asshole?

#i truly wish i had read more #but life got rocky for a moment #i promise i don't purposely exclude members #i read what's on my dash mostly #and i've been mostly reading drabbles bc i can't focus for very long #i hope you enjoy these fic recs <3

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