#from the very big ones to the ones that seem inconsequential

[ambersky0319]

Jumped into writing Not of This World and am I possibly making too short of sections/adding too many chances for decisions on the reader's part to be made?

Poasibly.

But is that also the point that I want to convey with this story?

Yes.

[sweetpascal]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞

gif by @iamasaddie

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: it's the first day under your stepdad's care, and boredom hasn't crept in at all. you suggest having a movie night, and to your surprise, he agrees immediately.

warnings: MINORS DNI. age gap [18/52], pervy thoughts, joel is condescending, sweet nicknames (sweetheart, babydoll), joel calls himself 'daddy', overprotective joel (in a bad way), innocence kink, DUB-CON, NON-CON, sloppy thigh fucking, somnophilia, we're starting out soft

wc: 2.9k

notes: DON'T LOOK AT ME.

series masterlist | next chapter

Waving at your mom from atop the porch, you couldn't help but feel the giddiness bubbling up inside. At last, the house would be peaceful without her snide remarks about what you're, how you're speaking, how you're sitting, and so on. The comfort of relaxing in your own sanctuary was something you've eagerly anticipated since she announced her week-long departure. Although it meant seven days of serenity, your stepdad, Joel, would still be around, which was fine by you. Compared to your mom, Joel was the cool, calm, and collected one, making him the favored parent in your eyes.

As her car disappeared around the corner, you dashed back inside and inadvertently slammed the door with too much force. You winced and clenched your jaw, hastily covering your mouth with your hands as Joel stomped around the corner, his deep frown evident, and large hands planted on his hips in a wide stance.

"What have I told you about slamming doors in this house?" he asks, eyebrows raised, head tilted, waiting for your response. He gestures impatiently when you hesitate. His tone is stern, and his expression suggests he is not in the mood for games.

"Sorry, Joel," you say meekly, your lips curving into a small pout, your heart pounding in your chest while his stern expression remains unchanged. Tears begin to fall before you can hold them back. With a soft sniffle, you turn away, embarrassed, to wipe them off.

You hear him let out a deep sigh from as you try to hold in your little cries. You hear his slow, heavy footsteps as he approaches. Then, you feel his big hands rubbing up and down your arms before turning you around to pull you into his chest. He hushes you softly, tutting quietly when your cries turn into whimpers.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, bending down to kiss your head softly. "No need for tears. I ain't mad at you, silly girl." With a curled forefinger, he gently lifts your chin. He dabs at your tears and plants another kiss on your forehead, the sensation of his scruff against your skin causing you to close your eyes.

"You're not?" you ask shyly, sniffling quietly as you begin to calm down. "But you seemed angry at me, Joel. It was very scary." Fidgeting with the buttons on his flannel shirt, you remain too nervous to meet his gaze, especially given the close proximity.

Joel's lips form into a grin as he realizes the storm of emotions that you're feeling. Now that the two of you will be alone for one whole week, he finally has enough time on his hands to break you down and put you back together repeatedly. He's finally going to be able to mold you into his perfect little dream girl.

"What can Daddy do to help you feel better?" Hm? Tell me," he says softly, urging you to gaze into his eyes, which you did. Hearing what he called himself made you laugh, which made his grin grow wider. "What's so funny, huh?" Poking you in your side, he laughs when you squirm.

"Mom said I shouldn't call you that," you say, releasing a soft sigh and returning to your button fidgeting. "She says that I'm old enough to use your name, and she thinks it's weird." Your voice carries a touch of sadness that Joel picks up on. He clenches his jaw at the thought of your mother's judgment over something so inconsequential to her.

Joel lifts your head gently, placing his finger under your chin. He gazes into your shining eyes, your eyelashes stuck together from the heavy tears that are beginning to dry. His other hand grips your hip, causing you to make a small noise. Being this close to him, looking up like this, felt so wrong. It was an uncomfortable closeness, especially from an outsider's perspective.

"Alright," Joel says with a playful sigh, bringing a smile to your face. "Fortunately, we have the entire house to ourselves for a whole week. I might not be as young as I used to be, but I'll do my best to keep up with whatever you want to do. Does that sound good?"

You hum loudly, swaying your hips from side to side in Joel's embrace while resting your chin on his head and jutting your backside out to gaze up at him more comfortably. He swallows hard, stifling a strained groan. You remain unaware, preoccupied with thoughts about how to kick off your week. Suddenly, as if an invisible light bulb shined brightly atop your head, your expression lights up.

"Movie night! With snacks! Oh, please, Daddy? Pleeeaaase," you whine, stretching out the last word as you pout and make puppy-like noises. Joel rolls his eyes and gives your backside a gentle pat, a familiar gesture from your private moments together. Now, he can express his affection openly, without hiding it from your mother in the same house.

"Get your butt upstairs and get ready," he motions with his head, signaling you to hurry. With a delighted squeal, you leap up, press a kiss on his stubbled cheek, and scamper up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door shut. A muffled apology comes through the door, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

The market was unexpectedly bustling. Each cash register featured a lengthy queue of customers eager to check out. Amidst the commotion, you found yourself drawing nearer to Joel, clutching the back of his shirt as you attempted to match his brisk pace.

"Make sure to stay close to me, sweetheart. We don't want you to get lost, okay?" Joel had repeatedly told you during the drive and now.

You nearly regret wearing such a pretty outfit on a hectic day. Dressed in a simple summer dress with delicate straps, sheer thigh-highs, and petite wedges, you find yourself wishing you had planned more wisely. But Joel's constant compliments, calling you pretty and ain't you a peach made it worth it.

As minutes passed, you inadvertently drifted away from Joel. You had both wandered through the candy aisle when the array of lollipops, gummy bears, and jellybeans captured your gaze. Standing there, like a child in a candy store, you were practically quivering with excitement at the thought of your stepdad purchasing anything you desired. While reaching for a small bag of gummy worms, you were jostled by someone, prompting a gasp to escape your lips as the bag slipped from your grasp.

A hand reaches down, picks it up, and extends towards you, presenting the bag. You tentatively accept it from the man, turning to face him and feeling a wave of discomfort at his unkempt appearance. He gives you a once-over as he licks his bottom lip. The sight of his thinning hair and prominent belly does little to ease your unease.

"I apologize for that, sweetheart," the term makes you recoil as it feels off when he utters it. When Joel says it, it elicits a sensation of floating and tingling. "I wasn't paying attention where I was going, but you certainly are a pretty sight. Are you here by yourself?" His unsettling stare compels you to want to shield your skin and escape to a distant place.

You sweep the aisle with your eyes, searching desperately for Joel's familiar broad form. Your heart and thoughts are calling out to him, wishing he could sense your distress telepathically and come to your aid against this nasty man. Gripping the candy bag closer to your chest, you watch as he edges nearer, feigning interest in a label just over your shoulder.

"My, uh, my stepdad... he... he, uh..." You couldn't bring yourself to form words as the man's fingers adjusted the fallen strap of your dress. Whimpering quietly, you pressed yourself harder into the shelf, closing your eyes tightly and silently hoping that this man would just go away.

Before the man could approach further, a large shadow loomed over your closed eyelids. As you opened your eyes, you were confronted with Joel's broad back, his masculine scent overwhelming your senses. His hands were balled into fists. Peering around him, you caught sight of the man's eyes, wide with fear, his expression betraying his predatory intentions. As your gazes locked, Joel once again shielded you with his frame.

"I suggest you walk away right now before you find yourself picking up your teeth from the ground," Joel warns in a low, menacing tone that you've never heard before—not even with your mother or step-uncle. It's terrifying to hear him like this, yet there's comfort in knowing he can protect you should things turn violent.

The man dashes out of the aisle, abandoning his basket of groceries without hesitation. Joel remains in front of you briefly, ensuring the man doesn't come back to check if you're alone again. As he turns to face you, the anger in his eyes and the scowl on his face grow more pronounced. He presses you against the shelf, invading your space in an intimidating manner.

"What the hell did I just tell you before we came here?!" he exclaims, almost shouting, his brows furrowed and his voice booming. "I ain't the one you should be playin' games with, little girl." He points a finger at your face, leaning in until his breath skims across your skin. "Repeat it," he commands in a deep, rough voice.

"I… I…" Overwhelmed by the situation, you burst into tears and cling to Joel, burying your face in his chest once more, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, Daddy! I didn't mean to get distracted! And then that man, he wouldn't leave me alone!" Joel struggles to understand you through your sobs, but he hushes you gently, enveloping you in his strong arms and softly patting your back.

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture of exasperation at your naivety, so oblivious and innocent to the world around you. As your cries subside to hiccups and faint squeaks, he gently eases you away from his chest, indifferent to the tear stains on his shirt.

"Listen to me, and listen well," he says, his tone stern yet his large palms gently cupping your cheeks. "Men like that are the ones that wanna take you away from me. They wanna keep you locked away and keep you for their own. You're not smart enough to be left alone, sweetheart, because you get put into these situations and you don't know how to act. That's why when Daddy tells you to do something, you do it. Is that understood? Nod your head." He notices your eyes glazing over as you listen to him speak. Mimicking a nod, you snap out of your trance and return the gesture.

"I don't want anyone to take me away from you, Daddy," you whisper, the thought of being separated from Joel filling you with terror, and tears swiftly gather at the edge of your eyes once more. "It's scary."

Joel tuts at you, lowering his head to kiss your tear-stained cheeks. The salty taste of your tears on his tongue had a warmth spreading throughout his lower half. "I know, babydoll. I know," he murmurs, giving your butt a series of gentle pats as he kisses your forehead. "Daddy's here now. Get your snacks so we can leave."

That evening, you change into your sheep-patterned sleep shorts, a light white camisole, and cozy thigh-high socks. As you spin in front of the mirror, Joel's voice faintly calls you downstairs to start the movie. Laughing with excitement at the prospect of a movie night free from your mother's watchful eye, you clutch your beloved stuffed plushie and head out of your room.

Joel lounges on the couch, clad in sweatpants and a casual t-shirt. A bowl of buttered popcorn and assorted snacks are spread out on the coffee table. Beside him, a beer for himself and, thoughtfully, your preferred strawberry kiwi juice. The sound of your footsteps hurrying down the stairs reaches him. He contemplates reprimanding you, yet as you appear, the words dissipate unspoken.

The cool air made your nipples turn into peaks that poke through your thin top. The thigh-highs squeeze your thighs and makes them look extra plushy and grabbable. He takes a deep swallow and sips his beer, his gaze fixed on your appearance. You extend your hands, silently inquiring about your look. Joel scans you from head to toe once more, giving a nod of approval as his jaw tightens.

"You look very pretty, baby doll," he tells you in a strained voice, motioning for you to come closer as he lays out across the couch, his back against it. "Come cuddle so we can start the movie."

Approaching, he could detect the uncertainty in your body language and facial expressions. "Are… Are you sure we should cuddle? Will my mom be upset?" The naive inquiry prompted a rough chuckle from Joel. Your embarrassment was palpable as he laughed openly at your question.

"Oh, honey," he mocks sympathy and stares at you from his sprawled position on the couch. "You seem to keep forgetting in that little head of yours that I'm in charge of this house, and whatever I say, goes. Now, when I tell you to come over here, I expect you to do it without questioning me."

The commanding tone of his voice brooked no argument. To enjoy the week with Joel, you had to push your doubts and hesitations away, instead of fretting over your mother's opinion on the closeness between you two. Joel seemed to understand better; he knew what was best for you, and as he put it, his word was final.

As you approached where he lay, you could just make out him whispering, "That's my girl." The praise made you blush, cherishing the moments when you're told you're doing well and being a good girl for it. Joel consistently offered such verbal reassurance, never hesitating, even in your mother's presence. She, however, often showed her irritation with his way of praising you.

For god's sake, Joel. She's a woman, not a little girl anymore.

You eagerly lay beside him, your back pressed against his chest, as Joel draped a blanket over both of you and started the movie, "The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent." It was a moment you had anticipated ever since you mentioned to Joel how much the character Javi resembled him. Trembling with excitement, you snuggled closer to Joel, your smile buried in the stuffed animal you held, while his arm drew you in even tighter. A pleasant hum vibrated from his chest against your back.

Only thirty minutes into the movie, Joel heard a soft snore beside him. With furrowed brows, he leaned over and saw your closed eyes and parted lips, your arms clutching your stuffed animal to your chest as you hummed sleepily. Shaking his head, he lay back and pulled you closer, smiling to himself as you unconsciously snuggled into him. When Joel makes sure that you're fully asleep, he inches hips back and lowers the blanket off your body. Your sleep shorts had ridden up your thighs, further exposing your lower cheeks and giving him a glimpse of your panties.

"Fuck," he breathes out, feeling his cock beginning to harden and thicken in his sweatpants. With one hand holding onto your hip to keep you steady, Joel begins to grind his cock against your ass, slotting his covered thickness between your cheeks and breathing heavily into the back of your neck. "Goddamn."

You never once stir as you're so deep in your slumber, unaware of the world around you and what Joel is doing to your unconscious body. He can practically feel his tip leaking in his sweats, the gray color darkening as precum stains the fabric. Erratically, but careful enough to not wake you, he lowers his sweatpants and guides his thick cock between your thighs, the tightness of them closed creating a delicious friction that had his mouth dropping. Joel hikes your shorts higher up your waist, forcing the fabric tighter against the shape of your virgin pussy.

He fucks his hips forward and back, sliding his cock deeper between your thighs and further against your covered cunt. Sweat dots at his hairline and the back of his neck as the warmth in his gut coils tighter and tighter. He hears the distinct slick of his precum staining your inner thighs as he abuses them without your knowledge.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunts low in his throat, his hand tightening on your hip to position your body in a better way for him to fuck your thighs. "Daddy is such a dirty man, ain't he?" He fucks your thighs faster and faster, his thighs slapping against the back of your own gently. Surprisingly, the movement and noise doesn't wake you.

As he continues muttering to himself, Joel doesn't realize just how close he was. His balls were heavy with cum, waiting to be exploded onto your unexpected skin. The tip of his cock was throbbing with need and dribbling with more precum. His abdomen tightens when you shift and arch your back in your sleep, briefly tightening your thighs and rubbing them together.

The sudden friction had Joel choking on air before he hunches over your body and watches his cum shoot out of his engorged tip and onto the couch. He's biting down on the pillow as his thighs shake. He just won't stop cumming.

"Holy shit," he grunts quietly, falling back against the couch and swiping a hand down his sweaty face. He breathes heavily, wincing and tucking himself back into his sweatpants. He glances over at the tv, and Javi comes onto screen. He scoffs and shakes his head to himself. He doesn't see the resemblance.

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!! let me know if you wanna be added to the next chapter !!

[barcarsenal12]

Girls like Girls pt 2

summary: after her talk with her teammates, r begins to reckon with the changes to her identity. A huge invasion of her privacy leads to a very upsetting, very public reveal. Luckily, her teammates are there to pick up the pieces.

TW: coming out, questioning sexuality, panic attack, pg13: making out

The days and weeks after your breakdown were easier. It felt like a release-- like you needed to pull the plug, and  all of your emotions out before you could start to reconcile. You started to come back from the panic that had gripped your body, and you found your footing in football again. 

Still, you were constantly aware that something had shifted within you. Sometimes that knowledge would threaten to overwhelm you, othertimes it felt inconsequential, but it always sat like a weight in your stomach. 

Mapi, Ingrid and Alexia kept an awkwardly close eye on you for a little while. That very first afternoon, when they held you on the locker room floor, Alexia brought you home with her and tucked you into her spare bedroom. She refused to leave your side until she could see that your thoughts had settled. In the days that followed, they seemed to have collectively decided to give you space. They checked in on you daily, but never brought up your sexuality, as if they wanted you to initiate any conversation on the topic. You found yourself in their presence more and more. The four of you started to spend more time together outside of training. You felt so loved, but at the same time a little embarrassed for making something as teeny as your sexuality such a big deal. They didn’t seem to have such issues with their own sexualities, after all. 

Still, being around 3 women who were so deeply in love with other women helped you more than you could tell them. As you began to settle in with your new identity, you began to seak out their support.  

--- 

Two weeks after your realization, you found yourself on Mapi and Ingrid’s couch, tucked snugly into Alexia’s side. A movie was playing, but it was late, and you were fairly certain that Mapi and Ingrid were both sound asleep. They were curled up on the other end of the sofa, and both seemed to be breathing heavily. Alexia’s arm was around you, and you would have thought that she was asleep, too, if not for the mindless way that she played with your hair. 

“Ale?” You whispered into the dark, figuring that if she didn’t hear you would just drop it. 

“Hm?” She hummed back.

“Can I talk to you?” 

Alexia hand in your hair stopped, and she slowly reached for the remote to pause the movie before pulling away from your grip to see your face. 

“Always,” She looked at you with concern. 

You glanced nervously at Mapi and Ingrid, who were very clearly asleep. “I think that I’m definitely gay.” You whispered, almost as if it was a secret. 

Alexia laughed quietly, and reached up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Ok, neña.”

“Like, I think all the way.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “You think that you are a lesbian?”

You bit your lip, and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” 

She pulled you into her, resting your back against her body again. “I think that I am too.” She whispered back. You could hear her grin, and you laughed, too, and flicked her leg. “I’m glad that you are figuring it out. I know that this is very scary.” She said, still quietly. 

“Yeah,” you said, looking down, “can I ask you a question?”

“Okay.” 

“How did you know?” You asked.

“That I was gay?” She confirmed, and you hummed in response. 

“I was young, I started to catch feelings for Jenni.” She started. “I wasn’t sure if I liked her as a friend or as more,” she continued, “but one day she kissed me.” 

You giggled, and Alexia poked you in the side. “Callarse or I’m never going to tell you things ever again.” 

You covered your mouth. 

“She kissed me, and I realized that it was definitely more than friends.” She exhaled sharply. “Mapi was already out, so it was easy for me to follow her path.”

You nodded. 

“Do you like someone, pequeña?”

You thought for a moment that you were talking about crushes with your captain. It crossed your mind that you should be embarrassed, but somehow here, in the dark, you weren’t 

“No, but I think I might like to find a girlfriend.” 

Alexia pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Just pick someone good for you. I never liked your boyfriends.” 

“I will,” you laughed, “Thank you, Ale.” 

---

It was another two weeks before you found yourself at a club. Before long, you were past tipsy and had made no complaints when a pretty girl began to lead you outside, away from your friends. You suddenly felt woefully unprepared, as if you had never even had your first kiss, and your heart almost beat out of your chest as she pulled you into the alley behind the bar. 

She reached for you, her finger tips tracing your jaw and the back of your ear before tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. You could feel her breath on your face, and you thought that you might pass out from the anticipation. She was gentle, though, and she leaned in slowly, brushing your lips with her own before pulling back. You followed her, leaning forward as she pulled away. 

“I-” You started, but were cut off as she leaned back towards you, kissing you with a slow intesity that no man had ever been able to give you. Her hands were in your hair, and yours were tracing her spine, and you were melting into her, disintegrating, and you were sure that your legs were giving out, but somehow you were still standing. 

She must have sensed that you were struggling to hold your weight because a minute later you were pressed against the wall of the bar. You gasped as your back collided with the bricks, and she took the opportunity to push her tongue between your lips. The world around you disappeared as all of your outside senses dulled, as if turning all of their energy to this girl in your arms. 

She pulled back and began pressing feather light kisses to your jaw. She traced her way down to your neck, and you brought your hand up to the back of her head, pushing her closer to you. You moaned as she left a mark, and pulled her back up to find her lips with your own again. you pressed your knee between her legs and she groaned into your mouth, pushing you back against the wall and deepening your kiss. 

You jolted apart at the sound of your phone ringing. You flipped it over, and sighed at the sight of Mapi’s name on it’s screen. 

“I have to take this,” you apologized, voice full of regret. 

She leaned closer to you. “Ok,” she whispered in your ear. You swallowed, and your hand shook as you brought your phone up to your ear. 

“Hey Mapi,” you mumbled, hoping that your voice wasn’t wobbling. 

“Hey nena” Mapi responded. As she spoke, the girls against you began to kiss your collarbone, and you had to fight to keep your voice steady. 

“What’s up?” You asked.  

“Nothing much. Just checking in.” The girl’s hand traveled down your body, and you gasped as she reached the waistband of your pants. You tilted your head back against the wall, trying to keep your composure. 

“I’m fine.” You said, knowing that fewer words were better right now. 

“Ok,” Mapi said, suspicious, “Do you need a ride to training tomorrow?”

You closed your eyes, and tried to focus your mind, but the girls fingers were now brushing over the cloth of pants between your legs, and your head felt like mush. “Sure, Mapi that would be great. Listen, I need to go. Have a good night.” You hung up the phone before Mapi could respond, and brought your attention back to the girl. She brought her mouth back up to yours, and you groaned as she removed her hand, brushing her fingers across your cheek. 

“Come back to mine?” She whispered, her voice a question. 

You sighed. As drunk on her as you were, you knew that you couldn’t have a one night stand with training the next day. 

“I can’t,” you breathed. She frowned at you. 

“Can I at least get your number?” She asked, and you nodded happily. 

“Would you want to get dinner sometime?” You asked, like her tongue hadn’t just been inside your mouth. 

She laughed as you put your number into her phone. “Sure. I’ll text you.” 

She kissed you one last time, then walked off to find her friends. You took a moment to compose yourself, before starting the short walk back to your apartment. 

---

When you got home, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your face was flushed, your hair was messy, and you pressed a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from laughing out loud. 

---

It was Ingrid that saw the news article first. She didn’t make it a habit to check football news, especially not the tabloids, but she happened to stumble upon the pictures posted by a fan account on instagram. Her eyes widened at the photos and she quickly scanned the attached news piece. The initial shock of seeing you with someone, when she hadn’t even know that you were thinking about dating or starting to experiment with women, faded as she realized what this would mean for you. She ran a hand through her hair, sighing to herself. Ingrid picked up her phone and clicked on your contact. When the phone rang out, she grabbed her car keys and ran out her door. 

Today was an away game, but because both Ingrid and you were sidelined with minor injuries, you had both stayed home. Mapi and Alexia, on the other hand, were on the bus heading back from the stadium. As Ingrid started to pull out of her driveway, she connected her phone to her car speaker and dialed Mapi. When Mapi didn’t pick up, she called Alexia, who thankfully picked up on the first ring. 

“Ale”, she sighed out. 

“Hola,” Alexia responded, “Is everything ok?”

“Have you been on instagram?” Ingrid asked.

“No.” Alexia said. “Why?”

“It’s Y/N”. Ingrid answered. She waited a moment, as Alexia opened instagram and was immediately looking at pictures of your face. 

“Mierda,” Alexia mumbled, “How quickly can you get to her?” 

“I’m on my way,” Ingrid responded. 

--- 

You had never in your life felt this kind of fear. It crashed over you, in wave after wave that slowly broke you down. You had seen the post on instagram, instantly recognizing yourself, the girl,  and the bar that you were at that night. This part of you that was so raw, so fresh, so not ready to be shared, had been thrust into the world. Now the waves were pulling on you. They were pushing you down, down, underwater, where you surely would drown. You couldn’t remember how to breath properly, and you were suddenly aware of the fact that you would probably never breath again. 

This was it. This was where you drowned. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the knocking, but all of your senses were dulled. You couldn’t hear anything past the waves crashing over your head and stealing the air from your lungs.

 You suddenly couldn’t even remember what you were so worried about in the first place. All that you knew was the anxiety that consumed your entire body. You were dying. Of course you were. This was it. 

--- 

When Ingrid realized that you were not going to open you front door, she frantically started to search for your spare key. She checked the doormat and the mailslot before finally finding it tucked away above your doorframe. She sighed with relief, and quickly shoved her way into your home. 

“Y/N?” She called, but got no answer. She poked her head into your kitchen, and upon seeing you curled into a ball, heaving with unfinished breaths, dropped her things and kneeled down before you. 

“Sweetheart,” She said, although she was sure that you couldn’t hear her. Every part of your body was shaking. She wasn’t sure that you could even be considered crying, you couldn’t seem to get enough air into your lungs to form sobs. You were wrapped around yourself, gasping desperately for air. 

“Kjære,” Ingrid tried again, tapping lightly at your hand, “Can you hear me? I need you to breath.” When you didn’t respond again, she grabbed your face and connected your eyes, trying hopelessly to get through to you. She had never felt so helpless. 

Ingrid’s phone rang, and she picked it up immediately. 

“Maria,” She said.

“Ingrid? Are you with her? Is she ok?” “Si, I’m with her. I don’t know what to do, Maria, nothing’s helping.” She said desperately. 

“What’s wrong?” Mapi asked. 

“Shes-” Ingrid took a breath, “I’ve never seen a panic attack this bad in my life. I don’t know how to help her.” 

Mapi inhaled sharply, “She’s having a panic attack?” 

“Yeah,” Ingrid confirmed, and heard rapid spanish and a loud exclamation on the other end as Mapi passed the information to Alexia. 

“Mapi, help,” Ingrid said, on the verge of tears herself as she watched your body fold further in on itself.

“Breathe, amor. Don’t freak out.” Mapi said. Ingrid refrained from pointing out that Mapi seemed an awful lot like she was freaking out. “Ale and I just got off the bus. We’ll drive straight there, 15 minutes tops. 

Ingrid sighed in relief. “Ok.” 

“You’re doing everything right, Cariño. We’ll be there soon.”  

“Please hurry.” 

---

Alexia could not sit still as Mapi drove them towards your home. Her knees bounced and her hands ran through her hair, and she tried to prepare herself for what she would see when she got to you, tried to think of what she could do to make this better. Mapi, on the other hand, had never felt this much rage in her life. She remembered your fears, and to see them coming to life sent waves of anger through her body. 

Mapi pulled in to your driveway, and barely put the car in park before Alexia was throwing the door open and barreling towards your apartment. Mapi caught up to her as she pushed your front door open. 

“Y/n?” Alexia called, “Ingrid?”

“In here!” Ingrid responded from the kitchen. 

They followed her voice, and Alexia let out a short gasp when she saw you, curled in on yourself, still gasping for breath. She fell to her knees in fron of you, quickly taking you into her arms. 

Mapi took in the scene in front of her and went straight to Ingrid, who looked wrecked. Mapi pulled her into a hug. “Has she gotten any better?” She whispered into Ingrid’s dark hair. 

“No,” Ingrid whispered against her shoulder, “She’s been like this since I got here.” 

Alexia’s full attention was on you, trying every trick that she knew to get you to calm down. 

“Chica?” She said, taking your face between her hands. “Can you hear me?” 

You weren’t real anymore. You didn’t think that you ever had been real. You were still tumbling, desperately stuck in your mind. Somewhere, you registered muffled voices and felt hands on your skin, but the waves of panic pushed you over again and again, forcing you back underwater. You had little breath to waste on trying to speak, but you so desperately needed help, before you life surely ended. Already, the edges of your vision were getting hazier. 

“Ayudame,” you rasped out, and Alexia felt her heart break. 

“I’ve got you. I have you, mi nina.” She said, frantically pulling you back into her. 

“Ale, she needs to breath,” Ingrid said, “or she’s going to pass out.” 

Alexia looked back at her, tears of frustration threatening to fall. “I don’t know what to do.” She said, desperately. She squeezed you tight, praying that the pressure would get through to you. You continued to squirm, fully gasping for air now. 

All at once, your body sagged against her, your eyes fluttering closed. Finally, your breathing evened out. 

“Nena?” She said, tapping your cheeks with her fingertips, before looking at Ingrid and Mapi in panic. 

“It’s ok,” Mapi exhaled shakily, “her body did what it needed to.” 

--- 

When you woke, it took a moment before you could place yourself. You delicately pried your eyes open, and quickly realized that you weren’t alone. Someone’s hands were combing through your hair. Ingrid’s, you realized. You were leaned against her, stretching across your couch. Alexia was sat in the chair across from you, her head in her hands. Mapi was here too, sitting on the floor with her back leaning against the couch by your feet. . 

Your first thought was to be worried about how upset Alexia looked. Then, the memory of what had happened crashed over you again. You closed your eyes, hoping to stay here, where you felt so impossibly safe, for as long as possible. You must have moved, though, because Ingrid was softly calling in your ear. 

“Neña?”

You opened your eyes again and met her gaze. She exhaled in relief, her shoulders sagging, and you flushed guiltily, realizing how much you had worried your friends. “Hi, Ing.” 

Alexia jumped up at your voice and was beside you in a second. “Y/N,” she said, running a hand across your sweaty forehead, “how are you feeling?” 

You shrugged and pushed yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the question. “When did you guys get here?” You asked. 

“A few hours ago,” Mapi chimed in from the doorway to your kitchen, “You were a little--” she cut herself off,  “you weren’t feeling so well.” 

“Neña,” Alexia said seriously, touching your hand lightly, “have you ever had a panic attack like that before?”

You shook your head, not meeting her eyes. She sat on the couch beside you, pulling you into her and pressing a kiss into your head. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, mi nina. You never have to be embarrassed.”

You sunk into her side. 

“I’m so glad you’re ok.” she whispered to you, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You didn’t need to ask her to clarify, your eyes already filling up with tears. “I just, I so wasn’t ready for the world to know. I was just trying something… new, and now everyone knows, and I didn't even get to choose to tell them or not.” You paused, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It feels so personal, so private. I only just figured this out, and I needed more time to be able to explore it by myself.” 

“I know, cariño,” Alexia said, “It is so unfair that this happened to you.” 

You turned your head, catching Ingrid’s eye. “Do you think the team will be mad?” 

She laughed, and smiled at you. “Mad? Elskling, they will be thrilled.”  

“You don’t have to worry about being the odd one out there,” Mapi chimed in, but you noticed that her smile was too tight. 

You smiled back, but another tear rolled down your cheek. 

“Is there something else?” Alexia asked you, brushing the tear from your cheek. 

“I just--” you looked away, swallowing sharply, “there were a couple comments that freaked me out.” 

Alexia’s face dropped, “oh, neña.” She was, of course, not stranger to homophobic comments, but remembered too well how much the first ones had hurt. “What did they say?” 

“They were dming me, calling me gross and saying that they would… make me like guys,” All three of the women around you sucked in a sharp breath, and you continued quickly. “I know that I don’t know them, and I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it just, I guess it just--” 

“Y/N,” Ingrid interrupted you, “you know that you’re safe, right?” 

You nodded. “I know that they can’t get to me, but the fact that they want to--” 

Alexia took a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was sharp. “That’s really, really scary. Those are awful people. You are not gross, and you are protected from people like that. Do you hear me?”

“Si, Ale,” you nodded, surprised by her tone, “I hear you.” 

Mapi suddenly pushed her way to her feet, and walked into the kitchen. 

Ingrid watched her go, and smiled at you before standing up to follow her.

You looked at Alexia in surprise. 

“She is just angry. Really, really angry at the people saying these things to you. I don’t think that she wants you to see her mad.”

You nodded slowly, and sat in silence while Alexia ran her hand up and down your back. A minute later, Mapi and Ingrid walked back in and sat down across from you. Mapi clutched Ingrid’s hand. “I’m sorry, neña, I know that you are so strong, but it just makes me very upset to see you being treated this way.” 

“I don’t want to make you upset.” 

“You could never make me upset. They make me upset, the people saying these things to you, and you so don’t deserve it. I know that this sucks. But we’re here for you, ok?” She said,

“Ok,” you responded, looking around and meeting the eyes of each of the women around you, “thank you,” you whispered. 

You smiled at Alexia, and she smiled back, and you felt so, so, endlessly grateful to be surrounded by so much love. 

A/N: I know that is has been a while!! I finally found the motivation for this. Sorry not sorry.

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (2/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k pairing: mikey & oc big thank you to  @soldrawss for the art included in this chapter and to  @mykimouser for making me insane about neutral!michelangelo at all hours of the day title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2031

Mikey is looking for his little brother. It seems like he spends half his life doing that these days. 

The TV is on in Splinter’s room, door ajar but equally as unapproachable as the door to Donnie’s lab, which is shut tight, as usual. Raph’s door is standing open, but his room is empty, because he leaves early for work on the weekdays. 

Mikey maneuvers past the closed doors and empty rooms like a professional. He doesn’t even have to think too hard about it anymore. 

Rounding the corner to the dining room, Mikey’s stride slows and relief punches an exhale out of him. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he deflates like a balloon. 

Gio is asleep at the table, face half-buried in his folded arms, crossbow and maintenance supplies spread out in front of him. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. He rarely stays in his own room, as if he’s afraid of taking up space that isn’t really his. As if they’re going to change their mind and tell him they do still need it for storage, actually, and he wants to be ready when they do. Mikey’s pretty sure he never fully unpacked his bag. 

Sometimes he leaves the lair entirely, and since he’s the most unreliable texter Mikey knows, and has never met a phone call he would answer without a gun held to his head, he might as well fall completely off the grid each time he’s gone. Mikey stays up on those nights, keeping busy in the kitchen, worrying worrying worrying. 

He feels too much like Raph when he doesn’t know where the kid is. He understands intimately how overbearing big brothers could be, remembers how a tiny rift had formed between him and Raph when they were young because of it—childish and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things to come, but devastating at the time. 

So he tries to channel Leo instead, who had always trusted Mikey to know when to ask for help if he needed it. Tries to make sure Gio never feels like he can’t come home again, with a smile ready for him as soon as he slips silently back through the door. 

But last night Gio must have stayed in. There’s a blanket draped over him that Mikey didn’t put there, and Splinter almost certainly hadn’t left his room to put there, which leaves two possible culprits. Raph and Donnie don’t know how to make gestures that Gio can see for what they are, hardly know how to be in the same room as the kid without seeing a ghost superimposed where he’s standing. It leaves a lot of the emotional heavy-lifting on Mikey’s shoulders, but it’s fine. A brother could never be a burden to him. 

Mikey can’t give Gio everything he deserves to have, everything that should have been his from the very beginning, but he can give him some things. 

And we’ll start, Mikey thinks with the kind of absurd resilience that wouldn’t have been out of place at the actual end of the world, with breakfast. 

Gio wasn’t trained in ninja like the rest of them were but his senses are as sharp as any other turtle genetically modified for war. Mikey woke him up with a touch once and the fear response only lasted a handful of seconds but it was enough that Mikey made the executive decision that no one would ever do that again, or else. 

Mikey pulls a chair out beside the smaller turtle and sinks into it soundlessly. He traces the newly-familiar white spots on that smoky gray-green face with his eyes, counting and recounting them, even though he knows how many there are. Everything about Gio is at once brand-new and well-loved to him. 

After a moment, the only other sound the ancient Snoopy clock counting seconds in the kitchen, Mikey starts to hum. Three little birds sat on my window…

He can’t help remembering another morning just like this one, what feels like a lifetime ago. Mikey, all of thirteen, had insisted on being woken up to make breakfast so he could try a new crumble muffin recipe, but he’d stayed up too late the night before and sleep clung stubbornly to him despite the row of alarms he’d set. Their resident insomniac had been the only one awake, by virtue of not having gone to bed in the first place, and he’d parked himself in the beanbag under Mikey’s hammock and hummed the same song over and over until Mikey woke up. He had it stuck in his head for the rest of the day. They sang “GIRL PUT YOUR RECORDS ON” in the kitchen at the top of their lungs until Donnie sent the group chat a PDF of a noise complaint form, completely filled out. 

Mikey hadn’t realized he was taking any of it for granted back then. He would do anything— anything—to wake up that way again. Just one more time. 

Beside him, Gio stirs. Once he’s awake he’s alert fast, those big dark eyes sliding open and staying that way, head coming up off the pillow of his arms. He has that look on his face that Mikey would be tempted to call earnest on anyone else. 

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” Mikey says brightly, reaching over to rub the back of his fingers against a spotted cheek affectionately. “I was craving breakfast empanadas today and was hoping my best sous chef would be willing to help me out.” Then, deliberately light-hearted, he adds, “Little turtles who skip dinner have to eat extra breakfast, you know. That’s house rule number one.”

Gio blinks at him, his face giving nothing away to the casual observer. 

“I thought house rule number one was ‘always get it in writing’.” 

Mikey’s smile widens, surprised and pleased every time he plays along. 

“That’s number three, actually. Right behind ‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t want recorded and replayed at family functions.’ If you want, I can tell you exactly why that one’s a rule, and why it’s entirely Donnie’s fault.”

Gio does that thing where he assesses Mikey’s expression and tone as though he’s looking for the trap. Mikey weathers it, makes sure his smile doesn’t slip an inch. 

Donatello is more of an urban legend to Gio than his actual living brother. After a few hesitant attempts to approach the older turtle that had been shut down completely each time, Gio made the informed decision that that road was closed permanently. 

Sometimes Mikey will tell a story, or April, on one of her increasingly sporadic visits to the lair, will lean over and show him a video on her phone, and Gio will listen or watch like he has no idea who the guy they’re talking about could possibly be. 

They do their best, but there’s no way to really introduce the Donnie that they know to Gio, because that Donnie only still exists in their stories and videos. The Donatello who was silly, who loved music and theater, who burst into the living room with some new invention or gadget to boast about, had been replaced by one who rarely spoke, who didn’t even have Spotify on his phone anymore since it took up too much space, who kept the lair running only because it was where his family lived but not because he had any lasting attachment to the place, and he certainly didn’t make any unnecessary tech just for fun. 

I know you’re still in there, Mikey thinks sometimes. 

He’ll bring Donnie lunch and leave it on the table in the lab, and then hold out his arms. Sometimes, Donnie won’t look at him. Sometimes, Donnie will put his tools down and let his little brother crowd in for a hug. He’ll tuck Mikey under his chin and hold him tight, like they were children again and nothing was wrong that couldn’t be made right. 

Thank you for staying, Mikey will think, clinging for every second he’s allowed to. I know it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

The grief is always encroaching, like floodwaters. Rising slow and steady, swallowing up cars and street signs and single level houses, changing the landscape of his hometown until it’s an unfamiliar place. No end in sight. No sign of land. 

Someone send us a boat, Mikey wants to cry hysterically. But he knows how stupid that is.

He is the boat. 

—

When he met Giorgio for the first time, Mikey was twenty-five and Leo had been dead for ten years.

“Sorry,” Mikey said. His fingers felt numb around the phone. “Could you say that again?”

“A turtle,” Hueso had replied shortly. “I would not have called, but he has familiar eyes. He is not aware of any family in the area. Would you like me to ask him to wait for you?”

Mikey hadn’t tried his portals again since the last disastrous time—since Raph had made him promise to stop—so he knew it couldn’t be Leo. He knew it. Hueso would be able to pick his sobrino out of a million turtles and would have led the call with that. And Leo wouldn’t have stopped for pizza before running back to them, he wouldn’t have stopped for anything. Leo would have been the one to let them know Leo was home. 

Still, there was a tiny warbling hope in the bottom of his heart that wailed “maybe, maybe, maybe.” Still, it hurt to feel that hope shrivel up and die when Mikey slammed into the private dining room and found Hueso talking to an unfamiliar mutant with white spots and a black shell and—it was undeniable—Hamato Yoshi’s eyes. 

The turtle was small, dressed in dark grays and greens, a strap across his chest that made it clear he was armed by something resting out of sight on his back. He stood with his arms crossed, in a manner that was probably supposed to read as stubborn or defiant, but Mikey clocked instantly as nervous. 

This kid didn’t know what he was doing here or who the hell Mikey was and he looked about as comfortable with all the attention as Donnie would have been at that age. 

Mikey felt himself soften, some distant part of his heart sitting in disuse and disrepair lurching to life again. Ancestral magic that he had largely turned his back on suddenly stirred, ninpo reaching out fragile feelers toward the person in the room that it recognized as immediately as if it was looking at its own self in a mirror. 

“This is one of my creations,” Draxum announced, confirming what Mikey’s heart had already decided. “It must have survived after all.”

“Elaborate,” Mikey said, in a tone that didn’t match the gentle smile he had for the spotted turtle. 

“How old are you?” the alchemist had asked instead, which seemed an odd first question to have and didn’t explain literally anything. 

“Eighteen,” the spotted turtle replied. Mikey’s brow made a bid for his hairline. He would have been less surprised if the kid had said fifteen. Was he that scrawny as an eighteen year old?

“You hatched at about the same time as the red one,” Draxum said dispassionately, “so you should have been about his age, and he is twenty-seven. And how did you come to be here?”

Gio’s eyes slid away from him, over to Mikey. Mikey didn’t know what his face was doing. He hoped it was encouraging. 

“I went through a yellow door,” Gio said. “And I ended up here.” 

“By yellow door, I’m assuming you mean a rift in space-time,” Draxum said. “What possessed you to walk into it?”

“Felt safe,” Gio said, and that was the last thing he said about it, expression closing up in a way Mikey was intimately familiar with as I’m done talking and liable to bite if provoked. But Draxum was a lot of things, genius among them, and seemed to already have an idea of what had happened. 

Portals could be capricious. The night of Splinter’s mutation and escape from the Hidden City, a machine in Draxum’s original lab had gone haywire as the structure collapsed. Draxum watched as it snatched up various tools and equipment and finally one of the experiment enclosures that Splinter had not been able to reach in time to save its occupant with the four he already carried. 

With the machine destroyed, it was impossible to even begin tracking the experiment down to wherever it had ended up. And there were unfortunately small odds that the creature would have survived long on its own wherever the portal deposited it. Draxum had written it off as dead. 

But there he was. Ten years displaced, but living and healthy and whole. Apparently he’d been in another dimension all this time, and only came back again because a portal he encountered had looked inviting. 

—

And now he’s in Mikey’s kitchen, listening studiously to his brother’s chatter and following instructions with exacting precision, still wearing the ridiculously oversized red sweater Mikey bundled him into the day before. It made Raph’s face do something funny when he saw Gio in it at lunch, but he hadn’t said anything when he saw Mikey hauling it out of the dryer earlier that morning, and he didn’t say anything at the table either.  

Over the years and countless wash cycles it’s been worn to unbelievable softness. It used to be that Raph couldn’t keep it in his closet if he tried, caught as it was in a constant rotation between little siblings who loved to wear it, floppy sleeves and sagging hem and all. It’s almost strange to see it again, here under the kitchen lights in this new country they all live in. 

Stealing clothes was a baby brother right of passage. And it was just collecting dust in storage anyway. 

Gio sees Mikey looking and glances down self-consciously. Then he jolts, and drops the ball of dough in his hands, lifting and twisting his left arm to put it more in the light. Near the elbow of the sleeve is a smudge of flour. 

He thumbs at the spot, preoccupied by it. His body language is shrinking because he always makes himself a smaller target when he starts to get anxious. 

One day, Mikey is going to find whoever taught him to do that and have words. For now, he rounds the island to Gio’s side and leans against it so he can duck down and peer into that little spotted face. He makes sure to plant his own elbow in the flour dusted across the butcher block counter, sending up a little poof of it as he does. 

“Hey, sweet kid, don’t worry about this old thing. It’s already been through everything you can possibly think of,” Mikey reassures, tweaking the hood playfully. “It survived the Paintball War of 2017, it’ll hold up to a little baking accident.”

Gio’s dark eyes lift to meet his, attentive and absorbing everything he sees and so, so careful. 

“Raphael won’t get mad?” 

Mikey keeps smiling, even though he’d like to start crying. 

Of course he won’t, he wants to say. He’s your big brother and he loves you. He’d move heaven and earth for you. He doesn’t know how to say it these days—he doesn’t trust himself to hold people the way he used to, doesn’t know who he is anymore since the shield he used to be was broken—but he’s still Raph. Our Raphie. I promise, it’s still him. 

Gio had never been lifted up into strong arms and tossed in the air until he laughed, caught safely and held tight like those arms would never get tired of holding him. He had never crawled under the blankets in a room humming and blinking with electronics after a nightmare, resting his head on a broad shoulder and falling asleep to a low voice rattling off his favorite explanation of gravity—a force that held everything down, pulled everything together, that could always be counted upon to keep you. He had never snuck out for brunch, just him and someone who saw him more clearly than he could ever see himself, who knew when a stack of French toast and a string of Snapchat selfies and a little mischief was exactly what he needed. 

Gio had never had any of that. He had been alone since he was freshly mutated and abandoned by pure chance, and now he was barely nineteen and he didn’t know how else to be. He didn’t have the first clue, but he was so willing to learn. He soaked up attention like a plant starved for sunlight, petals reaching endlessly for an end to the dark.  

I wish you had been there, Mikey thinks sometimes when he looks at him, heart breaking with the truth of it. We would have held you. You wouldn’t even know how to be alone. You wouldn’t be worried about a stain on a sweater. 

“He won’t get mad,” Mikey says instead. He channels his most charming brother, the one who could sell water to a fish, who could talk his way out of anything, who convinced his family to keep hoping even when all hope seemed lost. “And hey, if he brings it up, we’ll just blame the cat.” 

The corner of Gio’s mouth twitches, and then he smiles despite himself, as buoyed along as Mikey always was when Leo was silly with him, and says, “We don’t have a cat.” 

“Maybe I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to get one!” 

At that point, a burst of white noise from the living room cuts over whatever Gio might have been about to say. It sounds like the roar of wind from an open window of a car going seventy down the highway. It cuts off, and then something clatters noisily, and Gio’s reluctantly amused expression vanishes into alarm. 

They don’t exactly get a lot of surprise visitors down here. He wouldn’t recognize the familiar sound of transportation-by-time-scepter, followed by the even more familiar sound of its clumsy wielder tripping and knocking something over immediately upon arrival. 

“Oops—helloooo?” 

“In here, Renet,” Mikey calls back, nudging his shoulder into Gio’s so he knows not to worry. 

The timestress bumbles in, scepter tucked into the crook of her arm so she has both hands free to fix her braids. She’s smiling all big and crooked and sweet, mouth open to greet Mikey the same enthusiastic way she always greets him, but she stops dead in the doorway when she catches sight of the second turtle in the room. 

Renet takes one look at Gio and says, “Oh! Well, you don’t belong here at all, do you?”

It’s been a long time since Mikey has felt like screaming at her, but the way his little brother absorbs that blow without flinching is enough to get him on his feet. 

“Hey, Nettie, can we talk in the hall?” he says with a brightness he doesn’t feel. “Georgie, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Gio dips his head in a nod, slowly rolling dough in his hands again, and Renet follows Mikey out of the room like someone who knows they’re about to face the firing squad. 

“I did not mean it like that,” is the first thing she says when it’s just the two of them. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mikey does know that somewhere in the back of his mind. Renet is his friend and she’s never been anything but kind to him. If they had met when they were children, they probably would have gotten along like a house on fire. 

There was a time when he only saw the best in people, but the idealism had been carved out of Mikey when his portal to the prison dimension failed to open.

Some days, Mikey looks at Renet and can only see the person with time itself at her disposal, the past and future spread out like a choose-your-own-adventure book—the person with the power to help, to change things, who took Mikey’s countless, desperate pleas to be allowed to save his brother and held them tenderly like they were important to her and still told him no. 

Some days, that “no” is the most significant thing she ever said to him. 

“He’s my brother,” Mikey says. “He belongs wherever we are.” 

“Of course he does,” Renet says, brown eyes soft. “Mike, of course he does. That’s not what I meant.”

When they move back into the kitchen, introductions are made properly, and Renet makes it a point to clarify that she’s glad to finally meet him. 

Giorgio is watching them with those eyes that take in everything. Deep and trusting when he looks at Mikey, sharpening into something calculative when he shifts his gaze toward Renet. 

Looking back, Mikey will recognize it as the moment he lost him. 

“Smells pretty good in here, boys!” Renet says, swanning over to the stovetop. “Oh, is that chorizo? Mike, tell me you’re not making empanadas! I already ate on my way over!” 

“Then you won’t need to stay for breakfast,” Mikey sing-songs, feathers still ruffled. Then, because he feels bad for the way she deflates at the blatant dismissal, adds, “If you want to stick around, you can take some back with you to Null Time. Just don’t let that jerk Savanti have any, I don’t like his vibe.” “I swear,” Renet says, hand to her heart. 

“You talk about time travel like it’s something you can do,” Gio says suddenly. “Is it?”

The air in the room suddenly feels much thinner than before. Renet looks at Mikey quickly before answering.

“Sure, Gio. I’m a timestress��or, you know, I’m a student now. Basically an unpaid intern. But one of these days I’ll be the real deal.” She winks at him, and Gio gazes back at her placidly. 

“So you could send someone back in time? To stop something bad from happening?”

Oh, no, Mikey thinks. 

“I could,” Renet says. To her credit, she doesn’t sound as bone-tired of this conversation as she must be. “But I can’t. There are so many rules, and for good reason! One little slip-up could be an absolute disaster. It won’t do you any good trying to change the past if you end up destroying the present and the future while you’re at it, right? I’m barely allowed to look at this thing, much less use it,” Renet goes on, wagging the priceless time scepter around like it’s a rubber spatula. 

“But you could,” Gio says. “If we followed all the rules. If we figured out a way—”

“Georgie,” Mikey interjects. 

“I’ll tell you what I told Mike, baby,” Renet says gently. “It can’t be done. He belongs here.” 

Gio says, “But I don’t. You said that.”

“Stop,” Mikey says, not recognizing his own voice. 

But it’s too late. It was too late when he tried to open a door inside the prison dimension, because Leo was already dead inside. 

He was already dead inside, Draxum had said, clinical in a way that helped to distance himself from the hurt, but also distanced himself from the ones hurting, clinical in a way that made Mikey bare his teeth and say things he couldn’t take back. That’s why you couldn’t reach him. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t a point for you to anchor off of, there was no other end for your line to reach. He was already dead inside. He was already gone. 

Mikey stares at Gio, the tuck of his chin as he looks back down at the dough on the counter. He’s unwilling to argue with Mikey, but that stubbornness is an innate family trait. There’s no way he’ll give it up now that he’s got his teeth sunk into the idea. Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.   

When he was younger, he was so angry. He was bursting with potential, with possibilities, his magic a wounded, snarling creature in his heart. It’s not fair that he failed. It’s not fair that he didn’t save his brother, that his love wasn’t enough to punch through the prison dimension and wrap Leo in warmth and light and bring him home. It’s not fair that no one was willing to help him. 

Fine, he had thought, fine! I’ll do it myself! 

Renet had explained to him over and over that his power had more to do with space than time. Casey Jr. said that he’d been sent back in time by his Uncle Michelangelo, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Casey’s arrival in the past had created another universe, parallel to the former. That was Mikey’s power—he could affect and even create other timelines, which was powerful and amazing, but not true time travel. Nothing he did could change his own reality, the one he was living in, because he had already lived it. He couldn’t get back what he had lost. 

Mikey plunged ahead anyway, desperate. He could make it work. He could make a change. Even if it didn’t change anything here, he could find another world and save its Leo and—and maybe that could be a start. Maybe he would finally get his head up above water, and stop drowning for just one second of the day, maybe he’d be able to take a full breath for the first time since his brother disappeared on the other side of a closed door.  

He didn’t wait for permission or approval. He slunk off into a tunnel a mile away from home and drew the circles himself. Lifted his hands and filled them with power, until it felt like he was holding the sun. And it hurt, of course it did. It burned all the way through. But he was hurting anyway. 

A portal opened, a pale yellow window. Mikey looked through it, and saw himself on Staten Island, ripping open a hole in the universe and saving his brother. 

What?

He looked again, over and over, at least half a dozen times—and every time, he looked into a universe where Leo didn’t die. Where Mikey saved him, or Raph scooped him up before he went diving off the Technodrome to catch Mikey and Donnie, or Donnie flew back up to Leo with a rocket and yanked him back through the door before Casey managed to close it. Over and over and over, Leo didn’t die. 

So it’s just me, Mikey realized. I’m the one who got it wrong. 

Raph followed the detonation of ninpo and hysterical screaming through the maze-like tunnels and found him suspended in midair. Rock and rebar were flying around Mikey, everything not nailed to the earth turned dangerous projectiles, his arms burning and flaking away into pieces that disintegrated when they met open air. 

His big brother’s expression had been terrified as he pulled Mikey down into his arms and held him through the shrieking storm he’d made. One hand on the back of his head to keep his face tucked safely into Raph’s scarred shoulder, the other arm cradling him like he was half his age, like he was still someone’s baby. 

“Angie, it’s okay,” Raph had said, low and aching. His voice was a rumble beneath Mikey’s ear, barely audible but just loud enough. “It’s okay. You can scream, you can bring the whole damn city down if you want. But you gotta let go, sunshine. Let go, Mikey.” 

I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to! Mikey wailed, clutching at Raph’s jacket with hands that felt like two white-hot points of pure agony, clinging, holding on. If he let go, Leo stayed gone. If he let go, he really didn’t love Leo enough to save him. 

But Raph pressed his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head, and his next breath shuddered in his chest, and he whispered, “I know you don’t want to, I know. But this isn’t gonna save him. You’re just hurting yourself and L—Leo would hate that. He’d tell you to stop.” One hand crept over to cover both of Mikey’s, squeezing them tight. “Come on, big man. It’s okay. Let go.” 

He let go. The magic faded, dropping everything it had picked up back to the tunnel floor with dull thuds. His hands spasmed wildly, grip nonexistent, and Raph just kept holding them as he carried Mikey home. 

Mikey sobbed for the rest of the night, what felt like hours and hours. Raph reverted to turtle sounds when nothing he said seemed to get through, and Donnie crept under the blanket and plastered himself to Mikey’s carapace so that they had “A little citrus sandwich!” Leo would cheer, the silliest and sweetest turtle in the world until Mikey finally cracked a smile. 

His family made him promise not to try again. It’s not worth it, they said, a unified front—and as much as the words hurt Mikey to hear, it must have hurt his siblings and father just as much to say them. We can’t lose anyone else, they were ready to beg, because they didn’t know it was his fault Leo was gone. They didn’t understand how badly he’d failed them all. If they did, they wouldn’t have been so grimly determined to protect Mikey’s life from his own hands. 

It felt like a betrayal at the time, but he understands now. 

It’s not worth it, he thinks, staring at Gio. I can’t lose anyone else, he’s ready to beg. 

But Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone. 

What he doesn’t know is how to love someone well enough to keep them. 

[my-cherie]

𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗭♡

pairing ꒱ lucifer x fem reader / warnings ꒱ prey/predator kink + praise kink + pet names: little sheep, lamb, love + blood kink + primal play + dirty talk + oral (f receiving) + very slight breeding kink + dacryphilia + possessive behavior. wc ꒱ 2.2k / thoughts ꒱ no one can tell me that lucifer doesn't have a primal kink. somewhat inspired by the song moon waltz by mio isayama. NOT BETA READ.

You tried to quieten your breathing, your heart racing and breath coming in short, sharp bursts as you tried to hide from him. Heart pounding so loud you were sure he was going to hear, despite your attempts to outrun and outsmart him.

How were you supposed to run away from someone in their own home? How were you supposed to hide from him when he seemed to know exactly were you were before you were even there? It was helpless. Your trembling legs seemed like they were about to give out at any moment, but you couldn't stop running, you had to start up again, now.

It had started out simply enough.

You were sitting in one of Lucifer’s armchairs in his office, waiting for him to finish whatever paperwork he was working on this time and chatting quietly, warmed by the lit fireplace of his private study and fighting off sleep, having shared a bottle of Demonus with him earlier in the day.

By now, it was a rainy night and the office was dark because Lucifer insisted on having only candles lit at this time of the night. The dark clouds that hid the moon also didn’t help.

As you made conversation, your gaze didn’t stray from his person, observing his every reaction to your chitter chatter and your eyes darting to his mouth from time to time when he deemed sensible to retort your silly observations.

Because of the way you were watching him so closely, you saw how, at the same time you made some inconsequential comment about how you and Mammon had to run away yet again from some odd merchant because of the demon’s proclivity for getting scammed, you also noticed how Lucifer’s eyes seemed to sparkle to life, a mischievous glint in them.

“A chase, huh?” He hummed noncommittally, his tone giving nothing away and his fingers barely twitching as he stopped his writing.

“Yeah,” you had said, unsure if you had somehow pissed the demon off. “It was fun, really. Got my blood pumping. The adrenaline you get from being chased is no joke.”

This time, you didn’t notice the twinkle in the man’s eyes, nor how his lips formed a brief smirk for a beat. You didn’t notice any of that, which is why you were completely blindsided by Lucifer’s next words.

“Run, then, little sheep.” He got up from his seat, rounding the desk in long strides and pausing briefly when you didn’t move instantaneously.

“W-What?”

“Run.” He pounced suddenly and you didn’t have to be told a third time to understand that you needed to get out of his office now before you were caught.

Racing up the stairs to the door that led to the house’s library, you yanked the door open, barely having time to slam it closed before you were sprinting down the hallways of the House of Lamentation, the sound of his hastening steps hot on your heels, too close for your liking.

At first, you tried to lose him in the many hallways and doors of the big mansion, going up multiple staircases and almost entering some of the brothers rooms in your desperation. But no matter what you did, you could still hear the beating of his wings as if he was only toying with you, always one step ahead.

At some point, when entering the dining room, his silhouette seemed to appear from outside the windows, as if he was looking at you from above, observing his prey in smug amusement. Lucifer was relentless in his pursuit. No matter what room you entered or what way you went, he was there.

It was when his fingers touched your shirt briefly while he followed you that your body experienced a true fight or flight response, having to decide between running away or accepting defeat. At that time, running until your thighs burned and your lungs couldn’t take it anymore seemed like the best option.

Eventually stopping briefly to catch what little breath you could, you strained your ears to listen for any indication of Lucifer’s presence, but couldn’t help closing your eyes for a short while to rest. Your body was giving up on you, tired beyond limits from the amount of running you did in so little time.

You didn’t hear him coming. Suddenly, a strong hand closed around your left arm, tossing your back to the wall you were closest to. Your eyes opened up abruptly, gasping in surprise at the sudden motion and in slight pain at the hit. In front of you, caging you in between himself and the wall, his arms spread, blocking whatever escape plan you could try to muster up, breathing nearly as ragged as yours, disheveled hair and in his demon form, was Lucifer.

“Got you, little sheep.” It was a low croon against your ear, his hands just as quickly adjusting so he was holding your waist and neck, teeth rasping under your jaw.

His tongue was hot as he dragged it across your neck and then to your lips—his kiss bruising and passionate—that has you unwittingly shivering against him. As he devours your lips, teeth nibbling on your lower lip and nicking it hard enough for it to bleed, your eyelids close in a daze and you melt into his rough touch.

It’s when he pulls away from you that you realize that you were not into the hallway anymore, but in Lucifer’s bedroom, his sharp teeth stretching into a prideful grin at your amazed reaction. You notice that they are stained with red and shiver. Stained with your blood.

Once again, Lucifer moved quickly before you could react, shoving the sharp blade of his nose to your cheek and licking the drops of of sweat off your face that had formed after his hunt for you. He inhaled deeply, engraving your scent in his memories: fear, excitement, longing.

“You’re mine, lamb,” he growls, “I won our chase fair and square. Let me have you all to myself. Let me claim you.”

You nod your head quickly, still short on air and disorientated from his kiss. It’s not good enough for the first born.

“Say it. Say you’re mine, give yourself to me.” His grip moves to your throat, tightening faintly and strangling a short whine from you.

“I’m yours, Lucifer!” Looking into his crimson eyes, your own glimmered faintly with tears. “You won. Take me, please.”

Your begging seemed to be what did it for him, as he buried his face in your neck again and his teeth sunk into you, marking your unmarred skin possessively. A choked whimper escaped your lips as you felt sharp pain in your neck. Blood trickled down willingly into his mouth, once again staining his teeth red and letting him savor the metallic taste of you. He drank and sucked at your neck as the bleeding came to a stop.

“Good girl.” He praises you as he distances himself from your throat and rips your shirt off unceremoniously.

It's addicting how pitiful you look right now. He can't get enough.

Taking off his gloves in one motion, one of his hands cups your boobs, thumbs exploring your nipples and tweaking them ’til stiff while the other takes care of your jeans, jerking them off unceremoniously so he can have access to your soaked folds. He hums appreciatively once his fingers find your cunt, already wet for him.

“Already soaking wet for me and we’ve barely done anything, little lamb.” He laughed as he stood upright again, his wings letting wind flicker at your bare arms as you shivered because of the cold air. He sank to his knees suddenly and you were sure that you were the only one to have ever seen the Avatar of Pride like this, his hands spreading your legs more and making space for his head between your thighs.

As his tongue first laps at your clit, then drags across your pussy, you keen lowly, eagerly trying to raise your hips and grinding against his mouth for more friction. As he groans straight into your pussy, he continues to eat you out eagerly, lapping at your juices and raising his palm to press against you as two of his fingers slid inside you with little to no preparation.

“Taste so good, love, do you make a mess of yourself for everyone like this? Or is this just for me?”

“Mmmm…no, just you, Lucifer.” You whined, begging him to keep going. “Please, give me more.”

You could only continue moaning at every action of his, especially when he continued sucking your clit while he stroked inside of you, looking for your g-spot. It was when he finally found that spongy spot he was looking for that your hands came down to his hair, holding onto him tightly and making Lucifer groan as you rutted against his mouth, adding another finger to prepare you for him later.

“Luci, ‘m close, ‘m close!” You whimpered as you neared your orgasm, tightening your hold onto him, begging him to keep going and sobbing in pleasure.

Yet, as you were close to falling off that precipice, you felt Lucifer stop everything. As he broke free of the hold your tights had on him, he grinned up at you in a wild manner, his mouth stained with you. And as he rose to his feet, he took your arms in his hands once again, guiding you gently towards the bed so you both could lay down, careful to not let you fall because of your trembling legs.

The contrast of his earlier vicious actions and his now tender touch made you pliable to him as he placed you down and took care of his own clothing fairly quickly, his pupils still clearly dilated and his palms eager to have you.

Seeing as you were already fully naked, you could watch as every piece of clothing got torn off Lucifer’s body, your eyes memorizing every detail of him as your fingers trailed down to your soaked pussy to touch yourself, desperate for any pleasure after he left you hanging so close to your orgasm.

Mercifully, he didn’t take long at all, leaning over you in the bed, taking your hands in one of his and pushing your legs against your chest, putting his whole body weight onto you in a mating press. His hand caged both of yours for but a moment before he released them, lowering his head to you and kissing you desperately again.

“Such a sweet thing,” he murmured, “so pretty underneath me. Were you so needy to have me that you couldn’t even wait until I finished undressing?”

His words had you humming in soft encouragement as his cock pressed against your slick folds. “You want this, don't you?” he says, his voice ragged with lust. “Say it. Say it and I’ll give it to you."

“I want you, Luci, wan’ you so bad,” your body trembling in anticipation, you try to grind against him, your hips rolling down to feel his tip. “Please give me your cock.”

You’ve barely stopped speaking when his hips pull back and he pushes inside of you in one thrust, your cunt squeezing his cock as he bullies his way into you, his tip touching your cervix and his balls against your folds.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, fucking you like a man starved, caught up in the push and pull of your body, in the way your pussy practically begged him to stay inside you, clenching around him so sweetly and squeezing his dick. Your pleading whines were like the finest classical music for him and the way your moans mingled with his groans and the slaps of his hips on your ass made him feel like he was back in Heaven again. You felt like perfection.

You drop your head back, whining at how full you feel with him deep inside you like this, his thrusts relentless and with an intensity you can’t help but want to run away from, taking your breath away once again. However, your head doesn’t stay like that for long before Lucifer is pulling you to him once again, grabbing your hair and staring deeply into your eyes.

"Look at me," he commands, his eyes dark and intense. "I want to see your face. I want to see how much you're enjoying this, little lamb."

He reaches down, one hand on your hip and the other going in between your legs, rubbing your clit in quick, irregular circles. The sensation is overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge as you wrap your legs around his waist, your fingers digging into his back as he picks up the pace, driving into you with increasing ferocity as his thrusts get faster and deeper, overwhelming you both.

You can feel your orgasm building once again, your body on the verge of exploding with pleasure. Each time he pushes into you, you gasp, your body responding to his touch with a fierce hunger. You're lost in the sensation of him fucking you.

"Come with me, Luci, please," you moan into his ear as you finally get sent over the edge, clenching around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you release yourself around him. Lucifer follows closely, thrusting as deep as he can and releasing his seed deep inside you, marking you as his, finally.

As you both come down from the rush, your bodies calming down and your breathing going back to normal, Lucifer kisses you softly on the lips, his touch gentle now, before detaching himself from you and climbing out of bed to get you a warm towel from the bathroom, very softly cleaning you both up.

“I hope that wasn’t too rough, love, I fear I may have gotten a bit carried away today.” He whispers in your hair, Lucifer’s arms wrapping around you so that you can both cuddle on the bed. As you assured him that it was all good, he sighed sweetly. “Good night lamb, sweet dreams.” He kissed you once more, before you both drifted off to sleep.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

gojo always seems to be off in a world of his own.

a little detached, you think. awkwardly long limbs constantly on the move, eyes stuck in a direction no one else can follow, a trajectory you don’t think even he knows. one blink and he's gone, just like that. too far ahead, too far above, even on the occasions he slows down and lets you catch up.

flimsy, maybe. like he’ll get carried away by the breeze when spring rolls around. like he’d turn into seafoam if you reached out and touched him.

satoru gojo is an anomaly, a blurry cluster of stars. or maybe more like a planet, big and blue, spinning around its own orbit, out of reach for every single star in the sky. high and mighty, cocky and cool, silly and bright — but there's a softness to him when he's alone. something that almost seems fragile, under the light of the moon, when the dark sky casts a shadow to obscure the contours of his face — and no one’s around to notice if his smile isn't as big as it should be.

no one except for you, anyhow.

(you wonder if your presence is really that inconsequential to him.)

the beach is entirely empty, save for you and gojo. and summer’s ending, burning into little cinders, sputtering out before your very eyes.

tokyo is just beginning to dip its toes into autumn, the frost and chill, the hiss of the biting wind. the rusting of leaves, contaminated by a muddy hue, turned orange and brown and red beneath your heavy feet; littering the murky, empty streets of the rainy towns you cross. smelling of rotten apples and cinnamon, old books and burning wood.

it’s dark out. painted a thick gray, the sky is blanketed by heavy clouds, the entire world hidden behind that coating of wool. not a single sliver of starlight slips through, but there's a comfort to it, that feeling of being cocooned — safe and warm. a feeling cruelly stripped away by the nipping of the wind at your bare skin, but you digress.

everything smells of saltwater. a little like rotten fish. every breath you exhale turns into a flurry of vapour, mingling with the breezy seasalt of the open air; scattering away into the thin layer of mist all around you, until you can’t tell which is which. 

and a sense of foreboding sinks into your veins.

(you look out at the jagged rocks piercing the surface of the sea, and dully wonder how they’d feel piercing your skin.)

something shivers, to your right. a flicker of movement, a barely audible chatter of teeth. and then, a white puff of vapour.

”man, it’s cold.”

gojo looks displeased. 

only vaguely, a little crease between his eyebrows as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his puffy baseball jacket. moving his feet a little, to warm up, snowy tufts of white hair tousled by the ocean breeze. his shoes are muddied by the wet sand, but he doesn't seem to mind.  

a soft scoff leaves your lips, mostly harmless. maybe just a little smug. ”told you,” you click your tongue. 

gojo whines. his sunglasses are starting to fog up, you notice. ”it’s still summer!” he pouts. ”i thought the sea would be nice and breezy!”

an unimpressed look smooths over your features. gracing him with a raise of your brow, you don’t fully manage to bite back the soft smile that follows. don’t even really attempt to.

it’s been a long day. evidently not long enough for gojo, seeing as he dragged you down here — even though he knew it meant missing the train you were supposed to board after successfully finishing your mission. he just had to get a closer look at the sea. just for a moment or two. 

and he was insistent, persuasive. awfully whiny. assuring you that he’d be quick, that you wouldn’t miss the next one. 

(what made you agree was simply the thought of spending some more time with him. not like you could ever tell him that, though.)

so there you stand. two juveniles, shivering and shifting from foot to foot, on the brink of nightfall, the edge of summertime. watching the sea stretch out into infinity, across the gap between this world and the next. a murky blue. easy on the eyes.

the noise of the sea fills your ears; waves crashing into sand, the whistling of the wind, seagulls crying out in the distance. and faraway, the chatter of a rattling train. a cacophony of sounds, buzzing and crackling, melting together. scattered across the beach are countless tiny white seashells, and the occasional green glimmer of drift glass — mermaids’ tears, shed for lost sailors, or so you’ve heard.

you wonder if the mermaids ever shed tears for lost sorcerers. probably not.

a shiver runs through your body, down to your cold hands, the tips of your fingers. reddish and itching for warmth. you tuck them into your pockets with a breathless exhale, still shaking a little. 

in truth, you and gojo aren’t very close. you’d like to call him a friend, but it's kind of hard; when he's so enamored with suguru, so animated around shoko. with you, he always seems kind of —

stiff? 

or maybe more like bored.

he doesn't laugh as loudly, doesn’t act as cocky. doesn't flaunt his knowledge on sorcery, and isn't as clingy as he is with the other two.

(you've never liked people touching you. it's not hard for others to discern, with how you flinch away when they get close.

still, you can't help but feel a little jealous when you see him tugging suguru and shoko around.)

deep within your chest, like a stunted seaweed, sprouts a tiny pang of disappointment. it’d be nice if you could grow closer, you think.

just a little would be fine. 

”i like the sea.”

you turn your head.

gojo looks a little lost in thought. gaze trained on that expanding ocean before you, those splotches of blue and gray, the waves that bruise the edge of the sand. forlorn, maybe.

a hum buzzes in your dry throat. ”do you?”

”mm.” little white breaths slip from his lips. you wonder if they’d taste as salty as the air. ”’ts nice.”

a silence stretches out before you. delicate, like a sheet of glass. gojo picks at a piece of lint on his sleeve, and you shift from foot to foot. then he closes his eyes — a flutter of his dewy eyelashes.

”kinda makes you feel like everything’s about to end, huh?”

you look at him, but don’t see anything. a single glimpse of his closed eyes is all you gain from the glance you cast his way, but it’s not enough. not enough blue to fall into, no expression to savour. he looks the same as always.

but you’ve never heard his voice sound like this before.

”… end?”

and with that, they flicker open. there it is, you think. that vibrant blue. only to be obscured once more, when he turns to you fully, a smile playing at his glossy lips. ”don’t think so?”

a second passes. you look forward.

what you see is as follows: waves upon waves upon waves. the same blue and gray, as far as the eye can see. a sea big enough to drown each and every one of your worries. 

something comes over you. a sensation of loneliness, something close to longing. a feeling of being rather lost. searching for something. your heart feels heavy, an anchor sunk to the bottom of your gut. little fish nipping at your ribcage. your eyes trail over those jagged rocks, again; the mermaids’ tears, that all-consuming sea, right in front of you. like it could open its maw and devour the world.

you think of the lost sailors.

(one jump and it’s all over.)

a breath. salty on your tongue. ”… i guess i get it,” you whisper. a soft murmur, mingling with the mist. 

silence.

out of the corner of your eye, you see gojo shift. one moment he’s looking at you, the next he’s staring at the sea. in tandem, the two of you, stuck within that shade of blue. and you think he looks a little mesmerized, like he’s seeing something not even he can fully comprehend.

(maybe he just hasn’t had many chances to go to the beach before. something to do with being a clan kid, maybe?)

but then he clears his throat, hands moving to brush some sand off his puffy jacket and jeans. turning on his heel, hair ruffled by the breeze. he tries to sound chipper, but there’s something else there. you don’t know what it is, but…

”anyway,” he chirps. ”let’s go. we can still make it to the next train if we hurry.”

you look at him. his retreating figure, a head of white hair, surrounded by mist. a little like an apparition. then you turn towards the sea.

”… nah, that’s fine.”

a pause.

gojo stills, just about to take the first step forward. but you stay rooted in place; unmoving, staring at the blue before you, a deep longing reflected in your eyes. 

”let’s stay a little longer,” you hum, unsure of where the words came from. but you know you aren’t ready for the moment to end, just yet. that you aren’t quite ready for summer to pass.

…

all he does is stare, for a second or two. attempting to find some humour in your voice, you assume, any signs that you might just be joking. but he doesn’t find it. uncharacterstically silent, gojo stays frozen in place. 

then he puffs out a breath — amused. 

”you wanna freeze to death?” he grins, and you can hear it in his voice. you turn to face him, almost smiling. a little cheeky.

”you’ll warm me up, no?”

the words fall from your lips before you can think to reel them in. meant to sound a little snarky, you think, something akin to a chuckle — but instead come out sounding a little too much like an honest request. 

the tips of your ears feel a little warm, suddenly.

a sense of surprise smooths over the contours of gojo’s face, and his grin falters. you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if they widen or not, but his lips part, and you note that they look soft. 

and it’s back. that grin. toothy, boyish. his cheeks are rosy, from the chill of the air, or so you assume. then he’s taking a couple strides forward, broaching the distance between you.

he throws an arm over your shoulder. a heavy weight against you, grounding, causing you to stumble. friendly, tugging you close. into his orbit.

(no infinity, you note. you can feel his body heat seeping through the fabric.)

it's nice. he's tall, and he's warm. cozy, protecting you from the bitter cold, like your own personal furnace. no wonder suguru never catches any colds, with someone like this draped over him all the time.

gojo speaks. there’s a sweetness to his voice, a mellow kind of contentment; bubbling up like seafoam, spilling from his glossy lips. you can feel his warm breath on your skin.

”well, duh.”

when your gaze falls on him, he's already looking at you. leaning closer, sunglasses slipping a little further down the bridge of his nose — enough to expose the blue of his eyes, the tiny splotches of white scattered across his aquamarine iris. like a cracked marble. or a summer sea.

he’s speaking again, and you almost don't hear it. distracted by those cracked marbles, the strawberry red of his cheeks, the warmth shared between you. the pitter patter of your heartbeat, like waves crashing against the sand. mesmerized. not daring to look away. almost like you’d cease to exist, were he to close his eyes. like your existence hinges entirely on the blue of those eyes.

(and maybe it does.)

he nods towards the sea, and grins. a mischievous glint in his eyes. ”wanna take a dip?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

it makes you laugh, either way.

”do you want to freeze to death?” you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. subtly angling your body closer to his, hoping he won’t notice.

gojo honest to god giggles, at that, and you fear your knees might give out beneath your weight. fuck, has he always had dimples? why are you only noticing them now? 

”hehe. i just think it'd be fun!” he chirps, still draped over you like an overgrown cat, and you almost find yourself saying yes. just to keep the summer from ending, keep him from being swept away by the breeze.

but summer is ending. slipping away, second by second, like two juveniles drowned by an ocean wave. never to be found. and in comes autumn, the smell of rotting apples, the crunch of sand beneath your feet; an arm over your shoulder, an intake of breath. the taste of nice, crispy air on your tongue. 

a chuckle flows from your lips. all you see before you is blue, a murky shade, a vibrant hue. you think you could drown in it. you’re not sure you’d mind.

”maybe next time,” you whisper.

gojo’s eyes widen. ever so slightly, barely enough to even notice, until they bloom — with a kind of bubbly excitement. unconcealed giddiness. there’s something awfully precious about it, like a child buying cotton candy at their first fair. it makes you want to tuck him into your pocket. keep him safe.

you like him, unfortunately. inevitably. you think you may even like him a lot, a little more than you should. a little more than he could reciprocate. 

satoru gojo. high and mighty, cocky and cool. silly and bright. a seaborne boy with his very own orbit, born to carry the weight of the world, spinning so close that you can almost delude yourself into thinking he feels the same. 

almost.

(gojo glances at your lips. he wonders if they’d taste as salty as the air.)

[leehallfae]

the devil in the dark is a great episode for sooooo many reasons but something i particularly love is its characterization of kirk & spock, especially how the story juxtaposes their initial attitudes vs. their actions as well as juxtaposing them against one another. for most of the episode, kirk is very firmly situated in the command role: he’s laser-focused on his goal of eliminating whatever has been killing the miners. he has a plan & he sticks to it. he can’t afford to entertain ideas about capturing the creature for scientific study rather than killing it, because that introduces more risk to his crew. his mission is to protect as many lives as possible, full stop.

however, when he sees the horta in that cave, his first instinct isn’t to shoot. he’s wary of course, brandishing a phaser for his own safety, but he’s also curious & gentle. he studies her with wonder shining in his eyes. his movements mirror her own—he immediately picks up on the fact that she isn’t necessarily hostile towards him, & in response, he slowly, carefully, sets aside his own hostility as well. he speaks to her, makes little jokes. he watches her in perpetual amazement & intrigue, very cautiously extending a metaphorical hand to say, i don’t want to hurt you. it’s a big leap from “your orders are shoot to kill,” & that reveals a lot about kirk. he’s a good commander, he knows how to handle a dangerous situation while minimizing risk to his crew, but he’s also curious. kind. optimistic. gentle. in the heat of the moment, when he’s the only one at risk, his basic instinct doesn’t say fight, it says listen.

meanwhile, spock is immensely intrigued by the horta; he regrets that it will most likely be necessary to kill her in order to protect themselves. he spends most of the episode speculating on the fascinating science of a silicone-based life form. he even (very subtly) challenges kirk’s order by telling the security team to capture the creature if possible. he isn’t eager to use force, because he simply isn’t that kind of person—he’s curious by nature, like kirk. so it seems a great shift when, upon hearing that the horta is near kirk, he shouts through the communicator, “kill it, captain! kill it!”

realizing that kirk is in danger is like flipping a switch. the way he carries himself changes in an instant. urgency flares to life in his eyes & voice. as wild with it as a vulcan can get. freezing in place, then breaking into a run, calling out, forgetting rank. to him, the most preferable—the most logical—course of action is not to explore why the horta has not attacked the captain yet; rather, it is to eliminate the threat to kirk as soon as possible.

in a way, they represent both a reversal & a mirror of each other in this episode. kirk is a decisive & capable fighter, but his instincts steer him towards gentler things. spock prioritizes scientific inquiry & discovery, but it all appears inconsequential when his friend’s life is on the line. they balance each other, complement each other. it’s why they’re such a good command team. it’s why they fall so easily into such a deep bond. both of them, ultimately, act from a place of love.

[shunnedmorlock]

you know what's something i realized? rhaenyra talks on and on about how just furious she is about blood and cheese, and then she just... doesn't do anything about it. like, she has this whole dramatic confrontation with daemon about it and it's supposed to be this big turning point and then she just... lets him leave.

if she's so incensed by what he's done and wants justice for alicent and her family, why not call for her guards to arrest daemon for his actions? if she wants peace, why not come to alicent with daemon's head in a sack? the whole scene is supposed to show us that rhaenyra is not the monster the greens paint her as, yet in actuality it shows us that rhaenyra merely tacitly accepts the support of monsters. it doesn't matter if she personally didn't do it. by refusing to punish daemon, she condoned his actions.

and this isn't necessarily a bad thing, character-wise! rhaenyra being someone who recoils from brutal violence on paper, but tacitly condones it when done in her name, would be very interesting! but the issue is that no one calls her out on it! alicent just takes it as a given that rhaenyra wasn't responsible, and then doesn't seem to take any interest in which of her allies was responsible, and the show carefully elides the very fact that rhaenyra has made a decision by letting daemon go. the show takes pains to present it as if daemon is a force of nature, as if rhaenyra can no more stop him than she can stop the rain, because to do otherwise might make her a more complex figure.

and this really goes to the root of the problem with rhaenyra. in the books, rhaenyra is a character who makes a lot of decisions that reveal uncomfortable or unsavory aspects to her character. but the show wants rhaenyra to be a Good Guy. yet they can't replace her bad decisions with good decisions, because then they'd be completely changing the plot. so instead, they replace her bad (or even just mean) decisions with indecision. she doesn't decide to kill Vaemond - Daemon decides for her. she doesn't decide to do Blood and Cheese - Daemon decides for her. she doesn't decide to condone Blood and Cheese - Daemon (somehow) decides for her. she doesn't decide to go to war - Alicent decides for her.

the end result of all of this is that Rhaenyra's character flaws get removed, but they aren't replaced with anything notably or impressively good. because the show can't be a story about a good and honorable Queen unjustly overthrown by ungrateful lords. so instead, she's bland. a character who is supposed to be unique in that she Decides things on such a great scale is only allowed to make the smallest and most inconsequential decisions, lest she make a mistake.

[wilcze-kudly]

I really like the constant powerplays we see from Kuvira. Like of course we have the big bombastic ones like dangling Varrick out of a moving train, hijacking a coronation, bringing her whole army to Zaofu, using her adoptive mother and brother as props for a speech, along with just her entire penchant for afformentioned speeches.

But there are smaller things that fall into this too. Of course there's the physical intimidation. Kuvira knows she's an intense person, I believe, and she uses this to her advantage, often pushing into boundaries, because that is a very good way to get people to panic and agree with you.

Oh and also she tried to choke out one of the followers she essentially abandoned, so um. Take that as you will.

We of course, have the iconic shoulder touch. This can be interpreted as benign, even nice, but this gesture can also mean so many other things. This can be easily interpreted as a gesture of establishing dominace, invading another persons personal space (especially a person who isn't comfortable with you, which Opal and Bolin most certainly were at the moment). Putting essentially a weight on them, pusbing them down.

We also sew Kuvira's control over people manifest in the more nebulous action of controling their movements and placements. One of my favourite of Kuvira's powerplays is her olacing Wu in the Juniour Suite. Another aspect to this could be Bolin having been seated in a small metal chair as opposed to This once again, sows confusion, doubt and stress, making people more susceptible to Kuvira's manipulation. Though Wu being placed in the Juniour Suite kinda stands out here as an action that doesn't immediately carry any benefit for Kuvira. So she's either being a dick, really wanted that presidential Suite, or perhaps was trying to rattle Wu before the ceremony.

We can also see verbal belittling, especially coming out with Suyin, calling her weak ans a coward and also branding her and the twins as traitors. I do find it interesting that Suyin is such a target of Kuvira's derision, but I suppose it makes sense due to their difficult relationship.

You can also clearly see how much being in Kuvira's surroundings affects people, and how her actions and powerplays affect people very strongly. Varrick and Bolin being perfect examples of this. Bolin was already mentally unwell so he was an easy target for Kuvira, but evem Varrick was still terrified of Kuvira even in the comics.

I think one of the perfect examples of the hold Kuvira had on people is when everyone is gonna have some tea to celebrate furthering the reuinification of the Earth Kingdom and Kuvira refuses to drink the tea herself so everyone just.... puts their teas down too.

And this may seem inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but, you know, it's the little things. I think it sets the tone perfectly for the type of person Kuvira is.

And see, Kuvira's obsession, be it subconscious or concious,with asserting power and control has some strong basis in her backstory.

In a huge amount of Kuvira's childhood flashbacks, we see Kuvira in situations of helessness and lack of control. Most poignantly being literally dropped off by her father in a completely different city

You can totally understand why Kuvira would want to and need ro establish a sense of control over the new environment she'd been tossed into. We can see this later in the comic where a young Opal sets a boundary ("get out of my room and don't rouch my stuff") and Kuvira reacts by breaking the object she wanted.

Here she is effectively having the last say in the situation and taking control of the situation, even if the outcome isn't the one she desired initially. This shows us that this was always Kuvira's coping mechanism.

This honestly, if I were to interpret Kuvira in extremely bad faith, may imply that the main recipients of the beginnings of her manipulative and forceful streak would be the baby Beifongs. So um. That's some angst fic material.

I really need to make a longer post about Kuvira's manipulative tendencies and just how good she is at it.

[aphroditelovesu]

HOLY ANGEL, I NEED SOMETHING FOR OUTER BANKS. What would it be like if JJ had a sister, and on top of that, that sister fell in love with Rafe Cameron? What if that love was reciprocated? the lion falls in love by the lamb! Can you imagine what it would be like if Rafe didn't follow his father's plans, and for love he dropped everything and followed like a Pogue?? Maybe I need headcanons for that.

''For you I'd go to the ends of the earth.'' - Rafe Cameron.

❝ 💰 — lady l: I absolutely loved this idea and finally found your request after finding this headcanon in my notebook lol. I hope you like it and forgive me any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, slight mention of strangling someone in their sleep, underage drinking.

❝💰pairing: yandere!rafe cameron x jj maybank!sister.

From the beginning, before you met the rest of the group, it's always been you and him. It was always you and JJ against the world. And the world against you. Nothing and no one was more important than the bond you shared with your big brother.

You were everything to each other. Having been abandoned by your mother and your father being an asshole and a violent alcoholic, JJ has always been your safe haven and he will always be there for you, come what may. It had always been the two of you and he hoped it would stay that way.

You were introduced to his friends and it wasn't long before they became your friends too, all just as nice and protective as your brother. They soon became your and JJ's family, although he resented this at first as he feared losing you, he soon warmed to the idea of you all being family.

Everything was perfect. You didn't have much but you were happy with the pogues, you all had fun and loved each other that it seemed like nothing could interfere. JJ being protective and impulsive as always, John B the fearless and sometimes a stupid leader, Pope being the most altruistic and intelligent of the group, Kiara being the kindest and most supportive and Sarah being the messiest but loyal to her friends. Everything was perfect until you met Rafe Cameron.

You had only seen him from a distance, you had never approached him on your brother's orders and you never dared to disobey him, especially when you learned that he had tried to murder his own sister and that was enough to make you want to stay away from him. Except you didn't. During the bonfire party, you had drunk more than you should have and ended up getting lost from your friends, also drunk and stoned, you ended up getting away from the noise a little and that's where you finally met the infamous Rafe Cameron.

At first, you didn't recognize him and just kept quiet while he talked to you. You just agreed with what he said, completely inconsequential of what he said and that was the opening he needed to kiss you. Rafe's lips against yours were soft and gentle, he pulled you closer and caressed your waist possessively. Needless to say, he didn't stop at just one kiss.

Rafe has become even more obsessed with you than he already was. He already knew you from a distance but he never dared get too close, not with your brother watching you constantly and he knew that Sarah had said things about him to you, although it infuriated him, he didn't want to risk scaring you so he remained watching from a distance, waiting for the right moment to strike, and that moment finally arrived at the bonfire party. Though simply dressed, you still looked stunning to him and Rafe felt maddeningly jealous every time another man approached you, only to be pushed away by JJ. It was the first and last time he thanked JJ for being so protective of you. And when you finally broke away from your group of friends, he had his chance and when you kissed, it was like something snapped inside Rafe and he knew, in that very moment, that you were his.

He found himself more and more enchanted by you and soon you began a hidden relationship after some post-bonfire dates. But it wasn't enough for him, he wanted more, he wanted all of you and not having to hide your love from the others. The warm, hidden nights weren't enough for him. Rafe needed, he wanted and he would make you official. All chaos erupted one night when you were out with your friends drinking and talking, when Rafe showed up, alerting everyone. No wonder Rafe Cameron always meant trouble.

When he announced you two were dating, silence fell over the group. That is, until JJ got up and started fighting with Rafe. Your brother was furious, furious that he, this kook, dared to blatantly lie about you. As if you, his little sister, could get involved with a preppy guy like him. He only stopped fighting Rafe when Pope and John B's efforts were successful and horror settled on JJ's face when you took it and touched Rafe and told him it was true. JJ almost broke down right there.

Your brother freaked out for good, he yelled at you, for the first time in his life, he fought with you. Yelling things like how stupid you were for getting involved with Rafe and threatening to kill your boyfriend. You cringed at the screaming and Rafe, bruised and bleeding, pulled you into a hug, while trying to control himself not to kill your brother right then and there. He could kill JJ, but that would be too much trouble and there's you. Rafe isn't delusional enough to think that if he murder your brother, you'll stay with him. So Rafe kept himself in check, protecting you and when JJ finally stopped screaming, Rafe started talking and left everyone stunned and scared with his words.

That he loved you, he loved you more than he could put into words and he wanted to be with you. Make you happy, be yours forever. That he wanted to become a pogue to be with you. Even you couldn't believe his words, but Rafe was serious, too serious to be joking. He had argued with his father a few hours earlier, Ward didn't approve of your relationship, and Rafe freaked out at his father. The problem, for Ward, wasn't that you were a pogue but whose sister you were, who your friends were. Rafe didn't accept Ward's words and threatened his own father, he wanted you, he didn't care about the bloody Royal Merchant gold or the Cross anymore, all Rafe wanted was you, something so simple but unacceptable for his father . So Rafe, against everything he'd ever wanted, rebelled against his father for good, he disowned himself and decided that if, to have you, he had to become a miserable pogue, as his sister did, he would.

Your family did not accept this at first. They all didn't trust or like Rafe, understandable considering everything he'd done for them, but Rafe was willing to try to fit in with the group, for you. It wasn't the kind of life he was used to, but just having you in it made him feel a little more comfortable. It was hard for them to fully accept him into the group and even after a while the others still didn't trust him, but they were trying for you. It took JJ a long time to get close to Rafe without feeling like strangling him in his sleep, but eventually and after much prodding from you, JJ gave Rafe a chance, although he kept an eye on him and made it very clear that if Rafe hurt you somehow, Rafe will be a dead man. Adjusting hasn't been easy and yet Rafe has a hard time dealing with everything, but for you, he's willing to go to the ends of the earth.

[bylrlve]

Warning! Potential Spoilers for Stranger Things 5!

A compilation of recent tweets made by Alex and others about the mileven ‘making out in a field’ leak. Alex is insisting that this scene is separate from the sequence involving them talking on the rooftop, the scene which was leaked as a video back in January. According to 011scenes this scene happens ‘at the beginning’ aka in episode one.

The issue? Alex’s sources are people who speak to paps (which she lied about in answering a cc question; either that or she’s clueless), and who deliberately feed her inconsequential things production dgaf abiut because it distracts from the juicy shit e.g., what Mike and Will are doing. She was told ‘Robin and Will have a scene’ and that morphed into ‘Will is in his unrequited mopey Steve era, Jonathan and Robin don’t share scenes’, etc. The source said nothing about Byler being finished or about passionate makeouts.

I’m suspicious of the second anon’s claim about Finn, as Noah is straight-up went on TikTok live right before filming commenced in January to read out byler endgame and Byler kiss comments lmao. The bit about the love triangle being kept under wraps seems accurate enough - they’re openly passing out scraps of mileven to leakers to pass onto Alex, and it’s pretty clear they didn’t care about that mileven video hitting national news website in the Uk (daily mail). Byler? On lockdown. The only thing we know is the hospital stuff and that’s due to specific leakers, and even then it’s not that much. It is clearly a big question going into s5 for the GA, so it being kept tightly guarded is unsurprising.

The context of the kiss will be interesting, regardless of if it’s pro-mileven or somehow anti-. Alex indicates that it’s only them present in the field - BUT she’s also said that she outright leaves Will out of ‘leaks’ and gave the example of Max, Lucas, and Will having a scene but her only reporting Lumax having a scene, so… S4 mileven was a concerted effort to show that the characters had matured from s3, and that their fight was more serious. They only kissed once, and that briefly, and were… unaffectionate at the end of the season, to say the very least. The reversion to kissing in broad daylight, in an apocalyptic setting when El will be mostly hiding with Hopper from the military, feels a little out of character - and will certainly be jarring tonally and thematically.

Alex received this dm ^ back in February (discussed in my first leak post), which stated that hopper is annoyed by mike’s continuing presence around el. I and many others (including Alex iirc) dismissed it, as Hopper and Mike are on good terms at the end of s4. If Mike and El are still doing reckless things in s4, and if the old pattern of isolating El from others just to kiss re-emerges, though… The veracity of this is very shaky: the time skip occurs gradually over episode one, not in between episodes 1 and 2.

It’s important to note that many leaks are undoubtedly missing context. Just today, Alex brought up how she was right about Mike ignoring Will at the airport, about their fight, and about the airport kiss. Yes, she was, but she lacked the tonal subtext of the scene itself, which portrayed Mike’s behaviour as inexplicably phony - and of course, she lacked the lynchpin of this plot, which is that Will is in romantic love with Mike. She completely missed that, and it meant she missed every important aspect of this plotline.

Byrhop, a highly reliable st acc who’s closely following filming, was able to ascertain that Vickie is at the farm.

Lastly, I want to go over everything I know to try and map a trajectory. The Byers are living in the radio station before it’s overrun by military and they flee to the Turnbow farm - I personally am not sure of when exactly this occurs. There is a leaked hospital file showing that Karen Wheeler is attacked by a demogorgan. The file is dated as 1/1987 but it could be a prop error, as I’ve seen claims that she’s attacked when Holly is taken..

As we know, according to the leaked episode 2 title, Holly Wheeler goes missing. This likely occurs at the end of episode one, but the chronology is unclear. Karen being attacked could happen here, and I’ve seen claims that it happens in episode 2. Mike and El kiss in episode one, and as I’ve said this has been overblown greatly by Alex. The chronology of this is also unclear. At some point in episode one, Mike and Dustin are at the high school and interact with the jocks. Mike is wearing the same outfit he wears on the rooftop - dark trousers, blue and black shirt with a yellow collar, etc. As this is what he wore in the official pic released by Ross of him in his room, I am speculating that this is the first outfit he wears in the story proper, after the last time jump to November 1987, and that he may wear it throughout episode 2 as well

In episode 2, Mike, Nancy, and Karen have a plotline at the hospital. From official BTS pics, we know Robin and Vickie are there as well. The above anon does not mention Mike being injured, and its description of Karen’s mindset does not tally either with her having being attacked by a demogorgan prior or with Holly being abducted. It’s likely that they have partially but not totally accurate information; or else it’s a point in favour of Holly being taken and Karen being attacked after this happens, at the end of episode 2. I have confirmation that Mike is injured in episode 2, as are several other people - I discussed this in a post a few days ago - please discount the forehead kiss anon section of that post. This was confirmed by an extra who played a nurse on the scheme and by a different source later. The second source confirms that Will shows up last, and is crying and blaming himself for what happened. - I also have confirmation that El doesn’t show up to the hospital at all. The nurse extra also confirmed that Mike and Will ‘share scenes’ although he was not present for those so can’t speak as to what happened in them - I don’t have an image of that text so didn’t include it yesterday.

The forehead kiss anon is definitely not real (check @will80sbyers) but the rest seems to be.

Lastly, Atlanta-filming insinuates that the m*leven rooftop scene occurs after the hospital subplot. It’s unknown how they came to this conclusion.

To summarise: m*leven kiss in episode one, potentially during one of the staggered time jumps (my speculation) and the short rooftop conversation between them likely in either episode one or two immediately before something involving Hopper and Joyce occurs down in the field that alarms El. I’ve seen conflicting into on when Holly is abducted - either episode one or episode two. In episode 2 Mike, Karen, and Nancy go to the hospital for plot reasons. If this occurs after Holly goes missing, it is likely to be related to that. I am speculating that Holly vanishing, whenever it happens, accelerates the byler plotline, as Mike will more-than-likely seek out Will for advice, reassurance, information. In episode 2, Mike gets injured somehow at the hospital, along with several other people in a small-scale mass-casualty event, and ends up being admitted to the hospital. As I’ve said, it seems to be rock-solid that Will arrives and is crying and blaming himself for what happened, and Will stays with him but El is nowhere to be found in this plotline. We know from BTS pics that Robin and vickie are also there, and I’ve seen claims that Jonathan shows up to be with Nancy, but have no proof or knowledge of the providence of such claims, so… take that for what it is. It is pretty certain, as far as I know, that El is not there.

One possibility is that Will is possessed at least temporarily in 501-2. Perhaps there’s another superspy, ‘it’s a trap’ situation? Will Byers would never be reckless with the safety of Mike Wheeler or his family… but I bet Vecna and the mindflayer are just itching to attack the one salvation standing between them and Will. Something to muse on.

The timing of the rooftop scene is very important. El not showing up at the hospital is unlikely to happen after it. The scene is very clearly about affirming their relationship- whether as lovers or as friends. It’s likely that she’s distracted by Max, who is her main plot, but this is a narrative. El not being present for Mike, while Will is there and crying and staying by his side? That is telling of a potential rift that opens up in their relationship between episode one and two. There is a pattern of problems arising in their relationship in episode twos. In s2 El reached out to Mike during his call but he walked away while an ominous stinger played. In s3 they broke up at the end of episode 2. In s4 they had their disastrous roller rink date.

A few days ago, I gif’d the rooftop scene, and speculated that they’re discussing being friends, and that El apologises for not being there and Mike says ‘No. You should have been.’ before basically saying that he’s okay because Will was and “you’re all friends to me.” The ending of s4, to me, potentially marks a shift in Mike’s attitude to El, as much as it does for hers to him. In the hospital she seeks him out by resting a head on his shoulder, and she did speak briefly with him prior about Brenner, but he offers her no comfort beyond a stiff arm around her. When they arrive at the cabin, he walks in with the other boys instead of staying with her - as shes’s clearly very nervous and emotional about reentering the cabin. Finally, as we have all observed, she directs an almost angry look at Will and Mike before stomping into her room and slamming the door - a parallel to s3 after the phone call with Mike where she knew he was lying. When it pans back to Mike, and Will asks if they’ve talked? He rolls his eyes. Unlike in 403, he does not seek her out and push through her self-isolation. He leaves her be. This, coming from Mike the Paladin, suggests that he’s kind of done with trying.

El’s attitude has been convincingly dismissed by M*levens as simple grief over Max causing her to retreat as she always does. It is bizarre, however, that the monologue did nothing at all to make her feel she could rely on Mike, and much more so that he’s very apathetic.

I posit that they might, maybe, fall into old habits of passivity and inertia and string the relationship along over the time jump. Perhaps the kiss is from one of the interim jumps between March 1986 and November 1987? I could see El having too much on her plate to really address it, and feeling that she doesn’t want to push him away - after all, he did give the big damn speech. The kiss could be a parallel to Boyce and Stancy. If that Hopper leak is accurate (doubtful), perhaps they fall back into habits of clinginess and immaturity while still being deeply unhappy. Nurse extra stated that Mike is no longer trying to be normal, and that he’s discovering himself, being himself again, and being the support he once was - the wording rather implies that it means being the support to Will.

Of course, I could be wrong, and it could be that they’re doing very well, and that the kiss is indeed as happy and loving as Alex paints it out to be… but I am skeptical bc of the hospital, and because of El the brave protector not rushing to her boyfriend’s side. It’s simply too early to say. If my musing on whether Will was possessed and effectively set Mike up (against his will ofc) is correct, and if my lip-reading is correct, Mike speaking affectionately of Will here could be due to the fact that he’s intimately witnessed Will being possessed, and he knows Will would never do something like that on purpose.

Finally, definitely worth noting that there have been no signs of any NPC love interests. Will’s storylines are being protected well from leakers, so people could be missing something, but there has been no indication of it. What we are getting, though, is a focus on Will’s love of Mike, and his selfless devotion.

All of this is incredibly shaky, and I’m interested to hear your guys’ opinions on alternate sequences of events. Whatever the truth, clearly m*leven is inconsequential to the production, as it’s being deliberately leaked to distract from the real juicy stuff.

Oh, and I just want to wrap up by mentioning this bit of idiocy. Someone in Alex’s inbox sincerely thought that the production actually kills fields they want to look dead-looking, rather than editing it. And Alex agreed.

[intimidatingpuffinstudios]

Oh, please, dear author, how could we not love our little cutie patootie? Our babygirl did nothing wrong. <3

Beside that i always wondered why Mornie did that. (Sorry if you already answered this and i missed it!) I think i read one side story (which was from the second book i think?) from where i got the impresion that Mornie and Manny go waay back. So it always confused me why she suddenly decided to go against his orders. Not only that but why she then went to him after she failed him. Surely she must have known that nothing good awaited her? (And also, she doesn't seem to be too scarred from that bite, which should have been a horrific experience for her... Not that i am calling for blood ... or anything... haha... just you know... a nightmare or two cant hurt~)

Manerkol is forever babygirl ❤️☺️✌️

So uhh... Dis be a bit spoilery, but since it will never be explicitly touched upon in the books...

Mornie is kind of...in love...with him. Like, big time.

She is always trying to prove herself, have him look at her for just a moment longer.

But she was starting to realize that nothing she did ever made an impression on him.

Then, when he told her not to harm the MC, she was shocked to her core.

There was no strategic advantage to extending extra effort to ensure the MC's safety.

But what hurt the most was how Manerkol delivered the order.

His eyes had momentarily flashed with smoldering heat before he glanced to the side.

To anyone other than her, it would have seemed as something so small and unnoticeable that it was rendered inconsequential.

His voice got just a breath huskier, raspier. The sound of it alone was enough to shatter her concentration.

All her dreams, condensed to this one, fragile moment.

But the name that fell from his lips was not Mornie's.

And then he was walking away in a soft swiss of robes and the scent of jasmine left in the air.

So you will excuse her if she got a bit jealous. You will excuse her if she got a bit upset.

The way she saw it was:

1) Get the MC trussed up like a chicken, terrify them, make them feel as ugly as she was.

2) Bring them back to Manerkol as swiftly as possible and finally get the recognition she deserved. The attention.

3) Why wait for months to achieve what could be done in a couple of weeks with the right approach?

3) She was running out of time.

And then when she failed... She went back to him dreading what he would say to her, but she did not think for a moment he would actually hurt her.

She thought she was different from everyone else.

She knew he would forgive her.

As for the bite uh...she remembers that it happened. She understands what it means.

But she does actively remember it. She cannot recall images, sounds, nor a single detail.

Just a clinging, toxic black. As for her nonchalant behavior afterwards...

Trauma is a very peculiar thing, and suppression and disassociation can override everything else.

So, for those of you thirsty for her blood, I hope you can take some comfort in knowing that Manerkol did a stellar job punishing her...

That's not to say you may not get a chance to deal with her personally in the game lol!

Sorry if the answer got a bit heavy 😅

[deathsbestgirl]

So Never Again. Just saw this post and the way she looks up at him there is on a level with Mulder’s famous Fallen Angel eyes and his reaction to her? He doesn't melt? He chooses violence and being a dick? Please tell me why.

i LOVE this question because it is so easy to see it from scully's perspective. it's her episode. but you really have to think about mulder's perspective.

for mulder, this seems out of nowhere, and in his mind she was extremely inattentive with his informant on a case he's taking seriously. he doesn't understand what she's really asking or what the problem is, and a big part of that is she doesn't exactly either. it's almost like she's blaming him for the stand still in her life, but at the same time wants to be seen & appreciated (in a way that she understands, can feel, can see). and i don't think she could have figured it out the way she needed to with mulder. she needed the safety of talking to a stranger, someone inconsequential to her life. (like there's no way she could have that "other fathers" conversation with him lol) so ed jerse is the one to give her that. (she does with ed what she can't yet do with mulder. something neither of them are ready for and she isn't brave enough to do yet. and like. idk i just think she needed this! regardless of mulder lol)

like: "this isn't about you. or maybe it is, indirectly. i don't know." the one thing she got right is "i don't know" lol so of course mulder is confused!!

if you place leonard betts first, she's contemplating what she's leaving behind. has she had any impact working on the x files? on mulder? who is going to remember her? what evidence of her life will be left? in that office...it looks like she's had very little effect. (but i do not subscribe to this one.)

if never again is first, which i like better lollll (it makes more sense to me. i understand why people like lb first, it's more clear cut. it puts a reason behind her behavior. but i just don't think it quite fits. scully literally doesn't know what's wrong. if she was already worried about cancer, i think it would come across differently. but she's frustrated & confused and she wants for something she can't admit, express, pinpoint, articulate? idk what word i'm looking for lol) scully's just hit that point in her pattern again, her cycle...it took her four years, and after some rough cases (paper hearts – she couldn't help mulder despite how she tried, el mundo gira – a dead end. and idk, so many of their cases. and she's always wrong, he always does the crazy thing, he's always hurt)...well anyway, at the end he's still asking "all because i didn't get you a desk?" he still isn't quite understanding, until she says it's her life and he almost says "yes but it's become mine." he doesn't say it, they sit in silence, and in leonard betts, he tells her she did a good job & should be proud. all his little jokes like he's trying to make her laugh, to get back to their usual banter. because he wants to make her smile. so he understood at least a little by leonard betts. but they also come to a silent understanding. i just love the way kae talks about it. and i think the end is kind of the explanation for the beginning. the end is the real answer to the whole episode, and what it took to get there...and this post here, kae just understands him and talks about him in a way that i feel. it's exactly what i see in a way i could never articulate. (and she does my favorite thing!!! connects different moments. the characterization is so good.) and she has such a special insight to both of them, different patterns, but to me two sides of the same coin.

and so, either way, at the beginning of never again, he's completely thrown because he doesn't know. this is when their bad verbal communication and personal issues/insecurities/fears take hold. they're both so good at taking too much responsibility.

we're seeing into scully's mind a bit, but we aren't really seeing into his. but he's afraid, he doesn't want her to leave (something he's feared for a long time), he thinks space is the answer to whatever's going on. but he's also kinda needy and he can't just say that. so he calls her and they misunderstand each other again and she makes a date. he isn't trying to be an ass but he's scared & defensive, and he gets like that when she makes him nervous. like whenever she believes (beyond the sea, revelations, all souls, en ami). it feels like that to me. he's afraid, but this time he thinks he's the problem, their work is the problem. and he kinda said the worst thing he could say to her at that moment. "you were just assigned" — he has no idea how she understood that, how it hurts her. (and she's not thinking about how he means it, what he thinks/feels/fears.) and really, it's because she sucks at just saying the thing as much as he does. it takes them a long time to work out their direct communication. their unspoken communication, the way they work on their cases doesn't translate to their personal relationship. as intimate as their partnership is, working through their own issues takes time and it's those things that hinder them moving forward for so long. ya know?

i think @randomfoggytiger talks about it beautifully here — in depth essay on never again. here they touch on mulder's fear/walls & scully's insecurities/needs. it's a journey!! which they talk about here. and i forget what this one was (lol) but i'm sure i saved it for a reason: a little master post. i love the way foggy breaks things down, especially visually. it's something i could never do.

i also reblogged some other never again posts. not completely on topic but it's all connected!! (you can definitely go through my never again tag to see more probably too!)

[enqmind]

Well, this took a while. But we're here now and that's all that's important.

Ghost/Female Reader WC: 1.1k 18+ content

Warnings: Suicide attempt by reader, gaslighting, manipulation, Local Manc has worst possible reaction to a suicide attempt, ~*self indulgence*~

Reader notes: Thin enough to fit into a standard bathtub, light enough to be lifted from a standard bathtub by Ghost, mentally ill, pale enough for noticable blushing (feel free to ignore), atheist (ffti)

One Man's Treasure II

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 He didn’t turn the big light on when he carried her into his living room. He didn’t need to, the floor clear of any clutter to trip him up.

 He didn’t turn it on after he lay her on the sofa and went to grab a towel. The light of his own bathroom spilling into the room was enough, he thought.

 Enough to wrap her in one of his big, barely used, towels.

 Enough to clean and bandage her wounds.

 Enough to blot the blood and water from her hair.

 She huddled into him for warmth and comfort and he did not deny her.

 How could he? For now he was her shepherd, guiding her until she went to the hereafter.

 In the dim and dinge, it would be easier for her to accept the reality of her situation.

 So he kept her in the dark.

---

 She stirred against him a few hours later. Wincing against the low light and putting a hand to her head.

 “Head hurt?” he rumbled.

 She froze and peered up at him. Blinking in confusion.

 “You’re… no. There’s no way.” She pulled away from him and rubbed at her face. “I keep fucking it up, there’s no way it worked this time.”

 “How many times?”

 “Four or five.” She looked ashamed, wrapping herself up in her arms, like she’d done in the bath. “Skill issue, I guess.”

 He watched her. He could see that forlorn hope dancing in her eyes that he was real. That she’d actually managed it this time.

 He put a hand on her shoulder.

 I am real.

 “I thought if I did it in the bath, maybe I’d drown if I fucked up again.”

 He tilted his head at her.

 She looked at him, eyes widening.

 Relief played on her face again, battling with misery.

 “I drowned?”

 “Was the bottle full when you started?”

 Relief won, a smile breaking out on her face.

 “I did it,” she whispered, a hand reaching out and grasping his jumper. “It’s over.”

 On some level he felt like he should be angry at that, like he’d been trained to be by an uncaring world, but it was hard when she started crying.

 “Thank you,” she sniffled, “I know it’s your… job? Or whatever, but thank you.” A watery smile. “I feel a lot better not being alone right now.”

 She removed her hand and pulled the towel tighter around herself, covering up her skin.

 Her head must still be throbbing from her hangover.

 He stood.

 “I’ll get you some water. Drink it, then sleep.”

 She nodded, resigned.

 “Some last solid rest before my trip to hell. That’s very kind of you.”

 Ghost turned to stare at her.

 “What?” he barked. “You're not going to hell.”

 Why would she? What could this small, sad looking woman possibly have done to deserve that.

 She frowned, “are you sure? I’m an atheist and I killed myself. You have to admit that it’s not looking good for me.”

 Both of those things were so desperately inconsequential that he found himself chuckling.

 “You’re not going to hell,” he repeated. A sly smile formed under his mask. “It’s so much worse. You’re stuck with me.”

 She stared back at him with wide eyes and a gently agape mouth.

 “Oh.”

 He turned away and went to the kitchen, leaving her to stew in that horror for a moment.

 It seemed to sink in as she took the glass from him and drank from it.

 He sat next to her again, arm stretched out on the back behind her. Watching her mouth as she drank.

 She had a pretty mouth.

 To her credit, she didn’t flinch away from him. Instead staring blankly into the middle distance as she drank.

 It was as she neared the end of the glass that the silence was broken.

 “Is- is that your face?”

 “It’s a mask. What people expect.”

 She nodded and finished her drink.

 “Okay.”

 He pulled the glass from her hands and put it on the floor.

 “Sleep now?” she asked, eyes wide as she looked at him. The towel pulled tightly around her again.

 He slipped his arms beneath her and pulled her up against his chest as he stood.

 Her eyes widened even more.

 Oh, he must be sc-

 “Gosh. You’re really strong.” She looked awed, mouth pulling up into a cute smile.

 Ghost found himself taken aback.

 “You’re not that heavy.”

 “At that angle I am.” She stared at her fingers, weaving them together, and was that a blush? “The mechanics being what they are, and all.”

 “You like strong men, huh?” he murmured as he carried her to the bedroom.

 Her blush deepened.

 “I admire the hard work and discipline.” A quiet protest, as she was placed on the bed.

 “‘Course you do.”

 “I do!”

 He dug around in his drawers, pulling out two sets of pyjamas. One with long bottoms and one with drawstring shorts.

 He put the shorts set on the bed.

 “Sure. You change into those and get under the duvet. I’ll be right back.”

 “Um.” Her meek call stopped him in the doorway.

 “Yeah?”

 “Are we going to share the bed?”

 Of course they were. There was only one in the flat.

 “Yeah.”

 “I could sleep on the sofa,” she offered.

 That was a stupid idea.

 “No. You need a proper night’s sleep.”

 Her nervous expression intensified.

 “It’s just, um-”

 “Sleep.” He walked over to her and crouched so they were eye to eye. “You need sleep, and that’s what you’ll get. Nothing else.”

 She searched his eyes in the dinge.

 “Okay.”

 He nodded.

 He found her curled up under the duvet when he got back. Towel neatly folded on top of the chets of drawers, bra and knickers on top of it. She must have believed him.

 A gentle touch on her shoulder earned him nothing.

 Out like a light. Good.

 He moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in.

 Sharing a bed with another person wasn’t something he’d done in a long time. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep. That would be annoying, but he’d cope.

 He turned onto his side and looked at his bedmate’s sleeping face.

 She was smashing her face into the pillow, mouth locked in a grim line and eyebrows slightly furrowed.

 There was no way she was dreaming yet, her eyes remained stationary under their lids.

 Soon they’d start dancing, and he’d watch. Just in case she needed him again.

---

 Movement against his skin woke him.

 His eyes snapped open, hand reaching for a weapon.

 A head of messy hair filled his vision, and an arm around his chest stymied his reach.

 The light creeping under his blind illuminated the situation, his neighbour pressed up against him.

 It felt… quite nice, actually.

 She tilted her head to look up at him, the words on her lips falling away with shock.

 He looked curiously at her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

 “What’s the matter?”

 “You… look just like my neighbour.”

 Shit.

[thatbadadvice]

Help! Death is inconvenient!

Dear Prudence, Slate, 6 December 2022:

Q. Bothersome Burials: Is it appropriate to hold a funeral on a Saturday? I have recently noticed that funerals are more frequently being held on Saturdays instead of weekdays and I think it is bad etiquette. On most Saturdays, we already have plans for weddings, baby showers, birthday parties, ski trips, softball tournaments, etc. and I am perturbed when we are expected to change those plans to attend funerals. It seems to me that when you lose someone very close to you that you should be taking time off of work anyway rather than waiting until your scheduled day off to have a funeral and grieve. When you lose an acquaintance, or perhaps do not know the deceased but still want to support your friends and family, you should be able to limit it to a few hours during the week and not give up your weekend plans. Also, it seems inconsiderate to make the funeral home and cemetery staff work on a Saturday. I believe that Saturdays should be off-limits, am I mistaken about this?

Dear Bothersome Burials,

Funerals should absolutely never be held on Saturdays, for all of the excellent reasons you describe. It is inconsiderate in the extreme to interrupt people's ski trips even for legitimate reasons (whatever they may be — nothing immediately springs to mind, but the Bad Advisor is sure someone somewhere will be able to drudge up an example). To derail a romp on the slopes for something as inconsequential as a community gathering to grieve the departure of a beloved friend or family member from the plane of existence as we know it frankly defies comprehension. For the snuffing out of one's mortal lamplight to cause scheduling conflicts around more minor commitments such as weddings and baby showers is naturally a lesser infraction — attendees can always simply RSVP to the next one, or the one after that — but nevertheless impolite. Of course, few will share your deep concern for the wellbeing of those death professionals who work on Saturdays despite undoubtedly being, as you are, shocked by and entirely unprepared to accommodate the customs and traditions surrounding the inevitable fate, old as life itself, that awaits all of us. But your selflessness is noted here nonetheless.

If you are mistaken about anything, it is in failing to interrogate the cause of these breaches of etiquette. There was a time when people treated each other with just a little more consideration — when we left our doors unlocked, our unvaccinated children played together barefoot in the streets until dawn, and we dropped dead when and only when it was convenient for people's busy weekend schedules. My mother would have rather died than shuffle off the mortal coil just before Little Maydelayne's big softball tournament! Sadly, people these days think only of themselves, their own needs, and their own petty concerns — to say nothing of their unwillingness to sacrifice a day of fun and fulfilling work to attend the final celebration of life for some douchebag who had the gall to kick the bucket without checking their second cousin's day-off calendar first. Grief is already experienced for only those fleeting moments we spend attending funeral services; it is unseemly to defer our limited 40- to 90-minute mourning periods until such a time as we can gather together in meaningful community.

Alas, that's the world we live in today! We can lay much of the blame on the obvious culprits — video games, reefer, and heavy metal music — but we would be doing ourselves a disservice if we did not admit that we are responsible for making time for what matters. The next time a cherished friend, loved one, or colleague sets off on that long, mysterious journey to the undiscovered country, we must prioritize the apres-ski reservations at the lodge bar.

[theflyindutchwoman]

The Tim Tests -- those don't make me like him. I know. You're nothing like him. I… Come here. You're nothing like him.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 4.09 - Breakdown

The symbolism of Lucy helping Tim remove walls in his childhood home, of all places, is incredibly poetic. When she met him, he had built so many - metaphorical - walls around him, they were practically a fortress… But that didn't stop her from seeing through them and find a way in. And since then, she has been by his side, helping him lower them. So it's only natural that she would be there for him, when his last walls are tumbling down. When he confronts the person who made those walls necessary in the first place.

The level of vulnerability and honesty he displays here is astonishing. He doesn't try to downplay what he's feeling, and considering how painful this chapter of his life is, it says a lot on how much he trusts Lucy to be here and see him like this. This may seem inconsequential but this is huge for someone who had to learn to hide his emotions very young to avoid setting off his abusive father or to shield his younger sister from what was truly happening. Only here, he can't hide behind a mask. Not after talking to his father. It's the confirmation that the latter protected his mistress all along, even on his death bed, when he never did any of that for his own family, when he was the monster they needed protection from, that breaks Tim. His feelings of disappointment, betrayal and anger are so raw. So visceral. And this ultimately explains why he's always amazed when Lucy fiercely defends and protects him.

Which is also why her previous comment about the Tim Tests struck a chord. To be fair, I don't think she ever meant to imply he was anything like his father. It rather sounded like she had found the final pieces of a puzzle, the answer as to where these tests came from since Tim was the only TO doing them. I'm not even sure she realised she was saying it aloud until it was too late. Nevertheless, her remark dug deep… even more so since it piled up with his sister's who at times sounded almost dismissive towards his feelings and his own boundaries on the topic. It was important for Tim to address this. He needed the reassurance that he wasn't anything like his father. But most of all, he needed to hear it from Lucy specifically, and not just because of that remark. Her opinion matters to him a lot. She knows him the best, met him at one of his lowest point, saw his demons, has never been afraid to call him out… and she's also someone who sees the best in everyone. Just the thought that she - of all people - could think that he might be like his dad is too much already. There's a moment where he instinctively steps back, as if he's bracing himself for the worst. Tim looks so much like a lost kid in that moment, all teary-eyed. But Lucy is right there to reassure and comfort him. She wasn't going to let him entertain the thought any longer. The way he sinks into her embrace, the big breath he takes when she repeats adamantly that he's nothing like his father, the swaying… This is exactly why he wanted her by his side in the first place, why he invited her. She is the person with whom he can drop his mask and not be self-conscious about it because he feels safe with her. She is his safe space. And the hug is the perfect embodiment of this.