#parks and wreck ship

[ghoststookournightmares]

Weak hero class 1 has wrecked me. Broken my poor heart to pieces. And I'm not a violent person, but those bullies getting what they deserve was hella satisfying. Also, I don't care what anyone says but SiEun and SuHo are boyfriends and husbands and soulmates and best friends and brothers and just two beautiful people trying to survive in this wretched world who deserve EVERYTHING. And I, well I f-ing deserve a season 2. Like right now

[tippytopdays]

Dissolving into a rage fit again and listening to music that feels just a bit too close to how I feel about home.

[sunsburns]

four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

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[comatosebunny09]

preface [ deux ] | sylus

summary: in his haste to find you before the auction begins, sylus uncovers something much more harrowing. and he curses himself for agreeing to let you be bait in the first place.

warnings: violence, minor character deaths, human/sex trafficking, mentions of underaged girls, profanity, allusions to reader’s past as a kidnappee, reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, sylus is mad murderous & an emotional wreck

tagging: @world-of-hearts, @athanasia-day, @falon-fen, @queen-serena88, @karespocketboyfriends, @mrswanel, @readerxyourfave, @sunsets-and-crows, @antonneva

notes: a continuation of this. thank you so much for reading! part 3 can be found here.

now playing: mozart - requiem - lacrimosa

The docks are deceptively quiet tonight.

Nothing seems amiss between the creeks of old wood and the slosh of waves breaking on the pier.

Sylus isn’t convinced of its purity.

Not when the tracker dwarfed in his palm blinks a steady red, signaling to your whereabouts.

He’d followed the signal here after it grew stagnant following an hour of movement away from the city. He waited another 45 agonizing minutes to make his move. Had to be sure he wasn’t being led into a trap and that wherever Fate’s men whisked you off to was where he’d find the others.

He stands on the edge of a weathered connex, the wind ominously ruffling his coat.

He studies the device in his hand. Paints a shadowy figure amid the bokeh of distant city lights glittering behind him. With one hand in his pocket, the composure adorning his features contrasts with the hushed maelstrom brewing beneath his skin.

He holds out his unoccupied hand for Mephisto to perch on, the crow materializing on his wrist as if summoned from thought. Mephisto preens himself, iridescent feathers gleaming in the moonlight. When he’s done, he fixes Sylus with a lifeless, scarlet stare before a holographic image emerges from his eyesight.

It’s a detailed layout of the docks. Metal containers, small, worn ships. For a second, nothing looks abnormal. Yet something stark white and rectangular piques Sylus’ intrigue.

Sylus scrutinizes the shape further before he makes out what it is. A semi-truck inconspicuously parked between stacked connexes. Three dark figures circle around it like wolves. Guards, more than likely armed. Whatever they’re protecting, it must be big.

“Well, that doesn’t look very suspicious at all,” Sylus drawls, scratching Mephisto’s head with appreciative fingers. The crow bows out of existence in a flurry of inky shadows and feathers, having served Sylus well.

He spares another glance at the tracker. The blip of your signal aligns with where the truck resides.

It is then that he decides to make his move.

A smirk tugs on the corner of his lips. It’s been a while since he’s gotten his hands dirty. Had you and the twins for that. The prospect of a good fight makes his fingers twitch, the tips of them sparking with dark red electricity.

In superhero fashion, he pitches himself forward, swallowed by the misty vines of his Evol, as he ascends from the connex at breakneck speed.

You’d make fun of him for being so dramatic; he’s sure of it. He’ll tell you all about his heroic feats when you’re safely tucked back in his penthouse with this night shoved into the furthest reaches of your minds.

He lands on sturdy feet. Insufferably cool as he maneuvers through the maze of cargo containers. The click of his shoes reverberates off damaged metal until he spots what he’s looking for.

The guards have yet to see him. Two of them pace back and forth at the truck’s rear. Another circles its perimeter, two hands on a rifle.

Such meager security for whatever’s housed in that trailer.

He breathes deeply. Fades into obscurity, drawn into the shadows of his Evol, preparing for a sneak attack. He doesn’t need to. Could effortlessly eviscerate the guards with a snap of his fingers. But where’s the fun in that?

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” sighs a disgruntled guard all by his lonesome in the driver seat, hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “What am I, a fuckin’ babysitter?” So caught up in his head, he’s none the wiser to Sylus’ appearance on the passenger side, amused, crimson eyes boring into his skull.

“You’re right,” Sylus replies, his voice abrasive yet cocky. “You don’t get paid enough.”

The driver doesn’t get the luxury of a scream before wispy, handlike tendrils snake around his neck. Bone snaps, followed by a sigh of life drained from cold lips. He dies with terror twisting his features, shepherded into the afterlife by The Boogeyman himself. His head slumps onto his shoulder as his energy flows into Sylus’ body.

“Now, what exactly are you babysitting,” Sylus ponders. The kingpin blinks out of existence again, readying himself to dispatch the other three henchmen.

Sylus doesn’t make a sound as he takes out the guard who’d wandered to the nose of the semi to ensure his cohort was still on the job. The other two, he snuffs out similarly, their blood gurgling in their throats and their bones crackling, music to his ears.

He rolls out the kinks in his neck and shoulders to ward off the stiffness as their life force seeps into his body. It’s been too long since he’s had some fun. Hopefully, this is the most action he’ll see for the night.

His eyes grow intense with concentration when he stares at the worn handles of the truck’s trailer. He burns with anticipation. With something of wariness nestled between. Your signal stops here, steadily buzzing on the tracker in his pocket. He clings to the notion that you’re inside, unscathed and none the worse for wear.

He shuts his eyes, focusing a stretch of energy on the handles. The doors fly off with a deafening screech of metal, sure to draw some unwarranted attention.

Nevertheless, with his hands in his pockets, he waits for the dust to settle. Leaps into the truck trailer with practiced ease, eliciting screams and gasps of varying pitches from within.

None of which sound like yours.

Red emergency lights flicker in the space inside. It reeks of mildew and sweat. Fear. Revulsion.

When the grime completely clears, Sylus makes out dozens of sets of eyes fixed on him. He stiffens. His blood turns ice cold.

Girls of diverse creeds, colors, sizes, and ages cower against the back of the trailer. All from him. He makes out at least 30 of them, crammed in the trailer like cattle awaiting slaughter.

Something in his chest pulls. His lips twitch with the threat of a grimace.

Those sick fucks.

Sylus is no saint. He’s done horrible things to equally deplorable people to increase his reign. To strike fear into those who would oppose him. Challenge his title as Onychinus’ ruler. But he’s never dreamt of doing something as vile as this.

There’s no telling how long Fate had them—these young women, these girls. How long they’ve been emaciated, deprived of food, water, and sunlight.

Sylus bristles as an image of you forms in his mind. A flash of a girl, young like these ones. Terrified yet burning with fury. Revenge rotting your mind, anger warping your tear-stricken features.

Speaking of you, he scans through the girls’ faces in search of yours. He doesn’t find you through their varying degrees of fright. Sucks in a breath through parted lips, his blood running cold.

He cautiously steps further into the trailer, and the girls inside shy away. He holds out a placating hand. Sure, he’s despicable. Terrifying, and the red light highlighting his imposing figure as he nears them doesn’t help matters. But he has to be sure you’re not nestled between them. Playing a cruel joke on him after he spent all this time hunting you down.

The tracker in his pocket vibrates violently. The group of women parts, cowering away from him like he’s something of a sickness. He stops in front of a girl who looks no older than sixteen. Peers down at her, and she shivers, swallowed by your coat. She ducks into the fur, shrouding herself from Sylus’ penetrating gaze.

There’s no mistaking this jacket. Pristine lynx fur.

One of the first he’d bought you when you joined his entourage. A peace offering, a sign of his unyielding protection.

You wore it faithfully like it was your most prized possession. No matter how many more Sylus stocked you with, you never let this particular coat go.

He smooths shaky fingers down the collar. Suddenly sees red when he tugs on the lapel, snatching the girl up, and she shrieks, her feet dangling above the floor. The other women yelp in terror, shrinking away from Sylus’ ire. He must look like a monster to them. As beastly as the men who ripped them from their homes. From freedom. But he doesn’t care as anguish drives him into rage.

It’s rare he loses his cool. But when it comes to you, things just hit differently.

“Where did you get this?” Sylus demands. He’s breathy. There's a manic look in his eyes. He’s desperate. Running out of time. For all he knows, they could’ve already sold you off to the highest bidder.

Or worse.

The girl donning your coat says nothing. Too shell-shocked, her voice corked in her throat. He recognizes the look in her eyes all too quickly. Well acquainted with it, having seen it too often in his enemies before he extinguished them like a candle’s flame.

Gravity comes sinking back in. Sylus scans the space around, the fear in the dank space palpable.

He peers at the girl, at his hand fisted in the coat, disgusted with himself. They’ve already endured so much, and he’s only exacerbating their torment. Gently, he sets the girl down. After her feet return to the floor, something clanks on the wooden boards, and she scurries away. Sylus kneels to retrieve it, the telltale gleam of a crimson gem causing his muscles to tense.

The brooch.

Your brooch.

The tracker.

The fucking—

Fuck!

A tidal wave of grief crashes into him. He squeezes the pendant in his hand, its intricate carvings biting into his fingers. Anguish mars his features. He pinches his eyes shut, curling into himself. The girls cling to the lining of the truck, scared witless.

He tamps down an impulse to scream. Instead punches the wooden floor. Punches and punches until the skin of his knuckles split, and his fist is raw, bleeding red.

You wanted him to find them first. These girls who’d been snatched away from their families, their livelihoods. Sold to deplorable men to do revolting things. To suffer. To die.

To you, this was personal. Sylus fought against using you as bait to draw out the ringleader of this trafficking act. But you wore him down, citing that he owed you this moment of redemption. Why you sought him out all those years ago.

You fucking martyr.

The trailer grows silent. Sylus feels numb as he stands, chest heaving. His fist has already mended itself when he dismounts the truck in a daze, leaving the girls cowering in his wake.

Luke and Kieran, as if sensing their boss’s shock, call him back to the present in his earpiece.

“Boss?” cautions Luke, the radio silence alarming.

“I’ve found them,” Sylus states, his tone grim. Detached. Dejected.

“And the little boss?” Kieran queries, optimism breaking through the static.

Sylus’ silence serves as their answer.

There’s a pause before Luke cryptically disrupts it. “On the way, boss,” he promises before the line cuts dead.

Sylus stares at the ground. Dissociates, starting away from the truck before the sound of merriment catches his ears.

His attention’s drawn to a sizable ship on the opposite side of the pier. It cuts a sleek outline against the horizon, bordered by smaller passenger boats.

He narrows his eyes. Homes in on the ship, exhaling slowly. If he were an auctioneer, he would hold it somewhere in plain sight. Somewhere seemingly innocent that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. What better guise than a party?

Hope spumes through him. Adrenaline. You’re so crafty sometimes, it hurts. The brooch was merely a marker. You knew he’d assemble the pieces the moment you found the others and left your brooch where he could track it.

You could very well be aboard that ship, waiting to be sold off. Waiting to be returned to a life you fled from years ago. He could only hope he was right in his deduction.

Sylus sinks into the vantablack abyss of his Evol, setting course for the cruise ship at the pier's edge. He clings to the idea that you’re onboard, safe and sound, waiting to cuss him out for taking so long to find you.

—

He needed a distraction.

There were too many innocents onboard. Or, so they seemed. He couldn’t glean the difference when he landed on the deck. He had a one-track mind.

A few partygoers eyed him suspiciously. Perhaps he didn’t blend in with his wind-swept hair, harrowed features, and suit stained dark with blood.

Regardless of their intrigued looks, he wended through the crowd. Scanned the scenery, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anything to signal nefarious dealings taking place aboard the cruise ship. Anything that could lead him to you.

He’d heard whisperings as he descended to the mid-levels of the ship. Hushed tones speaking of meetings for the elite taking place on the lower decks.

He clung to the bits of information he extracted. Pieced them together. Found his way to the kitchen. The staff was clueless to his presence—or they ignored him, too busy whipping up meals for the ship’s guests.

Sylus grabbed who he assumed was the sous chef by the collar. Pinned him with a stare that promised pain if he wasn’t compliant.

The man cowered in his hold. The remaining cooks caught wind of it, shrinking away from Sylus’ imposing, blood-speckled figure. From the malevolence pouring in waves off his skin.

“There’s a fire in the galley,” Sylus stated between the man’s eyes. The sous chef looked at him with pinched brows. Confusion showed through his fear, as nothing was amiss.

Sylus would soon change that.

“I would advise you to start clearing out your staff. Now.” He punctuated his sentence with a growl, tossing the chef back a few paces until he stumbled into his coworkers.

They weren’t moving quick enough for Sylus, so he set his plan in motion. Turned a few knobs with a flicker of his Evol, a fire sparking on the stove. It erupted into something more menacing, the flames licking the ceiling, triggering the sprinkler system.

The kitchen staff finally sprung into action. Hurriedly poured out of the room as the shrill cry of the fire alarm pervaded the air.

With his hair matted to his face and his mouth drawn into a rigid line, Sylus moved further through the kitchen. Descended to the lower floors as people rushed past him, all seeking refuge from the fire.

At least this way, he could wheedle out the scum who’d taken you while sparing the innocent a horrible fate.

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [19]

A couple days ago, or maybe it’s been a week now, there had been a horrid storm.

It had been bad enough on the surface but underwater it had caused extremely powerful currents that have dragged a very young Garth away and into the unknown.

He really should have listened to Atlan and stayed put…

Lost and alone, a Little Garth has found himself a lot closer to the surface than usual, the sea currents are still churning pretty bad and he simply can’t navigate his way back to anything remotely familiar.

At this point he’s quite hungry and tired, and he’s found that catching something is somewhat easier nearer to the surface.

However, now something entirely different has caught his attention.

still safely tucked away under the waves. Garth is watching two surface dwellers. judging by size they should be even younger than Garth is, which probably means their caretaker(s) are nearby.

Garth is about to leave them to it and go his own way when he catches on to the erratic kicking movements of the smallest one.

oh, he’s pretty sure surface dwellers aren’t supposed to stay underwater that long, that is if Atlan’s stories are correct.

And even though he’s somewhat terrified, he finds he can’t just… though he probably should…

Well, he ends up saving Danny from drowning.

Jazz and Danny’s parents are busy with a supposed haunted shipwreck and not paying attention.

But by saving Danny Garth found by Maddie and Jack. Who are worried that Garth is there all alone which is like... kinda hypocritical but whatever.

No ghost, but they got a sea boy!

and that quickly has them reassessing their disappointing conclusion that the wreck isn’t haunted, clearly the ghosts are somewhere underwater! After all, the ship was lost at sea and simply washed ashore.

Garth can’t really communicate that great with the Fenton’s. He doesn’t know english, and they do not have telepathy, the only thing he can catch from them is impressions of their emotions, which does make figuring out “yes” and “no” a bit easier.

At first he decides to accept their offer of shelter and food simply because he’s tired and hungry, and they seem like good people even if they are from the surface.

Then Garth makes the mistake of getting attached. All of a sudden he’s put in a eldest brother role. Jazz is determined to teach him english with her kid books and Danny has been attached to him like a barnacle ever since Garth got him out of the water.

And Garth’s needs aren’t even remotely treated as some sort of annoyance, they make note of his need for lots of water and adapt easily.

Everything is extremely overwhelming but thankfully for Garth they don't make the offer to take him with them to Amity Park right away.

They are on a family trip so they stick to the sea for another week and a half or so. After that they ask if he wants to just come with, Danny basically begs him, having an older brother seems like the best thing ever to him.

And Garth ends up taking the offer cause the last week was better than most of his lonely life so far, even if everything is weird and difficult and he can't communicate right.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.

“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.

“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.

Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”

“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”

Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”

“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”

Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”

Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”

“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”

“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.

Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”

“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.

You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”

Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.

Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”

Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.

“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”

“Finless porpoises,” you say.

“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”

“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.

Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”

“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”

“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”

“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.

You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”

“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”

Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”

“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”

Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.

“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.

Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”

He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.

You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”

Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.

You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”

“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”

“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”

Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.

“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.

“Oh.”

“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”

“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”

“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.

A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.

Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”

“The sculpture?” you say.

“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”

Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.

Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.

“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”

Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”

“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”

“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.

“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”

There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.

“No luck?” Daeron asks.

“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.

“Seriously, dude, what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”

“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”

Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.

Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”

“We’ll find gas somewhere.”

“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”

Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”

“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.

“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?

“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.

Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.

“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”

“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.

Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”

“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.

Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”

Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”

“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.

Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.

It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.

“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”

You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.

In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.

“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”

You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”

“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”

“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.

“I want to try too,” Daeron says.

Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”

“I want to try!”

“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”

“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”

You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.

“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.

You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”

“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.

“No scopes?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet.”

You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”

“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”

“Exactly.”

“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”

“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”

“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”

“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”

Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”

You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”

Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”

You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”

Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”

He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”

You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”

“Like throwing a football.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”

“What a formidable tree.”

“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”

Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.

“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”

“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”

“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”

Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”

Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”

More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.

You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”

He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”

“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”

“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”

“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”

“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”

“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”

You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”

“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”

“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”

“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”

You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.

What?? Who??

“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.

Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”

Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”

“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.

Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”

Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.

“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.

“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”

Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”

“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.

“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”

You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”

“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.

He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”

There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.

“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”

“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”

There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”

“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.

“What?!” Luke exclaims.

“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.

Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”

“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”

“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.

“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”

“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.

Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”

“Fine, I think.”

“Hurts?”

“Just a little.”

“Dizzy? Double vision?”

“No, nothing like that.”

He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.

“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”

He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.

“Are you serious?”

“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”

“I’m fine!” Luke insists.

“Great. Then pick a card.”

“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”

“Pick it with your mouth.”

“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.

“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.

Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”

“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”

“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”

“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”

Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”

“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”

“Then stop picking bad cards.”

“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.

“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”

Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.

“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”

“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.

Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.

A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”

You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”

Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.

[randomishnickname]

Must-read Destiel fics - my superduper Nov. 5th rec list

Three years ago, on the blessed day of November 5th, 2020, I had:

never seen an episode of SPN,

only had a vague inkling of what the two pale coconuts were on about,

and I hee-heed and ha-had with the rest of Tumblr about the love confession scene and the Internet errupting in an unparalleled craze

At first I thought, that's it.

Then ... I got curious. I watched some YouTube Destiel supercuts. I read some fic (I think @andhumanslovedstories beautiful Cas/OC fic was my entry point?). I read meta. I watched some more YouTube scene packs. I read even more fic. I watched some of S4, some of S1, some random fan fav episodes. And then Destiel lodged itself so deeply, thouroughly into my brain that it took over and hasn't relinquished control in the last two years. The most tenacious, pervasive brain worm to date.

This ship got it all, and this fandom got it all, and there's such delightful, powerful, batshit crazy, romantic, expertedly crafted fanfic out there, it's like being a starving child in the world's biggest candystore.

So without further ado, here's some of my very favorite fics from this infinite trove, with all my thanks to the wonderful writers who keep delighting and awing me with their dedication and craft. There'll of course be some recency bias at play but you can browse my bookmarks over here to chose from over 100 excellent and well-curated SPN stories.

💕CATEGORY: SWOONWORTHY💕

Wildly romantic fics that warm you up from the inside.

It Won't Be Perfect by someonetoanyone (10K words) Summary: Dean daydreams about what it'd be like to let himself love Cas freely.

Why I love it: the humor, the spot-on characterizations, and the quintessential late season Destiel-ness of being so deeply love with your best friend that it's too big to actually do anything about. Just. So warm.

Rock Lobster by Ginger Fail (13K) Summary: Cas decides that the lobsters Dean planned to cook need to get back home. Impromptu beach vacation ensues!

Why I love it: This road trip story is fresh and invigorating like a sea breeze! Fun, entertaining and full of deep, deep fondness.

Seek to Know You Better by ahurston (32K)

Summary: On a road trip, Dean and Cas play the 36 Questions That Lead To Love.

Why I love it: They’re so deliberatedly, carefully starting a relationship here. They try so hard to bridge the gaps and meet each other halfway. A very mature take on love that feels nourishing.

☢️CATEGORY: BRAINWORMS GALORE☢️

Fics that make you go BARK BARK BARK.

samson went back to bed by piesexuality (9k, @twoheadedcas) Summary: Cas strikes a deal with Chuck - keeping his family together comes at the price of their free will.

Why I love it: What if Cas got his revenge for the Mala'ak box? What if love came at the price of everything you've been fighting for? What if a story twisted the knife oh so sweetly? Each word of this one lands a punch. Made me insane in the best of ways (cue pinned fanart).

In sickness by @saintedcastiel (41K) Summary: S4 redux but Castiel has a fetish: giving Dean the sniffles.

Why I love it: This one is soooo. Can barely find words for it. It taps into Cas' early season alienness and psychosexual obsession with Dean, brilliantly demonstrates Casdean vs Samruby parallels, and each word is just. Perfect. ARGH!

so much smoke in a hall full of mirrors by AreYouReady (6K, @autisticandroids ) Summary: Godstiel is losing his heavenly war. Crowley provides a compliant Dean-doll for him to release his frustrations upon.

Why I love it: Urgh, this one is sooo dark. Taps into the scary, intimidating and alien aspects of Godstiel so well. Gore, consent and psychosexual issues galore. Delicious.

Special mention: In a Parked Car, Exhuming Ophelia by @an-android-in-a-tutu (17K). Still need to comment properly ;)

💣CATEGORY: EMOTIONAL WRECKING BALLS💣

Angsty fics that tear you to pieces to remake you better.

What Used To Be Mine by someonetoanyone (48K words) Summary: Dean never makes his apology prayer in Purgatory - Cas dies, Dean mourns.

Why I love it: Oh god, this is a heavy hitter. Just, straight up insurmontable grief, packaged in poetic, raw language to make you shed tears and tears. Loved it so much.

Ignite your bones By ilovehowyouletmefall (67K, @angelinthefire) Summary: Dean accepts Chuck's deal: killing Sam to save the world.

Why I love it: Cruuuuel cruel premise for a story that doesn’t pull its punches. It gets dark in Dean’s head and everyone around him suffers. Wonderfully written. The ending set my brain on fire.

Right Where you Left Me by outdean (93K, @armandgender)

Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty after 10 years to find Dean married to another man.

Why I love it: This one is a riiiide. When grief has become a part of you but your love comes back… When you return from the dead and have to carve a new space into the world for yourself... nothing is easy here, but the emotions are INTENSE. Also, autistic!Cas for the win.

Special mention: Who Ya Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel (50K) and Clear skies in spring by enochianprayer (WIP)

💥CATEGORY: EPIC RIDES💥

Expansive, wild adventures with lots of ups and downs

Spirit of the West by teen_dean (140K, @urne-buriall)

Summary: An 18y old Dean grew up on a horse farm – cue veterinarian Castiel. The summer of a lifetime ensues.

Why I love it: So this is one of my very favorite stories, ever ever, and I cannot recommand enough to immediatedly suscribe to the author’s Substack to be able to follow it in „real time“ next summer. It’s cinematic, rich, full of darkness and light, it’s everything a story can aspire to, I’m just. I just really love it.

Second Verse, Same as The First by LaLaCat1 (135K)

Summary: Endverse!Cas is sent back to the start of S1 and is determined to make things right this time round.

Why I love it: a desperate and badass Cas, unfridging everyone, a thrilling plot, moments of awesome for the entire cast, gripping action scenes, a romance for the ages… this is a genuinely amazing story.

back road, black road by eden22 (167K)

Summary: 18y old Sam gets kidnapped by Hell on his way to Stanford. Dean tries to deal.

Why I love it: So this one’s not Destiel-centric but does have wonderful Destiel moments. It’s also very heavy on the gore and the angst (NOT for the faint of stomach), but expertly crafted, fascinating and frankly it deserves more love. Held my breath for half the read and never knew where it’d take me.

Special mention: It's The End Of The World (As We Know It) by tiamatv (140K)

🤪CATEGORY: DESTIEL INSANITY🤪

Uproariously funny stories about the intricate rituals these two weirdos get up too.

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall (26K)

Summary: Dean teaches a newly human Cas how to be „a real man“.

Why I love it: Dean coming to Big Self-Realizations while trying to have platonic threesomes with Cas is so perfect. Very endearing, tender and funny. Also, smoking hot sex.

the cheapest room in the house by biggaybenny (89K)

Summary: Dean downloads Grindr for Cas

Why I love it: Just. Late season Dean being deranged about Cas’ sexuality while everyone watches on in utter confusion. Equally hilarious and deeply moving

according to all known laws of life by @sobsicles (29k)

Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty to a Dean who won’t stop playing gay chicken.

Why I love it: They are both such petty, insane weirdos in this one. They said „can every situation be turned into a squabble“ and didn’t wait for an answer. So funny, so tender

Special mention: Wedding Vows and Negotiations by GingerFail (6K)

That's it, enjoy and leave your writers some much-deserved love!

[youlikegoodstuff]

Their anniversary (prologue)

All Might x arch nemesis! reader

Gender is neutral here. Reader is a villain called Highland Havoc

Summary: it’s All Might’s and his nemesis’s anniversary, and the fans are done waiting for the villain and hero duo to kiss.

Tw: none. Just a tensions and shipping. Swear words. Stolen stop signs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It Is Fine Now. Why? Because I Am Here!”

As always, All Might made a dramatic and enthusiastic entrance, even after years of duking it out with you.

“Took you long enough. You’re usually very early to our anniversary.” You said with a smirk on your half-masked face.

All Might’s signature smile only widened at this as his hidden eyes took on a slight mischievous look.

“My apologies, my arch nemesis! Allow me to make it up to you by making a special reservation for you in jail!” He said rather lightheartedly.

The bystanders who chose to stay looked on in anticipation, ready for an absolutely glorious battle like the ones before.

“Oh no worries! You don’t gotta make it up to me.” You said with a wicked grin before launching yourself at the man.

If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t last a second in the presence of All Might. Hell, he’d have them in front of a police station by now…

But you weren’t All Might’s arch nemesis for nothing.

Highland Havoc was the name, and causing havoc is your game.

Accurate to your villain name, you created chaos with your strength-based quirk, destroying government buildings, totaling police cars, tearing out parking meters, and stealing stop signs.

One thing that separated you from the rest of the villains wasn’t just your ability to rival All-fucking-Might, but your surprisingly noble morals.

You weren’t destroying small businesses or killing people, in fact, you’ve saved people on several occasions.

You were basically a professional villainess with standards.

You were a bad guy… but not a bad guy…

The worst you did was wreck a couple hero office buildings and steal thousands of stop signs, but you never ever stole candy from a baby.

In other words, you were just a cheeky little cunt.

You were a menace… but you were Musutafu’s favorite menace.

You casually tore out a stop sign that sat on the corner of the street (one that recently replaced the old one after you stole it) and placed it on your shoulders while smirking through your mask.

“So, what’s on the agenda today? You failing for the millionth time to land a good hit on me?” You teased.

All Might chuckled heartily, but he felt the same thrill coursing through his veins that he always felt when he was ready to fight you.

“I do hate to burst your bubble, my dear,” he began, using a nickname to tease you right back. “But I’m not about to go easy on you just because it’s our anniversary.”

“Oh I don’t expect you to hold back, I’ve been waiting for the opposite actually~” You said before lifting the newly acquired stop sign and twirled it expertly in your hand.

All Might’s eyes followed your every movement like a hawk. He never took his eyes off you these days when you were facing each other, and for good reason: you were not to be underestimated. He knew better than that.

“Still got that nasty habit of collecting those silly signs, I see.” He said with that signature smile as he flexed his thick muscles, getting ready for your first attack.

“You call them silly, but the city seems to take stop sign theft very seriously.” You said while getting into your own fighting position.

All Might scoffed as he rolled his shoulders to loosen up his muscles even more.

“And rightly so! Stop signs are important, you know.” He scolded before looking you up and down with a scoff “And that mask of yours is still downright hideous. How can you handle wearing that thing?”

“You and your issues with my mask. Always having a problem with it, lad.” You sighed and rolled your (e/c) eyes.

All Might looked around the city in feigned disbelief, as if searching for a nonexistent culprit.

”And whose fault is that?” He said, glancing at you again with a smirk. “If you just took the damn thing off, I wouldn’t complain all the time. Your face is probably the only nice part of you, but I have yet to confirm that.”

“Oh shush, you just want to be able to identify me so the coppers can hunt me down.” You said with a scoff.

All Might crossed his large arms over his built chest and let out a huff.

“Now that is the last thing I want, my dear.” He retorted, his smile faltering for a moment before a mischievous grin took over. “You’re my favorite villain to wrangle; I’d be devastated if you were taken off the streets.”

The bystanders who stayed to watch were getting restless, excited, or annoyed at the two…

All Might, the #1 hero who has been the world’s symbol of peace for years; and you: #1 super villain in the country and top ranked pain in All Might’s ass, has not once made any moves on each other.

Many years of rivalry… and their OTP still haven’t made a move on eachother…

…And it was driving the tabloids and the media batshit insane.

People were dying to know what was going on with the two, and for those who had that gut feeling, it was absolute torture for the hero/villain duo to not just fuck each other already.

Who would’ve thought the hero and villain would end up in a tango of sexual tension that lasted 15 years?

“Just kiss already!”

One guy in the gathered audience yelled loudly, saying what no one else dared to say.

All Might and you immediately both stopped what you were doing and looked over at the random citizen. You both had that “deer in headlights” look, and even with half of your face covered, the surprise on your face was obvious.

All Might actually went a shade of pink in the face.

The hero finally turned to the civilian. “S-Sir! This is a-ah-a battle! That would… be highly inappropriate in such an important moment!” He said firmly, but he looked so flustered.

“You have very interesting fans, All Might...” You muttered, glancing away from the hero.

“They’re your fans too.” All Might bickered.

Before he could retort against you, the same obnoxious idiot spoke up again.

“Maybe you two should just cut the bullshit and make out already!” He said, and several cheers came from the small crowd of onlookers.

All Might’s face went red again and he began to stammer. He was starting to get flustered by the comments. He tried to gather himself quickly, and he turned to the crowd again.

“T-This is not a performance! We’re not some dance for your e-entertainment! You people should take this seriously!” All Might protested, but the comments were getting to him.

More hollering and cat calling stirred from the audience; some were even chanting a ship name for you two.

You just deadpanned… but you were admittedly a bit amused.

“…you wanna just start the fight? Can’t really hear them over us throwing punches.” You suggested.

All Might looked back at you, a slight look of relief on his face.

“Y-Yes, an excellent idea! We’re wasting time here!” He said, flexing his arms and getting back into his battle stance.

The hero was trying desperately to ignore the chants and the cheers and whistles from the audience, which was only making him more and more flustered.

Even after 15 years, All Might was never bored of battling you. He was expecting your attack and was ready for you when you ran at him. He was also relieved that he didn’t have to listen to those insufferable comments for another second.

To add to that, Even though the crowd really, really wanted you two to finally French kiss, they weren’t disappointed when it came to you both fighting. For now, they didn’t try to push you two… for now.

You immediately launched yourself forward, leaving a small crater behind you. At the last moment, he sidestepped your attack and aimed a punch directly at your ribs.

You placed your free hand in front of your ribs and grabbed his fist as he unintentionally swung you around. Once you jumped away from him, you swung the stop sign at his head.

The man quickly blocked the blow with his massive forearm and pushed the sign away.

He wasn’t just going to accept any injury without at least putting up a fight. He was itching to actually land a solid hit on you, which was a challenge due to your strength and agility.

He took the opportunity whilst your stop sign was pushed away to aim a kick at your side.

All Might cringed inwardly when you were sent through a wall. He really was dreading the paperwork… Technically, you destroyed that building, he’s just doing his duty.

…Also, you had a tendency to let him strike on purpose so he could indirectly damage buildings *cough* *cough*-

As you were recovering from that kick and standing at the edge of the hole you left, the people in the audience were whistling and hollering at you two.

All Might stared up at you with a scoff before marching over to the new hole in the wall.

“Damnit, why didn’t you dodge???” He almost whined.

You chuckled as you placed your stop sign on your shoulder and jumped down, landing in front of him with a deep thud.

“C’mon… you know why~” You said cheekily.

Despite the mask covering your lower face, he could tell you were smiling.

He let out an aggravated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his signature smile up through gritted teeth.

“You’re terrible.” He muttered.

In the background, some of the more overbearing and blunt All Might and Highland Havoc fans in the crowd started shouting again.

“Get a room already!”

“The damn sexual tension is more thick than Midnight!”

All Might was blushing furiously, trying to tilt his face away from anyone’s sight.

‘If I hear one more comment from these people…’ he thought to himself, keeping up that friendly All Might front for his fans and for himself.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted by another loud comment.

“Stop being pussies and kiss already!!” A more blunt and shameless fangirl yelled from the crowd.

All Might looked at his nemesis with a strained smile on his face.

You… You just deadpanned.

“…I’m just going to swing this at your durable head, is that okay?” You asked plainly yet genuinely, holding up your stop sign to show off your weapon of choice.

All Might let go of his restraint and rubbed the bridge of his nose again.

“That is absolutely fine.” He replied in annoyance before pulling his hand away to look at you. “In fact, could you please hit me in the face? I’d rather we got serious.”

Just then, another shrill female voice cried, “Oh come on, a kiss would be soooo much better tho-“

All Might gritted his teeth and interrupted. “Please, random citizen, I’m trying to concentrate!!”

Unfortunately, because All Might lost concentration, you took this chance to slam the sign part of the stop sign into his face.

He took the hit like a champ and stumbled back, but it didn’t knock him down, just caused him to fumble with his massive feet until he got his footing again.

He clutched his now throbbing cheek and winced.

’Note to self: keep your focus from now on.’ All Might thought to himself as he righted himself.

He smirked through the pain and glared over at you again.

“…You’re going to pay for that.” He said.

Instead of trembling in fear, you simply blinked in surprise, amazed that you actually nailed him in the face with the metal sheet so easily, before looking at the stop sign.

Your shock quickly turned into amusement after you did a double take.

“Oh my God!” You laughed from amusement and shock as you stared at the imprint of All Might’s face in the stop sign.

All Might’s glare and smirk dropped for a moment, instead looking at her with a bewildered look before following her gaze to the sign.

When he saw the All Might face-shaped imprint, he actually snorted.

The fans in the background were cheering and hollering at the scene unfolding on the battlefield between their favorite number one hero and number one villain.

You continued laughing while leaning onto the pole of the stop sign for support.

It wasn’t even one of those taunting laughs he always heard from you, it was one of those rare, genuine ones.

The hoarse sound of your laughter was so unbelievably beautiful to his ears…

In all the years he’d known you, he rarely ever heard a genuine laugh, a guffaw or an eruption of amused cackling. He always thought you were a snickering or a scoffing type.

…In all honesty, the sound of your laugh was almost more damaging than a stop sign to his face.

“I actually managed to immortalize that face you made into the sign! Definitely going into my stop sign collection!” You laughed out, wiping a tear from your eye.

Your comment luckily broke him out of his smiling stupor.

“H-Hey, I do not make that kind of face during battle…”

“The sign says otherwise.” You said while getting control of your laughter.

All Might’s face was slightly flushed as he internally pouted at you but still kept his signature smile on.

“Well… that’s obviously not my normal look!” He protested before turning to a more playful tone.

“…Though you must admit, that is a lovely face, even imprinted into a sign like that. I can see why you’d want to keep it, Havoc.” He said with a cheeky lilt to his tone, trying to tease you back.

You smirked and brought the dented part down to your face to study it.

“…actually, you’re right… even caught that beautiful jawline of yours.” You said before lifting your free hand up to tug at your mask.

You pulled the mask down, and for the first time in 15 years, you exposed your lower face to All Might and the crowd.

All Might’s eyes went the size of saucers.

He was finally getting to see your face. He had been yearning to know what you looked like beneath that hideous mask of yours for years.

A little part of him had hoped you would unveil yourself to him in battle for years, yet here you were actually doing it, Freezing the hero from disbelief and awe.

The audience had gone dead silent at the sight of your revealed face, and more than one fan was filming the historic moment.

… and It was about to get more historical… cuz you lifted the All Might face dent and gave it a little kiss before lifting the mask back over your lower face.

It was almost like a scene from a film, except it wasn’t scripted at all.

All Might’s jaw had dropped to the floor the moment you kissed the imprint, but the realization of what had just happened didn’t sink in until your mask was over your face again.

Everyone in the audience was stunned, and for a moment, no one uttered a breath. The silence was so loud, you could hear a pen hit the ground.

Then the crowd roared.

The collective roar and screams of the audience were deafening, and they rang in the ears of both the hero and the villain.

All Might was still staring at you in disbelief, a bright red blush spreading over his face.

As was expected of people who were witnessing such a sight, the fans had their phones out and were taking pictures at record speed. One or two people were actually full on crying with tears of joy.

You stared back at All Might with an amused and mischievous look in your eye as the crowd and potentially the whole world were collectively losing their mind.

All Might tried desperately to find words to say, but he was so stunned that he couldn’t even process his thoughts.

The hero’s brain had short circuited and his jaw was hanging open. All he could do was gape at you while the people in the background were gushing and crying and screaming about a number one ship in history being finally confirmed.

But then, he quickly realized that he was just standing there like a fish out of water, and there are cameras surrounding both of them, filming the whole scene.

He quickly schooled his features and placed his hands on his hips and lifted his head.

“O-OKAY, LET’S BE CALM ABOUT THIS!” he bellowed, but the fans were still making sounds like they just won the lottery.

At this, he groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. This was the worst. The fans are going to make this moment in history live on forever.

He finally removed his hand from his face and shot you a look.

“You did that on purpose….” he muttered to you.

“Oh did I?” You asked innocently while holding a dark gloved hand up to your masked face and kicking a foot up behind you.

All Might squinted his eyes at you in annoyance.

“Don’t give me that, you knew exactly what you were doing…” He grumbled.

The audience was still going berserk, cameras were flashing from all sides. The former hero was just so over it at this point.

You snickered like a little vixen while still holding your hand to your masked face. He was slowly getting more and more irritated at how amused you looked.

“…Why did you even do that!?” He demanded with a shaky tone.

The crowd was still hooting and whistling in the background, but All Might didn’t care, his focus was completely on you.

You simply shrugged.

“Sorry, my dear~” you purred out, using the pet name he used for you using your strength-based quirk to jump off to somewhere else, leaving All Might to deal with the damaged building and the crowd of shocked and excited bystanders… and a news helicopter.

All Might was so too caught off guard by his own pet-name being used against him that he forgot to give chase to you.

He eventually came to his senses and whipped around to search for you in the sky, but you were long gone by now.

Groaning and pinching his nose for the 5th… 6th time? 10th? The hero turned back to the aftermath of the confrontation and was immediately bombarded by the fans who were clambering around him.

That night…

Yagi Toshinori *hated* paperwork.

At this point, he was used to doing excessive amounts of paperwork, so he was able to get through it all rather quickly.

But today’s paperwork involved the entire incident that had occurred between you and him. His hands were cramping up from signing forms and writing down details of your little escapade.

He was just scribbling away as the TV played in the background, playing today’s news. And of course, the entire day’s events featured heavily on tonight’s broadcast.

Yagi lifted his head to take a break and watch the replay of the confrontation on the newscast. Once again, he was met with seeing himself standing on the battlefield with his jaw on the floor as cameras captured your little… display.

Immediately, he groaned and put his head down on the desk with a thump, mumbling into the wood.

“I actually can’t believe it, she really just made it known to everyone!” The news reporter said a little too excitedly for someone who’s supposed to be unbiased.

The news reporter had obviously been waiting for this moment her whole career. She was acting like a fangirl, which in a way, was very realistic of her since many people would react the exact same way.

“Who would’ve ever thought that the number one hero or number one villain would actually have some kind of affection for each other? Could it even be love?”

Toshinori was just sitting there, face on the desk, listening to the broadcast as his now deflated, fluffy hair draped over his desk.

The news reporters continued to talk about what had happened, but something said by the man reporter caught his attention.

”It’s been 15 years, today marking the 15th anniversary of All Might’s and Highland Havoc’s rivalry… it’s about damn time.” The older news reporter, a 50 year old man, said.

“Daikaku, you shouldn’t swear, we’re on live tv.” The younger news reporter said with a hint of worry.

But All Might didn’t focus on that…

15 years. 15 years of you being his nemesis…

He hadn’t even realized that it had already been that long. And he hadn’t realized that he had feelings for you for 90% of that time… that was… a really long time.

The news broadcaster interrupted the former heroes thoughts when the subject was changed to an All Might fan.

“Let’s listen now to what the fans have to say about the incident that unfolded in today’s fight.”

All Might groaned when he heard that. He just knew the first fan they were going to show was going to be an overly obsessed and delusional fan. And of course, that is exactly what he got.

“I CALLED IT! I KNEW the two of them have been dating in secret for YEARS!!” The first fan cried out through one of the speakers of the call, clearly a child.

All Might was so over it. He wanted to bang his head on the desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes. That fan at the end is 100% Midoriya.

This takes place 3 years before All Might meets Midoriya, which means he’s 11 and All Might is 46.

Let me know how well I did and if you’d like more 👍👍👍👍

…or don’t. I’m planning on making a lil series anyways, like it or not.

[vorfreudevortex]

redline | introductions

an ino takuma x f!reader fic // masterlist

✰ reader ✰

you could barely remember when your parents split, but you could recall your older brother suguru bawling his little eyes out when the lengthy custody battle resulted in him staying in tokyo with your father while you were to be shipped off to america with your mother. but throughout the years, you two stayed close. during breaks and holidays, suguru would come stay with you and your mother in america, and you in tokyo with him and your father. 

you always understood why your parents split. he was a quiet man, and often covered in grease, but he was kind to everyone and always happy when you visited. and, you were always happy to help him in the busy mechanic shop he lived above. meanwhile, it seemed your sophisticated and stoic mother could only show kindness to you and the long hours she spent at work.

suguru and his best friend satoru had taught you how to drive one summer in tokyo. you could barely contain your excitement, until you ruined the clutch in your dad’s car and earned you the double-sided nickname, “clutch”. that same summer, the two had brought you to a meetup in an underground parking garage, where glittering growls of car engines grabbed your heart and hadn’t let go since. 

college life has been busy and it’s been 2 years since you could visit your family. so when you finally got a free summer to return to japan, you demanded your mom to ship your new car with you. you didn’t tell her you might not come back if you decided to finish your college years in japan. luckily, she relented after weeks of pleading, and suguru and satoru were more than happy to pick you up from the airport in your shelby gt500 that had been shipped in just a few days prior.

your theme song? slay! - eternxlkz

✰ suguru geto ✰

suguru geto has always been protective over his little sister. how could he not, when his first best friend and only sibling lives on the other side of the world? and he just knows those nasty fraternity boys at your american college must go feral over a sweet girl like you… with a nicer car than anyone on campus, faster than anyone there, and too kind for your own good. he’s already heard all about the races you’ve won over lengthy facetime calls in the early mornings and late nights, when time zones aligned.

him and his best friend satoru are known as some of the fastest street racers in tokyo, and the leaders of the phantoms. their favorite pastime of creeping up on drifters in the mountains with their headlights off, only to beat them in the complete dark, earned the group its ominous name. at first, the phantoms were only known by their cars, but the small group has grown quite a name for itself among female fans since they first showed their faces.

it’s only fitting that the leader of the phantoms drives a honda nsx.

his favorite song to listen to while racing is 9mm - memphis cult

✰ satoru gojo ✰

the mouthy satoru gojo has been friends with suguru for so long, he’s practically a part of the geto family. if suguru isn’t answering his phone, he’s next in line for your chaotic facetime calls. having no other siblings himself, he thinks of you as his own.

he spends a lot of time in the shop with your father, tinkering and tuning cars, but mostly sitting there watching your father and nanami do it while he plays on his phone. he says he’s “good with his hands”. nanami usually hits him in the chest after a line like that.

satoru's baby is his nissan 180sx type x.

his favorite song to blast is phonky trap - suave lee

✰ kento nanami ✰

the tuner and only sane member of the phantoms. he became close with suguru and satoru when your father hired him as a young teenager to help out in his shop. that’s also where he learned to be a modern master of modifications (and safety). 

you’re not as close with kento, but he’s always been very kind to you. kento usually keeps to himself unless he’s reprimanding suguru and satoru for wrecking a transmission or burning through brakes too fast. he used to race himself, and was quite good at it, but has since decided to keep his nose under the hood of a car rather than behind the wheel after getting into a bad accident.

kento's retired racer is a nissan s13.

he claims doesn’t have a favorite racing song, but in the club - mishashi sensei always happens to be in his top 5.

✰ shoko ieiri ✰

you and shoko don’t know each other too well, but you think she’s so cool and she thinks you’re adorable. shoko knows the rest of the boys from school. she doesn’t drive, but likes to attend races and meetups. she’s usually the one to help supply the phantoms with race information, gossip, and cigarettes. she’s also not allowed more than 10 feet in the geto's shop after she almost blew the place up when trying to light a cigarette.

she loves when suguru and satoru play pink like suki - pebbles&tamtam  for her.

✰ takuma ino ✰

as the leader of the shadows, takuma often feels overwhelmed. he didn’t really mean to start the newest, most threatening team of racers in tokyo. he just liked cars and made friends with a few random guys who did as well. it’s not his fault that they’re all naturally gifted with intuition and reflexes like you can’t imagine. the group seemed to jump out of the shadows and into the streetlights, which earned them the name.

suguru geto in particular did not like the thought of takuma. and by proximity, none of the phantoms did. no one was sure whether it was takuma's good looks, expensive car, or race rankings that posed a threat to suguru and his team the most, but it made for a spicy rivalry and thrilling race nights. somehow, the rest of the tokyo car scene gained a questionable perspective on the shadows that skewed their reputation. takuma just kind of plays along with his given “edgy” persona.

in reality, he’s extremely kind. kind enough to even teach megumi and choso how to drift and modify cars. he first started loving the car scene when he stumbled upon a meetup after sneaking out one night, and his passion was further solidified when his father gifted him a manual when he got his drivers license. in his free time, he’s usually found at the skate park or in his mom’s sushi restaurant.

ino's pride and joy is his nissan skyline gtr.

his go-to playlist almost always starts with killka - ghostface playa

✰ megumi fushiguro ✰

he’s the epitome of “shut up and drive”. you won’t hear much more than a grumble from his mouth, but you’ll know what he meant to say when he’s flying past the finish line at 120 mph, no less than 80 feet in front of you too. he’s an aggressive racer, which he learned from his dad, who was one of tokyo's fastest before his son was born and his wife made him quit.

the shadows’ second best drives a skyline r34 gtt.

an aggressive racer loves an aggressive song to race to… shut the fuck up - ghostface playa

✰ choso kamo ✰

choso is the shadow’s newest member after moving to the area and his cousin, noritoshi, decided he’d rather focus on school more than dying. choso is more of a motorcycle guy, but drives more often since the tokyo car scene is so exciting. he’s a great racer and is really quite nice once you get past his intimidating face tattoos. his younger cousin yuji is almost always in his passenger seat, if he’s not already in megumi's.

choso loves cruising in his nissan 180sx 4k.

he can’t get enough of 6ixspeed - 7oh2

✰ aoi todo ✰

aoi is the biggest himbo you’ll probably ever meet, but is secretly stacking a world of car knowledge in his pea-sized brain. he can race, but prefers flexing his muscles and head under the hood of a car. as the tuner for the shadows, he likes to make his groups’ cars as flashy as they are fast. he most likely never has a shirt on unless he’s at a meet and he has to.

his favorite song to blast is obviously kitty phonk - soviss

✰ yuji itadori ✰

he doesn’t race, but hangs around with the shadows anyways. he’s more into baseball, he’s got a scholarship for it at a nearby university, but is always at meets and races when he doesn’t have a game. he’s choso's cousin and megumi's best friend, and is always in one of their passenger seats bothering them. the shadows tried to teach him how to race, but after wrecking one of toji's cars into a tree and earning a scar on his face, he prefers only using his feet to run bases rather than stomping gas pedals.

he likes to pretend he’s in a tiktok edit and constantly asks choso and megumi to play masquerade - siouxxie sixxsta 

✰ toji fushiguro ✰

toji knows your dad from way back, when they used to race each other in friendly competitions on the streets and mountains around tokyo. they became good friends over the years, and often laugh over what their kids are up to over some whiskey in one of their shops. he earned a scar on his lip after taking a turn too fast back in the day, which your dad had thankfully stopped and pulled him out of before the engine caught on fire.

toji's wife forced him to stop racing when megumi was born, but ended up in a years-long phase of drinking and smoking when she left them a few years later. that’s how he ended up with the 10-car garage and shop he has now- a shitfaced phone call during a 10 day bender after winning a million yen in a craps tournament at a nearby casino. he’s since calmed down. if he’s not down in his shop giving tips to the boys, he’s probably listening to megumi's older sister, tsumiki, complain on the phone about her college classes.

he has no idea what the hell those kids are listening to, but can’t help but bop his head along to rave - dark ダーク

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

tag list // @stillnotherapy @rieamena

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

[apples-stables]

FUN RANDOM HORSE BREED TIME

Super small lil horse breed known as the Banker Horse is a semi-feral/feral horse breed that lives on the barrier islands off the coast of North Carolina!

They're not considered to be indigenous but are protected and managed by the National Park Service and currently the estimated population of these horses is 400.

They share ancestry with other Colonial Spanish horse breeds, and genetic markers indicate the share a common ancestory with both the Paso Fino and the Pryor Mountain Mustang.

While there isn't a specific source of these horses, the biggest theories is that they swam to shore when ships wrecked in the nearby shoals, in a region known as the "Graveyard of the Atlantic" due to how many ships its claimed.

The Foundation for Shackleford Horses has set up a studbook for establishing the Banker horse as its own horse breed. It is registered as a critically endangered breed with the American Livestock Breeds Conversancy.

If you wanna help with the conservation of these cool guys, feel free to check out the link below!

[cumikering]

Hesh x reader

3.8k | fluff, fix it, doggos After the war, Hesh started over, one walk with Riley at a time

Gabriel Rorke died with the sinking train that July afternoon. The kinetic rods raining over the horizon marked the start of a new world.

Hesh’s chest pounded as medic surrounded him. Each inch of his body sore as agony radiated from his abdomen in pangs, the Chilean sand grated against his skin. But with Logan next to him, even that it was just the two of them now, he knew things could be alright again.

He managed a smile through the blinding pain as his eyes fluttered.

At least he could rest now. Finally. After 10 years with the weight on his shoulders.

Sometimes Hesh stared out his apartment window, overlooking the neighbourhood park. Not often, but on nights when it was too silent, when his bed was too big and too cold… When his ribs felt like they were unfurling for his pleading heart to flee, he let his mind wander back to that fateful day.

The plunge of the derailed train into the ocean should have killed him - three of them. At the very least, the .44 Magnum bullet shot point blank was supposed to when it hit his armour and broke his ribs from the impact.

He was supposed to be dead, like Rorke was. He, too, should have been extracted by recon from the wreck and shipped back to San Diego in a body bag.

But he didn’t, and the mighty sun still rose in the East, and set in the West.

With the end of the war, the country crawled back to its feet. Back to normal. The real normal, pre-Federation. Nothing was going to erase history, but the city stood taller and prouder each day.

It still felt like a dream that a year ago, California wasn’t more than a wasteland. That the streets and landmarks he knew as a child were nothing but rubble and dust in endless craters.

Now, there were parks, restaurants and communities. Things he couldn’t imagine ever seeing again in his lifetime, let alone in such a short time. The country was healing, and so were the hearts of its citizens.

But that night was one of those nights again. He didn’t worry though - there was nothing his comfort food couldn’t remedy.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said to Riley, curled at the foot of his bed, before heading to the food truck lot.

Hesh brisk-walked through the park back to his apartment, warm and perfectly crisp loaded hashbrowns with lemonade from his favourite food truck in hand.

When he spotted a woman with her dog headed towards him, he slowed. It was a massive rottweiler, panting happily as he strolled next to you, leash slack.

He smiled at the sight. What could he say? He loved dogs, especially well-trained ones.

As you got closer, the dog’s brown eyes zeroed in on him - typical for dogs to be alert of their surroundings. What he didn’t expect as they passed each other though, was for the canine to charge at him, smacking the bag and cup out of his hand with his snout.

You gasped. Yanking the beast’s leash, keeping it away from the mess of his drink, now pathetically splattered on the ground.

“I am so sorry!” Your eyes cut to him, before squatting to salvage the bag and handing it to him.

He inspected his meal, thankfully still contained in the box albeit jumbled up from the tumble.

You picked up the empty cup and looked over at your dog. “Colin! Look what you’ve done!” you scolded.

The culprit immediately stopped pulling and sat next to you, pushing his forehead against your thigh as he let out a whimper.

“No, don’t apologise to me.”

The dog trotted over in silence and did the same to Hesh. As confused as he was, he chuckled. He’d never met a dog like that.

“Did you get that from one of the food trucks? Please let me buy you a new one.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. It was an accident.”

“No, no. Please, we’re heading there too. Or if you don’t have the time, at least let me pay for the meal.”

He considered. Lemonade was an important part of his meal.

“I’m terribly sorry,” you said again, wincing. “He doesn’t usually do that.”

“It’s fine, really. My dog goes insane too whenever I get this,” he reassured, feeling bad about how remorseful you were. “I don’t know what kind of magical bacon they put in here.”

You smiled, turning to him. “You have a dog? What kind?”

“German Shepherd. His name’s Riley.”

“How cute! Do you take him here too?”

“Sometimes.” Almost never. With Riley getting enough exercise on base, he never had to take him on longer walks.

“I think I’d have remembered him if you do. I love German Shepherds.”

“You come here a lot then?”

You nodded. “I live nearby.”

You insisted on replacing his entire meal, and decided on one for yourself as you’d never tried the place before. As you ordered, Colin slipped between your legs, watching your six. When you moved to the side to wait for the order, your pet stayed vigilant as you mindlessly rubbed his head.

“He’s incredibly trained,” Hesh admired. “Can I pet-”

He didn’t even move an inch, but Colin looked up and growled at him.

You chuckled. “He needs time to warm up to strangers, hold on. Colin, let him pet you.”

The dog grumbled like a petulant child before sitting down with a huff, frozen, staring up at Hesh. It was concerning, its emptiness. If he had blue eyes, it would have been as unsettling as Keegan’s.

“Are you sure he’s not going to bite my hand off?” he asked, partly joking. “I don’t speak dog, but I’m pretty sure he just dissed me.”

You laughed. “He won’t, I promise. He’s the sweetest, see?” You scratched under his jaw, making him pant, tail swaying. When you retracted your hand, he slipped back to his composed stature and hard gaze.

He paused, considering how much he liked his hand. “You know what, maybe next time.”

You smiled. “No hard feelings.”

When your orders were up, you turned to Colin as you headed back thorough the park. “You’ll get a little piece later if you don’t smack it out of my hand, boy.”

“I was going to ask if you trained him,” Hesh said, this time holding onto his meal more securely.

“I did. My cousin is a trainer, and taught me how to.”

“I think you did a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, but it’s nothing special. I only taught him the basics, and.. Well, how to look mean when he needs to.” You chuckled. “He never bites, just snarls and barks at strangers if they’re too close. Enough to get people to back off. But he’s very social with other dogs.”

“Well, my point stands.”

“What about you, did you train Riley yourself?”

“No. He’s a military dog, so I was only responsible for a small part of it,” he said, before adding, “But I did teach him how to walk on his front legs, if that counts.”

You laughed. “I’d love to meet him sometime. Never met a K9 before, especially not one which does that.”

He beamed, liking the sound of your laughter. Crisp yet soft, genuine. He let his eyes linger on your side profile. You were more than pretty with your kind eyes and easy curl of your soft lips.

When you approached one of the park gates, you slowed to a stop.

“My place is this way.”

“Mine’s is still straight ahead,” he said, stuffing his hand in his pocket. “I’m He- David. David Walker. By the way.”

“Sorry again for the trouble, David. Enjoy dinner!”

“Yeah. Okay. See you around.”

After you turned, he made his way home with a small smile that kept him company.

The end of the war was a very welcomed change, but having only known destruction and losses his entire adult life, Hesh had taken some time getting used to the past year.

He was still a Lieutenant in the Army, still a part of Ghosts. While most of his teammates were older than him, they didn’t seem to find trouble adjusting back to life. Evidently, they had waited forever to carry on with their lives. Some of them wasted no time getting back into dating, few had even developed steady relationships.

Meanwhile, the older Walker brother only woke, went to work, took care of Riley before ending the day. Rinse and repeat. It was the only thing he knew. He had nothing to ‘get back to’. He hadn’t even used his government name for so long, he almost introduced himself as Hesh because no one called him David.

So it wasn’t weird that he wanted more at the ripe age of 29, right? Nor was it weird to walk Riley after work, surely?

For a week straight, he did, but never saw you again. It was then it occurred to him the late the hour you went the other day probably wasn’t your regular schedule.

He needed excitement, something to break up his mind-numbing routine. The thought of seeing you again, even that he didn’t know when it’d be, made him want to squeal and shake Riley by his shoulders. So he tried going out earlier and earlier each time, in hopes of encountering you again.

“Logan, I think I might like someone,” Hesh started in the rec room after another week without seeing you.

He had a better bet asking the veterans, like Merrick or Keegan, but he found it too embarrassing with the obvious disparity in experience. His brother wouldn’t make fun of him, right?

The younger Walker gasped and paused his coffee stirring. “Who’s the unfortunate woman?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. He shouldn’t have asked the child. “We’ve only met once, at the park. I’m hoping to see her again soon, but yeah, what’s the best way to ask someone out?”

He nodded, shooting a knowing look at his brother. “You find a common interest and ask if she wants to do it with you,” he replied simply, continuing his stirring with a shrug.

Hesh lit up. That was a brilliant advice, and in hindsight, terribly obvious. Undoubtedly, as a fellow dog lover, you’d appreciate dog parks or a hike.

He didn’t have to break his head over courting after all.

It took another week before Hesh finally met you again.

He didn’t expect to, judging by the hour. It was the first time he had enough energy whatsoever after consecutive days of overtime, but it was one of those nights again.

He paused when he saw you from afar. Colin’s imposing figure was unmistakeable. He wished he’d worn something nicer than his worn beanie and hoodie he’d carelessly pulled on. He had no excuse for his overgrown facial hair either.

You squinted and he couldn’t help the lopsided grin that cracked his face as he gave you a small wave. You lit up in recognition and quickened your pace towards him.

“David! Hi.”

“Hi,” he muttered, biting his lip as his heart tingled. Next to him, Riley panted as he observed the company.

You smiled down at the him. “And you must be Riley.”

He boofed, wagging his tail.

“You can pet him,” Hesh encouraged, watching how Colin circled the K9 before his tail swayed in interest.

“Hi, Riley.” You held your hand out for him to sniff before reaching to rub the side of his neck. “This is Colin.”

Colin panted, tapping his front feet.

“Are you getting dinner too?” Hesh asked when you straightened up.

“No, we’re heading home actually. I ate before the walk, which is why we came out a little late.”

“Oh, don’t let me keep you then.”

“That’s okay.” Your gaze slipped down to the doggos, tails wagging as they smelled each other. “Look how happy they are. I think we can do another lap.”

He was not going to say no to that.

“You want me to hold him?”

“Sure.” You pat Colin’s head. “David is going to hold your leash, okay?”

When you handed him the leash, your pet stared up at him for a second before continuing the stroll. At least he didn’t look like he was trying to bite Hesh’s hand off. In fact, he brushed against Hesh’s leg a few times after. He was oddly delighted by the approval.

He asked you about what you did and what you liked to do in your free time, eager to know more about the woman his mind had been wandering off to for weeks. He asked follow-up questions to keep you talking, enjoying the way you lit up when talking about your interests, the way joy radiated out of you. It was admiration, but there was something else under that tasted different on his tongue.

Nearing the gate to yours, he finally braved himself to ask, “Do you like chicken nuggets?”

You laughed. “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

“You want to get some with me sometime?” With the heat creeping up his neck, he gawked at your blooming smile a beat too long. “We can go to a dog park afterwards.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’d love that.”

In his head, he pumped his fists.

You exchanged numbers before you headed home. This time, he allowed himself to look at you walking away for a moment before turning back with a grin and a content sigh, his loaded hashbrown craving long forgotten.

The aforementioned grin carried over into the next morning. There was a spring to Hesh’s step as he strolled into the office.

“That’s suspect,” Logan concluded, eyes narrowing at his brother as they passed each other in the hall.

“I have a date on Saturday,” he almost squeaked.

He smacked his back. “Hey, look at that. My advice worked, huh?”

“Yeah. I asked if she wanted to get nuggies with me.”

The proud smile faltered as he stared, waiting for him to say he was joking, but there was nothing. He shook his head, walking away. “I can’t believe she said yes. Lord, give her strength.”

Hesh pulled up in front of your building to you already waiting. It was impossible to not smile back at the sight of you waving at him so warmly.

Colin boofed at Riley in the lined backseat, the window partly rolled down, earning a bark in reply. After Hesh helped to secure your pup next to his K9, he licked Hesh’s hand as if to thank him. He smiled, scratching the Rottweiler’s neck.

“Thank you for picking us up,” you said, strapping yourself in.

You were dressed for comfort in a loose shirt and denim shorts. Why did you look so good in such a simple outfit? Meanwhile, Hesh had shaved and donned a coach jacket over his white t-shirt and light-washed jeans. Layers make you look like you have your shit together, as Logan had expertly advised the day before.

He tried to not stare. “Was my pleasure.”

You got nuggies and brought them to the park across. He laid out a blanket under a tree and unpacked the meal.

You pulled out a Tupperware and a thermos flask. “I always make peanut butter sandwiches when we go to a dog park. I made extra, in case you and Riley want some. And lemonade for you.”

“I love peanut butter, and lemonade.” He smiled. “But you already knew that.”

“And for the dogs.” You unpacked a smaller bag, revealing a container of chicken cubes, boiled eggs, cucumber, carrot and apple sticks, along with a few toys.

“That’s very sweet, really. Thank you.”

You had lunch as you chatted while the leashed doggos enjoyed their snacks and busied themselves with the toys after. He didn’t want to gawk, but the sun made you glow, bringing out the pretty colours of your kind eyes. The breeze caressed your hair, as if inviting him for a touch too. You tucked a strand away from your face before turning to him. He blinked before his gaze slid to the ground.

Hesh helped tidy up the wrappings, setting them aside. He sipped the last of his lemonade as you lay on your side, your hand propping yourself up to face him.

Riley crawled in front of you before flipping over onto his back, leaving Colin to chew on his toy at the foot of the blanket. You scratched his belly.

“I heard people in the military have interesting nicknames. Do you have one too?”

He chuckled, laying to face you too. “Hesh. H-E-S-H.”

“Oh, where did that come from?”

“Will you promise not to laugh?”

“How can I not laugh now when you say that!”

That grin of yours was contagious.

“I was obsessed with hashbrown as a kid, so I gave myself that nickname. Before you say anything,” he added quickly. “Yes, it’s lame, but as a teenager I thought I was slick when I spelt it with an E. And it just carried over.”

“No, I don’t think it’s lame. With how much I loved ketchup, it should have been my nickname too.” You chuckled. “How long have you served?”

“I enlisted right when I turned 18, a few months after ODIN…” He did the math. “So 11 years now.”

“You always wanted to be a soldier then?”

He paused. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” His gaze wondered past you as he exhaled. “I wanted to do something with my hands, wanted to be a mechanic. But dad was a career soldier, so it’s no surprise we went down this road, my younger brother and I.” His green eyes went back to you. “I… Wanted to make him proud.”

There was a beat before you sat up. “I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“It’s okay,” he gestured for you to lay back down.

Your eyes searched his. There was understanding in them that made him feel bare, but the tenderness in them made him want to keep it that way.

“I struggled a lot at first.” He smiled to himself, averting his gaze. “It was hell. My body never went through anything close to the training we had. But I couldn’t give up, not when something so awful was happening out there. And I’m glad I didn’t. We got to serve with him - with dad. We keep him in our hearts this way.”

At the word, Riley flipped over and turned to Hesh with a whimper, his eyes pleading.

“I know, buddy. I miss him too.” He scratched behind his fluffy ear, exhaling. “He never said it, but I hope he’s proud of m-“ He shook his head, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling…”

“You can tell me if you want to.” You placed a reassuring hand on his forearm.

Before his eyes could flick down at the touch, you’d retracted your hand to stroke the K9’s side.

He lingered for a moment before reaching over and curling his hand over yours, stopping your movement. “It’s just… Sometimes, I feel like I’m walking someone else’s path. That this isn’t supposed to be my story, not where I end up.”

You squeezed your hand over the tips of his fingers. “I think you have plenty of time to figure it out. It’s never too late to start over, as long as you have the courage to fail. And from what I see, with that kind of resilience, you have a lot of it.”

He let out a shaky breath. He wanted to give you a hug. No, that was a lie. He wanted to hug you, wanted to feel your arms around him. If you held him long enough, he wouldn’t fall apart, would he?

“Thank you,” he whispered instead.

But your hand remained in his, warm and comforting. It was close enough.

You moved to the off-leash area to play fetch and tug of war with the doggos. A small smile played on his lips the entire time your pretty fingers laced between his. Sometimes you’d caress his forearm, squeezing it when he made you laugh. He took his jacket off, wanting to feel your touch on his skin.

When the sun started to dip, you and two very happy but tired good bois headed back to his SUV, your fingers curling over the crook of Hesh’s elbow. As he secured them in the backseat, you asked if it was alright to go get some coffee.

“Of course,” he said, glad the day didn’t have to end yet.

“We’ll get pupcups for them too.”

“Pupcups?”

The barista at the drive-thru handed him two small paper cups of whipped cream, the dogs’ names scribbled on them.

“I never knew this was a thing,” he chuckled, driving off to park after thanking the staff.

“Colin loves it.” You looked over your shoulder at your pet who was mega wiggling his butt in the backseat.

He put his car in park and watched as you held the cup out to the German Shepherd.

“Wait, Colin. This isn’t yours,” you said.

Riley leaned in, sniffing its contents before sampling it. His tail sped up as he pushed his nose into the cup, licking every corner.

Next to him, Colin whimpered, his feet padded on the seat as he licked his lips in anticipation. When it was his turn, he dove right into the cup, lapping at the treat with so much excitement sending blobs of it onto your hair.

“Slow down, boy!” You giggled.

Too late. He had wiped the cup squeaky clean.

“If I don’t look, he might just eat the cup,” you joked, facing forwards and setting the cups aside.

“You have some…” Hesh let out a small laugh as he pointed at his hair, his heart fluttering.

You flipped down the visor, inspecting yourself in the mirror. You shook your head with an amused smile and reached for the tissue, but he beat you to it and helped wipe away the stray cream.

It was then he realised his hand was shaking and that his cheeks were on fire. He turned away, eyes on his fists on his thighs.

When you cupped his face, his eyes widened at you. You leaned in over the console, planting a quick kiss on his right cheek before casting your gaze down and fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies stirred in his belly as he reached for your hand. You returned his smile with one of yours that always made him melt. With the pink Californian sunset behind you, you were breathtaking.

Hesh let out a content sigh.

Maybe you were right. It was never too late to start over.

Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @keegansshark @milkteaarttime @blacktacmopsi yo hesh hivemind wassup

[hubristicassholefight]

Hubristic Assholes Tourney round 1 part 4a

Eustass Kidd (One Piece) vs Magolor (Kirby Series)

Propaganda below cut (Beware spoilers)

Eustass

Challenged one of the strongest pirates in the world, got wrecked and lost an arm, only to challenge the same overpowered guy again two years later and get absolutely consequence'd. Between those two occurences he has been nothing but a rude and violent menace; purebred stupid asshole, absolute unit of a motherfucker who physically cannot quit fucking around and finding out

Magolor

He used Kirby and his friends to steal the Master Crown, an object of limitless power, to rule the universe, but it only ended up possessing him and morphing him beyond recognition; he is a sopping wet cat that after betraying kirby and friends and making his way out of actual hell, made an amusement park for kirby to apologize for his misdeeds

Tries to fight a dragon that's guarding an ancient legendary crown that grants ultimate power (the Master Crown), gets his ship shot down by it. Crash lands where Kirby finds him and he lies to to Kirby to get him to fix his ship, and lies about the dragon stealing the crown from *him* to get Kirby to defeat it on his behalf. He takes the crown for himself and wears it to transform into a more powerful form and attempt world domination, but the crown contains dangerous dark matter, which starts to take control over him during his boss fight with Kirby (he can be heard yelling for kirby to help him in the bg of one of the boss fight tracks). When Kirby defeats him he gets sent to Another Dimension, loses almost all of his powers/health (both those granted by the crown and the powers he had before) and his clothes turn into rags. (also his cool senient boat who used to fight Kirby with also abandons him). The epilogue of RTDLDX is him having to fight his way through the (previously weak, now formidable) enemies of the dimension to slowly regain his powers/defeat the crown that previously controlled him to escape into the Kirby Clash dimension; His epilogue outfit is the most sad wet cat character design I've ever seen. Also post-redemption he still references his villain monologue/desire for world-domination a few times as a bit which is fun

[in1-nutshell]

Nutshell Summary In Silver Aid (TFA Elita's Twin) and Megatron's…

In their valentine's date, what if the team prime was at their spot, and was at hiding from Silver Aid and Megatron's? what would be their reactions?

And in their confession, Optimus is the first bot who knows about it, does he tell this to the Autobots (team prime, elite guards, and Elita) and Sari? what would be their reactions?

Fun fact: Originally when writing the Valentine date, I had Optimus hiding around spying on the two's date and eventually confronted Megatron on his feelings for Silver Aid. But eventually scraped the idea for the current one.

Now, in a nutshell...

In the scenario where Team Prime does find out about Silver and Megatron in the park, they were responding to a call about Cons wrecking the park.

The team instead finds Silver having the time of her life and the leader of the Decepticon's with the biggest lovesick optics they had ever seen.

Optimus REALLY doesn't like this and wants to deck Megs in the face. But his team talks some sense into him to at least watch before doing anything rash.

Thus begins the Silver/Megs shipping team from Sari, Bee, and Bulkhead. Their cover nearly blown when Sari nearly screamed when Silver was oblivious to Megatron's poetic flirting.

Now in the confession, Optimus doesn't tell the others immediately.

It isn't his relationship to talk about and he doesn't know if they do want the others to know. Especially to bots extremely loyal to the Elite Guard and hated organic life forms.

BUT...

If Silver does give the implication/permission that it is okay to tell the others about it, he will tell as soon as he sees them.

I can imagine most of the reactions being between happiness, surprise, to near spark attack.

[official-magnus-institute]

hey Jon can we have that book recommendation I’m curious

STATEMENT OF DONNA RHETTE, REGARDING 'THIS FUCKING BOOK'- VERBATIM FROM TEXT. STATEMENT TAKEN FROM REVIEW LEFT ON www.lionstreetbooks.com/i-spy-housewarming/K-6482749278.html

(tw: stalking, scopophobia, loss of child, arson)

STATEMENT BEGINS.

@_Donnarhette

★☆☆☆☆

do not purchase this book do not buy anything off this website theyre stealing your information. this website is unreliable and customer service does not respond they do not pick up their phones.

i bought this book for my 5 year old daughter. she kept waking me up in the middle of the night for weeks beforehand. it was normal, kids do that, kids are scared of monsters. but i would always read her i spy. we have every other edition, down to the miniature versions and the seasonal ones. eventually, she learned where everything was, though, and the books got boring, so i looked up 'i spy books' for the 80th time this month. it brought me here, and i purchased the book for shipping.

the very next day it was brought here, and i was astonished at first, but once i saw the condition of how it was packed, i figured why it came so fast. it was a wreck, the corners all beat, a handful of packing peanuts and some thin paper tossed cattywompus inside. the shippers mustve played hacky-sack with it before tossing it up to the house

even so, my girl was excited. she had completely forgotten about the supposed monsters, she just wanted the book. it's a unique edition for sure, instead of looking for small items on a small scale, it just looks like pictures of parks or buildings, along with riddles like 'i spy a tricycle, i spy ten cards, i spy a crack in concrete that's hard'. it was a change of pace for me, even- a challenge. but my daughter was doing phenomenally.

the photographer must be local to my area, because i recognized the photos soon. hell, i think i saw the back of my head in the bank one. but it got strange when it came to a picture of a street.

my street of my home.

now im thinking, 'maybe it's personalized, it's google maps, and they look up the address for the buyer before they send it out?' but that was... impossible. after i ordered the book it came the very next day, there was no way theyd be able to just cram this page in last second. not only that, but there was the riddle.

i spy a sewer grate, a baseball, a torch,

i spy a busted-up box on the porch.

i shut the book on that page and told my daughter to go to bed. there was fuss, but something was wrong. i tuck her in and she complains again about monsters in the window. all through the night, theres monsters in the window, and i snap at her when she wakes me up the 3rd time.

at that point she was crying, and i was.. yelling. i dont feel good about it, god, especially not now, but i was tired and scared. thats no excuse. so was she.

after telling her it would be ok, she slept in my bed with me. i held her tight the whole night through, and i would do my research in the morning, i assured myself.

but i didnt het a chance. by sunrise she was gone. not in her bed, in her pillow fort, not in the kitchen, the den, nowhere. i phone the police, and i end up running down the street screaming her name.

as i get back home, though, i felt compelled to that damn book. god, why did i go back to that damn book??

it was a picture of us through the window.

'i spy ten earrings, 2 rings, and a comb

i spy a mom and daughter at home.'

it was like my tears froze from shock. i steeled myself and flipped to the next page.

'i spy a woman, big tears and brown curls

i spy a book, but i see no girl.'

as i said, the police are investigating this store. burn in hell you freak. ill see you there.

Well. It took some digging, but there's your recommendation. We were able to get I Spy: Housewarming from the crime scene - or, more so, the wreckange. Donna was griefstruck, this adding onto the loss of her husband shortly before this, leading to a burst of arson. The book was recovered just fine, seemingly one of the Leitners that can withstand some flames.

J. Sims, The Archivist

[avonne-writes]

Would you feel inspired to write something for #38 Multiverse? I imagine them falling in love with each other in every universe 🥹💓

Thank you so much for the prompt, lovelies ❤️ This is exactly why I have "In Every Universe" on my blog!

I'm so sorry but this got very angsty... This is a multiverse of two new and wildly different AUs. Tell me if it’s too much and I should delete it. I uploaded it to AO3.

Warning for angst, MCD and suicide.

~~~

It's no harder to die in sunshine than in rain. It’s a fat fucking lie that tragedy avoids the light. In fact, in John's experience, heat and blue skies bring more pain striking at unsuspecting hearts than a storm or nighttime. This is why today is so fucking perfect - not a cloud in sight above the wide plains of the desert. The wind whips past his ears as he pushes his chopper to speed on towards the valley as fast as it can go.

The road is straight and empty. A path devoid of life.

Nothing makes John feel more alive than staring that gaping nothingness in the face and accelerating. The sun tilts towards the earth with sharp, cheerful rays the colour of the marigolds in the front yard of John's Ma. The marigolds he trampled to death when Gale told him he was going to 'Nam, the marigolds that grow in the park where his love rests now. It's the same hazy, warm sunset that shone when Gale’s Huey was shot down.

A light John will never forget. Fire under blue skies, his own bird straining to stay up high. The same heat that rose from the pyre of Gale's helicopter wreck that day will see John off on this last flight. His bike's engine roars like a cry of rage, and he laughs even as the tears spill out his eyes.

"That’s what you get for being sentimental." Gale's deep drawl says in his mind. Then a kiss, the last one, pressed hastily to his lips behind a jeep in the deep, silent night, his gift for remembering a simple date in the calendar. Not much.

If he had known, he would have given his own life instead, but he couldn’t, so here he is now, rectifying that mistake even if it doesn't bring Gale back. Down to the exact date. Still sentimental to the bone. He promised Gale they would ride these roads together one day - it feels right to end it here.

John lets his focus slip as his bike flies towards the end of the road, the wind in his curls, sunshine warming his side, and Gale’s voice riding with him, "still with me?" His dog tags feel heavy on their chain. He blinks, and his sight blurs. Reds and blues and marigolds rust together into one glistening swirl of colour. Light shatters in his eyes, and the blood in his ears deafens him to the screech of his skidding bike, do you hear me? John John -

"Bucky!" Gale's voice rings loud and clear through the sudden silence that snaps into clarity around John. He closes his eyes for a moment to fight down a wave of nausea, then sits up with a groan.

Around him, all he sees is a sleek, dim cabin with dark furniture and an oval window like a ship's, only larger. Outside, the night sky. A strip of teal light lines the feather-soft bed he’s sitting on, and ink black clothes as soft as silk rustle as he bends his arms. Somewhere off to the side, he hears the sound of a shower running.

Is this the afterlife?

"Gale?" He calls out tentatively, his heart stumbling painfully over every breath, scared to believe but helpless to hope.

"Finally." Gale mutters.

John's lips twitch into a smile. This isn’t the heaven he imagined but nothing matters, as long as they're together wherever they are. He’s sorry it took him so long to make it here. He’s sorry Gale had to wait two whole years for him to follow.

"I know that you're sorry, but come over here already, will ya?" Gale says impatiently.

"I'm coming!" John jumps up, then promptly falls back on the bed when something yanks him down. Something flexible around his neck with a transparent mask dangling from it, connected to the headrest behind him. He’s curious, but there’s no time. He needs to get to Gale, he waited long enough. He needs to hurry.

"Damn right, hurry up." Gale says, then part of the seamless black wall hisses open to reveal a doorway with rounded corners. Warm air and steam rushes out, and a golden glow radiates from the space inside.

John extricates himself from the strange tubing and pads towards the light on bare feet. Perhaps, the space he’s in is Purgatory, and he’s headed to Heaven now. He just needs to follow the voice of his love. His heart swells with joy as he steps inside.

Behind the curtain of steam, Gale laughs that stifled chuckle of his that John has always loved ever since they met at the country fair three years before they went to war. It's him. John's best friend, his love, his man - everything. John rushes towards him but he stops dead in his tracks when the air suddenly clears at the press of a button and Gale turns to face him head on.

He looks older than John has ever known him, closer to thirty than the twenty-one of his death. There’s light stubble on his jaw and twin scars on his cheeks. Silky-smooth, sleeveless blue pajamas cover a frame a touch too thin but familiar. His hair is long enough that he could pass for a hippie, well over the regulation cut he said he would grow out again once their tour was over. But he never got to do that, not John's Gale, so he doesn’t understand -

"Whoa!" John exclaims.

A pair of hand-sized... things flare out behind Gale's ears. They look like iridescent palm leaves. They twitch, ripple, then fold away as Gale winces and turns to the mirror on the wall.

"That bad, huh?" He says. Then, whispered in John's ears, disappointed. His lips don’t move, but John hears him as clearly as if they were standing inches away.

John's heartbeat speeds up. When one of the appendages on Gale’s head flares out again, John jumps.

Irritated, Gale's voice says without uttering a word.

"It’s just a goddamn haircut, not the end of the galaxy. No need to panic." Gale says, holding a device up to his hair. Blond locks fall to the shiny grey floor with a swish. "I thought you'd like it."

Insecure. Sad. The whispers echo in John's ears. When Gale shakes himself and gives him a faint smile from the corner of his eyes, the murmuring changes to hopeful. "Come here and tell me how much I should cut."

John takes a step closer, then another, until he’s close enough to touch. His trembling hand finds Gale's shoulder. When it connects with solid, warm muscle and the jut of an unbroken bone, skin healthy and not burnt, John's breath hitches around a suppressed sob. His eyes water again.

"Buck." His voice cracks. He raises his fingertips to Gale's cheek. Saltwater runs down his own. "Is it really you? Are we in heaven?"

This time when the flaps flare around Gale's head, he expects it and only jumps a little before he leans in for a kiss, long and desperate because he spent two years wishing he held Gale longer the night before his death. He never wants to let go of him again. It barely even registers in his brain that Gale keeps whispering feelings close to his skin even though his lips are pressed to John's.

Confused, confused, happy, affectionate -

John figures it's something about this place that lets him hear Gale's thoughts. They're one in God - must be, if their souls are tangled like this. A shared heaven. Peace. The pain of John's grief is nothing compared to the slowly spreading happiness he feels.

"How about this?" Gale mumbles, pulling John's hands to his hair. It’s longer in the back and shorter on the top, an unusual style but John likes it, but he doesn’t know why Gale is so preoccupied with his hair. Don’t they have more important matters to discuss?

"Gale." John says quietly, running his thumbs over Gale’s cheek scars. He wonders how they got there. He didn’t think they’d still have marks like that after they die. "Do you remember Vietnam?"

Gale draws his eyebrows into a severe frown. Irritated, John hears him again. "Don’t tell me you named that mutt and smuggled him aboard."

"What?" John replies. His pulse starts racing with his confusion again. "Aboard?"

The appendages behind Gale's ears flutter wildly as Gale stares at him with those bright blue eyes of his. His expression is one of surprise and bafflement before a look of realization passes through him.

Alarmed, exasperated, John hears in his ears, then, calm. Pitying.

Gale's voice, when he speaks again, is patient and reassuring. "Is that where you come from? Viett-namm?"

He takes John's hands and pulls him gently towards the bedroom, too gently not to be suspicious. John's scared now. He doesn’t know what's going on or what he did wrong. Perhaps he only hit his head and didn’t die like he wanted, and these are the last fever dreams of his mind. Or, what if he didn’t say the right thing and he’s expelled from heaven?

"What are we doing?" He asks, chest rising and falling rapidly from the fear he tries and fails to control.

"We're just going to lie down, and you'll put your mask on." Gale says. "Calm down. Tell me about Viett-namm."

"I don't want to." John swallows, sitting on the mattress when Gale pushes him down. "You died." He grabs Gale's hand again. "Figured I'd follow you."

The anguish washing over John doesn’t feel like his own, but Gale’s face is kind and unreadable as he keeps pressing on John's shoulders until he lies down.

"Tuck these in." Gale says, sitting by John's hip and touching something around John's head.

"Ah!" John yelps when he feels a part of him flutter. He has those feeler things too, he realizes, gobsmacked. He reaches up to touch them, and they flare out against his pillow again.

Fond, heartbroken, he hears before Gale reaches up and tucks the things away again. When John tries to raise his hands to them once more, he pushes them away. They keep swatting at each other until Gale cracks a smile.

"Stop playing with you antennae."

"Yes, sir." John grins, but Gale just gives him a confused look as if he doesn’t understand.

He pulls the tubes around John's head again, then tries to put the mask on him, but John resists. "Wait, wait a second. What the hell is going on?" John tugs at the device. "What’s this? Where are we, Buck?"

Gale gives him a sad look and strokes John's face. "I'm not your Gale."

When John gapes at him, he slides the mask over John's face. He presses a button, and a sweet smell fills John's nose. Like a meadow. His limbs grow heavy, and he tries to protest and fight this strange, alien Gale off, but his strength drains from his limbs, and all that's left to him is to blink at Gale through drooping eyelids. His fingers flop on Gale’s thigh.

"My Bucky likes to use this device to see things happening to him in other times and other places. But this thing -" Here, Gale’s jaw clenches. "- is so goddamn old that sometimes it fails to wake him up properly. So you need to go back to sleep." He leans over John and strokes his head.

When John's antennae flare open again, he gives John a fond, amused smile. "In every universe, huh?"

The world starts darkening around the edges. Shadows cling to John's vision, narrowing it down to Gale's face, then only his eyes. A drop of wetness trickles down John's cheek.

"Gale..." is all he manages to say.

"He's waiting for you in your world." Gale says quietly. "Just go to sleep."

He's dead, John wants to say, but the words don’t make it to his lips. His eyes close, and he can’t open them again.

The soft touch of a kiss brushes his forehead. I love you, Gale’s voice whispers, but John isn’t sure if he really hears it.

Darkness descends, and he leaves.

[the-bus-called-graveyard-8]

Madagascar in Nickelodeon Magazine (part 2 of 4)

The second time Madagascar was featured in Nick Mag was in their November 2008 issue, highlighting the film's release that month.

The cover features a conga line of several characters through the reserve, led of course by King Julien.

Madagascar got quite a good treatment in this issue; the rest is under the read more!

Included were nine punch-out trading cards. The pictures on the backs, when put together properly, form the film's poster. The Internet Archive does have a version of the website noted, but nothing loads on it, so we will never know what you call four penguins in the desert.

Next we have a small ad for the film's website, featuring King Julien. This site can be accessed on the Internet Archive here (the games are still playable!).

Next we have an ad for the film's tie-in video game. It has a board game path you could play on with a coin and any small objects as tokens.

These next three are the main articles for the film. To prep viewers for the sequel, we have a quiz about the first film. Full transcript below.

The Beasts Are Back! in Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa

In Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa, the animals get stuck in Africa when their plan to return to New York City falls apart, and they discover an even wilder world than the one they left behind in Madagascar. Paw through the following pages to get ready for the new movie.

Ready for Part 2?

Prepare for Madagascar 2 by taking this quiz to see how much you remember about the first movie. Answers on page 79.

The animals leave New York City because: a. they want to join the circus. b. they escape from their zoo and get shipped off to a wildlife park. c. they can't afford the rent in New York City anymore.

Where is the crew headed? a. Mount Everest b. Kenya c. A zoo in Washington, D.C.

Their ship goes off course when: a. the penguins take it over and head to Antarctica. b. they hit an iceberg. c. a tidal wave pushes them towards Madagascar.

When crates containing Melman, Alex, Gloria, and Marty wash up on Madagascar, the animals find: a. a kingdom of small, furry creatures. b. that the penguins are running the country. c. an animal-friendly spa.

What do the lemurs call Marty, Alex, Gloria, and Melman? a. The wrecking crew b. The Tennessee Titans c. The New York Giants

Julien is so annoyed by Mort the lemur that he suggests: a. sending him to Chicago. b. feeding him to Alex. c. selling him to a tourist as a hamster.

Alex is banished by his friends because: a. he can't help but see them as juicy steaks. b. they got tired of his constant practical jokes. c. he farts way too much.

At the end of the movie, Alex: a. eats every last animal. b. scares away the Foosa, the lemurs' natural enemy. c. swims back to New York City.

Next we have an interview with the main cast. Full transcript below.

Talking Animals

We chatted with the actors who voice the four main characters.

What is your character like? Ben Stiller (Alex): Alex is a performer. He's used to being the center of attention. He's a good friend, and the camaraderie with the other animals is really important to him. Chris Rock (Marty): He gets bored easily, and he pushes the whole crew. Everybody else wants to stay in the zoo and he's like, "Hey, there's a whole world out there." Jada Pinkett Smith (Gloria): Gloria is very loyal. She's pretty strong-willed, but most of all, she's really fun. She's kind of the mama of the group. David Schwimmer (Melman): Nervous, a hypochondriac, loyal, intelligent, and generous.

How are you like your character? Ben: Alex is comfortable in the city. When he gets into the countryside, he's not used to the quiet. I was like that growing up. Chris: It doesn't take much for me to be bored. Jada: I'm a lot of fun, but I definitely tend to take on the mother role in a lot of the circles that I'm in. David: I'm fairly tall with long eyelashes.

What is your least favorite thing about your character? Ben: The amount of hair that he has. It's a lot of hair care. It's like an hour every morning with a blow-dryer. Chris: Uh, just that's he a zebra. Jada: She could probably exercise a little bit. Not too much—just a little bit. David: His fear of heights.

What advice would you give your character? Ben: Even though we get set in our ways, change is important. Let life happen because then great new things can happen that you would never expect. Chris: I'd tell him to try to appreciate the things he has. Don't go too fast because you can miss some great things while trying to get to the next thing. Jada: I know Gloria likes to eat, which is fine. I would just tell her to make sure she's eating all the right things. David: Have a massage once a week to help you relax.

What would you want to have if you were stuck in the wilderness? Ben: Hopefully, food. And probably a couple of good books—big, thick ones. Chris: A BlackBerry, a Kindle e-book reader, an iPod, and a generator. Jada: A good book and some matches. David: The complete works of Shakespeare, food, fresh water, my girlfriends, and a limitless supply of paper.

What was your favorite line or scene from the movie? Ben: When the lead penguin says, "It's gonna take six to nine months [to fix the plane]," and Alex goes, "Sixty-nine months?" That always makes me laugh. Chris: All the [scenes] with Marty and the other zebras are rally good. Jada: My favorite scene is when Gloria falls in love with this other hippo, named Moto Moto. He asks her out and it's a really cute, flirtatious scene. David: My favorite line is "Aaaaaargh!!!!" My favorite scene is when Gloria saves Melman from falling into the volcano.

Which do you like better, the chimps or the penguins? Ben: The chimps. I've always liked monkeys a lot better. Chris: The penguins are funny. Jada: I like both. [Zelda the roving reporter: I like whoever has the best snacks.] David: Penguins!

ZooTube

Next year, Madagascar's penguins will star in their own TV show on Nickelodeon. We asked Jada, Ben, David, and Chris what kind of TV show their characters should have.

GLORIA "Her show would be called How to Be Fabulous, and she would show viewers how she does it," says Jada. ALEX "Alex would have a variety show," says Ben. "He'd do some singing and dancing, and then have a guest on along with one of his friends." MELMAN "In Melman's show, called What Was That?, he would play a superhero who has the power to fly and become invisible," says David. MARTY Chris says, "Marty would host his own talk show and do a monologue every night about what's going on in the world."

Finally, we have a tutorial on how to draw a penguin. The instructions say that this penguin is supposed to be Skipper, but clearly no one told this to the artist.