#daniel ... a beacon in the darkness

[is-this-even-relatable]

Danny runs an Infinite Realms shop. Curiosities from every dimension, any culturally significant item lost to time, and some cheap china. He’s got it all~

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NEW FIC IDEA JUST DROPPED

Ok so i’ve been steeped in the dpxdc for many a year now. I've seen a bit of everything. I want to combine some of those ideas with a bit of my own headcanon and see what takes shape.

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Danny, half dead and half alive, one of the rarest species in existence, grown up yet still so young considering his immortality, powerful sovereign of an infinite dimension of beings from every possible world and universe, decides to settle somewhere and take it slow. After all, he's got eternity to do so.

So he finds a dimension he thought could only exist in comic books, and thought to himself, Now this, this is a nice place to settle. He loves how many heroes there are in this world, heck there are even aliens! Yet there are many heroes for a reason. With so many dark forces in the universe, it had to produce many bright beacons of hope to balance the encroaching evil. That is another reason why he chose this particular dimension, and this particular city. There was just so much negative energy, too much, in fact, that the heroes in this city, Gotham, could not keep up. He hoped that over the next century or however long he remained in this dimension, that his presence would provide a much-needed balm to the area, and that the sickly dark fingers of cosmic corruption would lessen. If not, well, he could always take a more direct approach. After all, he had the power of infinite universes backing him, one measly dimension’s worth of corruption against him would be like a minnow trying to catch a shark.

With a little bit of time travel shenanigans (thanks, Clockwork!), Danny soon has a perfectly legal identity as one Daniel James Fenton-Phantom, 30 years old (he figures he can pass as such, even though he stopped aging around 25), from a random town in bumfuck Illinois (sue him, it’s familiar). And after a bit of researching, Danny chooses a small street in the rougher side of the city. Not too big to be deemed as suspicious for buying practically the whole block, and out of the way enough to not attract too much attention. He spends a couple weeks getting used to the energy in this new dimension and setting up his haunt. He cleaned up what he was now referring to as “his street” in his head, and got rid of the debris, trash and general wear from the buildings. He hired some locals to renovate one, an old apartment that he was planning on renting out and staying in. He also chose a smaller building, somewhat tucked away in the corner, to use as his own personal store. The rest he leased out for cheap to small and struggling local businesses. He figured it’s the least he could do after already occupying so much space.

Several days later, and voila, his home was set.

[slowd1ving]

Hey I could request for a Daniel Park who has a crush on Male! Reader ( fluff please )

27,000 WON ゜・DANIEL PARK

Armed with nothing but a headache and the fit of a wayward uncle, it's perhaps not your proudest moment. But it's a moment nonetheless: one the cashier in this stupid convenience store locks away in his pounding heart. aka first meetings with this guy /// anon this is more crack than fluff I'm sorry ..my idea of fluff is getting a free umbrella from a fumbling cashier because it's raining, I swear it sounded better and fluffier planned pairing: daniel park + male student reader warnings: mentions of alcohol, convenience store weirdo #1 + #2, tiny bit of violence, not a warning but shy daniel (in both bodies), more reader-centric than anything, pre training arc wc: 2.2k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Without an umbrella, Seoul was a miserable place tonight. Anyone else might’ve appreciated the dense shimmer of rain streaked neon with this fluorescent city, but your head throbbed miserably with the urban cacophony. Fuck. It was pointless stumbling out onto the grey asphalt when you were in such a shit mood. People swarmed and jostled, and you might’ve stepped on a foot or two as you leaned against the rough, corrugated shutters of a closed shop: barely holding on to both your sanity and your consciousness. 

Ironically, it was the detestable luminescent rods that saved you, beckoning your damp body towards a 24-hour convenience store. Warily, you peered at the cold lights—and they winked back. Winked, for their clinical flickering suggested sentience, or at least, some sort of quest window that was your beacon for safety from the downpour. 

Located on the very corner overlooking an alleyway, it really wasn’t very surprising that it was a magnet for trouble too—if you objectively looked back on the situation. Dark, dingy, smelly—all were generous, polite adjectives you’d use to describe the surroundings. 

You dodged the businessman puking up his guts on the off-white wall with a strained smile and a pained twitch in your eye. An abandoned soju bottle sloshed onto your shoes from his wobbling, and your day (night) became worse. Immediately. Biblically, your irritation surged to such unprecedented levels that he might’ve turned into a pillar of salt had you even an ounce of psychic talent.

Still, you stepped across the threshold smelling faintly of pollution and alcohol, but you were finally in one of Korea’s sanctuaries. Albeit soaked, shivering, and possibly seething with annoyance. The triple S threat of all bad days. 

“Shit,” you cursed as your phone rang in your pocket. Desperately juggling the two bottles of barley tea and a lychee ice cream onto the top of a freshly polished shelf, you scrambled for the device and swiped it multiple times with wet fingers. Stupid, stupid phone, you thought as it creaked in your incensed grasp. Answer the fucking call, damn it. 

The caller ID was as followed: stupid sod. The person on the other end? Well. 

“Where’d you go? The weather was supposed to be rainy all through the night, and you really went for a walk?” The voice on the other end of the line was just as irritating as ever. Nasally, too, like if a short dog suddenly started barking with a French accent. Your head throbbed just trying to imagine it, but you did suppose your younger sister was a migraine and a half. 

“Hungry,” you muttered. The brick-red plastic basket at the entrance clattered against the linoleum floor as you pulled it out single-handedly, but still you tried to keep your voice down during these witching hours. Those two barley teas bounced against crimson when you swiped the goods into your mode of carrying, and you thoughtfully threw two blue, cardboard packets of paracetamol into there too. Now, you were just missing some yellow to complete the haphazard primary colour wheel you cradled. 

“What? Can’t hear you.” Your eye twitched at her admission, and you just knew she was squinting at her phone with an open mouth as if she could simply inhale the frequencies instead. 

“—yeah I don’t have my ID, but you could let it slide, right?”

“Hungry,” you enunciated, clearly, for the dear sister struggling to hear a single word. “You happy? I’ll be back in twenty so just don’t burn the house down. And clean out your ears—I don’t want to give the poor guy working the graveyard shift a headache by talking loudly, especially since you’re a banshee on speaker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed. “Get me those chips—those ketchup ones—and those peach candies. The knockoff ones, you know which ones.”

“With whose money? Get them yourself, you lazy bum,” you sighed exasperatedly. You were on, what, your last twenty thousand won? In this economy, too.  

“—what do you mean you can’t just let it slide? Hey! I look over 21, don’t I? C’mon man, don’t make this difficult.” There were snippets of conversation threading along into the spool of your own, and your eyes flicked upwards. One poor cashier in his green vest, hands clasped like God would possibly rescue him from this situation if he was pious enough. The other had an obnoxiously fake leather jacket draped over him—a wannabe thug if you ever saw one. 

“I sent you some, you broke shit. Like, you literally have a job, so there’s no need to be so stingy. Get me some lemon tea too,” she groaned. Her syllables dragged out abrasively, but you were more focused on the conversation unfolding in reality rather than how much you hated her voice. 

“I’m sorry, I really—I legally can’t sell you these products if you don’t produce a valid ID.” The clerk had guts, you had to admit. His voice cracked just twice in his answer, and though he was about half the size of the guy blocking the lottery ticket view, his shaking fists clenched and unclenched. You liked the look in his eyes: determined to stand on principle, even if it was just to some guy high off a power trip. 

“Okay, sure. Uhh, I might be back in forty. I just need to do something.” Words, as fickle as they were, drifted into nothingness while your eyes communicated your intentions. It was a pity you didn’t want to see her irritating face—you would’ve pressed the video call on Kakaotalk just so she could get front row seats to a beatdown. To be clear, the harrasser’s beatdown, not the harrassee’s. 

“Hey. What’s that supposed to mean? Hyung? Fuck, not this— don’t you dare hang up, we’ve literally got our first day tom—”

“Gross.” You made a face as you finally pressed the red button; she should’ve known you’d simply leave the call sooner if she used that term. Cooties. Idiot cooties. Dropping the phone into your pocket and her cavity-inducing requests (plus some cup noodles for your grumbling stomach), you set the basket a safe distance away before eyeing the cashier. 

You were quite the expert in miming and clownish arts, if you said so yourself. His face turned everything from unsettled to confused to hesitant in the span of two and a half seconds: pointing first at yourself emphatically; then to the man’s back as he stood waving his arms about; and finally making a fist and clenching it, all to really emphasise your point. Me. Him. I punch. 

You don’t know if he took it as a joke. You hoped he didn’t, but his eyebrows crinkled and uncrinkled like he was trying to figure you out. 

However, he didn’t exactly have the luxury of piecing together the implications. Not when the man became dangerously more incensed as he was asked to leave, and certainly not when he was about to grab the poor employee’s vest with those nasty hands of his. 

Gross. 

There was no time to hesitate and plead the heavens for forgiveness. 

“Hey man, there’s no need to be a dick to workers,” you gritted out, gripping both his arms in an ironclad grip that miraculously relieved some of your tension headache. Like some damn stress ball, except this was not satisfying at all as you felt the hair on his forearms shift together. Ew. Ewww. 

“Who the fuck are you?” His words sounded garbled, temples throbbing while you glared down at him. Get out. It was enough of a pain to move fast, let alone come up with an answer that didn’t sound corny. In a soaked hoodie, slippers and tracksuit bottoms, there was little you could say that wouldn’t make you stay up at night in embarrassment later on. 

“Shut up,” you instead bade, since you looked like an uncle in this particular outfit. Might as well give out life advice. “Don’t give yourself liver and lung problems, kid.”

The cashier’s lips might’ve twitched in that moment, and your own suppressed the agonising grimace that convulsed through your face. Fuck. Why was a high school student giving life advice to this dropout?

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” He began rocking his body to build momentum and twist free—and twist he did. Through the air and right into shiny, slippery linoleum after he canted his hips sideways for a weak punch. And you threw him, plain and simple: collar grasped tight in your aching fists. 

Success. You did not hit anyone! And neither did you accidentally wreck any of these painstaking displays! You would not get chewed out with a slipper curve-balling straight at your head tomorrow!

“Are you—” the cashier began, but you gestured ‘wait’ with a splayed hand as you stared down at the half-conscious man at your feet sheepishly. Was he… alright? Any more of a brain shake and he could end up more stupid than he was five minutes ago, because how the hell would some random shopkeeper join the National Assembly and change the law? Just so this buffoon could buy drinks without an ID. 

“Hold on,” you muttered with a dented pride and some shame. “Let me just—”

You hoisted the guy’s cheap leather-jacketed arm around your shoulder and dragged his wobbling body out, too repulsed by the stench emanating from him to pay heed to his nonsensical babble. There. Now the businessman holed up outside by the bin would have a buddy for company. For good measure, you tossed a powerful mango body spray into the red basket to douse yourself with promptly. 

Awkwardly, you placed the miscellany onto the little table the thug had bracketed off—only this time the cashier’s opponent was some guy trying desperately to not wilt away on his feet. 

“Um. Sorry about that—” The apology was muffled through your hand dragging across your face—peeking through your middle and index finger at the guy in front of you. Pinned to his vest was a nametag you hadn’t spotted earlier: Daniel Park, noted in size 15 Latin characters and rounded hangul alike. “—Daniel Park.”

Gosh, you even bowed. “Please forget what I said to that guy, for my dignity.”

“Sure.” Once his voice had stopped shaking, it really was quite pleasant to the ears—though it currently shook with barely suppressed laughter. He scanned your items with a tiny, tiny smile. “Thanks for that. I might’ve gotten punched if you hadn’t been there.”

“Real pricks out here,” you grumbled. “No sense of shame or anything.”

“Ah,” he quivered for a brief moment, and you felt your ears heat with just how much you sounded like an ahjussi. 

“Forget I said that too,” you muttered mournfully: five stages of grief beginning and ending within you. “I promise I’m not that old.”

Plastic rustled as he pushed the bag towards you: “Twenty-seven thousand won.” And with it, a cheap polka-dot folding umbrella was also pushed your way with a self-conscious smile. You froze, and he floundered. 

“As a thank—as a thank you,” he waved, panicked. 

“Well, thanks.” You honestly were a little dumbfounded at this sudden good fortune. Maybe you’d get struck by lightning on the way home—you were tall enough that it could probably serve as a conducting rod if you tried hard enough. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Just like that you were gone. Back into the neon rain of Seoul you walked, though this time it wasn’t as bad with a pattern over your head and acerbic ice wedged between a sheepish pout. 

・゜・

With a barely suppressed yawn, you stood loudly and proudly (silently and exhaustedly) before your new class. They looked like any other crowd of teenagers: gum surreptitiously being chewed, sneakers squeaking right against vinyl flooring, and a barrage of interesting fashion choices as befitted this department. Back to your own name, you introduced yourself while thinking of about a million other things you could’ve been doing. 

Speaking of your new classmates, they may have been looking at you with curiosity, but there was one particular guy who looked like he’d seen a ghost. Another pretty-boy you’d never done business with, but somehow—for some damn reason—he was staring like you’d shot a horse in front of him. Staring like he was the shot horse. Seriously. Paracetamol was limited in how far it could cure a headache. 

Your gaze met his, and he flinched. Who’s this guy?

Fuck. 

Daniel Park was done for. As you looked at him, he could feel his heart threaten to explode and spatter this whole classroom with veins and sanguine matter. Still wearing that same hoodie, still grinning lazily, and still sporting that confident expression like you could handle anything. His pen creaked in his tight grasp. 

By all heavens, this man was flushed red as soon as your unimpressed gaze met his—pink and suppressing the urge to hide his steaming face in his hands. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

・゜・

“Daniel, why the hell is your face so red?”

‘Are you sick?’

“He’s basically the healthiest out of all of us. Can’t be illness.”

“Okay so you agree it’s unusual then?”

“How odd. Maybe he’s come down with a fever.”

[sosa2imagines]

Broken Hearts. Part 24 (Epilogue)

Warnings- None.

Time had passed, and six months had gone by since that fateful day.

You found yourself casually walking down the cobblestone streets of Paris, the city's rich architectural beauty capturing your fascination.

A subtle smile graced your lips as you soaked in the sights and sounds of the city, a sense of peacefulness settling within you despite the memories of the past.

The street was teeming with life, filled with the sound of voices and laughter, a vibrant energy that seemed to fill the city. It was a stark contrast to the silence and solitude that had consumed you during those dark days.

People moved about their day, engaged in various activities, all adding to the lively atmosphere. Children giggled and played on the cobblestones, while vendors called out their wares, contributing to the symphony of sounds.

For the first time in what felt like forever, a profound sense of peace washed over you, and a newfound hope slowly began to take root in your heart.

The memories of the past were still there, lingering like shadows in the back of your mind, but the pain didn't feel as raw as it once did. It still hurt, but the anguish had lessened, and hope had started to weave its way back into your life.

During your aimless strolling, a charming café caught your eye, nestled away in a tranquil corner.

The cafe's welcoming ambiance drew you closer, the softly glowing lights illuminating the interior, as you hovered in uncertainty, reminding you of your own cafe, which was smoothly getting run by Peter, MJ, Happy and May.

For a moment, you debated on whether to indulge in a solitary cup of coffee, but the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed espresso proved to be too alluring to resist.

Settling into a quiet seat near the window, you placed your order, requesting a latte from the waiter. As you waited, a sense of contentment and tranquility washed over you.

With the cup in your hands, you took a slow sip of your latte, allowing the warm beverage to soothe your soul.

In the tranquility of the moment, your thoughts turned to the events that had occurred after that horrific day, the waves of grief, disbelief, and loneliness that had gripped you, leaving you drowning in despair.

As the truth unfolded, it came to light that Lloyd had meticulously pre-planned the bombing of the compound. The man Steve and Bucky had killed was there to strategically plant explosives in various locations around the building.

Amidst the turmoil and pain, you still remembered the steadfast support of both Nick and Ari. They had been there for you during your darkest moments, their comforting presence a beacon of hope amidst the storm.

And in that quiet café, as you took another sip of your latte, a profound realization washed over you. You had found a new family in them, a support system that would hold you up when you lacked the strength to carry on alone.

You had taken on the responsibility of managing Lloyd's business, a challenge you faced with determination and grit.

With the help of Nick, Jake, Ari, and Andy, you all worked together to keep the business running smoothly. They brought new ideas to the table, implemented new procedures, and helped you navigate the complexities of the things Lloyd use to do.

As fate would have it, with the help of Jake, you obtained the videos that Steve had recorded with Peggy without her knowledge.

With this evidence, Jake forwarded these recordings to Peggy's husband, Daniel, who subsequently initiated divorce proceedings against her.

The consequences were severe for Peggy; she lost her husband, her financial stability, and ultimately, her job. With her life in disarray, she was forced to relocate far away, as everything unraveled around her.

Together, you formed a team that worked towards achieving the shared goal, and over the months, you had grown to become like family, always having each other's backs.

Nick had always possessed a fierce protective nature, and following the incident, this trait intensified further. Whenever you were in public, he would stick close to your side, his proximity deterring any would-be troublemakers.

He vigilantly observed every man that dared to cast a glance in your direction, his intense gaze enough to make many look away. Nick found pride in the role of your protector, and it made him feel closer to Lloyd.

Time passed, and it became increasingly evident that Nick had taken the role of your steadfast protector. He remained a constant presence beside you, acting as a barrier between you and any men who would attempt to display interest in you or approach you.

You would sometimes tease him about it, saying he was your knight in shining armor, but deep down you appreciated his fierce defense.

Standing in front of the breathtaking Eiffel Tower, you were captivated by its beauty, when suddenly you felt a powerful pair of arms encircling your waist. A familiar voice whispered in your ear, “What's going through your mind, Sugar?”

Upon turning, a broad smile spread across your face as you laid eyes on the man who stood behind you, his sturdy arms firmly encircling your waist.

“You…” you said with a soft chuckle, feeling an overwhelming mixture of affection and nervousness. As you looked up at him, a flutter of butterflies took flight within your stomach.

In a tender and affectionate gesture, Lloyd leaned down towards you, his warm lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and all other thoughts and distractions faded away, leaving you nothing but the blissful sensation of his touch and the tenderness of the moment.

Against all odds, Lloyd miraculously survived the devastating blast, albeit severely wounded.

Thrown a decent distance by the sheer power of the explosion, he found himself in the debris, battered and bruised. Yet his resilience prevailed, fueled by his unwavering determination to fulfil the promise he had made to you.

Through sheer force of will, he propelled himself forward, struggling to make his way through the wreckage. As he spotted Nick, Ari, and you in the distance, preparing to leave, he realized it was crucial to make his presence known.

Ignoring the throbbing pain that coursed through him with each step, he gritted his teeth and pushed his legs to carry him towards you, every movement becoming increasingly challenging, as he tried to call you all.

Nick was the first to notice, his eyes widening in surprise and relief as he laid eyes on Lloyd. You and Ari soon followed suit, quickly returning to his side.

As Lloyd staggered towards you, his clothing tattered and drenched in blood, his face smudged with soot, you could notice the look of relief in his eyes as he finally collapsed into your arms.

Lloyd had been forced to undergo strict bed rest in the wake of the incident. Consequently, the responsibility of managing his business had fallen upon you, with the supportive assistance of Nick, Ari, Jake, and Andy. Despite their unwavering help, the task remained demanding, requiring significant time and effort on your part.

In typical Lloyd fashion, despite the doctors' best efforts, Lloyd adamantly refused to cooperate with them and resolutely refused to accept a designated nurse for his care. Consequently, you found yourself thrust into the role of his personal nurse, having to tend to his needs and ensure his recovery process went smoothly.

As the days dragged on, Lloyd's restlessness grew exponentially. Being confined to his room, with little freedom to move or engage in any productive activity, took its toll on his mind and spirit.

“I feel so damn useless,” he grumbled, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above him.

“You're healing,” you replied calmly, positioning yourself beside him. “You need to rest. We've got everything covered, don't you worry.”

Lloyd let out a sigh, his irritation clear as he expressed his desire to be useful. “But I want to help,” he protested. “I hate just sitting here, not doing anything.”

With a wicked smile, you proposed a bargaining chip that you knew he couldn't resist, “If you behave, and rest, I'll go down on you…” you suggested, your tone sultry.

Yep, that was the only way to get Lloyd to rest.

Though it took a considerable amount of time, Lloyd eventually recovered from his injuries. To mark his healing, he was adamant about taking you on a trip to Paris.

“You desperately need a vacation, Sugar!” he declared adamantly, disregarding any protests you might have had. “And what better place to unwind than the ‘City of Love’ itself?”

So, here you are now, walking through the bustling streets of Paris, hand in hand. You both visited famous landmarks, indulged in delicious French pastries, and just enjoyed each other's company.

As you walked hand in hand, a gentle breeze blowing through your hair, Lloyd smiled at you, grateful for this moment with you.

“I love you Sugar.” “I love you too, Lloyd.”

This trip to Paris marked the beginning of many more adventures for you and Lloyd. You and Lloyd traveled to different parts of the world, exploring new cultures and creating unforgettable memories together.

From the vibrant streets of Mumbai, to the breath-taking landscapes of Iceland, you experienced it all, together.

Each trip brought you closer, your love and bond growing stronger with each passing day. And even amidst the chaos of the world, you found solace in each other, a love that weathered any storm.

In the secluded countryside of Romania, on Barnes' private property, two men stood engaged in heated discussion, meticulously mapping out their next steps.

Steve and Bucky had miraculously survived the blast as well, though not without sustaining harm. While Steve had thankfully escaped with only minor injuries, Bucky had suffered a major loss- his left arm, shot by Nick's bullet.

Bucky's state of despair was palpable; he felt a profound sense of inadequacy and disappointment in himself, perceiving his injuries as a personal failure. His anger towards Nick simmered beneath the surface, yet he found himself unable to face him due to his condition.

The absence of his left arm wrought havoc in his life, thwarting his ability to execute even the most basic tasks, thereby intensifying his feeling of unworthiness.

Steve keenly observed the turbulent wrath and frustration seething within Bucky, striving to offer comfort. However, his efforts were met with deaf ears; Bucky's wrath flared, fixated on seeking retribution, with Nick as his desired target.

Bucky paced the room like a caged animal, his fingers tightly clenched into a fist. “I can't just let those bastards get away with it!” he hissed, the anger in his voice evident.

Steve's voice held firm and reassuring, responding confidently, “We will, Buck. I promise you.”

Bucky continued his restless pacing, his right hand clenching into a tight fist.

With vehemence in his voice, he asserted, “I can't simply let them get away with this! They must be held accountable for their transgressions!”

“We will make sure of it, Buck. You have my assurance,” Steve responded, his voice resolute and encouraging. “With Lloyd now deceased, their strength falters. We shall exact our vengeance.”

With Tony Stark's assistance, Bucky was equipped with an advanced, vibranium-based prosthetic arm, meticulously engineered to meet his unique requirements. The arm was remarkably lightweight and comfortable to wear, yet it possessed the strength to match his remaining natural arm. Armed with this formidable prosthetic, Bucky's combat abilities were elevated to unparalleled levels.

In collaboration with Steve, Bucky strategically devised an elaborate scheme, aimed at reclaiming you and exacting revenge upon Nick and Ari.

As a captivating tune filled the air through the radio, Bucky made a request, his voice tinged with excitement. “Turn up the volume, Steve.”

“Absolutely,” Steve readily obliged, adjusting the radio's volume knob, immersing them further in the music.

“One way or another, I'm gonna find ya I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya”

Part 23- ✅

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@whore-for-chris-evans @caplanreblogsfics

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha

[dilemmaontwolegs]

hello gorgeous, I love your imagination that you put into words. I expecially like your works on daniel&gasly (maybe because they're my favorite drivers). I saw that requests are closed and you're going under the knife (hope it goes well!) but if by any chance you want/have time to write this I'll be happy. Will be pleased with whatever you choose to do with this request.

The reader is a very normal, ordinary person. Rents a flat, has a job, meets with her friends form time to time. Nothing much. Somehow hers and the drivers paths cross. He immediately falls in love with her, she feels the attraction but after one weekend with him she understands that they're too different and it certainly won't work. So he's trying to persuade her to give them a try and she always runs away when her feelings instead of brain start to win. During intimate moments she starts to make awful jokes or act like a child, everything to not let the passion take over and the driver notices that and the seducing begins.

Would love this with dan or pierre but it's up to you.

Have a lovely day! 😊

P.S: Sorry for my English, it's not my 1st language

Romantic at Heart || DR3

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x fem!reader Warnings: none really, smut implied WC: 2.3k

F1 Masterlist

You should have been heading straight home, just like you had promised the girls after a Friday night out, but the lights had stolen your attention. At first you thought it was a firefly, a single orange glowing tail on the brick wall. Then you spotted another, but it was blue. Then one by one you noticed them dotted along the wall, all the colours of the rainbow leading the way to the riverbank in the opposite direction to your apartment. 

Curiosity had you following the path of tiny LED lights, wondering what it might lead to. The distance between each beacon grew closer until they became clusters, like little galaxies of constellations you could wish upon. A small laugh bubbled up as you skipped along to the next one with childlike excitement, so engrossed in what you were looking at that you didn’t see where you were going.

“Oh, sorry!” you apologised as you bumped into a man, his hands scrambling to catch his camera before it could hit the pavement. “Sorry, I was distracted. Is your camera okay?”

The man had recovered it without incident and smiled as he held it up. “Mind if I check?”

“Check what?” you asked as he raised it to his eye, the lens pointed in your direction.

“If it still works. Smile!”

You laughed at the man’s confidence and you heard the shutter snap the photo before he looked at the display. “Wow, that’s perfect,” he praised, waving you over. “Come look.”

You stepped closer to the man, feeling a sense of recognition though you were certain you hadn’t met him before. He angled the camera so you could see what he had captured and your lips parted in surprise. You couldn’t understand how he had managed to take a simple photo but make it art. 

The smile on your face was pure joy, and the lights behind you had distorted under the exposure and contrast to create a halo around your head. 

“You look like an angel.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered in amazement, wishing you could have a copy for yourself. 

“God?” he chuckled as he held a hand out. “Nah, you can just call me Daniel.”

You shook his hand with a laugh, feeling like it was a sound he was used to hearing from everyone he spoke to, and gave him your name in return. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Daniel started to say and you immediately began to shift uncomfortably on your feet, “but you’re beautiful, and it’s late, what are you doing out on your own?”

“Oh, I was out with my girlfriends and on my way home when I saw these and I kind of, had to, follow them…?” you trailed off and looked back at the dark path you had wandered down, less and less lights illuminating the way home. “I guess I should be going.”

Daniel followed your gaze to the darker end of the road and hated the thought of you walking it alone. Shoving his camera into his hoodie pocket, he offered his elbow. “Care for some company on this fine evening? My mother would throttle me if she knew I let a lady walk home alone at this hour.”

You chewed your lip as you debated his offer. “Are you a serial killer?”

“Only at breakfast.” You took a sudden step back and he screwed his eyes shut as he berated himself. “Sorry, sorry, terrible joke. Terrible timing. I meant Cereal Killer…because I eat cereal for breakfast…I’m sorry.”

“That is not funny,” you said despite laughing. “I watch way too many Netflix shows for that.”

His head tilted to the side and caught the colours of the leds around you as curiosity filled his playful smile. “Have you seen that Formula One show on there?”

Your nose wrinkled at the idea and shook your head. “Sports isn’t really my thing.” Trusting your gut that he was safe enough, you looped your arm in his and set off down the road. 

“Then what is your thing?”

“Books,” you admitted, suddenly shy though you had no reason to be. “My friends actually refer to my apartment as ‘the library’. If I didn’t have to work to buy more books I don’t think anyone would see me again, I would just hole up and read.”

“There’s worse ways to spend your time,” he joked with a grin you were starting to think was perpetually painted on his face.

“Yeah, I could watch Formula one.” His smile faded and his laugh puttered out, making you instantly regret the joke. “I can hardly make fun of your thing when I’ve told you mine.”

“I don’t actually watch F1,” he admitted as he stopped walking and you turned to face him. “I’m too busy racing.”

“Racing what?” 

He blinked a few times and his lip twitched with a smile when he realised you were genuinely confused. “I race cars…in F1…for McLaren.”

You waited for the punchline to come but for the first time since meeting him, he was serious. “Oh, oh! Okay…wow. I guess that’s why I felt like I recognised you, I must have seen you somewhere. God, I feel stupid.” You laughed to yourself and sighed, whispering under your breath, “you’ve been reading too much romance.”

“You’re not stupid,” Daniel said quietly. “I feel it too.”

Your laugh was an unladylike snort of disbelief. “Don’t be silly, you don’t even know me. You don’t even know my last name or what I do for work.”

“But I want to, if you’ll give me the time to learn. Not that it matters what your job is, you aren’t your work.”

“What if I’m an escort?”

“Are you an escort?”

“Would it matter?” 

He was momentarily stunned and you saw him worrying his bottom lip and he thought of an appropriate answer. 

“I’m not, but obviously it would matter,” you clarified as you turned and started your walk again. “I’m an admin assistant, not an escort, just so you know.”

“Not a librarian?” 

You smiled as you tipped your head back to the starry night. “A girl can dream, but they aren’t positions that tend to come up very often. Even less with everything going digital.”

“You could open your own library, you already have the books apparently.” 

You hadn’t realised how far you had walked until you stopped outside your apartment complex. It had been easy to get lost in the conversation with him and you almost continued walking just so the evening didn’t come to an end. 

“Apparently?” you giggled as he opened the front door for you. “Do I have to prove it to you?”

He followed you to the elevator and leaned against the wall. “Is that you inviting me up?”

It was daring and absolutely unlike you but when you looked into his eyes you knew you wanted to see more of them so you found yourself asking, “Would you say yes?”

His smile grew as he reached for the elevator button in response and hit it.

Monday morning rolled around too soon and you struggled to pull yourself out of bed to get ready for work. Daniel’s back was to you as he hugged his pillow, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, and you saw the slightly raised marks of your nails over his tan skin. 

The weekend had been better than any of the fictional tales that filled the rooms in your house. You hadn’t even left the apartment, too engrossed in each other's company to face the outside world. But that would change as you climbed out of bed and started your usual Monday morning routine. 

“Good morning, angel,” Daniel greeted sweetly as he snuck up behind you and kissed your cheek. 

You held up the piece of toast you were eating and let him take a bite for himself. “Can I have your number?” he asked after finishing his mouthful and watching you dart around the small kitchen, packing a little lunch to take to work.

“For what?”

“So I can give it to telemarketers,” he joked as he caught you around the waist. “No, so I can call you.”

“This weekend has been…magical, but you’re a famous race car driver, and I’m, well, just me,” you said softly. “I’m under no illusion about how this ends, Daniel, we live in two different worlds.”

“That’s just a cop out,” he argued, picking up your phone and calling himself so he had your number. “I’m going to prove you wrong.” 

Three Weeks Later “Daniel’s here to see you.” You looked up from your computer to double check Jess was talking to you and found her grinning like a fool. “I can’t believe he’s actually here.”

“Who?”

Jess reached for the half empty cup of coffee she had made you and sniffed it. “Did I give you decaf? Girl, wake up! You don’t keep a man like that waiting. The PA’s are already sniffing around him.”

Pushing your chair back, you rose at the threat of the PA’s who loved to dote upon any man who had a seven figure salary. Two of the glorified assistants longed to be on Love Island and their entire personality could fit in the extremely large breasts their ex-bosses had paid for - right before the sexual harassment charges were filed. Yeah, you weren’t going to leave Daniel to fend for himself.

Leaving the back offices, you followed the scent of knock-off Marc Jacobs to the reception area where Daniel smiled and joked with the small crowd surrounding him. You were once again struck by how different your lives were, his in the spotlight and yours anything but. It was only as you moved closer that you saw how the smile didn’t reach the creases around his eyes and heard the laugh that didn’t come from deep in his belly. 

“Alright, ladies,” you interrupted the group with a wave of your hands, “thank you for keeping Daniel company, I’ll take it from here.”

A few overly keen females pouted as they stepped away and Daniel cast a grateful smile to you before pulling out the gift he had hidden behind his back. It took a second to realise why the bouquet of roses looked strange but then the confused frown was replaced with a smile as you accepted it. Every rose was made of origami, carefully folded and shaped into the blossom and you quickly recognised the lines of Pride and Prejudice, arguably the greatest romance novel of all time.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you held the meaningful bouquet to your chest. 

Daniel was all too aware of your curious co-workers still hanging around the area and dipped his head closer to yours. “There’s this angel I’ve been missing, and I just needed to see her again.”

The gesture, the words, it all made your heart skip a beat but you quashed the feelings that arose with it. “That is stalking.”

His laugh was genuine and your smile grew when you saw his reach his eyes as he corrected you, “That is romantic.”

“Thank you,” you whispered as you sniffed the paper roses. “Did you spray these with your cologne?”

“The book came from a secondhand store and it smelt like mothballs, which wasn’t the vibe I was going for. I think I smell better than mothballs.”

“Wait, you made these!” Surprise floored you as you looked at them with a new appreciation. 

“With a little help and a lot of youtube,” he grinned proudly. “I would have come sooner but it took three weeks to make them all.”

The effort he made brought tears to your eyes and you hurried to blink them away. The man was absolutely relentless in his belief that the connection between you could become something more, but you still struggled to accept it. It wasn’t because you weren’t attracted to him, no that had been instant from the moment you met, you just didn’t understand how someone as famous as him could settle for someone as plain as you.

“Surely you have better things to do with your time,” you said after swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Than thinking of ways to win your heart? No way. So…can I please take you out on a date?”

Your eyes traced the roses, scanning the lines from the pages of one of your favourite books. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Daniel made you laugh, he could always make you laugh. The late night phone calls that interrupted your reading time replaced the silence in the apartment with the sound of your laughter. But would it be enough to close the distance between your worlds?

Your eyes followed another petal and felt it resonate within: Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her.

“One date,” you said as you tore your eyes away from the flowers that only seemed to call to you more, begging to find more sweet sentences among the folds. “And nowhere public. I want to actually be able to talk with you, not get swarmed by fans.”

“I can do that,” he said with a wide grin before kissing your cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He started to leave but he stopped as you softly called his name, looking over his shoulder from the doorway.

“Thank you for these, Daniel. No one’s ever done anything so sweet.”

“It’s just the beginning, angel,” he winked, disappearing out the door as you hid your face in the flowers that smelt just like him.

Crap, you sighed to yourself. He was worming his way into your heart, just like he planned.

[5starluvr]

Night active

Paring:Bang Chan x Reader

Genre:Angst,fluff at the end?

Warnings:none

Spider Kids

This chapter didn’t come out to my liking at all (i rewrote this 5 times and decided to scrap everything and completely redoing it just a few hours before

Rain lashed against the windowpanes, mirroring the storm brewing inside Y/n. Another text. Another "running late, sorry babe." This time, the excuse wasn't even creative. Just another night sacrificed at the altar of the recording studio, another date with Chan turning into a solo act for Y/n.

She stormed out of her apartment, the crumpled reservation for their fancy dinner clutched in her hand. The address was meaningless now, another casualty of Chan's workaholic tendencies. The neon glow of "JYP" mocked her from across the street. It was a familiar sight, a beacon that usually promised exciting new music, but tonight, it felt like a prison holding her love captive.

Pushing open the heavy metal door, Y/n was met not by the expected cacophony, but by an unsettling silence. The air hung thick with the scent of stale coffee and burnt popcorn, remnants of late nights spent chasing sonic perfection. Yet, the mixing console was untouched, the keyboards lay silent, and the screens displayed static ghosts of unfinished projects. A knot of worry tightened in Y/n's stomach.

"Chan?" she called out, her voice echoing eerily in the empty studio.

She navigated the maze of cables and instruments, checking the sound booth, the vocal recording room, even the dingy kitchenette - all deserted. A growing sense of unease gnawed at her. This wasn't like Chan. He might be late, he might be stressed, but he wouldn't simply disappear from his own studio, not without a message.

Desperation clawed at her. She tried calling him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Panic bloomed in her chest. Had work finally pushed him over the edge? Had something bad happened?

The crumpled reservation slipped from her hand, forgotten on the worn floor. The fancy dinner, the carefully planned evening – all insignificant compared to the gnawing worry that had taken hold.

Y/n knew this wasn't just about a missed date anymore. This was about Chan, and the terrifying possibility that under the relentless pursuit of his passion, he might be lost.

The studio walls seemed to close in on Y/n. Each unanswered call, each ignored text, resonated like a hammer blow. Panic transformed into a cold dread that gnawed at her insides. She tried calling the studio again, just in case, but it went straight to voicemail once more. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the glow of the computer screen.

Desperate for any sliver of information, she frantically searched the news. Traffic accidents, building fires, even a report of a rogue squirrel causing a power outage – nothing. Then, a headline jumped out – "Spider-Man Thwarts Bank Robbery, Two Villains Apprehended!" Relief washed over her, so sudden it almost made her dizzy. Chan was alive, that much was clear. But the elation was short-lived.

Spider-Man.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Her usually reliable, grounded boyfriend was also the city's hero. The missed dates, the late nights, the cryptic excuses – it all made a horrifying kind of sense. But where was he now? Was he injured? Had he gotten caught? The image of Chan, hurt and alone, flashed in her mind, and a fresh wave of terror threatened to consume her.

Y/n knew waiting at the studio was pointless. Grabbing her jacket, she raced out into the rain-soaked night. Chan's apartment was the only other place he could be. The journey felt like an eternity, every car horn, every siren, a potential omen of disaster.

Reaching his building, she sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the burning in her lungs. Her trembling hand fumbled with the keys, finally unlocking the door. The apartment was dark and silent.

Calling his name, she flicked on the light switch. Empty. The air hung heavy with a familiar cologne, a ghost of his presence, but no sign of Chan himself. Disappointment clawed at her, a cold companion to the gnawing worry. She checked every room with growing desperation. The kitchen was spotless, his usual mess of takeout containers and forgotten mugs absent. The living room held no sign of struggle, just the usual clutter of his life – books, instruments, a half-finished model airplane. Finally, she reached his bedroom, the last bastion of hope and dread.

Pushing open the door, Y/n's heart hammered against her ribs. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, revealing an unmade bed, clothes strewn across the floor – a familiar, comforting mess. But the sight that made her blood run cold wasn't the scattered laundry.

A figure perched on the windowsill, back to her, clad in a sleek, crimson and blue suit. The unmistakable mask with its large, white eyes sent a jolt of terror and… something else, a flicker of recognition, through her.

"Chan?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

The figure remained motionless, but a soft sigh escaped it. It turned slowly, revealing the familiar face beneath the mask, etched with exhaustion and concern.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" His voice, distorted by the mask's modulator, was a low rumble.

Y/n stared, speechless. The pieces clicked into place – the missed dates, the frantic exits, the news reports – it all pointed to this. Her boyfriend, the reliable, music-loving Chan, was also the city's hero, Spider-Man. A bewildered laugh escaped her lips, laced with a touch of hysteria.

"You... you're Spider-Man?"

Chan winced at the laugh, a sound devoid of joy, and carefully climbed off the windowsill. "Look, Y/n, I—"

He started to explain, but Y/n cut him off, her voice surprisingly steady. "Hold that thought. Right now, I just need to know you're okay. Why weren't you answering my calls? Where were you?"

Relief flooded his features, momentarily pushing aside the guilt. He reached out, but stopped before his hand could touch hers. "I was... busy with something. I couldn't risk taking my phone out."

His explanation was thin, and Y/n's gaze narrowed. "Busy with stopping another bank robbery as Spider-Man, you mean?"

Chan flinched again. The secret was out, hanging heavy in the air. He sighed, deflating. "Y/n, I... I didn't want to lie to you. Being Spider-Man is a huge responsibility, and it takes up a lot of time. But I never meant to hurt you."

He took a tentative step closer, but she remained rooted to the spot. "Did it never occur to you that maybe I could understand? Maybe I wouldn't want you to give up saving people, but I also wouldn't want to be kept in the dark."

Hurt flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a pleading look. "Y/n, please. Give me a chance to explain everything."

He gestured towards the bed.

Chan sat there, the mask tucked under his arm, his face etched with worry. He sat beside her, a comfortable distance maintained.

"You said you wanted to explain," Y/n said, her voice quiet.

He took a deep breath. "It started a few years ago," he began, his voice low and sincere. He recounted the fateful night he was bitten by the spider, the awakening of his powers, and the dawning realization of the responsibility thrust upon him. He spoke of the fear, the exhilaration, the constant battle to balance his life with that of a masked hero.

As he spoke, Y/n listened intently. The anger began to recede, replaced by a grudging respect. She saw the burden he carried, the sacrifices he made to keep the city safe. But his words also revealed a crucial flaw.

"You never gave me a chance to understand," she said once he finished. "You treated me like I wouldn't handle it, like I was too fragile to know the truth."

Chan looked down, shame flickering across his face. "I was scared. Scared of losing you, of you judging me. I thought keeping you in the dark was protecting you."

"But it wasn't," Y/n said softly. "It pushed me away. It made me feel like our relationship wasn't important enough to confide in."

Silence stretched between them again, heavy but not without hope. Finally, Chan spoke. "Y/n, I love you. More than anything. This whole… Spider-Man thing, it doesn't diminish that. I just want a chance to show you."

She met his gaze, the hurt still lingering in her eyes but softened by a flicker of understanding. "I need to know if there can be a balance," she admitted. "A life where you can be a hero and still have me by your side."

Chan reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. "There has to be a way," he said, his voice filled with determination. "I won't give up on being Spider-Man, but I also won't give up on you."

Y/n squeezed his hand gently. "Let's talk it through," she said, a glimmer of hope returning to her voice. "Together."

If you’re user is red i can’t tag you | tags list: open

Taglist: @juskz @blackhairandbangs @sxnset-angel @emossssss @hanjsquokka @feelikecinderella @starlostastronaut @kpopsstuffs @lixxpix @jinnie-ret @bangchans-angel @puppyminnnie @michelle4eve @kpopsstuffs @skzswife @saiko-skz @quailbagutte @briqnne @ilychee08

[ashleyeveerson]

✨ THE DAN AND PHIL LORE pt. 2✨

CHECK OUT PART 1: https://www.tumblr.com/ashleyeveerson/760695134744723456/the-dan-and-phil-lore-pp?source=share

Oh sweet 2015... A trip to Japan, which is dubed by DANIEL HOWELL HIMSELF as Japhan, leads to a fan theory in which Dan and Phil supposedly got married there which they talked about in a recent video i can't believe this is real. IN OTHER NEWS: The Amazing Book is Not on Fire is published and Dan and Phil go in their first tour ever!!! TATINOF is just ICONIC, just treat yourself and watch the musical number "The internet is here" THEY. TAP. DANCE.

The boys are touring worldwide which gives us very cute pictures of them holding koalas (awww). They also attend the Bronca in which they win EVERY PRIZE TOGETHER except "streamer of the year" which Phil won only to beckon Dan to get onstage so they could share it (THEY MAKE ME SICK). The iconic clip "Can Phil express an opinion?" is also born and Dan blesses our ears by dropping the rap of the century: ROAST YOURSELF CHALLENGE a month without uploading he comes back with a tag THAT NO ONE EVEN TAGED HIM ON

Things are changingggg... Dan ditches the "Dan is not on fire" name and brand of his channel to reflect the changes in his content. He then uploads "Dan and Depression", in which he opens up for the first time about his struggles with mental health (it's a great fucking video go watch it).

Phannies and Phil himself rejoice when Dan decides to embrace the hobbit hair and ditch the straightners (RIP the fringe). And as part of april fool's day a strange video named "Dan and Phil crafts" is uploaded to YT (idk what to say go watch it yourselves). THEY ALSO MOVED TO PHLAT 3 ON LONDON [which we would later discover were 2 separate flats; one to live in and one to record in] (some fans theorized about it before they confirmed idk ya'll scare me)

In 2018 they embark on their second tour "INTERACTIVE INTROVERTS" but the vibes in the channel all lead to the end of an era... Phil ditches the fringe (RIP), the final video of Dan vs Phil is recorded and the LAST AND 10th TATINOF gets uploaded. Now... the nostalgic vibes of this video, the love they have for their fans, the recreation of the first picture they ever took... YEAH THIS ONE ALWAYS MAKES ME SOB -- we enter the INDEFINITE HIATUS --

LOOK AT THEM :( something, something about despite everything, it's still you...

now we enter.... THE DARK AGES. Dan basically disappears from the internet while Phil keeps on uploading on his solo channel with no mention of him. So after everything, WHAT HAPPENED TO PHAN? DID WE GO TOO FAR AS A FANDOM? ARE WE THE BAD GUYS? Let's take a trip down Phandom history, shall we?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So in the peak years of Dan and Phil uploading a VERY LARGE group had appeared on Tumblr which was soley focused on so called "EVIDENCE" of Phan being canon. Now... the problem being that using the term CANON with real people is problematic to say the least. The relationship speculation that had thrived on fictional tv shows such as Merlin, Supernatural or Sherlock was now being IMPOSED upon two very real people. NOT fictional characters, just two blokes with feelings and a right to privacy.

SO WHO GOT IT RIGHT?? was it the crazy theorists, did Dan and Phil share the sonic underwear, clothes and a bed? Or was it all a lie? A bad rumour? A comercial decision to get more money from the phans? well WHICH IS IT?

WHAT IS THE TRUTH? WE. WANT. ANSWERS.

...

YIKES! Turns out that there is no answer, because we as fans ARE NOT ENTITLED TO THE PRIVACY OF OUR IDOLS. We only deserve as much as Dan and Phil are comfortable and willing to share about their lives with us... Oh and Dan? He has something BIG to share

Yeah so, words can even begin to explain how much this video meant to myself and may others... For me it was the first video I ever saw of someone actually coming out on camera, it was a beacon of light, a promise that things CAN eventually get better and a very brave fucking thing for Dan to do. He gave hope to thousands of young people who were just as lost as he had once been, he became the representation he so desperately needed when he was just a depressed kid. Just, go watch it. It's wonderful, it's a masterpiece, it's funny and heartbreaking in equal parts and above all... it's SO authentically Dan.

So where does that lead us... Let's dissect the popularity of Phan shall we? A LOT OF FANS WERE JUST FETISHISING MEN FOR NO REASON, TRUE. But a lot of them were also queer and exploring their sexuality through the safety of a m/m pairing. Since historically most yuri was catered around men and hetero romance tended to objectify women, slash paring became a way for a lot of girls to explore sex and love. That is, within the safety of removing themselves completely from the pairing. Go read this article if you wanna know more about women's fascination with slash media: https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/why-women-love-slashfic

SO SURPRISE, WE ALL TURNED OUT TO BE QUEER!!! Like ofc there was a toxic side of it, but there were also a lot of queer kids who desperately searched for public figures they could relate to.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now a couple of edits before returning to the Phan timeline bc these slides turned out to be WAY heavier than intended: Look at my boy Dan look at him!!! Look at him showing those grippers, feeding a deer, going proudly to his first Gay Parade!!!

PHIL LESTER MY BELOVED... dan I can and will fight you on the title of Phil's num 1 trash he'd probably win who am i kidding he's so in love with this man istg

PART 3 RIGHT HERE: https://www.tumblr.com/ashleyeveerson/760714622028349440/the-dan-and-phil-lore-pt-2?source=share

[hellameyers]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Ooooo, this is an interesting ask, for sure!

Let me have a think 🤔

In no particular order:

1. RADAR LOVE

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Sterek (duh)

Rating: E

Summary: What if Derek and Laura didn't leave New York? And Derek became a long haul truck driver to get away and deal with his issues. And Stiles took a gap year to process everything and work in a diner.

This is how Derek and Stiles met in a diner in the wee hours of the morning.

2. GETTING BACK UP (whole series)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Sterek

Rating: M

Summary: Stiles still hadn't mentally recovered from the Nogitsune and the Wild Hunt. While working for the FBI in Virginia, an undercover job led him to a breakdown. He was away from home, he was alone, and all his demons came rushing to the surface.

He went home to Beacon Hills, settled down with a certain Sourwolf, and never looked back.

Or, the one where Stiles comes back home to a Derek Hale surprise and finally plants roots.

3. NOTHING ELSE MATTERS

Fandom: IWTV

Pairing: Armandiel (Devil's Minion)

Rating: M

Summary: Armand is left alone. Daniel sends him something. He obsesses, and it becomes Armand's whole personality.

Essentially, he's a fangirl.

4. THE KING'S COMPANION

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Sterek (minor Steter)

Rating: E

Summary: The kingdom of Triskelion has a dark history, which current King Peter Hale has worked tirelessly to amend in honor of those who passed. But six years on from the tragedy that shook their very foundation, a dastardly plot has emerged.

The King tasks his nephew Prince Derek with a journey to bring back the last piece of the puzzle. His "companion" Stiles must be protected. But what Derek doesn't know is just how important this one man is.

5. IN THE LINE OF FIRE

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Sterek

Rating: M

Summary: FBI Special Agent Derek Hale leads an exciting, exhilarating life… at work. His colleagues think his personal life could use some improvement. Sure, it could be lonely at times, but Derek loves his job and his friends, and it's such a struggle to find a partner who understands and accepts how important his work is to him.

One day, his whole world gets flipped around by a trip to the coffee shop. Maybe Derek can have a work-life and personal life balance. And he may have found the person who makes him want to try.

But this is Derek Hale, nothing could ever be this easy…

❤️ And Bonus for podfic because it's the best and I love reading for it:

* THE DEVIL, HIS MINION, AND THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY*

Written by: @alernun

Read by: yours truly 😉

Fandom: IWTV

Pairing: Armandiel

Rating: E

Summary: It's been a long road to Armand, and now that he has him, Daniel's not about to let him go. So he does what he does every time he wants to lock a good thing down. He proposes. Chaos ensues. The good kind. The bad kind. And the wedding planning kind.

Thanks for asking!

And thanks for including me, dear @oldefashioned 💕

[lunar--iris]

Fable smp has come to an end, so my first post will be purely appreciation for everything that it has brought me. I found fable through sherbert's Tik Tok, they posted an Icarus video and I was interested.

My first fable stream was in season 1. I can't remember the stream title but it was Sherbert turning Haley's (blown up) house into a amethyst geode.

I remember that the beacons outside of their house were changed and they fixed it, but they changed again. I told them that they changed and they actually read my chat message. It's a feeling I can't quite describe. Every other twitch stream I have been in I felt so distant but Sherbert made me feel so seen in that moment.

After that first stream I continued watching, I was never caught up on lore and everyone streamed during my school day. Even with being lost every time there was lore I still felt like I was apart of something, fable gave me a space I could just be in even without fully understanding.

By the end of season 1 I barley knew what had happened. Through the beginning of season 2 I didn't know what was happening but when I started catch streams more I felt like I knew where I was supposed to be. I got a lot more involved in the community, I started cosplaying and making fanart.

When school started again I fell into a really dark place and as the year continued it didn't get better. Then for some reason I started catching fable streams again. Fable gave me a community that was nothing but welcoming and accepting, and that helped me so much.

In the summer after season 2 I went to my local comic con and cosplayed characters from fable. I accidentally met Daniel on a bus while wearing my Sherbet merch (which then was told to Sherbet and they talked about it on stream, that was wild). I wrote fan fiction (that I never posted but that's okay).

I've been the most involved in season 3. I've shed many tears, I've yelled at my screen (mostly at icarus) I've started playing Minecraft myself, I've met content creators I highly admire, I've found a huge part of myself.

I've been through all 3 of the sherbathons. 3 whole years of angst and joy on fable. All of the sherbverse lore. All the huge CMV's and amazing cutscenes. All the emotions that came with every character.

I can't say everything I feel with this post, every wonderful experience I've had. But know that in me saying this I have nowhere near enough words to describe my gratitude.

So I just want to say thank you. To all of the cast, the artists, the voice actors, the songwriters, and of course the community for making fable what it is today.

-Lunar (ignore all of my probably terrible grammar and spelling)

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Blood Moon- D.R.W

This idea came from this photo I found of Vamp!Danny and the fan interaction of Danny saying, "You think I'm scary? I promise I'm not." It's finally October, babes. It's time to get spooky.

This is just a little thing I had to get off my brain while I work on a separate fic but I wanted to give y'all something for this spooky season! No smut warnings here, just clean (bloody, scary, and semi horny) Halloween fun!

Warnings: Blood, hypnosis, and major character death. (Wow, the second thing I've ever written that isn't smut!)

It was fate that brought you up to this castle. It was a song in the wind, the promise of a warm bed. After trudging through the forest, frozen to the bone from the harsh rain that has soaked your clothes and the howl of the storm that's lightning flashes so bright, it could be the middle of the day. So bright but so wrong, it could only be day light, so stark and cold, empty and full of long shadows stretching across the trees in an upside down world under your feet. Maybe this isn't the land you knew. Maybe you were turned around off the path a long time ago. With no moon or stars to guide you home, you follow the light shining through stained glass of a castle on the hill.

It's the only beacon for miles around. You practically crawl up the door, mud covering your shoes and skirts. You don't even feel human, more animalistic than anything. Reduced to only your need to survive, the need for a warm fire.

Your hand slams the elaborate iron door knocker, hands so cold they could shatter like glass. A man rips the door open. His eyes terrify you for a moment, so dark you can only describe them as black, he looks as though you've intruded. No doubt you have, God only knows what time it is. "I-I'm sorry I-I was lost and I just followed the lights to your home, I-" "Dear child, look at the state of you." The man interrupts your nonsensical speech, you look at the rags your clothes have become, "No need to apologize, please, come inside. Let me take care of you." His voice is like velvet.

You nearly fall over your own feet, exhaustion taking hold of you now that you've stopped moving for the first time in miles. The strangers hands catch you, his hands are cold, warmer than yours but cold nonetheless. You look in his eyes, a deep darkness that you can practically see your own reflection like a scrying mirror. His skin is pallid white, dark curls cascading in his face as he's lowered to your level to keep you from falling. His grip on you is tight, your heart is hammering in your chest. He almost snaps out of a trance of sorts before loosening his grip, he looks around behind you before bringing you back to your feet. "You are so weak, let's get you in some warm clothes, I'll draw you a bath."

You sink in the tub, warm water thawing your frozen muscles, a robe is laid on the loveseat across the large bathroom near a vanity. The clawfoot tub with a view from the window that overlooks the castle grounds, acres of forest at the foot of this hill, and the storm rages on outside. The echo of the drips from the water faucet ring across the white marble floors. The house is more like a sprawling castle. It's ages old and seemingly empty. The master of the house is Daniel, the man who brought you in graciously from the cold. He's a strange man but kind and gentle.

You emerge from the water to dry, putting on a very fancy white silk robe. Your clothes are gone, off somewhere most likely to be washed, or replaced entirely, you think. You take the candle that sits burning on the countertop, walking out into the hall. You pad down the hallway, searching for Daniel. You make your way to the large fireplace, warming yourself. You sigh, closing your eyes as you soak in the heat of the fire. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest as you relax into your new surroundings.

Two cold hands come to your arms from behind. You nearly jump, turning around in fright only to find Daniel. "Did I startle you?" He asks, grinning at the state of your unrest. You never really noticed what he was wearing earlier. A long dark red velvet coat, black breeches, and strands upon strands of pearls a top of a sheer white linen button-down shirt. He looks so breathtaking, you've never met anyone like him before, and you think you never will again. You chuckle at your reaction. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in the room." You say anxiously. "My apologies, I wanted to ask if you enjoyed your bath." His voice soft and inquiring as he assesses your silk clad form. "I certainly did. Thank you so much, I would have frozen to death out there." You graciously thank your host. Daniel smiles, "Well, I couldn't have that, such a pretty thing out alone in the dark. Who knows what could have happened to you."

You look into his eyes again, they're pitch black, but with the glimmer of the fire, they nearly seem to have a red undertone. Surely not, you think. It's just your mind playing tricks. You take a step back, "I'm sorry, I'm just- you're a little scary." You whisper, a thought that you never meant to utter. His eyes only seem to light up at your comment, not the way you expected him to react. He smirks at your words. "I'm scary? I promise I'm not." Daniel's voice like a song in your ears, the way he smiles, his gentle voice assures.

His hand comes to your cheek, you lean into his palm, eyes growing tired all of a sudden. "My dear, you must be so tired. Come." He takes you by the hand, you follow him, almost as though you were a fawn, following after its kin in the meadow.

He brings you to an elegant chaise, warm velvet under you, inviting you closer. You're so close to him, you hardly think how this man is a stranger to you, how uncomfortable you should be in this state of near undress. It's no way for a lady to behave, but he felt like a flame and you the moth. Like a moon to his celestial body, wanting to be ever closer. My God he is beautiful.

You can feel just how warm you are, a blush in your cheeks, eyes heavy as though you've consumed an entire bottle of wine. "I can see you're tired of running." His voice is soft, deep, and raspy. His hand comes to your hair, pulling you closer. You don't resist. You find a pang of fear deep inside of your heart, one you can nearly wave off, but yet it buzzes like a fly in your mind. You open your eyes to see him looking at you, his eyes scanning your form, "You are divine." He coos, his fingertips grazing your scalp, that feeling in your chest subsides.

You feel as though you're on the brink of sleep, trailing into a dream. Your eyes close, your hand weakly coming to the pearls on his chest, your fingers toying with them as you are entranced by the way he pulls you even closer until your head is resting against his shoulder. He smells like warm spices, pine, with a hint of smoke, so inviting and familiar. His hands bring you onto his lap, you can not help but comply. Your brain feels like it's melting as his hands run down your body. You want him. You want to give him everything. Anything.

His hand comes slowly up your body, and to your cheek, he brings you to face him. You can't resist. You don't want to resist. You look him in his eyes. They're a deep red, almost a cabernet red is the only way to describe them. You're utterly hypnotized by him, you should be afraid, completely terrified of him. But you want to be a part of him. Anything he has to offer, you want to take from him.

"Such a gorgeous creature." His voice dances in your mind, a drunken smile comes to your lips as he brings his hand to your jaw. His thumb is cold as he drags it along your bottom lip, it practically sets you on fire the way he touches you. "All yours." You whisper weakly. Daniel grins, sharp teeth protruding in his smile, fang like teeth you had never seen before now. You know not what this means, but it doesn't matter, not anymore anyway. "All mine." He smiles, eyes delighted as he pulls you to him in a kiss. It's magnetic, your hand tightens around the strands of pearls, as his fingers pull away your robe from your shoulder, your neck exposed as his other hand brings your hair to the side. His tongue grazes along your own, and you want nothing more than to surrender completely to him.

He kisses you one last time before looking at you, "Such a pity." He sighs. You know you should be frightened, screaming and clawing away, but you don't. You don't want to. "This world is far too cruel to beautiful things such as yourself. I'll show you a tender mercy." He rasps.

His arms are so strong they pull you to him, your neck to his lips. His teeth sinking into the artery of your neck. Your hands hold the strand of pearls, your eyes unable to stay open, as your body feels numb, warm and sleepy. You can feel your blood leaving your body, but you don't care. It's not even yours anymore, you want to give it away. To give it to him. You can feel your heart slowing, the pitterpatter turning into a distant drum.

The sound of Daniel's lips against your throat and the burning flame in your neck sounds like a lullaby as you begin to drift off to sleep. His hands feel hot on your skin, you relax into his frame, your hands slowly falling away from the now blood-soaked pearls. Like a lamb in the meadow, drawn away by a wolf.

Daniel kisses your cheek as he withdraws from your garishly bloody neck. He lays your body down against the velvet chaise. He stands above you, your eyes barely staying open to see before you, an angelic evil. Lips covered in your blood, dripping down his throat and on to the pearls you once held. "I told you there was nothing to be afraid of. Now get some rest, don't fight it, my love. Sleep well, angel." Daniel's voice fading as you give into that sweet sleep that's been pulling you in since you entered this place. His hand takes yours, he kisses the top of your hand, "Sweet dreams."

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[mayamidnightmelody]

In the vast expanse of the cosmos, where stars twinkle like distant diamonds and the void of space is a canvas of infinite possibilities, a lone rocket ship glides silently. Its sleek, silver hull reflects the glow of a nearby moon, casting an ethereal light over an alien landscape below. This is a place where adventure thrives and danger lurks in every shadow.

Captain Jack Daniels, a seasoned astronaut, crouched behind a cluster of alien mushrooms, his ray gun aimed steadily at a formidable foe. His space suit, a pristine white accented with dark straps and equipment, clung to his muscular frame, designed for both protection and mobility. The suit’s material, stretched taut across his body, emphasized his athletic build. Through the transparent visor of his helmet, his eyes, sharp and focused, tracked the movements of the reptilian behemoth before him.

The creature was a sight to behold: a towering, dinosaur-like alien with blue, spotted skin that shimmered under the moonlight. Its red eyes glowed with a menacing intelligence, and its maw opened to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Draped in a regal red robe adorned with golden accessories, the alien exuded an air of barbaric nobility, a king in its own right.

In one of its massive, clawed hands, it held Lieutenant Sarah Blake, a fellow astronaut. Her own white space suit was dirtied from the struggle, but her spirit remained unbroken. She kicked and struggled, her eyes filled with defiance, even as the alien aimed its own ray gun at Captain Daniels. Her suit, too, was impossibly tight, outlining every curve of her body and highlighting her strength and determination.

Lying prone in the foreground, another figure added to the drama. Clad in a golden bikini and skirt that sparkled against her tan skin, the woman appeared to be a captive or perhaps a recent victim of the alien’s wrath. Her long, red hair spread out like a halo around her head, and her expressive eyes flicked between the battling forces, hope mingled with fear. Her near-nudity, a stark contrast to the high-tech gear of the astronauts, added a layer of sensuality and vulnerability to the scene.

“Hold on, Sarah!” Captain Daniels shouted, his voice steady despite the tension. He adjusted his grip on the ray gun, taking careful aim at the alien’s weapon.

The alien hissed, its eyes narrowing as it shifted its gaze between its captives and the determined astronaut. It bared its teeth in a grimace, revealing more of its terrifying fangs, and tightened its grip on Sarah. The tension was palpable, a high-stakes standoff in an alien jungle filled with towering, pink-flowered trees and bioluminescent fungi.

Above them, the sky was a tapestry of celestial wonders. A massive moon, pockmarked with craters, dominated the horizon, while countless stars dotted the blackness. Among them, strange, colorful planets hung like ornaments, adding to the surreal beauty of the scene.

A silver rocket ship, sleek and futuristic, hovered in the distance, tethered to one of the pink-flowering trees. It was a beacon of hope and a reminder of the technological marvels that had brought the astronauts to this alien world.

In a sudden burst of movement, Captain Daniels fired his ray gun. The beam of energy sizzled through the air, striking the alien’s weapon with pinpoint accuracy. Sparks flew, and the creature roared in pain and fury, dropping its gun and loosening its grip on Sarah.

Seizing the moment, Sarah wrenched herself free and landed a swift kick to the alien’s midsection. She somersaulted away, rolling to safety beside Captain Daniels. Together, they trained their weapons on the now weaponless alien, ready for whatever came next.

“Nice shot,” Sarah panted, her breath coming in quick bursts. Captain Daniels flashed a brief, tense smile.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the alien, which was now retreating, nursing its wounded pride and weapon. “We’ve got what we came for.”

The two astronauts moved quickly, helping the woman in the golden bikini to her feet. She was shaky but unharmed, and she clung to Sarah as they made their way toward the waiting rocket ship.

As they hurried through the alien jungle, Sarah noticed the woman’s delicate condition. Her attire, or lack thereof, was not suitable for the harsh environment. Without hesitation, Sarah offered her own jacket, providing some modesty and protection.

Al Williamson and the Raypunk Genre This tale, filled with daring heroes, menacing aliens, and exotic worlds, is the essence of raypunk—a subgenre of science fiction that captures the retro-futuristic visions of the mid-20th century. Raypunk stories are characterized by their imaginative and often whimsical depictions of advanced technology, space travel, and alien encounters, all infused with a nostalgic charm. Raypunk and planetary romance frequently feature tropes such as daring rescues of damsels in distress, sensuous elements, and the ever-present danger and excitement of alien worlds. The aesthetic is heavily influenced by the pulp magazines and early comic books of the time, with an emphasis on vibrant colors, dramatic action, and exotic settings. Al Williamson, the artist behind the scene described above, was a master of this genre. Known for his detailed and expressive illustrations, Williamson’s work often blended realism with the fantastical, making him a perfect fit for raypunk. His dynamic compositions, meticulous attention to detail, and strong sense of storytelling brought these otherworldly adventures to life. Williamson’s art was heavily influenced by the pulp magazines, early comic books, and serial films of his time. His illustrations defined the visual language of raypunk, influencing not only comic books but also films and television. Through his work, Williamson captured the excitement and wonder of space exploration, the thrill of encountering the unknown, and the timeless appeal of heroic adventure. In conclusion, Al Williamson’s raypunk artwork is a vivid reminder of a genre that continues to inspire and captivate. His illustrations are more than just pictures—they are stories that transport us to distant worlds, invite us to join daring adventures, and remind us of the boundless possibilities of the imagination. The sensuality, the peril, and the tight suits are all part of a tapestry that celebrates both the human form and the extraordinary potential of futuristic storytelling.

[book--brackets]

[gokartkid]

maxiel 7

maxiel 'things you said while we were driving'

Max wakes up slowly with the jolting of the car. His head judders where he’s leaned it against the window. The orange lights of the street lamps flash across the car, across his vision, warm and orange over the dashboard and down the seats.

He can hear the radio faintly, an indistinct voice talking about an awards show or an artist or something— he’s too tired to try and parse it out properly.

Daniel’s humming something under his breath, a low comforting noise that has Max closing his eyes again.

He breathes in the smell of the cheap rental, mint air freshener and the crisp seat against his neck. He doesn’t know where they are— somewhere in the middle of nowhere, faded white stripes shooting past on cracked asphale, inky black in the night. 

Max feels blurry still as he shifts, tilts his head to the other side to look at Daniel from between his lashes; his eyes struggle to focus, making out his dark curls, the shadow of his eyes in his face, the curve of his nose. 

Daniel slants a look over towards him— always catches it when Max wakes up like this, like he’s in tune with his breathing, his heartbeat. His hand comes over, off the wheel, pats at the inside of Max’s knee, thumb fitting in the curve of his kneecap.

Max shifts, opens his legs and blinks slowly at Daniel, puts his hand over his. 

He can hear the soft rumbling of the car as it eats at the road, big tires rolling over asphalt steadily through the night. It’s a hybrid, makes it strange and quiet in comparison to Max’s childhood memories of road trips and caravans and puttering engines with his dad stood on the side of the road hands on his hips.

He’s watching carefully as Daniel’s jaw cracks as he yawns, wide, like a cat.

“Do you need to stop soon? We can swap.”

He sounds a bit off kilter— but they have red bull in the back if Max needs to perk himself up. He can jog on the spot in the cool night air if he needs to.

Daniel shrugs, fingers patting a rhythm on the leather of the wheel.

“Nah, s’alright we’re about 5 minutes away from the motel anyway.”

“Are you sure?” 

Max sits up further in the seat, brows coming together. He squeezes Daniel’s hand in his lap.

“I don’t want you to be too tired— I can take over. And, of course, it’s dangerous to drive tired.”

More dangerous to drive tired than drunk; Max remembers his mum telling him strictly when he and Daniel had first been planning the trip. She’d pressed a brochure into his hand about it and everything and he’d laughed said ‘we’re professional drivers.’ She’d scoffed, said that didn’t even count if they barely drove on real roads, taking their fancy planes everywhere.

This is Max’s first road trip.

Daniel had been horrified when he’d first told him he’d never gone on a— he called it a ‘roadie.’ 

“You know,” he’d been trying to explain why it was so essential, and appealing, “you drive from place to place, you drink — not while you drive — you set up at beaches and shitty motels, it’s like, the life.”

Daniel answers him, in the present, makes Max snap out of his drifting memory.

“I’m all good. I promise,” a squeeze around his fingers, “thanks for checking in babe.”

Max nods, flops backwards into his seat. He looks out through the window in front of them, flat landscape, and there in the distance, buildings. The sign for a motel like a beacon, buzzing neon lights, a red glow around VACANCIES. 

There’s a crinkled bag of chips and a soda in the compartment beside him and he digs around for the last few crumbs of chips, salty and comforting. 

The crunch of gravel as they pull into the drive, and Max slaps himself lightly on the cheeks to wake up properly, stretches until he feels his shoulders pop. He looks over to see Daniel watching him, eyes soft with— something.

They’re only staying at this place for the night, off again bright and early. Daniel had already marked out tourist-y spots that they were covering— ending it all at the grand canyon. A grand finale.

“You ready to go in?”

Max leans over, presses a kiss onto his sleepy soft mouth, feels their beyond 5-o-clock shadows scrape as he nudges into Daniel’s cheek. Opens his eyes in the middle just to see Daniel’s closed, the blur of his face too-close.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

[marcmarcmomarc]

RWBY Spanish dub

Team RWBY

Ruby Rose: Valentina Souza

Weiss Schnee: Romina Marroquín Payró

Blake Belladonna: Alondra Hidalgo

Yang Xiao Long: Mireya Mendoza

Team JNPR

Jaune Arc: Óscar Flores

Nora Valkyrie: Analiz Sánchez, Regina Carrillo (young)

Pyrrha Nikos: Berenice Vega

Lie Ren: Alan Fernando Velázquez, Zoe Mora (young)

Team STRQ

Summer Rose: Ale Pilar

Taiyang Xiao Long: Arturo Mercado Jr.

Raven Branwen: Fernanda Robles

Qrow Branwen: Germán Fabregat

Beacon Academy

Professor Ozpin: Mario Arvizu

Glynda Goodwitch: Maru Guzmán

Peter Port: Francisco Colmenero

Bartholomew Oobleck: Beto Castillo

Salem’s Inner Circle

Salem: Irasema Terrazas

Cinder Fall: Dulce Guerrero

Roman Torchwick: Sergio Gutiérrez Coto

Emerald Sustrai: Alicia Vélez

Mercury Black: Erick Salinas

Neopolitan: Agustina Cirulnik

Dr. Arthur Watts: Armando Réndiz

Tyrian Callows: Miguel Ángel Ruiz

Hazel Rainart: Octavio Rojas

The Hound: Mario Castañeda

Leonardo Lionheart: Humberto Solórzano

Vernal: Rebeca Patiño

Tock: Simone Brook

Atlas Military

James Ironwood: Dafnis Fernández

Winter Schnee: Xóchitl Ugarte

Penny Polendina: Cristina Hernández

Caroline Cordovin: Magda Giner

Ruby’s Group

Oscar Pine: Luis Leonardo Suárez

Maria Calavera: Ángela Villanueva

Dr. Pietro Polendina: Gerardo Reyero

Team SSSNN

Sun Wukong: Alexis Ortega

Scarlet David: Alberto Bernal

Sage Ayana: Abraham Vega

Neptune Vasilias: Enzo Fortuny

Nolan Porfirio: Pepe Vilchis

Team CFVY

Coco Adel: Liliana Barba

Fox Alistair: Geezuz González

Velvet Scarlatina: Carla Castañeda

Yatsuhashi Daichi: Óscar Garibay

Ace-Ops

Clover Ebi: Raúl Anaya

Vine Zeki: Eduardo Giaccardi

Elm Ederne: Gabriela Guzmán

Harriet Bree: Karla Falcón

Marrow Amin: Ricardo Tejedo

Happy Huntresses

Robyn Hill: Erica Edwards

May Marigold: Ruth Toscano

Joanna Greenleaf: Yvette García

Fiona Thyme: Lupita Leal

The White Fang

Ghira Belladonna: Emilio Guerrero

Kali Belladonna: Rebeca Manríquez

Adam Taurus: Alejandro Orozco

Corsac Albain: Emmanuel Bernal

Fennec Albain: Eduardo Garza

Ilia Amitola: Monserrat Mendoza

Schnee Manor

Jacques Schnee: Arturo Mercado

Whitley Schnee: Moisés Iván Mora

Willow Schnee: Yolanda Vidal

Klein Sieben: Jesse Conde

Ancient Times

Ozma: Roberto Salguero/Ricardo Bautista

God of Light: José Luis Orozco

God of Darkness: Salvador Reyes

Jinn: Danann Huicochea

Ambrosius: Rubén Cerda

Xiong Family

Hei “Junior” Xiong: Eduardo Fonseca

Lil’ Miss Malachite: Leyla Rangel

Miltia and Melanie Malachite: Lourdes Arruti

Team CRDL

Cardin Winchester: Raúl Anaya

Russel Thrush: Yamil Atala

Team FNKI

Flynt Coal: José Ángel Torres

Neon Katt: Meli G

Arc Family

Saphron Cotta-Arc: Erika Ugalde

Terra Cotta-Arc: Carla Medina

The Ever After

Little/Somewhat: Angélica Villa

Curious Cat: Ángel Balam

Blacksmith: Carmen Sarahí

Jabberwalker: Víctor Hugo Aguilar

Jinxy: Jaime López

Red Prince: Pascual Meza

Herbalist: César Bono

Alyx: Julia Bilous

RWBY: Grimm Eclipse

Dr. Merlot: Sebastián Llapur

RWBY: Arrowfell

Amoncio Glass: Alfonso Grau

Hanlon Fifestone: Óscar Gómez

Bram Thornmane: Trujo

Olive Harper: Leslie Gil

Bianca Prisma: Cecilia Gómez

Roane Ashwood: Alicia Barragán

Ivy Thickety: Edurne Keel

Ruda Tilleroot: Jessica Ángeles

Minor characters introduced in Volume 1

Shopkeep: Eduardo Tejedo

Xiong Goons: Ricardo Mendoza “El Coyote, Carlo Vázquez

Cyril Ian: Víctor Ugarte

Lisa Lavender: Alondra Hidalgo

Police Officers: Daniel Lacy, Patricio Lago

Sailors: Marc Winslow, Noé Velázquez

White Fang Goon: David Bueno

Penny’s Driver: José Luis Miranda

Minor characters introduced in Volume 2

Tukson: Octavio Rojas

White Fang Lieutenant: Roberto Gutiérrez

“Deery”: Alicia Barragán

Perry: Arturo Castañeda

Councilman: Kevin Adrián

Minor characters introduced in Volume 3

Bolin Hori: José Antonio Macías

Nadir Shiko: Edson Matus

Brawnz Ni: Abraham Vega

Bartender: Carlos del Campo

Nebula Violette: Karla Falcón

Dew Gayl: Jessica Ángeles

Ciel Soleil: Camila Díaz Fraga

Amber: Ximena de Anda

Atlas Ship Captain: Víctor Hugo Aguilar

Minor characters introduced in Volume 4

Mayor: Alfredo Gabriel Basurto

Blacksmith: Jesús Ochoa

Dying Huntsman: Nando Estevané

Captain: Víctor Trujillo

News Reporters: Eduardo Fonseca, Sonia Casillas, César Costa

First Mate: Paulina García Casillas

Oscar’s Aunt: Kerygma Flores

Higanbana Waitress: Claudia Garzón

Businessman: José Luis Orozco

Businesswoman: Karina Altamirano

Henry Marigold: Emilio Treviño

Angry Businessman: Héctor Estrada

Trophy Wife: Ximena de Anda

Husband: Arturo Cataño

An Ren: Kerygma Flores

Kuroyuri Blacksmith: Alan Bravo

Boys: Luistio Comunica, Regina Blandón, Ana Layevska

Li Ren: Idzi Dutkiewicz

Mistral Pilot: Manuel Campuzano

Atlas Pilot: Hernán Bravo

Minor characters introduced in Volume 5

Mistral Pilot: Irene Jiménez

Menagerie Guards: Tatul Bernodat, Mark Pokora, Andrea Coto

Bartender: Víctor Covarrubias

Shay D. Mann: Esteban Desco

Sienna Khan: Lileana Chacón

Saber Rodentia: Ricardo Brust

Mata’s Mother: Gloria Obregón

Mata: Luis Fernando Orozco

Yuma: Bruno Coronel

Ramen Shop Owner: Ángel Mujica

Small Girl: Ivanna Corona

Trifa: Miriam Aceves

Mistral Police Captain: Rommy Mendoza

Minor characters introduced in Volume 6

Dee: Dan Osorio

Dudley: Alejandro Orozco

Mistral Woman: María Álcazar

Nubuck Guards: Raúl Solo

Red-Haired Woman: Rossy Aguirre

Terminal Soldier: Miguel Ángel Leal

Minor characters introduced in Volume 7

Drunk Mann: Raúl Aldana

Drinking Buddy: Héctor Emmanuel Gómez

Forest: Moisés Palacios

Fria: Isabel Martiñón

Councilman Sleet: Daniel del Roble

Councilwoman Camilla: Graciela Gámez

Minor characters introduced in Volume 8

Atlas Commander: Itatí Cantoral

Shovel Mom: Denisse Aragón

Disgruntled Grandmother: Diana Santos

Fiona’s Uncle: Gabriel Pingarrón

Crimson: José Luis Rivera

Madame: Rona Fletcher

Step-Sisters: Annie Rojas

Rhodes: Idzi Dutkiewicz

CCT Voice: Sonia Casillas

Minor characters introduced in Volume 9

Mouse Leader: Betzabé Jara

Townsperson: Kate del Castillo

Toy Soldiers: Ricardo Mendoza “El Coyote”, José Arenas, Ramón Bazet, Diego Becerril, Óscar Gómez

White Pawns: Cecilia Gómez, David Bueno, Enrique Cervantes, Ramón Bazet

Toy Guard: Roberto Carrillo

Hawker: Erick Selim

Teapot Lady: Maythe Guedes

Paper Pleasers: Iván Bastidas, Luis Carreño, Irwin Daayán, Gaby Cárdenas, Denisse Aragón

[apoptoses]

Pairing: armand/daniel

First sentence: Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house.

Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house. He would lie in bed, face buried in the pillow, stretching his legs beneath the sheets until Armand unceremoniously tugged the blankets off him.

There was none of that now.

Just the narrow confines of the coffin, lined in padded satin. As a mortal Daniel might have panicked in the tight, dark box with its impossibly heavy lid. But the death sleep released him slowly; awareness first coming to him in the sensation of his dead feet pointing and touching the bottom of the coffin. And then creeping into his limbs, wrapped around a weight that lay heavy on his chest. His dead lungs, which inhaled the dry, stuffy air trapped inside the coffin. His brain- wakefulness came upon that slowly as well, and then all at once as if a curtain had been pulled back and let in the rush of sounds and thoughts that filled the Night Island.

Somewhere in these crypts beneath the Villa was Lestat, Louis. Marius. Jesse and Maharet. Khayman. Daniel couldn't hear their thoughts but he could feel their presence in the way one feels the presence of an animal in the dark woods, invisible but very much there.

"You sleep late, lover. The sun has been down for nearly an hour now," Armand said.

Daniel squeezed his eyes tight. Then opened them and took in Armand's pale face. Even the darkness it seemed to glow, thanks to his vampire sight. He lifted his hand from Armand's bare shoulder (bare? ah, yes, they'd ended up sneaking into the coffin together bare well before dawn last night, he remembered, the little blood he had in him rushing to his cheeks) and tucked an auburn curl behind Armand's ear.

"And yet you're still in here with me, so you must not have anything to complain about," Daniel said, words slurred with sleep.

There was hardly room for the two of them in the coffin; Armand had no choice but to lie atop him, chest to chest, face tucked into Daniel's shoulder. But then they both liked that- Armand for the intimacy, Daniel for the way it left him unable to focus on anything but the sensation of silky smooth skin against his.

It was comforting. Grounding. A gentle way to start the night before the fascination with the sights and sounds of Miami overtook him and had him awash in the surrealism of it all. How hilarious it was that the staff who had known him as the disgruntled man who slept in the massive bedroom upstairs saw him now only at night, with no idea of how or why he'd changed!

"What's so funny, Daniel?" Armand murmured into his neck.

"Everything. Waking up in a coffin with you. Having everyone in the house," Daniel said. "Thinking about how I should get breakfast but now breakfast is an entire human life. It's surreal."

Armand kissed at his throat, right above his carotid. In life that kind of kiss had made him shudder, but in death- it was a full body experience, like an electric spark had passed through Armand's lips and gone shooting through his veins.

"It'll be less surreal when you've fed."

Armand sat up, pushing open the lid with his shoulders first, and then, once he had the space to dis-entangle himself from Daniel's arms, his hands. There was a light on in the room, a lamp in the corner on a timer that ensured they rose to bedroom awash in its incandescent glow. Armand's auburn hair seemed to shimmer like molten bronze as he tossed it back over his shoulder.

"Come, lover. We'll find you someone to feed from," Armand said and held out his hand to help Daniel up.

No more coffee, no more blankets. No more greasy breakfasts of bacon and scrambled eggs. Just a bed for the dead, and the metallic rush of blood over his tongue.

And Armand, forever his beacon beckoning him into the night.

Daniel took his hand (so cold! so bizarrely like marble that compressed and reformed itself beneath his palm!) and climbed out of the coffin, eager for the hunt.

[fridge-reviews]

The Best Games of 2023

Welcome once again to the my personal list of games I enjoyed this year. Yep, it’s my list, feel free to disagree with me but it won’t change anything. So, here are the rules;

These are games that I’ve played and reviewed this year.

The list is in alphabetical order, its not a top 10, these all feature because of how good I consider them to be.

The games don’t have to have been released this year.

Everyone clear on the rules? If not feel free to reread them.

Beacon Pines

This is a game I backed on Kickstarter after watching one of my favourite Youtubers showcase it. I absolutely loved this game to the point of feeling sad when I had completed it that it was over. This game totally captivated me and had me want to explore the various endings it has.

Curse of the Dead Gods

This is a roguelite game of risk and reward, do you keep the rooms lit and see what enemies are coming for you or do you fight in the darkness where your attacks are more potent but you can't see what's coming until its upon you. That is only one of the many risks you can take that may grant rewards, curses and glory await you within this game.

Inscryption

If Daniel Mullins creates a game I have to play it, that's how it works at this point. Inscryption preys upon one of my weaknesses in both video and real games... deckbuilding. But once I thought I had a handle on the mechanics, they shifted and everything changed. Play this game and marvel at how strange and wonderful it is.

Metal Gear Rising: Revengance

“Gloriously stupid”, that's how I described this game and I'm sticking by that statement. It's so massively over the top in everything it does. An absolute must play!

Road 96

This game was something special. You could call it a walking simulator but that would not do this game justice at all. What makes this game special are the characters you meet as you go through your various playthroughs, from incompetent bikers to conflicted truckers and cops who just want to do good when surrounded by the bad ones. I've recently bought the separate expansion 'Mile 0' because I just want to experience it again (but differently).

Shadowrun Games

Okey, this is a bit of a cheat since this is about three games at once but I'm still counting it. My favourite of the three was Shadowrun: Hong Kong because of the way the story builds up. If you're ever in the market for a cyberpunk game (that isn't Cyberpunk 2077) I heartily recommend these.

System Shock (Remake)

Another game I backed on Kickstarter, and I'm so glad I did. I loved System Shock 2 and always found it very hard to go back it's predecessor. This remake removed the clunkiness of the old game for me entirely.

Toem

Toem is a wonderful, slow paced game all about photography. Photography is something of a passion for me so this game really spoke to me. Of course, there is more to it than merely taking virtual pictures, there are puzzles, quests and side missions to accomplish.

Unpacking

Cosy games seem to be a genre that's growing in popularity quite quickly and this game is pretty much the poster child for the genre. Something I really appreciated about the game was the unfolding narrative that you uncovered from what you unpacked into the various rooms and houses you followed the character into.

Vampire Survivors

Just as Unpacking is the poster child of the cosy genre Vampire Survivors is the poster child (and possibly the original progenitor) of the 'bullet heaven' genre. What I find rather amazing is the level of support this game has been given by its creator, with lots of regular free updates that add in content as well as a couple of paid for expansions it really feels like this game will never truly die.

----

This year has been amazing for those of us that love to play video games, with lots of truly fantastic games appearing with regularity. Of course, that hasn't been the case for the ones creating the games, developers are still being fired and removed for all sorts of stupid reasons and of course they like to target the newly established unions. I hope more unions appear and give these corpos the bloody nose they are asking for.

[pebblesmustard]

Not Alone Enough (Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x M!OC)

Summary:"While his soul grew more restless by the second, he felt suspended in his body as if the world went on moving without him. A nightmarish heaviness seeping inside his bones, he wants to scream, yell, and cry until he stops feeling altogether.”

Pairing: Jack Daniels x M!OC Mateo Rating: M (to be safe; no actual smut to warrant it but this blog is 18+ only)

Warnings: mentions of estranged parental (paternal side) relationship, mentions of heartbreak and grief, very brief allusions to sex, character introspection, probably lots of grammatical errors and typos, not beta'd (please let me know if I've missed anything)

Word count: 7k

A/N: Hello everyone! This is the first piece of writing I've finished after a ten year drought and the first ever time I'm sharing my writing online and I don't think I've ever been this scared. I've been sitting on this story since November and decided that I'd share it as a gift to myself on my birthday. This is definitely more of a short story about my oc, Mateo, than a Jack Daniels fic. But I think he fit in well with Mateo and I couldn't help but write him in the way I did.

Also, I'd like to give a huge thank you to my sister and my two best friends for giving this a read and to @jazzelsaur who is truly a beacon of inspiration and encouragement 💛 If you do come across this fic and decide to give it a read I hope you enjoy it!

....

Waking up had been slow going today.

The quiet blue of early morning skies had stirred the comfortable darkness of the room. Eyes slowly opening up, Mateo took in his bedroom; the window to his left letting in the smallest bit of blue light. His alarm still a way to go off on his bedside table, he can’t help but smile at a large glass of water sitting next to it that certainly wasn’t there before he’d drifted off.

Unwilling, more than unable to extract himself from a pair of arms with a vice grip around his waist, he had gotten used to a certain kind of warmth in his bed. Jack, with his brown hair tussled by the pillow’s cotton and his cheek folded in two, never strayed too far from Mateo’s heat in sleep. The sight of the brown-haired man next to him never ceased to set latter’s heart alight.

Waking up before Jack was not a common occurrence, so whenever Mateo did manage to be the one up before the sun, he always took a moment to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. That the sight of the man next to him would not wither away with the rays of sun filtering through the curtains.

When had he gotten so lucky?

When will it run out, whispered a voice, cynical and tired all the same.

The times where he had to remind himself that, no, Jack would not leave him, had slowly dwindled over time. But whenever that grating, fearful voice made itself heard, Mateo couldn’t help but bristle. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would go back to being alone again soon.

Whenever Jack saw the creases in between Mateo’s brows get deeper whether it be while reading in silence next to each other on his old couch or while in the middle of a mundane chore, but clearly lost somewhere deep inside his mind, he’d know. He’d know that whatever Mateo had been thinking up until that point couldn’t be worth occupying any more of his heart. A teasing comment, “Slacking off in the middle of a chore mister?”, would usually bring Mateo back to earth. He never could help the small, sheepish chuckle that burst free from his lips, nor the warmth that crept up his neck all the way to his ears at the realization that Jack had had his eyes on him while his mind was running a mile a minute. Mateo would usually answer with an equally teasing remark. Something like, “Looks like you’re not being that useful either, cowboy, if your eyes are lingering elsewhere”.

They would always seal the little back and forth with a kiss. Maybe two.  

Jack’s kiss would be a reminder.

Mateo’s would be a benediction.

A low inhale and a croaked out “G’morning darlin’” brought Mateo out from the warm memory.

He had, as of late, found himself preferring to revel in the moment anyway.

“Mornin’. You sleep well?”

Jack had leaned in, Kentucky drawl pouring out of his mouth like molten sugar before dipping his head for a kiss, “Well, with you in my arms I had no other chance.”

“Getting real cheesy in your old age, cowboy.”

“Is that complainin’ I’m hearin’?”

Mateo couldn’t help the grin taking over his face, “Not a chance.”

That morning, a kiss had turned into two, then three. By the time they had to be out the door and well into treading through the day’s work, they had only just been able to separate one sweat slicked skin from the other.

Getting cleaned up for the day hadn’t fared any quicker.

-----

Trying to run a farm alone, no matter how much smaller it was compared to his neighbors’, was not getting any easier. Looking at the five goats frolicking around the fields Mateo had started making a mental list on the day’s chores. Hat on his head, and a small notebook in hand, he was trying to write down just how he could expand the barn to house the sheep he was planning on purchasing. The creaky building wasn’t large by any means, barely having room for five goats and a couple poultry.

The wheat fields weren’t any easier to manage. He dreaded the work, hours on end under the scorching sun, the grown wheat scratching and itching his skin. Making sure one of the goats hadn’t escaped into the growing fields wasn’t any fun either. The small farm life his parents had imagined certainly wasn’t imagined for a lone farmer, no matter how manageable they thought it’d be.

Thank God for Jack.

One of the posts near the goats’ barn needed last minute replacing and Jack, even with all the work on his own fields, had made his way to Mateo’s as soon as he could to help him out. Although the work would have taken less long than if he had tried to go at it alone, once Jack had gotten there, he found another dozen things to fix around the farm.

Which is why Mateo was now making his way back to the house to pack up their lunches so they could eat it in between breaks, per Jack’s suggestion. He was sure Mateo would forego the lunch and work himself to the bone come dinner time.

“An impromptu picnic darlin’… it’ll be romantic”,Jack had teased.

“Yeah, real romantic with the smell of goat shit to keep us company”, Mateo had jabbered on while taking measurements of exactly where the fence needed fixing.

Jack had slowly made his way over to Mateo’s side, standing with a hip jutted out next to the barn posts. Sneaking a peek out of the corner of his eye at a dangerous grin gracing Jack’s face, Mateo couldn’t hold back the smile taking over his own nor the warmth creeping up his neck. He could tell Jack was having a good old time seeing his face go beet red.

Sneaking a hand up under Mateo’s sleeveless work shirt, the warmth and scratchiness of the fabric on the back of Jack’s hand a contrast to the sweat dampening Mateo’s back, the mustachioed cowboy had slowly leaned in even further Mateo’s side. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while hon’”, Jack had whispered, his warm breath a gentle breeze on Mateo’s cheek, his carefully trimmed mustache tickling the lone farmer’s damp temple.

Trying to find his footing with Jack’s flirting had taken him a while. Though he still did stumble and make a fool of himself every now and again.

A low and chocked out “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart”, was all Mateo could manage.

The smell of linden from nearby trees in the yard wafts through the air now, their soft breeze soothing the sweat building up on Mateo’s neck. Seeing the dusty yellow paneled house always put him in a good mood. He had learned to shut out any bad memories that may have been lingering somewhere in his mind over time. He never wanted to remember the place that his mom tried so hard to turn into a warm home, with the disdain he had for a ghost who he tried hard to forget.

The house was just enough for the two of them while he was growing up. A wraparound porch with two rocking chairs, and the view of a couple patches of carnations near the bottom of the stairs leading up to the door greeted him.

Making his way in Mateo first checks his mailbox before giving a small touch to the dash of purple and red carnations, the grass surrounding them carefully stepped around.

Every month he’d get exactly five envelopes. Water, gas, and electricity bills accompanied by the town’s newsletter and a letter from his aunt who refused to use the landline Mateo helped her install in her home.

Right now, standing just inside the doorway, he had six letters in his hand. Walking into the living room’s warm green walls, he counted them carefully, a sense of unexplained dread unfurling throughout his chest. Three bills, the town’s newsletter, his aunt’s letter and another one…from a Mateo Lanzo.

It hadn’t been long since he had last thought about his father.

Not exactly possible to completely forget someone you share a name with.

Not like he hadn’t tried.

Mateo hadn’t been struck dumb like this in a while. So much so that he wasn’t even aware of his feet slowly taking him further inside the house, standing in front of the small table in front of the window overlooking the garden, the rest of the post falling gracelessly on top of it.

He slowly sets the envelope with his name on it on top of the others.

What was he supposed to do? Open it? Read it? And then what?

He couldn’t possibly deal with this now.

Not when there was work to be done around the farm. The farm that he had inherited at such a young age that it would send him into a spiral, choking on his own breath on his bedroom floor. The farm that belonged to his father. The farm that his father left one stuffy summer morning without so much as a goodbye. A birthday cake with candles unlit spending hours on the kitchen table until his mother had had enough and sent it straight into the bin.

He realizes, with a bitter taste on his tongue, that he still hasn’t really come back from that day.

He can’t possibly read it now. Not when Jack is out by the fields, waiting for him under the scorching sun—though he’s probably now lying under a tree’s shade with his hat over his face, just “resting his eyes, darlin’, you’re welcome to join”.

He should pick up their lunch, go to his truck and make his way back to Jack. He wishes so desperately to walk out the door, forgetting the letter to deal with it some other time. But it’s as if his feet are made of lead. He can’t help but just…look at it. As if by sheer will power alone, he could set the offending piece of paper on fire by glaring at it.

How dare he?

After two decades, two hearts broken, one that buried the pain in her eyes and the other that ignored it until it grew too much to handle, now he decides to check up?

What could he have even written that would be worthwhile?

Can’t really know it without reading it though, can you?

He can’t read it now. Not when he knows that it will set him off course, distracting him from all the work that needs to be done by the end of day. Distracting him from Jack.

Jack. As if he could hide anything from him. Jack would know something was up the second he laid eyes on Mateo’s flushed face, eyes reddened from trying to keep irate tears at bay, voice strained from trying not to choke on his words, trying his best at keeping his sobs trapped in his throat.

He knows he’ll regret the moment he goes to pick up a knife from the dish rack, making his way around the kitchen table, knocking his hip to its side, can’t help but slicing the envelope open in one fell swoop, letting his curiosity run his movements.

Breath catching in his throat, he can’t help his eyes run over the disheveled lines.

-----

Jack had never been so worried.

Mateo hadn’t been the same since he came back from the house, hands empty of the lunch Jack was planning on turning into a picnic under the linden trees.

Jack’s standing over the stove, trying his best to not to appear overbearing, focusing on the chili that’s slowly steaming. When he had decided to make the dish, he was hoping he could bring a sense of calm to Mateo’s otherwise silently thundering mood. He sneaks a look at him, sitting on the desk by the window, just outside the kitchen’s open entrance, his soft brown eyes almost black as he stares off into the distance, the sad grimace that had taken over his face during the day a permanent fixture on his handsome farmer’s face.

He had an inkling that something was off in the way Mateo had made his way back. When he had asked if everything was okay, a dangerously level “Yeah, sure” and a deliberate attempt at trying to hide from his gaze had convinced him.

It had simply been too long since Mateo had tried to run from his eyes. Not that he was ever any good at it. Shyness was never really in his nature. Jack had made him out be a natural flirt when they’d first met, taken aback since he would always be the flirty one. Back then, Jack couldn’t help but revel in the fact that Mateo could ever really be interested in a man like him. Apart from the initial uncertainty of the situation, it had been a long time since he’d let himself meet someone—anyone—new in an intimate way. He’d been scared that he might have been getting ahead of himself. Mateo had just offered to buy him one drink, after learning that Jack was to be one of his neighbors. So, he was just being neighborly, surely.

After three rounds of cheap whiskey that turned both their esophaguses to dust, Mateo had offered him a ride home.

Jack couldn’t possibly say no.

Those first few months were filled with intimate moments laced with a haze of uncertainty. Jack had picked up on Mateo’s careful distance with a grain of salt. He could tell that what Mateo needed was enough time and space, and Jack had—for the first time in a long while—been willing to be patient.

He understood better than most, that even though time was fleeting, he couldn’t control the speed at which a heart was willing to go. 

Mateo had always needed a bit more time when it came to relationships and opening up. Jack had always been all to willing to give him whatever he needed to be worthy of his trust. Which is how he knows that if he were to push Mateo to talk about whatever was bothering him now could only go sideways.

But something about this was different.

He doesn’t remember ever seeing Mateo so…unmoored.

He had been distracted all afternoon, forgetting to pack their lunches that he had gone to the house for in the first place, avoiding giving full sentence answers to Jack’s worrisome tone that he tried so hard to hide.

“Don’t tell me you ate both our lunches darlin’? I know you said it wouldn’t be romantic with goat shit around but—” Jack had chuckled his way through the question. Mateo had appeared to have remembered the sandwiches growing soggy on the kitchen counter when Jack had brought them up.

“Shit, yeah sorry. I must’ve forgot.”

 Avoiding looking at him was Jack’s second clue that something was wrong.

“Nah, it’s alright hon’. You run into someone or somethin’?”

That had drawn a weary sigh from Mateo. “Yeah…something like that”, he had mumbled under his breath making his way over to the wheat fields.

Jack knew better than to ask exactly who Mateo had “run into”. He knew he wasn’t about to get a satisfactory answer when Mateo was so reluctant to even meet his eyes.

The smell of spices filling the house, Jack steps out of his thoughts. The cornbread that was siting warm in the oven—Mateo’s favorite—is taken out, placed on the table. Jack tries his best to keep worry out of his tone as he calls for Mateo, “Dinner’s served, darlin’.”

He tries his best to keep worry out of his eyes, as Mateo seems to be taken away from his mind, numbly making his way to the dinner table.

He fails at not feeling a little bit defeated as Mateo opts not to make a comment on his favorite dinner.

Jack is sure he can wait it out; wait for Mateo’s spirit to settle, see if he decides to tell him about whatever it was that cast a shadow across his eyes.

Jack is sure of him; the rest will never be as important.

-----

Mateo had never been so unsure before.

He can’t help but get lost in his thoughts at the dinner table.

Jack had made his favorite; chili and cornbread, the shared comfort recipe a pleasant surprise that had bonded them tighter years ago. The smell of paprika, garlic and a spice he still couldn’t put his finger on—a secret from Jack’s grandmother—a comforting reprieve from his racing thoughts.

Not that he succeeds at that. He tries to eat, manages to go through a couple bites before giving up, his stomach locked up tight since he read his father’s letter.

How dare he?

After reading the letter a fifth time, deciding that anger was still on the forefront of his mind and body, he had wanted to tear the piece of paper apart and burn it. Forget it ever existed. Forget he ever read it. It was another kind of anger when he realized he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those things. He wanted to burn it to a crisp. He wanted to strip it apart word by word. He wanted to swallow it whole, make the words brand themselves inside every inch of his being. He wanted it to swallow him, giving in to darkest parts of his mind, letting it take root until nothing of him was left.

He wanted to write back.

He wanted to tell him to fuck off and die in a ditch somewhere for all he cared.

He wanted to ask him why he had to be so cruel all his life.

He just wanted to know: why?

Everything he ever felt about the man, everything he tried drowning out over years was slowly swimming their way up to Mateo’s surface.

While his soul grew more restless by the second, he felt suspended in his body as if the world went on moving without him. A nightmarish heaviness seeping inside his bones, he wants to scream, yell, and cry until he stops feeling altogether.

Jack must be a saint, he thinks.

The scrape of a chair on the tiled floor makes his eyes go up as Jack gets up from his seat to start clearing the table and washing the dishes. Mateo gets up to help. Jack stops him as he tries to pick up his plate.

“I got this, darlin’. Why don’t you go relax on the porch a little? I’ll bring us a couple beers when I’m done and we can drown out the day, huh? What do you say?”

A small nod was all Mateo could manage, still not looking at Jack long enough to break.

He slowly drags his feet to the porch, letting his limbs weigh down on the rocking chair that was held by duct tapes and a prayer. He tries to take a big breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, his nose taking in every note of peace and calmness that nature holds. Jack had been nothing but patient all throughout helping Mateo with the barn, a worrisome look on his face as he had left to tend to his own farm, the promise of coming over and making dinner firmly in place. He had no idea how grateful Mateo was that he hadn’t pushed him for what happened on the spot. Even when he had every reason to.

He wonders if any of the others before Jack would be as understanding of the turmoil wreaking havoc in his mind. Not that he had ever let them in enough to find out. For a man whose heart never ceased to seek a lover’s warmth, it was somehow also the one thing he kept under strict lock and key. Can’t break something that you never had.

Or so he thought.

He remembers them, then.

Dylan, who he could only describe as his first love, with sand burnt hair and eyes that revealed his heart without abandon, he was one of the first people who Mateo felt free with for the first time in his life. Two teenage boys, limbs unsteady, hearts even more so. One who could have all the girls his heart desired and the other who would rather hide beneath the other’s shadow, hoping dreadfully that maybe it would be his heart the former desired.

Lovers in a small town never really stayed a secret; but Mateo and Dylan had no other choice.

He remembers then; 16 and as reckless as he can be, driving aimlessly to the edge of town, windows drawn down, watching how the wind rustled those blonde locks more than he dared watched the road. Not that the road went anywhere important. They would only have the courage to go as far as the century old oak tree that every small town seemed to have, trying their damnedest to imagine being anywhere but here.

It was in that same car, parked under the big oak tree that they shared their many firsts. Their first kiss, tentative and shy meeting eager and impatient. The first time they realized salvation could be found in the embrace of another. Their first heartbreak.

Mateo shuts his eyes, Dylan’s tears a distant image he still can’t bear to remember.

He lets his mind wander. Blonde streaks of hair and teary eyes make way for a pair of earth warmed browns, the color matching perfectly with a head of curly hair that left the breeze of lavenders wherever she went.

When he’d met Leonie at 25, his heart had already been broken once and Mateo had tried his best to keep its fluttering at bay.

He never could fool his heart.

Leonie, with sparks in her eyes and ideals the size of the world on her heart. Leonie, whose eyes never failed to mask her anger and sadness at the cruelty of the world around them, yet whose soul held so much hope for the future. Despite the surefootedness in her bones, her heart had always been soaring for all the time he knew her.

Leonie, with that wicked grin that would have him on his knees. Leonie, who could kiss him stupid and make his heart soar along with hers. Leonie, who could see straight through him, all his wants and desires, never once judging him for the pieces of him not yet ready to meet the world.

Even though he knew it was coming, it was a different kind of sadness when he realized she was not going to stay forever tethered to his side. Even though he had tried so hard to silence the prayers for her to stay maybe just a little bit longer trying to burst free from his chest.

Her eyes bright and shining, a little impatience in her steps with her heart on her sleeve but guarded nonetheless, she would not rest until she met the world.

He had driven her to the airport himself. It was then that he had learned how to keep his tears to the road back home.

He had found a semblance of stability five years after she’d left. A stability that didn’t necessarily scare him at first.

One night, after the loneliness of the farm had seeped so deep into his bones and he had no other choice but to drown out the silence with the steady hum of a burning liquor, Mateo had found himself in a dive bar two hours out of town. About an hour after downing two glasses of the liquid, he had found himself rustling in scratchy motel sheets with a man who looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Maybe it was the solidarity of the feeling that drew Mateo to Frank’s arms.

Frank, with his broad shoulders and work roughened hands. Frank, who was also running from the lonely life of a rancher, newly widowed, grieving a soul gone too soon.

Neither ever visited the other’s town…neither really had an inkling to. It was at this halfway point that they first drowned out drinks as if distant friends were catching up, and then driving to a motel and drowning out their sorrows in the other’s warm embrace. He still desperately wishes to forget that dingy bar’s name.

It was Frank’s way of touching him that always had Mateo’s heart in a vice grip. Calloused hands that never strayed from making him feel cherished. Their need to make the other feel good would always end up in both burly men on a heap in tangled sheets.

Mateo knew he was in danger when it had become harder and harder to peel himself away from Frank. He thought he was doing them both a favor when he didn’t ever go back to that bar. Maybe it was a good thing, he thought, that he had left Frank’s life the way he came in. Without a message, without any trace. He had learned not to shed any tears by then.

His heart never really did heal from that one.

Not until a pair of deep brown eyes met his own about four years ago, introducing himself as the new farmer moving into their town. Jack had made quick work of his late aunt’s farm with all the enthusiasm he could muster after losing the last family that he truly loved.

It would be Mateo who would end up covering him with a warmth Jack had abandoned all hope of feeling long ago.

Mateo gave him that hope; and without knowing Jack had done the same.

Kindred spirits, Mateo’s mother would call them if she could see them.

We’d drive her insane, he can’t help but think. When had Jack’s voice started to mingle so seamlessly with his own inside his head? The sharpness in Mateo’s chest softens with the thought.

He looks over at Jack sitting next to him. Face turned toward the horizon, mustache stained with the beer that’s grown lukewarm in his hand, he is still the most beautiful man Mateo has ever seen.

When they’d first met, Mateo couldn’t help but stare at Jack without abandon. From the subtle curls trying to peek out beneath his hat, the way those whiskey brown eyes sparkling with mirth, to the crow’s feet that graced his eyes, he had Mateo a goner from the beginning. In those first few months of getting to know one another, both out in the fields and in each other’s embrace, Mateo could see the life lived within Jack, hiding in the wrinkles that adorned his face. He had pondered on how he could add to those wrinkles perpetuating his every expression, along with the lines and dimples that came out of hiding whenever he smiled.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be a mark of a life well lived on this man’s face.

The thought hadn’t scared him as much as he ever thought it would.

-----

They sit next to each other on the old swinging chairs on the back porch, overlooking first the yard and then the fields, each with a cheap bottle of beer in their hands, a couple empty ones sitting on the creaking floorboards beneath them.

The old radio just inside the doorway gives a crackling sound before finding its footing, the crooning of Karen Dalton making way for John Denver’s.

Time might’ve been what Mateo needed but sometimes a little push could go a long way. Jack had learned that back when he finally came clean to Mateo about being in too deep, laying all his fears at the altar of Mateo’s soul, praying to a love long lost that maybe he didn’t mess up his second chance at happiness.

He had never been gladder to have taken a leap of faith.

So, he asks.

“You going to tell me about what happened on your way back to the house today or are we still playin’ three monkeys, baby?”

Mateo finally let his eyes meet his. Jack always knew when to steer him to shore. He was actually surprised he had waited this long to bring it up.

Mateo’s heart breaks a little at the thought that he had been nothing but chummy at this loving man all day. The man who hadn’t left his side all this time.

“I got a letter in the mail today, from someone I thought was long gone”, he chokes out, surprising himself with his own honesty, “Someone I thought I wouldn’t ever hear from again.”

Ah, then. There it was. The one part of himself Mateo had been adamant about keeping strictly under covers. It’s not as if he hadn’t ever talked about his father to Jack; he had glazed over the worst of it in the still of the night a couple times, when sleep was inexplicably absent from his bedroom as the sky turned from dusk to dawn.

Jack knows about the infamous Mateo Lanzo. The farmer turned husband, then father, then a John Doe, to a deadbeat divorced father. He knows about the heartbreak that killed Mateo’s late mother, and the heartbreak still suffered by the man he loves.

Jack also knows something about patience. How Mateo had more of it than he gave himself credit for, especially when it came to feelings of conflict. He simply gave himself too much time not to feel but to bury everything that ached in his chest.  

Jack remembers how it had taken about a year and a half to muster up the courage to share how he’d lost his wife and child himself. Mateo could already see the scars; both the ones that he could spend hours tracing with his fingertips, his lips, his tongue, and those that would only be visible in certain moments. In the swift pain that clouded the spark in his eyes whenever he saw a jet-black haired woman with a child, in the hitch of breath he took whenever he talked about life back in Kentucky, in the still of the night whenever he woke up with a quiet gasp and sweat dampened hair, eyes looking for a face long gone…

He had always appreciated Mateo not pushing him to talk about them. Or more so, pushing him to talk about them in the right moments.

This, this seemed like a right moment for Jack to do the pushing. He could help. Whatever it was that he held back about his father, he could help Mateo carry it.

“What’s he saying then?”

Mateo bristles.

Jack knew it wouldn’t be easy to talk about, but he couldn’t help but hear a voice inside his head yelling out that he deserved to know. Jack also knew that that’s not what Mateo deserves.

So, he waits.

The shock of the question, of being seen, wears off when Mateo finally answers, “A bunch of nonsense really.”

Another attempt at hiding gone sideways as Mateo sees Jack raise a single eyebrow, as if he’s challenging him.

He never could hide from him long.

“He wants to talk. If I’m up for it that is”, Mateo sighs out.

“Well, that don’t sound like complete nonsense to me”, Jack drawls carefully; it always takes a little coaxing for Mateo to give any details. “Did he write why he wants to talk now? After, what, twenty-five years?”

Mateo corrects him a little too quickly, “Twenty-seven.” He tries to swallow down the knot that doesn’t seem to go away from his throat. He wants to talk about this, just not with snot and tears all over the place.

Anger flares up inside him then. This man, who left him and his mother to fend for themselves, without so much as the courtesy of saying goodbye, sending his mother down a spiral thinking that the worst might’ve happened to the man she loved until the young postman handed her trembling hands divorce papers. Oh, how Mateo wished the worst had happened to his father after all.

No. This man did not deserve his tears. His heartbreak.

How dare he?

“I hate him. I never could say it to my mother, she wouldn’t let me. Still loved that bastard after everything he put her through. But I hated him then. Still do now.”

“You know, you don’t have to do anyth—”

“I know that”, Mateo spits out, harsher than he ever intended.

God, he just wants to go back. To last night, after a long day’s work, drifting off into a comfortable sleep with the man he loves. He would even take going back to this morning when life seemed just a little bit easier than it does now. He wishes he didn’t ever see that letter, willing to have let it go to trash unknowingly with the junk mail.

He knows he’s being a wimp.

He knows that dealing with this letter is more than dealing with just a piece of paper.

He also knows that Jack just wants to help. In whatever way Mateo would allow him to.

“Talking about him…it’s not easy. I want to, with you, I really do. I just—", he stops. He feels the sobs climb up from his chest up to his throat, catching in the wind of the breaths he desperately tries to take. “I don’t feel anything but anger when it comes to him. And” he takes a deep breath, sighs out, “…it scares me.”

“Scares you how?”, Jack asks.

He can’t stop the tears that blur his vision. “Scares me how comfortable I am in it. It’s constant. I don’t think I can ever remember a time where I was happy with him there. But after a while it grew dull, you know? The anger, the loathing. So, it got easy to just…let it grow. But I never wanted it to poison me. Him not being here helped with that though. After a while I just liked to think that he died. Not like I could do anything about him being gone, confronting him.” Not like I ever thought about it, Mateo thought with a poorly veiled grimace.

“You have thought about it though”, Jack offers.

Mateo’s first instinct is to try and deny. Jack stops him short.

“Don’t act as if there’s a chance that I don’t know you Teo. You have no idea how many times I’ve seen you for you. I know you. And that’s okay darlin’. I’m here ‘cause I like what I see”, Jack declares with a smile that can only be described as in love, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

Mateo sees himself in those lines.

His heart stutters a beat at the realization.

They’d said their “I love you”s a long while ago. But something told Mateo that whenever he uttered the words from now on, it would hold a heavier meaning. A heaviness he felt elated to carry.

“What’d you imagine saying to him when you were younger?”, Jack implored, eyes almost pleading, as if to say “Come on, baby, you can let me in. Promise I’ll make it worth your while”.

So, Mateo sucks in a lungful of air, the smell of linden trees waltzing through the fields with an early autumn breeze.

He remembers his mom and how she would let him play around for hours running up and around the branches of that same linden tree. The same tree that she would pick from to make tea with whenever Mateo got close to catching a cold after running around and sweating through his shirt. The same tree that he used to climb up and hide in whenever his father’s voice became too loud to handle.

Mateo squeezes his eyes shut against the memory.

He sucks in another breath. Lets it out.

He wants to unfold.

Jack wants—and deserves—to help.

So, he begins.

-----

Waking up was slow going this morning.

They’d gone to bed later, much later, than they normally would.

Last night—and well into dawn—was the first time Mateo had been at his most vulnerable. If you asked either one of them, they would both admit that this had been a long time coming, but that it was worth it. Every scar, every hurt, every shortcoming, every fear was laid bare before Jack’s heart. He hadn’t faltered in his promise; every piece of Mateo that fell away to reveal a new part of the man he loved, Jack would quietly pick up the piece, holding it dear to his soul. Mateo hadn’t realized when his tears had started to flow without restraint.

He had told him all. How it felt as if his father was the one piece still missing from him, how he felt guilty at the prospect on behalf of his mother who kept going as long as she did with a broken heart; how he’d been a coward for most of his life, breaking hearts first because he couldn’t bare to live through someone else breaking him again; how even though he is filled with anger, it is actually the thought of forgiving and being forgiven that makes him tremble with fear, filling the darkest corners of his soul.

Jack had listened and held his hand with a firm grip, his weight never wavering; at once Mateo felt both the weight of his past lifting from his shoulders and never feeling so grounded before.

He was intent on being the rock Mateo leaned on.

And Mateo leaned.

There was Jack’s voice echoing inside his head as they’d both finally drifted off to sleep.

A suggestion that he actually thought would be useful.

“Why don’t you just write to him? Not to send out a reply but just to let it all out, maybe. Take it one step at a time. Write, see how you feel, and then decide what to do with it. Chop it up and burn it or send it. It’s up to you darlin’. He doesn’t get to dictate how you feel about this. You don’t owe him anything. If you do end up wanting to burn it, I’ll bring the matches. If you end up wanting to send it, I’ll find you the stamps”, Jack had said when they woke up, voice sleep rough but mind alert as ever.

Jack had learned to find the ideal path to any solution long before he and Mateo had met.

He used to be a strategist; using every piece of information he had to his advantage was something he’d not only needed to learn but excel at. Under much undesirable conditions, working for his life by putting it in danger for someone else. They’d call it “the greater good”; though, toward the end he’d realized it was anything but. By the end, he knew better.

He didn’t need to be a strategist now. He just needed to be there for the one person he loved, however he might need him to.

Mateo could find solace in Jack for that kindness alone.

He takes the afternoon to try and focus on his small garden of flowers in the yard. His hat on his head, the afternoon sun still scorching at his back, he feels his mind clear as he tends to the soil, clearing out the weed and the leaves and flowers that have withered over time. He feels tethered here, hands and knees digging into the dirt.

He always treated any place out in the yard that had ever been tended to by his mother as gifts left from her. He knew exactly how to care for them, how much water and sun they’d need; he had learned how to care for them from her. Just as she’d learned from his father.

A blurred memory unfurls suddenly; his mother planting daisies on the edge of the yard while his father gives them their first splash of water.

He decides not to think of it any further, trying his best not to muddle the clarity his mind had gathered from the earth. His work done, flowers cared for and watered, he makes his way inside the house.

Inside, his mother’s desk in front of the window catches the setting sun’s last rays, gathering heat into its old woods.

-----

His mother had never told him that the flower beds were a joint effort. Never reminded him of the fact. A symbol of their love, she’d always thought. And for a while it was. Those early days of their marriage taking care of the flowers together was the brightest part of her days.

It was a different kind of heartbreak when he stopped caring, leaving her to take care of them by herself.

She had tried so hard and for so long to keep them alive. She had hoped Mateo would have more luck when it came not just to flowers but to affairs of the heart as well. Having seen him run from a happiness the world seemed intent on being against enraged her more than she ever let on. She had wished with a tenacity few possessed, that her son could one day be fearless in his love. It was as if only she could see that her boy held so much love in his bones.

If only he knew that his heart would one day be his savior.

It is with that heart that he sits at the old wooden table his mother used to sit at, writing letters to distant family, using it as a knitting station when her hands grew too restless to write.

It is with that heart he now picks up a pen and paper, a warm baritone voice echoing in his ears, encouragement dripping from every imagined syllable.

It is with that heart he now puts pen to paper; and bares his soul.