#it is not betad

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Sunday morning Bunny hybrid!reader x owner!Gojo

MDNI 18+

Gojo x reader | 500 something words. | Smut, soft, comfort, fluffy fluffyyyy fluffyyyy, gojo is soft.fuck it's 12:53 I should sleep I have work tomorrow. Umm what else. Established relationship| bunny reader, hybrid. Etc. ok read the story now. Not edited point out typos thx.

Lazy. Lazing. Laze. That's all your morning could be described as. Gojo had only just returned from a mission and having to leave you behind made him extra clingy.

Not that you were any better. Your bed was covered in his clothes. A pile of expensive sweaters and shirts. All which smelled faintly of laundry detergent and of your owner. The same man who returned home the night before and picked you up, crawling into the bed with you in tow – entirely unfazed by the moat you'd created in his absence.

In your sleep, the two of you had managed to push off a good amount of the structure onto the floor, but it didn't matter now. Gojo was here.

You’d met him at one of his missions. You say met but he'd actually rescued you. Being a large bunny breed, your previous owner hadn't expected you to grow to the size you had, and had abandoned you, dropping you off at an abandoned building. An abandoned building haunted by a particularly nasty curse. It was here that you were found by Gojo. He'd picked you up, not minding at all how large you may have been, and taken you home with him. He nursed you back to health, making sure to treat any and all wounds left on you by the curse, and looked after you. After this, you were inseparable. You hated when he'd leave for missions because it meant you couldn't go along. Apart from work, you'd follow him everywhere.

The weak winter sun filtered through the curtains in your bedroom and you felt Gojo nuzzle against your fluffy ear. “Good morning, Bunnie.”

“Good morning, Toru!”

“Did you miss me?”

You nodded your head vigorously in response. “So, so much.” Gojo placed a little kiss on your nose, you couldn't help but blush.

“Look how much I missed you, Bunnie” His eyes moved downwards and yours followed. A large bulge had formed in his boxers and he grinned at you when you looked back up at him. “Think you can take it, bun?”

You nodded again, barely containing your excitement. You ached for him. Even though you had plenty of toys to use, nothing felt as good as Gojo.

He lifted your leg over his waist and carefully prodded at your entrance. Just the thought of having him in you had you feeling ready. But to be safe, he reached over and took out a bottle of lube from the bedside table, generously squirting it over his cock. Then slowly, he pushed in, an inch at a time. He pulled you close and gently kissed your lips.

“Is that alright?” He asked, voice heavy and sleep laden.

“Mmm. More please!” You whispered to him.

He pushed in further, the lube cold for a second on your skin but soon warmed by the heat of your bodies. All while Gojo kissed and pecked at your lips. With his free hand, he reached up and cupped a large breast, lightly brushing his thumb against your hardening nipple.

“Feel good, Bunnie?”

“Yes Toru!”

“I'm gonna start moving then, cutie.”

Gojo gently rocked into you. A slow and steady pace. Almost like he was half asleep. His lips found yours again and he sucked on your lower lip nibbling it into a plump red. Then he moved to your neck, nuzzling, kissing, licking.

His slow thrusts gradually grew faster and the room filled with only the wet squelches of your pussy and breathy moans. Gojo turned over on his back, lifting you on with him. His pace didn't once falter as he thrust into you with a new force. Born of desperation and longing his hips moved with minimal spurring; pushing his cock deep into you ready to spill at any moment. He came with a strained groan, empting in you. You could feel it filling you up.

Panting, Gojo asked, “Can we just lay here for five minutes before I clean you up, Bunnie?”

You cuddled into his chest like a giant living blanket. “Mmhmm. Not letting go, Toru.”

The sun had already risen quite high, but Satoru Gojo couldn't deny his sweet little bunny. He cuddled you and felt his eyelids getting heavier. Breakfast could wait…

AN: yeah, sorry this was late. I'm depresso af. Still needed something soft and comforting ok bye.

[sulfies]

If I Lead (pt1)

"You have to be fucking kidding me..."

He really thought the whole Isu shit was behind him. The world burned and his job was done. Nearly all of 7 billion people dead, but at least not under an evil Godesses whim as slaves. He was doing as he was told, he was leading the people out of the doom he inflicted upon them and helping them rebuild. 

His job with all the Apples and Isu bullshit should be done! So why did his eyes open in the sanctuary of Monteriggioni out of all the fucking places. 

"That's what I get for touching that damn shit!" 

He should have left it fucking alone, it was perfectly fine where it was! Hidden under rubbles and sand in a half-collapsed cave Desmond ventured in to map out to see if there was any underground water source. 

He had found a gorgeous cenote in the depths of the cave with fresh water, which was all fun till he noticed an all too familiar golden sheen at the bottom of it. 

He should have turned around and left the place, fuck the Isu's, fuck the apples fuck everything.

"FUCK!" 

He kicked the base of one of the statues. His voice echoed in the stone room.

He just had to dive in and get it, didn't he. He was conditioned like a dog. Like a Pavlovian itch, he swam into the depths just to touch it.

"Because why not huh, maybe it can help us, maybe I can learn something from it" He mumbled to himself in a mocking voice "God I am so fucking stupid! I should have left it alone." 

He knew nothing good came out of any Isu artifact! He knew it yet he still touched it and now he was here after the all too familiar light show he experienced.

He squatted on his knees, holding his head in his hands. "I am way too old for this"

He raised his head and took a look around. This place did not change at all. Even in his forties, this place was always fresh in Desmond's mind like a second home and nothing had changed at all. 

He wiped his face with a palm and shook his head. Alright...He was in Italy now. 

He had to figure out how to get back.

Thankfully Shaun and Rebecca could perfectly handle the camp while he was away but he was already a month late from his exploration and now who knows how long it would take for him to get back. Few months with a boat? That is if he could find one.

"Good job Desmond, you fucked up once again" he sighed and got up, hearing his knees crack. 

He scratched his beard and looked toward the stairs that led to the main exit. "Let's hope the fires and the rubble didn't block the exit, again"

He did not want to do the parkour thru the caves again. Especially the part where he had to swim in that slimy water.

But this place looked fine, even better than the last he remembered which did surprise him but maybe it was that well built.

He looked at Altaïr's statue, not one crack showed on his whole build. The Master Mentor of all standing proudly as always, he laughed painfully. "Things were weirdly simpler back then huh... You probably would not have failed." 

He pursed his lips in a thin line and turned back to the stairs to try the door. His hands found the mechanism easily enough, just as he was wondering if the mechanism inside survived the heat, the door slid open smoothly. 

Way too smoothly.

The hair on his arms stood up as Desmond's eyes met with the Monteriggioni villa in the night air. No destruction in sight.

"No..." 

He walked through the door as his boots met with the polished tiles underneath. His hands touched the soft fabric of the curtains. He saw the desk in the study littered with papers like someone was going to come back to it come morning. 

His head turned to the right to see the codex wall... Some pages already pinned down onto the board, more than half incomplete but on the right track.

Desmond felt the sweat drip down his back,  he breathed in harshly. 

"What the fuck..."

He really should not have touched that devil's orb. 

—-------

Once the reality actually sank in, he could not have run out of the villa faster. 

He opened the window closest to him (the glass was still intact) and hopped out to the courtyard (the healthy grass under his boots squished) and booked it. He ran into the woods (there were trees!) till his breath ran out then he ran some more. 

This had to be a joke, no matter what, he had to be seeing a vision or something. Maybe his bleeding hit him hard this time and he was hallucinating this whole thing... He had to be.

Desmond slowed down to stop at the forest once he came to the hill edge. He choked a shocked sob.

There in all its glory, the village of Monteriggioni stood in front of him. All the buildings standing up with no rubble nor the damage of the flare around. 

The sun, like a big fuck you to him only, was making its way out of the peak of the mountains slowly as torches around the buildings were illuminating the dark roads in between houses the light had yet to reach

Desmond crouched down activating his sight. Hundreds of grey figures came into his view, many of them asleep in their bed and Desmond couldn't hold his eyes from watering. He listened intently to hear some drunkards walk the street blabbering and singing to themselves as they went home. He heard the merchants and workers shuffle around their homes getting ready for the day.

He let out a shakey breath and fisted the grass under his hand. It has been a while since he saw this... 

It used to feel like such a small place when he first reached this town, the village in contrast to New York seemed like nothing…

Now, after the flare. It was insane to see this many people in one place like this again.

A boat was not going to be enough to take him back home.

—-------------------

Desmond had to be quick before the town really woke up, he was already scouting the rooftops and wires people hung their clothes on to for stuff that would suit his frame. Hopping one rooftop to another he was biting his cheek to stop himself from the slight grin that wanted to get out of him.

He had missed this. 

There were no rooftops left to climb after the flare, no buildings to scale. No points to jump off of not even trees. It had all burned away and dammit his body has missed this.

He snatched a few garments that looked roughly his size from the wires he crossed by and hopped into a rooftop garden. 

He needed to wipe the smirk off of his face...

He would have killed to be able to visit Ezio’s time before, to run these streets again, but now all he could think was; how fucked it was that he was finding a sliver of joy in this while people back at home were probably battling to stay alive as always.

He was supposed to lead them, he was too much of a pussy to save them all before the least he could do was rebuild them as well as he could as they have told him to. 

And now he was gone. All because this time he couldn't keep his hand to himself. 

He sat in the rooftop garden looking through the clothes he picked and judged their size. Truth be told at this point they were in better condition than the clothes he had on at the moment. 

He took off the scarf and the threadbare jacket and sat with his hoodie on… He could not get rid of that damn thing no matter what. It had way too many memories to him, especially after the flare where it was one of the only things left from before. 

He was attached to the damn thing even if it was holding together mostly with patches these days, stitches jutting out of the clean hems of the cloth where it had gotten town again and again. 

He took it off but stuffed it down his backpack Rebecca had found in a surviving underground bunker and gifted it to him for his 30th birthday. It was faux leather so it would not look that much out of place he decided.

He shed his shirt and pants next, shivering from the chilly air. Quickly putting on the doublet and the vest then he fumbled with the pants for quite a while… 

“I need to figure out better shoes” He had grabbed a pair he saw sitting outside on a windowsill, probably the owner had left them to dry out overnight, thinking it was high up enough for anyone to not be able to steal.

But they were too small for comfort, a week in these and his feet would be ruined. He threw on his backpack and gathered his pants, shoes and shirt in his arms. He had to burn these somewhere.

He jumped out of the garden and made his way to the outside gates before the town started its routine.

—----------

As he made it to the clearing just outside of the walls, Desmond breathed in the clean air. No smell of char reached his nose. It was wild… after twenty years of inhaling the slight burnt smell of the world, all he smelled now was the fresh air.

He found a less grassy spot and piled the clothes on, retrieved his flint from his backpack pocket.

As the fire burned the only clothes he had for a while he listened to the birds chirp. Those were gone as well, as most of the animals were. Only the ones lucky enough to be near an artifact at the time had survived. Shaun had come up with the theory.

Once again the sense of peace he felt was quickly replaced by his guilt. He rubbed his chest, it ached with every memory. He didn't deserve to see all of this. Not when he was the sole cause of that madness people back home were subjected to daily. 

Twenty-plus fucking years he tried to make up for his mistake. He found whoever he could and took them back to their camp. He gathered whatever he could, and used every bit of the knowledge he gained from the apple to lead what was left into a better place, and now he was gone.

Abandoned them to their fates on a random weekday.

Because he could not keep his hands to himself.

He rose up from where he stood and kicked in the dirt to smother the ambers. Watching them sizzle down.

He had to find a way to get back… If a piece of Eden took him here, it could and should take him back.

—----

He needed to figure out what year it was first, and where Ezio was. 

Not to meet him of course, If all went well he would never see the man and no one here would know he even took a step in this time.

But he needed to know where Ezio was so he could know where the apple was. 

Since Monteriggioni was standing perfectly intact, it was before he embarked to Rome. The codex pages were just starting to get collected so he would have been quite young. This meant the apple was barely even on his way to Venice on a ship…

“Shit, he must be what… 25-27 at best?”

God…. Thats so young, was he even officially initiated yet? If the age he guessed is right Ezio should be in Venice, either with the thieves or the courtesans… he needed to know the date to be sure.

Ezio did not even know of the apple's existence yet probobly.

He so wished he could just go where the ship was right this very moment and get to the apple but truth be told his memory of Ezio’s life after 20 years of apocalypse wasn't too fresh on his mind… So even if he knew the date It wasn’t like he could sail on a vessel and interrupt the ship alone.

Which meant Desmond had to track the apple at the same time as Ezio. 

—-------------

Desmond sat on top of one of the watchtowers near the walls, watching the town come alive as people went about their day. It was overwhelming yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. 

To think he lived in one of the most populated cities before, and now seeing 500 or less people in one spot made him nauseous with awe. So many mouths to feed, so many resources to find….

He looked away,

these people weren't his commune. He wasn't responsible for them but he couldn't shut his mind up. 

It felt unreal, like in any moment he was going to blink and this was going to reveal itself to be a one extreme bleeding episode.

He did still have those, but he knew they were never like this.

After decades of living with it, he knew what a bleed felt like. They rarely caught him off guard nowadays unless he was having particularly bad days.

But this wasn't one.

[the-broken-pen]

Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,��� the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder–hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. 

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned. 

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet. 

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head. 

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital. 

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner. 

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead. 

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch. 

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world. 

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

[rhysska]

autistic!Tim, freshly 18 years old, trying to do the whole public persona, big speech thing after getting officially inducted as CEO for wayne enterprises.

Full disclosure this is just Tim having a meltdown.

Everything feels like it's been dialled up to 110%, sweat is dripping through the impermeable barrier that the ten layers of deodorant were meant to be, the tuxedo is scratching and biting at Tim's skin and he is just barely keeping this in control. It's all locked up in a jar that must absolutely in no circumstances bother him. He's been through worse as Robin, as Red Robin, he's trained to ignore distractions. But, all the same, the chandelier is piercing it's way into his eyes, single handedly banging at his head.

With a deep breath, Tim attempts to recount the speech he had down pat the night before and finds he can't. The words fall short, decaying with each second that passes. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, doing nothing to cool down the hot lightheadedness.

Trembling, Tim begins to make his way to the bathrooms, desperate to at least wipe off some sweat. Heat rests on his shoulder as he reaches for the door, looking up he's met with the concerned eyes of an angel. Or, more accurately Bernard Dowd. The blonde puts an arm around him and says something that Tim hears but doesn't comprehend. Sure he said, "Are you okay?" but what does that mean? How does Tim respond to that?

Tears jerk out, only serving to add to the ringing swirl of light-heavy-hurt-ache. Prying open his eyes he hadn't even realised he'd screwed shut, revealed he was in the corner of an extravagant bathroom. Thankfully with ambient lighting that was just dark enough it didn't bore a hole directly through Tim's skull. The blonde - no his blonde boy is still talking, trying desperately to get through to Tim, the words ring and echo in his head but make no effort to stick.

Bernard shouldn't be here, he should be out enjoying the party, making good use of the champagne, judging the food. Not here, watching as Tim bawls over nothing.

"I'm sorry," Tim babbles, he was ruining everything, "'m sorry."

The pretty face in front of him departs after muttering something along the lines of there being nothing to be sorry about (A blatant lie, Tim was being pathetic - he isn't meant to act so childish, throwing a tantrum over nothing).

Coldness breaks through some of the mist, as a cool glass is placed against his lips. The temperature takes his mind into reality for him long enough to hear a command to drink. So, drink he does, starting with a sip. A singular sip awakens him, he feels as if he hasn't drunk in years, as if he's crawling over the desert like a lost traveller. Like an omen to the traveller, a voice registers in his head.

"C'mon, In, two, three, four, you're doing so well," following the instructions, Tim struggles to take a shaky breath in, "hold, two three four. Out, two, three, four. Doesn't that feel better." A shaky nod

"Let's go again," the process repeats until Tim notices where the guidance is coming from. Once more, the mist dissipates. And again, the shaking is reduced, he chokes out one last sob.

Watery blue locks with shining brown, with a trembling sigh, Tim rests his head on Bernard's chest, the blonde boy's arms following suit.

"We can stay here as long as you need, we can leave if you want," hastily, Tim shakes his head. He needs to do this.

"I love you. So much," is all Tim responds.

[neon-kazoo]

Why Couldn’t We Just Talk?

“Why did you leave?”

The hero turned away from the lights of the city past the window as they spoke. The image of the villain across the room was still, like they were glimpsing a specter. That was ok, the hero thought. Talking to the villain always was like talking to a ghost.

“I just…I don’t get it. One day we were fine and the next day you were gone.”

Hero paused, and silence greeted them like it always did. Not even the gentle whirring of the ceiling fan could break the stale air around them.

“Was it my fault? Is that it? Was that really it?”

Eyes bore deep into the fabric of a discarded hoodie.

“I wouldn’t hurt you like that. You knew that. You know that, don’t you?”

They slowly shook their head.

“We could have fought. I could have lost. Apologized. Anything, anything but this,” they whispered.

The hero crawled off of their bed, beginning to pace back and forth between the door and the window.

“Instead, you just– you let it stew! That’s not fair. It’s not–“

The hero collapsed to their knees, nails digging into the harsh carpet fibers and grounding them into the present. Shame flooded into them at the childish outburst. It was almost too embarrassing, the idea of breaking down in front of them, but the hero continued to speak in fear of what the words would do trapped inside them.

“Was I too much? Was I not enough? You wanted space and I gave it. Was there something else I should have done? Was there something I didn’t see? I would have dropped everything for you. I did. I crossed the city just to give you a hug. So why?”

A broken sob muffled any response they could have conjured. Fingers twiddled with a broken necklace, forever just a half.

“Did you even cry? Or is it just me looking stupid?”

Slender fingers ran over puffy eyes, wiping tears from several tracts running down their face. The hero grabbed a tissue from the table beside them and blew out their nose as a simple distraction. They couldn’t spend all day talking to the wall. It would get them nowhere.

The hero breathed their last words into the darkened corner where an empty chair sat.

“I tried. I loved you.”

“It was beautiful,” the darkness whispered back, “but it is over.” The words echoed from their most painful memory. They hurt just as bad as the first time.

Hero hung their head, burying their face in a pillow to hide their tear-stained face as if it could be seen from wherever the villain was now. The hero knew, their absence wouldn’t give them the answers that their presence never did. That never stopped their mind from trying, though.

[rondinella]

Olvide

Hello!

Lately I've been pondering on how exactly does Rafayel comes to remember mc, so I've come up with a little something! I also took some liberties with a certain abysswalker but it's all in good faith.

Aunt Talia says that all humans are evil, but the girl in his dream is always smiling.

The first time he sees her, it’s a dream, her hair swaying in the wind.

She’s looking at him.

Rafayel tries to speak, tries to ask her 

“Do I know you?”

but the sun blinds him and there’s sand everywhere, it gets in his eyes, in his clothes, in his mouth.

It’s hot, in the desert, too hot and he knows he shouldn’t be here; why is he somewhere where there is no water?

Where has all the water gone?

The sun burns brightly, too brightly, and he feels like he’s being burned alive, whatever it is that he’s wearing sticks to his skin in a way that’a almost painful but-

he knows that is she’s here, than he must be here too.

Her hands move as if to touch him and he can’t help but move toward her fingers, as if she’s pulling a string tide to his ribcage, to somewhere deep inside him.

Just as she comes closer, he wakes up.

Rafayel looks around and she’s there, still, and he blinks one, two times and before he knows it, she’s gone.

At breakfast he wants to ask aunt Talia about the strange woman in his dream, but instead he plays with his food. He takes a small jump to get down from the chair, his legs still too tiny. He knows that aunt Talia will say that his dream don’t mean anything, that he's just a child with a vivid imagination.

For a while, he doesn’t see her, all the way through middle school.

And then, he starts to see her everywhere.

Once high school starts, she’s all that he can see: she’s in every face, every cloud, every drop of water.

Sometimes she looks like a princess, so beautiful that it stops the breath in his throat.

Other times, she’s dressed in all black, and that suffocating feeling comes again.

In dreams, she’s all floating white and pale blue, looking like a vision.

Sometimes she's hidden in a weird place, it looks like a cave, and she's always frowning.

What never changes is him, trying to walk torward her, trying to at least caress her skin, but he never can and she’s never real.

He doesn’t make many friends.

Rafayel tries to draw her, to have at least one way to freeze her in time, to look at her, but the imagine he has of her is always fuzzy, he’s dreams too blurry, too long and not long enough- he just wants to touch her, to know she's real.

Until that night.

He still can remember it as if it was yesterday.

Rafayel went to bed as he did every night, his bed sheet the deepest shape of blue; he doesn’t remember what he dreamt, but he remembers how he woke up screaming, a sharp, unrelenting pain that went from his hips to his heart.

The pain seemed everlasting as he clutches his chest, his thighs, it went in his head, in his blood until he felt it in every single part of his body.

And he knows, he knows it is her, that she did this to him.

Why?

Talia came running to him that night and he clutched at her nightgown as if she could save him.

“Who is she?” he asks, his voice trembling.

He cradled him, as if he was still a child.

She doesn’t answer his question and Rafayel is too tired, but he is afraid of sleeping.

But even so, tiredness had the best on him, and he fell in a dreamless sleep, until he saw her again, in broad daylight, as she stared in horror at her hands, red with blood.

Is it his?

He knows it is.

But it’s the horror in her face that strikes him, as if she regrets hurting him.

He cannot swim without his tail, he cannot live without his heart.

After that, the memories come crashing on him like a flood.

He remembers everything: he remembers the promise they made as children, he remembers saving her from the water, he remembers her touches, the incessant thought of taking her heart; there is not a single piece of his existence that isn’t stained with her presence.

Rafayel betrayed his people, his followers, for her.

But it won’t happen again, it can’t.

He will find her, and he will do what he has to do.

So he starts to search for her, barely seventeen.

It turns out that trying to find someone is not as easy as he thought.

It takes time, it takes patience to play the long game and end up being the winner.

But he does it.

He gets pictures of her, her whereabouts.

She looks younger, carefree.

Rafayel wonders, for a brief moment, if she remembers him, if she too can’t live without seeing him everywhere, without not being able to close her eyes.

The lectures he gives at the University are a clever ruse, but he’s waiting, waiting to see her face in the crowd and one time, he does.

He thought he wouldn’t feel a thing, that he would be reasonable, for once, and do what he has to do.

What a fool he was.

Rafayel’s imagination could never even fathom the emotion he’s feeling right now.

Bride, his mind calls her, his heart.

My beloved bride

He let’s her go, until she’s just a blurred face in the distance, as his plans turn to ashes.

Rafayel knows that he will see her again, that life will never leave them be.

And he does, as she gives him directions, as she catches a fish for her and the irony of it almost makes him laugh but he can’t even breath, how his chest aches, how everything he wants is just in front of him, completely oblivious of who he is.

But then the painting, the metaflux and fate bring her right into his home where she belongs, where she should have been from the beginning.

And he falls on her, not his finest moment.

Rafayel needs to be part of her life, needs it like he needs air, needs it like he needed the sea.

And she’s so carefree, so happy.

The bodyguard idea came on the spot, an absurd life safer; as if the God of the Sea needs to be protected by a human, as if Rafayel needs protection from anyone but her.

 He remembers with vivid clarity as her hands, small and steady, cut off his tail, carved him open; and he remembers how he let her, his fingers around her wrists, but so scared to hurt her that his blood kept dripping on the sand, painting it red.

He remembers, but even so, he loves her, loves her as he loved her in those moment of agony, loves her through space and time, above and under water.

So when tragedy hits her family he tries to console her as best as he can, offers the solace of a old Lemurian ritual hoping it would soothe her broken heart, and hoping, selfishly, that she might remember, but she never does.

But one night, she calls him, and he holds the phone in trembling hands as she admints that she can’t sleep; the fact that she chose to call him makes his heart beat as fast as it can, a smile breaking on his face as the mark on his chest burns brightly.

He was never her friend, they never had the time, but now, now he can be and the happiness it brings him is something that his unknown to him, it gives him hope and so he waits for her, waits through her grieving, waits until the sun shines on her smiling face again; when he sees her smiling for the first time after so many months, he can’t hel but cup her face in his hands, being rooted by how amazed he is by her.

But the more time they pass together, the more his hands tremble.

Even playing kitty cards with her has become something that requires more self-control than he can master, he wants to climb that damned table and kiss her-but it’s not that easy.

She doesn’t know, doesn’t remember, and it’s burning him alive, like those leather garments in the desert.

Rafayel wants her to feel what he feels, wants her to burn like he burns- and she might not.

She might see him as nothing more than a friend, her weird employer, someone she might forget the moment he turns.

“I dreamt you.” she says one day, and the brush falls from his fingers as the world reshapes itself.

[ronanlynchian]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) Characters: Enjolras (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Background & Cameo Characters, Les Amis de l'ABC Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Barricade Day, Barricade Day 2025, Inspired by Poetry, Everybody Lives, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Enjolras is Bad at Feelings (Les Misérables), Autistic Enjolras (Les Misérables), Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Grantaire Has Self-Esteem Issues (Les Misérables), Hate Sex, From Sex to Love, Explicit Sexual Content, or at least I think it is, Phone Sex, Sharing Clothes, Dreams and Nightmares, Past Lives, Hypnosis, Protests, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grantaire is a Good Boyfriend (Les Misérables), Canon Dialogue, Police Brutality, Marius Is Literally A Seabird, Courfeyrac Loses His Hat, Getting Together, hate sex but they're actually in love and they're literally soulmates should be a tag, Emotional Sex, Idiots in Love, everyone is asian, except enjolras who is white, not everyone is asian but at least, Asian Grantaire, because I said so, Time Loop, Sort Of Summary:

Grantaire knew, from the first time he saw Enjolras, that something about him was going to ruin his life— later, he would learn that not only would Enjolras ruin it, but he would save it, he would stitch it back together, he would— and had— held his hand at the end of their world; that realization came much, much later, and far after the realization that he was in love. When it happened, though, it hit him like a car crashing against the railing of a bridge, like a wave dissolving into foam at the first touch of the coast, but for the longest time, he couldn’t figure it out— all that he knew was that he needed. Then one day, like one of those roadside billboards that has always been there, one of them that you simply have never noticed, he saw it— hidden in plain sight, as natural and evident as the sun rising the day after the winter solstice.

(or, the enemies-to-hate sex-to-lovers-but-they-were-soulmates-all-along-reincarnation almost time loop AU; alternatively, my second barricade day fic of the year)

have no fear, friends! the reincarnation AU is here! finished it JUUUUST in time for @barricadeday <3 enjoyyyy

[magic-is-something-we-create]

having a very meditative time working on the lost today and realizing i dont know how i ever got up the nerve to open whispers up for beta readers when my first beta reader experience (firebreathers) was So Bad. like not even in an "i can't/couldn't take criticism" kind of way but in a way where i somehow landed multiple beta readers who maybe didn't even read books. a thing that one should maybe do if they want to beta read. for books.

[deangloriam]

didn’t put those bones in the ground by cursedornot

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Word Count: 54,279

Some Tags: Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Writer Castiel, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Possessive Castiel

Summary: it was 10 fucking years ago, and yet the town still treats dean like a pariah. but cas is new in town and doesn't know what happened. so dean should keep his distance to spare cas. it's just really hard when all cas wants to do is get to know dean.

Link To Fic

[muldersfingers]

Words: 7515 Fandom: The X-Files, Californication (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hank Moody/Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully Characters: Hank Moody, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Melissa Scully Additional Tags: Minor Violence

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

Scully is having a hard time after splitting from Mulder so she takes off to California to stay with Melissa and let loose.

[dullahandyke]

> do my starship presentation

> it goes awesome, only takes like 13 minutes

> someone asks 'do other musicals by the same company have the same level of politics'

> I reply 'aha idk I'm just insane abt starship' because I forgot about fucking MAMD but whatever

> sit back and miss next presentation as I bask in the glory of how well I did

> look up as next person is getting ready to present

> make eye contact as their presentation goes up on the screen

> "Team Starkid's Black Friday"

Mfw

[vvachillessongvv]

Hail Mary

Rating: M - Words: 8,616

Wille just needed to do something, say something, anything. A Hail Mary in the dark, a desperate bid for the sweet boy who had taken root in his soul all those years ago.

/

A divergence in which Wille and Simon didn't get back together at the end of season 3 and instead found their way back to each other later in life.

[mothman-can-write]

Im so normal abt that comic it is not taking over my brain like a mould i do NOT need to write fanfic abt it RIGHT NOW -insert picture of werewolf ripping shirt- RAGGHHHHHHH

[yurigalactica]

okay so i’ve been thinking and i’m very convinced that in a perfect world toga and shinsou would actually be pretty good friends

because think about it—the nature of both of their quirks has always been considered villainous by others. people who don’t give them a chance see toga as a sadistic vampire and shinsou as a cold-hearted puppet master. they’ve both experienced so much hatred targeted towards them because of who they are. but deep down, behind all of the walls they built up to protect themselves, they hold so much love for others that it hurts.

if canon never happened and toga wasn’t a villain i think they would be besties. they would absolutely talk so mush shit over brunch and you can’t change my mind

[souls-page]

Page 33

“Why do you wish to find out when you die?” Edwin asked Niko, letting himself ask, not because it had been lingering too long in his head, but because it was far simpler just to ask Niko, everything was simpler with her, easier.

Her head rested on his shoulder, her hand holding his arm, he wondered if she could actually feel him, because as much as he wanted to feel her he couldn’t, he felt her weight, and felt her hold on him tighten before softening again, but he doesn’t feel her warmth that he knows she has

“Because I just want to” Niko replied, simple straightforward, he glanced down at her before looking straight ahead again, resting his head on hers, hoping that she could feel him, that him being here brought her comfort,

“I don't really know what I would do if I actually found out when I’d die, but I think it would bring me some comfort to know when” She said, voice soft, somehow even when the topic was heavy, she could find a way to make it feel like it isn’t, he’s thankful for her of that, never once has he said anything he didn’t want to, never once had it been hard for him to say anything to her

Never with her

“That's odd, most people don’t seek out when they die” He said

“Well, I’m not most people” She replied a smile on her lips, tone soft but fond

“No, no you aren’t” He agreed, a small smile on his face before letting the silence stretch, as they both dangled their feet on the edge of the building, letting the wind pass by them, one feeling the coldness of the wind more than the other

The memory is slightly blurred now, two weeks have passed, and somehow it’s still not fully clicking in his head, He still somehow expects Niko to show up at the agency,

This is not possible considering they never told her where it is, but somehow he just does, he expects her to just show up, with that smile of hers

And on nights like these when they aren’t as busy, on when Crystal is asleep in her apartment and he and Charles are left alone in the room with Charlie being out, He can’t help but think of her, and he knows that Charles knows what he’s thinking

Niko’s books are put on the shelves nearest to the desk, at arm's length for Edwin, and on nights like these he doesn’t know whether he’s thankful to see them there, or saddened by the reminder that they offer

But on nights like these, he’ll always reach out and take one of them, and Charles's presence helps, he talks and sits near him, when he’s sitting at the desk or beckons Edwin over to the couch

Sometimes they both read, sometimes Edwin reads while Charles is just there and sometimes Edwin just reads to Charles, and it helps.

Sometimes more than others, the presence of someone while dealing with the loss of another. In hindsight it's weird, he’d never truly gotten this attached to someone else before, no one other than Charles, but now there's Niko, but Niko’s gone.

He closes the book after realizing that Charles has gone to sleep, they never needed it but he always chooses to do so, he looks so peaceful lying down on their couch, and he can’t help but think about when Charles died

He choose to stay with Edwin, but he can’t help but think about how the past thirty years would’ve been if he didn’t. He sighs and shakes his head, too many emotions for today, he sets the book down somewhere near, and for once he closes his eyes letting the quiet lull of the night lead him to sleep.

[hexiewrites]

the only thing i love more than a misunderstanding is a misunderstanding that is ABSOLUTELY going to turn into a threesome 👏👏👏