#shit it's late but I needed to write this down

[revscarecrow]

Hi Rev! That time is upon us once again, do you have any tips for first time protesters?

1. Wear nice walking shoes cause you are going to be out there for a bit and your feet will hurt.

2. Have a game plan. Are you down to get physical? Are you able to be arrested? No shame in saying no. I'm not much for physical altercations with the police myself. But you need to make that decision before your blood starts boiling. The energy is infectious and will lead you to make mob mentality decisions. Remember what you decided and don't go beyond that limit.

3. Weather appropriate precautions. If it's hot bring sun screen and water if it's cold bring a coat. It's simple but most of what I did as a street medic was giving people water or blankets.

4. Have a number you will call if you get arrested. Memorize it or write it on your arm in sharpie. Mom dad lawyer friend whatever. Someone for if things go tits up.

5. Cops don't like being filmed doing messed up stuff but they will do it. Violence comes after dark. The news won't stand around all day so after some b roll and an interview or two they will go home. Then they can interview the cops in the morning where they can say a couple of bad actors caused a scene and they were arrested but largely the protest was peaceful (or was a riot if you aren't white). This will be an easy way for them to get away with kicking your ass. This happens every time a protest goes long.

6. Go with a friend. It just feels good to have someone you know watching out for you.

7. Have an escape plan and park your car a bit away from the protest. They like to camp out the local parking areas to catch protestors who evaded the police cordon.

8. Password lock your phone. Don't use biometrics. A password lock keeps the cops out when they arrest you. They can't force you to give that information.

9. Cops don't like lefties. If you are not a right wing loser they do not give a shit about your rights.

10. Most of this shit will not come up for your first protest but I want to prepare you for the wildest shit so you are ready for it when it happens.

11. People will yell at your from cars etc. Fuck em. People will say your protest doesn't matter. Fuck em.

12. Your protest isn't just about trying to get the government to do whatever. It's mostly about making connections. It would be rad if the government caves but it's not likely until your protest reaches a critical mass. If your numbers can be ignored they will be.

13. For your first time protest just go have fun. Don't stay out late or get physical just do a simple version. Do the chanting and make friends. Like with any group there will be creeps so be on the look out for that but most of those people are gonna be cool people.

14. Thank you. We need people who are out there doing the things. Make connections we've gotten so distant and it makes us easier to fuck with.

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

For the drabbles, maybe Tyler realising he’s been neglecting you and your relationship because he was getting excited about Kate’s experiment and everything and realising that he needs to focus more on you or else he could seriously lose you? Little Angst but with a good ending for Tyler and reader

Tear Stains on a Flannel Shirt

Twisters Masterlist

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader

Summary: When a new message pops up on your phone, you don’t even bother to read it. You know what it will be. Tyler’s working late… again. But are his new work habits just a means to a devastating end?

Author’s Note: Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long! I literally had to rewrite it three times because I kept backing myself into a corner. 💀 It’s possibly OOC and I’m really not happy with a couple of things, but I didn’t want to postpone it any longer. I hope you enjoy it anyway! 🫶🏻 (P.s. I feel like Tyler would text using yellow hearts… idk why, but that feels right.)

Warnings: Angst, but with a happy ending. Intense Descriptions of a Panic Attack, (aka, I almost gave myself one writing this). Tyler uses both “baby” and “sweetheart” as terms of endearment. Swearing. Brief Mention of Death, (it’s literally just a passing thought, but better safe than sorry).

Word Count: 756 (I’m trying to cease being surprised—I have come to accept the fact that literally none of these are drabbles. 😆)

———————————————————————————

New Message from: T 💖

You sighed as the notification popped up on your screen, swiping it away without opening it.

You already knew what it would be.

Sorry, baby. Kate and I are on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—please don’t wait up.

It was the exact same thing he’d told you every other night this past… week? Two weeks?

Tears flooded your eyes, your mind falling into the one-track record it’d been playing for the last three days.

He’s going to break up with me. He’s going to break up with me.

The thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself otherwise. No matter how many times you tried to rationalize the feelings. Tyler was a good man. He wouldn’t just leave you without a word of explanation.

And yet, panic clawed at your throat like a deranged animal.

This is how it starts. This is how it always starts.

Late nights, early mornings—more time spent at work, less time spent at home.

Soon, you would be two strangers living in the same house. And then, not even that.

He’s going to break up with me. He’s going—

Pain blossomed across your chest, stabbing, constricting. Oxygen refused to enter your lungs, or perhaps your lungs refused to utilize it. Black dots crowded your vision.

I’m not—I can’t—I’m going to die!

“Sweetheart?” Tyler’s voice echoed in the entryway, bouncing off kitchen walls and landing undisturbed on the living room carpet.

His boots thumped against the hardwood floors as he passed through the kitchen into the living area. Whimpering greeted him from behind the corner of the couch, tucked up against the wall. Urgency kicked his pulse. “Baby? Is that you?” He rounded the corner of the couch… and was immediately on his knees before you. “Shit! Shit, sweetheart, talk to me. Talk to me! What’s going on?”

“Tyler, I—“ The panic in your eyes as you gasped, clinging to his arm, knees tucked up to your chest and tears streaming down your cheeks, seared itself in his mind. He wouldn’t be able to unsee it for a while. “I can’t breathe. I can’t—“

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, you’re gonna be alright. Breathe with me.” He ran a hand up and down your arm, inhaling a deep, exaggerated breath, trying to still your racing heart.

But his own pulse thrummed.

What is happening? Should I call an ambulance? There’s no blood… but she can’t breathe. Shit, shit, shit!

“Follow my lead, sweetheart. C’mon.”

A sob broke out of your chest, but you followed.

In… and out. In… and out.

“Good. That’s good, baby. You’re doing good.”

He sighed in mental relief as your body slowly started following the pattern.

Okay, she can breathe. She can breathe. She’s gonna be okay.

“T-Ty?”

“Yeah?”

He dragged a thumb across the back of your hand, attempting to ground you from what he was now recognizing as a panic attack. Swimming eyes locked onto his, despair tracing a threatening line around the edges.

“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Tyler couldn’t have been more shocked if you’d punched him in the gut. He sputtered, mouth moving, but with no sound coming out.

Finally, he managed a choked, “What?”

“It’s just—” You swallowed, looking away. “It’s just you’ve been gone so often, staying late at work, leaving early, sometimes even before I wake up, and I thought–-I mean—” Your face crumpled, and Tyler’s heart with it. “I mean, every other relationship I’ve ever had—that’s how they did it. That’s how it always started, and I thought—” A sob, deep and resonant, wracked your body.

“Hey. Hey, shhh. Shhhh.” He pulled you close, pressing you firmly against his chest, a tender kiss planted swiftly atop your head.

Your hands fisted in his shirt as you sobbed. Tears stained the front of his flannel.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay. I’m not—” His hand rubbed soothingly up your back. At least, Tyler hoped it was soothing. But your tears never slowed. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

You pulled back, your face a mess of snot and tears. “Promise?”

Tyler smiled gently, wiping your face clean with his sleeve. Because if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was. “Promise.”

You fell back into his arms, a shudder shaking your frame as you sighed.

And he just sat there with you, for as long as you needed, his message from earlier playing in his mind.

Coming home early today, baby. I love you. 💛

[punksyeet]

- We Deserve Better ❥

Plot: After mistreating the members of his bloodline, Roman learns the definition of karma the hard way.

Warning: Three-way love, verbal / physical abuse, mature language, & hefty flirting!

A/N: thank you to the lovely @isabella-2025 for yet another amazing request. this was my first time including solo in a fic and i had so much fun. i hope you enjoy! 💐🫶🏼

side note: apologies for the mini writing hiatus. life hasn’t been the kindest to me lately, so i needed to take a little break. regardless, thank you all for still being here. i’m forever grateful. 🤍

—————————————————————————————————

“You nervous for tonight, cousin?” Jimmy asks, his elbows resting on his knees.

Roman looks up from velcro-ing his glove and raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Me? Nervous?” he replies, sarcastically. “Jon c’mon.”

Jimmy shrugs in response. “I’m just askin’, uce. Cody ain’t the same dude he was last year, that’s all.”

Roman’s smile fades and he slowly stands up and walks over to Jimmy.

“What?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest. “You sayin’ I can’t handle that boy?”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ u-“ Jimmy responds, but is cut off.

“Because last time I checked,” Roman continues, looking down and patting the WWE Universal Championship that’s sat across his waist. “We’ve been here before. And he ain’t never beat me. He ain’t never gon’ beat me. He ain’t never had this belt before. Ever. And sure as hell not for 1316 days.”

“You done?” Jimmy asks, slowly rising and sizing up Roman.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

Jimmy has always been the only one in our faction to have the balls to stand up to Roman.

Only, it never ends well.

When Roman only responds with a nostril flare, he continues.

“I ain’t never said you can’t handle shit man,” Jimmy continues. “Hell, you said it yourself. You been holding this thing for well over 1,000 days. Everyone knows who you are and what you’re about.”

“That’s right uce,” Jey chimes in, walking over and clapping his brother on the back. “Brother didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just chill.”

Roman takes a deep breath and tilts his head from side to side as if he’s cracking his neck.

He only does this when he’s getting frustrated, so I decide to step in.

“Roman?” I call out quietly, standing up from the sofa.

And suddenly, all eyes are drawn to me.

Roman, with an eyebrow raised.

Jimmy and Jey, with their eyes widened as if to say “what’s wrong with you?”

Solo, with his usual emotionless expression on his face.

And Sami, with those same sad and confused puppy dog eyes.

I take a deep breath before continuing.

“With all due respect,” I say, just above a whisper. “Your match is on soon, and I think it’s best if you go out there relaxed? We can always handle this later.”

Roman looks down and chews on the inside of his cheek, before turning back to his cousins.

“She’s right,” Jey agrees, breaking the awkward silence. “Let’s ju-“

“What does this have to do with you anyway?” Roman asks, folding his arms across his chest.

Oh for fucks sake!

I sigh in defeat and look down as the bickering continues.

“It’s got everything to do with me when you’re talkin’ to my twin brother like he’s a piece of garbage,” Jey responds, slowly removing his hand from Jimmy’s back. “All he was doin’ was askin’ a question.”

Roman looks down, nodding in response.

“Get out,” he suddenly says, his eyes still on the floor. “Get up out my locker room.”

“Uce, you serious?” Jimmy asks in between scoffs.

Roman looks up and makes eye contact with him once more. “Am I laughing?”

Before Jimmy can respond, Jey pats his back and encourages him to leave, himself following.

Sami and Solo follow, leaving Roman and I in the room alone.

“I can’t believe that fool,” Roman mutters to himself, sitting back down on the sofa. “Tryna make me look stupid. Me.”

I take a deep breath and fiddle with my fingers. “No disrespect Roman but, he did only ask a question.”

He stops dead in his tracks and looks up at me. “You too?”

“I don’t think there’s any harm in-“

“Get out,” he interrupts me. “You agree with him? You can leave too. I don’t need none of you.”

I sit there in disbelief. “Are y-“

“Now,” he orders, cutting me off again.

I suck my teeth, get up, leave, and slam the door behind me.

The fucking nerve to kick me out.

After everything I’ve done so that his entitled ass didn’t need to lift a finger.

Well that ends now.

As I turn the corner to Triple H’s office, I hear a voice from behind me, causing me to turn around.

“Where you headed?” Solo asks, his arms folded across his chest and body leaned up against the wall.

“To talk to Paul,” I reply, running a hand through my hair. “This whole replacement for the wiseman thing isn’t working anymore.”

He nods. “I understand.”

I raise an eyebrow and wrap my arms around myself protectively. “You do?”

He nods again. “I see how my cousin treats you. Treats all of us. We ain’t his lapdogs. We’re supposed to be his family.”

When I respond with only a sigh, he walks over and strokes either of my arms.

“Look,” he continues. “Come back to my brothers’ locker room. We all can talk there. No Roman. Just us, Sami, and the twins.”

I take a deep breath and give in, nodding and taking the short walk back with him.

“You alright?” Jey asks when I walk through the door, Solo following and closing it behind us.

I nod, my arms folded across my chest. “I will be.”

He sighs and walks over, wrapping me into his arms.

I immediately respond, placing my head on his chest.

“She was headed to go talk to Paul,” Solo begins, once we’re all sat down again. “Luckily I stopped her a couple feet away from his office.”

Jimmy tilts his head in response. “Triple H? Why?”

I look down and fiddle with my fingers once more. “It’s been two months of taking Roman’s shit. Two whole months. And I know it sounds cliché but…”

My voice trails off and I take a deep breath before continuing.

“…I guess one can only take so much.”

** Two Months Earlier **

I take a deep breath and adjust my dress before knocking on the cold metal door in front of me.

Why are you nervous to knock on a door? you may be asking.

Well, this isn’t just any door.

It’s the door to a locker room.

A locker room that belongs to the current most dominant faction in professional wrestling: The Bloodline.

Led by the most intimidating man to ever hit planet earth: Roman Reigns.

“I wanna thank you again for accepting this job,” Triple H says, placing a fatherly hand on my back. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I believe you’ve got it.”

Last Friday on Smackdown, Paul Heyman and The Rock got into it in kayfabe and eventually, it got physical.

Only, the Wiseman was actually harmed and is out with an injury for an estimated five months - which led HHH to looking for a replacement to keep the Bloodline story alive.

“Thank you boss,” I reply sweetly. “I’ll do my best.”

He replies with a smile and quick nod before our attention is brought back to the door, which flies open at the hands of him.

Roman Reigns.

“Roman,” Paul greets him, holding out a hand.

Roman exchanges glances at both of us before taking his hand and giving it a quick shake.

“This is Gianna,” he continues, turning to me. “The one I told you about over the phone last night? She’ll be Heyman’s replacement until his health is back where it belongs.”

I give Roman a nervous smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He nods in response.

After we pull away, there’s a moment of silence, until Paul breaks it again.

“Well,” he begins, after clearing his throat. “I’ve got some rehearsals to run before the show tonight. Producers will be around soon with your scripts and you can start working together.”

I nod in response. “Thank you again, boss.”

He responds with a smile and friendly hug before turning and walking away.

Once he’s out of sight, Roman steps aside and opens the door.

I smile sweetly and thank him before entering.

The room is huge - walls covered from top to bottom with framed pictures, championships, and even beautiful handmade leis.

As I go to take a seat on the sofa, Roman stops me.

“Not there,” he orders, placing his championship on the seat.

When I give him a look of confusion, he sighs.

“Only the wiseman sits there,” he mutters, taking a seat next to the spot. “And as much as you and Paul would like to believe it, you’re not my wiseman.”

I sigh and take a seat a bit farther away. “How about here? Are there any other imaginary reservations I should know about in this seat?”

“No,” he says, mocking my tone. “There aren’t.”

I roll my eyes and take a seat, crossing my legs.

He watches, giving me a mean mug. “You’ve got a nasty attitude, little girl.”

“More like I’m not a kiss ass,” I reply, folding my arms. “Just because your wiseman waited on you hand and foot, doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

He glares at me and stands up to leave, slamming the door behind him, leaving me all alone in the room.

This is gonna be a long five months.

** Flashback Over**

“Your feelings are completely valid Gi,” Sami replies, his elbows resting on his knees. “And you’re not alone. We’re all in the same boat here.”

“Forreal uce,” Jey agrees, clapping his back. “We gonna get through this shit together.”

I smile sweetly and thank them, allowing the faint sound of other wrestlers filming their segments out in the hallway to take over.

“Hey wait,” Solo says, breaking the comfortable silence. “I have an idea.”

We all turn to face him in unison.

“Whatchu thinkin’, uce?” Jimmy asks, clearly intrigued.

Solo nods slowly, looking up at us. “I know a way we can all teach Roman a lesson. One that he’ll never forget.”

He scans the room, looking into all of our eyes.

—————————————————————————————————

It’s about thirty minutes into the match and Roman is absolutely dominating.

As he holds Cody in a position where the middle rope is digging into this neck, the crowd erupts in boos.

“This is my company, you little bitch!” Roman yells out from above him.

Just then, four figures — Jimmy, Jey, Sami, and Solo — dressed in all black outfits and bandanas climb into the ring from behind him with chairs in hand.

Here we go.

“Who the hell?!” Michael Cole screams from the announce table.

As Roman turns around, he’s met with chairs against his ribs and back.

He immediately falls to the ground, screaming in pain.

The crowd goes absolutely insane, cheering at the sight of their soon-to-be champion having the upper hand for the first time in this match.

“Gianna, do something!” Cole calls out to me, causing me to smile.

“Oh I’ll do something alright,” I mutter to myself.

I slide into the ring and pull Cody on top of Roman by his arm, causing the crowd to go from loud to deafening.

One!

Two!

Three!

The crowd loses what’s left of their minds, as Cody redeems the championship and stands with the referee.

The boys and I slide out of the ring and walk up the ramp together, arms around each other.

On our way back to the locker room, we get equal amounts of praise and looks of confusion from other wrestlers.

Eventually, we get back.

“I’m so proud of us!” Sami cheers, clapping his hands.

“We really just did that shit,” Jimmy says in disbelief, plopping down onto the sofa.

“Props to you Sef,” Jey praises Solo, clapping him on the back. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Everyone nods in agreement and Jimmy turns to me. “You good Gi? You haven’t said a word.”

I half smile and nod. “I’m good. Just feeling a little….out of place I guess.”

He nods understandably. “I get you. Everything happened so fast.”

I nod in agreement and Solo chimes in. “But it needed to be done. Roman needed to be humbled. And he was.”

After a bit more small talk, there’s a comfortable silence as all of us try to process what happened tonight.

“Well,” I begin, breaking it and standing up. “I’m gonna head home. I’m beat.”

The boys chuckle in response.

“Wanna ride with us?” Jimmy asks, nodding towards Jey. “Just in case?”

I shake my head, grabbing my belongings from one of the cubbies on the wall. “I’ll be alright. You guys just get back safe, okay?”

“We will,” Jey chimes in, standing up.

We share a hug and I do the same with the rest of the guys before heading out.

As I make it about halfway through the parking lot, I hear the deep sound of a throat clear.

Oh no.

I freeze and slowly turn around, brought with the sight of Roman.

His arms are folded across his broad chest, his dark curls are pulled into a messy bun, and smoke is basically pouring out of his ears.

Let’s just say that if looks could kill, I’d be dead on the concrete.

“Wanna tell me what the fuck that was back there?” he asks, nodding back towards the arena.

I take a deep breath and clutch the strap of my bag tighter. “What’s the matter, Ro? Your ego still too big to realize that it’s exactly what the fuck you deserved?”

He does that head tilt thing again before taking a couple steps closer to me. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, little girl, but I’d suggest you pipe down.”

“Or what?” I challenge him. “You gonna degrade me? You gonna shit talk me? Go ahead, my Tribal Chief. It’s nothing I’m not used to coming from you.”

When he responds with just a deep breath, I continue.

“Good comeback. Have the night you deserve.”

As I turn to walk the rest of the way to my car, he grabs my wrist.

“You’re not getting away with the shit you and those assholes pulled tonight,” he mutters, his voice deep and angry.

I attempt to pull my arm back, but miserably fail, as his biceps are damn near the size of my head.

“Get the fuck off of me!” I scream, attempting and failing again.

Just as he goes to respond, four figures run up from behind him and tackle him to the ground.

“Get her home,” Jimmy orders Solo and Jey, nodding towards me. “We got this fool.”

“You sure y’all gon’ be alright?” Jey asks, as Solo wraps a protective arm around me.

“We’ll be fine,” Sami reassures him, as Jimmy goes back to attacking Roman.

Jey nods and walks with us. “C’mon, baby. Everything is gonna be alright.”

—————————————————————————————————

“Ow!” I whine as Solo dabs the bruise on my wrist with healing ointment.

“Sorry love,” he replies softly, as his brother comforts me by rubbing my back.

“What’s up with you two and the sudden pet names?” I ask, looking up at Jey.

He freezes and looks at Solo, who looks right back at him.

“Just a habit,” Solo replies, looking back down at my wrist and continuing what he was doing.

I nod, softly smiling to myself.

Suddenly, Jey gets up and disappears into the bathroom.

“Alright mama,” Solo begins again, closing the cap to the tube of ointment. “You’re all cleaned up.”

I give him a grateful smile and hug. “Thank you, So.”

He immediately hugs back and even kisses my temple.

Just as we pull away, Jey appears in the doorway. “Come, baby. You got a hot bath in here waiting for you.”

I smile and head over to Jey, who holds my lower back and leads me inside.

“You gon’ be alright in here?” he asks, about to head out.

I nod and peel off my hoodie. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

He nods, watches me for a moment, and closes the door.

—————————————————————————————————

“Thank you guys for taking care of me,” I say, as Jey and Solo step outside my hotel room door and into the hallway.

They turn around in unison.

“Anytime Gi,” Solo replies, a light smile on his face.

“What brother said,” Jey agrees. “You know we gotta keep our girl protected.”

I blush and smile softly. “Thank Jim and Sami for me, okay?”

As the elevator door opens, they nod.

“We will!” Jey calls out, as they both step in.

I smile, watch the elevator shut, and step back inside my room.

A couple minutes later, as I’m un-making my bed, I hear a knock at the door.

I raise an eyebrow and head over to open it.

Before I can say a word, Jey’s lips are on mine, his hands cupping my face.

I sit there for a moment, trying to process what’s happening, before slowly trailing my hands around his neck and kissing back.

When he finally pulls away, he’s panting.

“W-what was that for?” I ask, still in complete shock.

He chuckles, stepping aside and revealing Solo behind him.

“We forgot something,” Solo replies, coming closer to me and taking either of my hands.

When I give him a confused look, he smiles.

“We love you, baby.”

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[daryltwdixon]

Could you write some Joel Miller filth about period sex? I doubt that Joel would be like these stupid men that are repulsed by some period blood. I think he'd even like the mess to be honest. It's okay if you don't feel like writing it, it's just that I am on my period and I'm so fucking horny and sensitive and I just wish Joel would fuck me senseless.

Joel Miller x Reader Mess and All

Summary: Joel isn’t the kind of man to be scared off easily. And most definitely not by a little bit of blood. smut MDNI 18+

I never know how to tag these things: pinv, daddy kink, period sex, light fingering, dirty talk

a/n: hope I'm not getting this to you too late! Enjoy this smutty period sex, ya filthy animal. Joel is all about aftercare too, the gentleman he is, so we did get a bit of fluff at the end.

Joel’s hands were everywhere, gripping at your hips, sliding up your back, pulling you deeper into him as his mouth devoured yours, hot and insistent.

The room was dark, the sheets warm beneath your naked bodies, the heat of him pressing firm against you. His weight always grounded you, it made you feel wanted, crave— needed by this man.

Your breath hitched as he slid a rough palm down your thigh, hitching it up higher over his waist, pressing the full length of himself against you. You whimpered, arching into him, your body thrumming with need, too sensitive, too desperate for more.

“Wait, shit,” you exhaled, palm flattening against his chest as you gently pushed him back.

The sound of your lips parting, the wet smack of spit and heat between you did nothing to dull the flush of arousal still burning through you.

Joel froze, blinking down at you, pupils still blown wide, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His hands left your body with what looked like great willpower.

“I’m on my period,” you groaned, frustration evident in your voice.

Joel made a ‘pfft’, shaking his head, already reaching for you again, his hands kneading your skin as his lips reached for your face, your lips—

But before he could close the space, you stiffened your hand against his chest, pressing firm.

“No, it’s gross—”

Joel’s eyes flickered, his expression shifting into something unreadable. His hands stopped, pausing their heavenly touches.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low, searching, serious.

Your lips parted, breath pausing. No. God, no, you didn’t want him to stop. Every fiber of your body was screaming for him, every nerve alive, every inch of you aching for more.

But men never wanted this. They got squeamish, annoyed, turned off. You knew how this conversation always went. It always ended the same: you, needy, unsatisfied, and very much alone in bed with your vibrator.

Your teeth pressed into your bottom lip, uncertainty warring with desire. “No,” you admitted quietly, a pout tugging at your lips as you watched Joel’s expression.

His breath was warm, the scent of musk and pine and something deeply masculine filling the space between you. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark, unreadable—until they dipped lower, down to where your thighs pressed tightly together, like you were trying to hold back the need pulsing between them.

Joel exhaled slowly. His hands, gentle as ever, reached for you again.

One slid to your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb brushing slow and deliberate along your cheek. The other trailed down, over your stomach, pressing firm over your hip.

“Then why you stoppin’ me, baby?” he murmured, his voice so deep, so rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, but your body betrayed you, your hips shifting instinctively toward him, seeking more.

“Because…” you hesitated, cheeks flushing, voice small. “Men don’t… like it.”

Joel huffed, a low, almost amused sound. “That so?”

You nodded, eyes searching his, testing him.

Joel’s grip on your hip tightened, the heat of his palm searing through you, “Good thing I ain’t other men,” he murmured. Then, before you could say anything else, he kissed you, deep and slow, his lips parting yours like he wanted to consume you. You melted into him, moaning softly as his hand slid between your thighs, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, gripping, kneading, spreading.

“Joel—”

“Feel that?” he muttered against your lips, his fingers tracing up and down so slowly as they reached your already wet slick, “Feel how bad she wants me?”

You whimpered, your hands flying to grip at him, anywhere they could gain purchase–his thighs, his forearms, anywhere.

“You really think I give a shit about a little mess?” Joel growled, pressing his teeth into your neck kissing and sucking at the flesh there now pebbled with goosebumps. His cock throbbed against your hip, heavy and hard, his fingers still working tight, lazy circles against your clit, keeping you squirming beneath him.

“Wanna make you feel good, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your throat, along the bone of your clavicle. “You gonna let me?”

You nodded, gasping as his fingers dragged down, the obscene noise of your arousal filling the space. Joel’s breath shuddered as he pulled back just enough to look.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, until they began teasing your aching clit. A broken moan tore from your lips, your body pulsing, needy.

“Aw hunny, she’s soaked,” Joel teased, his thumb circling your clit, taunting. “All that for me?”

“Y-yes,” you whimpered, nails digging into his arms, “Yes, Joel,”

Joel smirked, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your leg as he pulled it over his shoulder, “Then let me make a mess of you, sweetheart.”

And with that, he pinched your clit, circling faster and faster as he held your body as you bucked beneath him. His fingers worked you into dizzy oblivion, steady and rampant, his mouth hot against your skin, his breath thick with restraint.

You gasped, reality cutting through the haze of pleasure as you felt him near your entrance. “Wait, wait—”

Joel froze, his fingers stilling, his lips pausing mid-kiss against your calf.

Your head spun, your thighs trembling, the ache still heavy in your core. You swallowed hard. “I need to—” You exhaled shakily, shifting against him. “I have to take out my tampon.”

Joel blinked at you, dazed, like it took him a second to even process the words through the fog of want that had settled between you. Then, after a beat, he exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, reluctantly pulling his fingers from you, sitting back on his heels and releasing your leg.

His hands flexed, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating pure restraint.

“Alright,” he muttered, the look on his face like a toddler being told to wait for his favorite dessert, before nodding toward the bathroom. “Go on, then.”

You pushed off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, your whole body throbbing as you shut the door behind you. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the tampon, your pulse still racing, your mind clouded with the image of Joel waiting in bed, wrecked, ready to tear into you the second you walked back out.

You tossed the tampon, taking a slow, steadying breath as you grabbed a washcloth, running it under warm water, wiping between your thighs.

But then, as you turned and opened the door, you were greeted by the most marvelous, beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. Joel stood there, bare, broad, towering, his pupils blown wide, his aching cock in his fist.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ wait,” he muttered, his voice rough, before his hands were on you, turning you around, hands gripping your waist, bending you over the sink. You gasped, bracing yourself against the cold porcelain, your thighs trembling as he pressed up behind you, his cock sliding between your slick folds. 

“Joel—” you whimpered, your breath fogging up the mirror, your fingers curling tight against the edge of the sink.

“Nah uh, baby,” He didn’t waste another second. With one firm thrust, he sank into you, stretching you open, filling you to the hilt.

“Still so ready, so wet for me. Even with all your complainin’,” he groaned, voice thick, rough against your ear. “‘Joel, I’m on my period,’” he mocked, and the next thrust was hard, forcing another gasp from your lips, your knuckles white against the sink.

“Joel, it’s gross,” he continued, smirking, his breath hot against your neck.

Your body shuddered, clenching around him as heat poured through you, spreading like liquid fire. Your moan echoed against the bathroom walls, pussy clenching around him, the sensation even more intense than usual due to the added wetness and sensitivity.

Joel grunted, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled out, then thrust back in, deep and slow.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his breath ragged as words tumbled from his mouth. “You love this, don’t you? Love bein’ my filthy little thing, huh? So needy, so wet and achin’. Can’t believe you tried keepin’ her from me. All fuckin’ wet and perfect and tight, Jesus–”

Joel growled, his pace quickening, fucking into you with deep, steady strokes, his hips slamming against yours, the sound of skin-on-skin mixing with the soft, wet sounds of you taking him.

You whimpered, arching into his touch, your head tipping back onto his shoulder as he devoured you, kissing the side of your neck, biting just hard enough to make you moan.

“Say it,” Joel gritted out, his voice dark, low, commanding. Before you could even process the words, his hand slid up, rough fingers wrapping beneath your jaw, forcing your gaze to the mirror in front of you.

“Watch, baby, look at you,” he rasped, snapping his hips into you from behind, making you cry out, your nails scraping against the sink.

You were a mess—flushed, sweaty, your lips swollen and eyes heavy, your body rocking forward with every deep, punishing thrust. Whimpering and barely able to think, your body was already on the edge of something sharp, hot, all-consuming.

Joel’s grip tightened, holding you right there, making you see the way you reacted to him, his touch, his cock. When your eyes flickered up to meet his, he had a devilish grin. 

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice thick with something dangerous, something possessive, kissing the side of your face before looking back up into the mirror to meet your gaze again. “Watch yourself get off on my cock, all messy and nasty, little thing—” His other hand slid down, pressing firm circles against your clit, dragging a wrecked whimper from your lips.

“—and say you love it.”

You gasped, your hands gripping the edge of the sink, your head spinning, your body clenching tight around him. 

“I—I love it,” you finally panted, voice breaking, your eyes blown wide as you watched yourself take him in the mirror, “I love it, daddy–love your cock–”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his grip tightening.

“Atta girl. So pretty like this, baby. All mine. My pretty, filthy little thing.” Joel ground out, an inhuman noise escaping his teeth as he pulled back to watch himself disappear inside you, the slick mess between you coating his length. And God, he loved it.

Your stomach tightened, your body clenching, pleasure coiling tight, hot and unbearable.

And he felt it.

“There she is,” he gritted, his fingers trailing down, pressing against your folds again as his rhythm steadied, his thumb circling your clit just right. “Come on, baby—give it to me. Cum all over daddy’s cock, yeah? C’mon now,”

Your whole body jerked, pleasure shooting through you, your walls fluttering around him. You moaned loud, rocking back against him, desperate. Suddenly, as his fingers rubbed your clit once more, his thick length stretching and pushing into the spongy corner of your pussy, your orgasm ripped through you, hot and overwhelming, your body locking up before shaking apart in his hands.

Joel groaned, feeling you pulse around him had his breath shattering against your skin as he buried himself deep, his hips stilling as he spilled inside you, his whole body going tense before sagging against your back.

The bathroom was silent except for your ragged breathing, the heat still thick between you.

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, his hands rubbing slow circles into your hips, “You alright, hunny?” 

“I think you may have just created the cure for cramps–” you exhaled a laugh.

Joel chuckled, the deep sound rumbling against your back as he pressed another kiss to your skin, the scruff of his beard deliciously rough against your oversensitive flesh.

“Yeah?” he murmured, nuzzling the space just below your ear. “Guess I’ll have to keep you comin’ back for treatment then, huh?”

You hummed, smiling as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close for a long, quiet moment, his thumbs still absentmindedly stroking your skin, grounding you.

Then, after a beat, he pressed a final kiss to your temple.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice softer now, more gentle. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

With that, he finally pulled away, slipping out of you, soothing a warm palm down your back as you caught your breath. He leaned over, turning on the shower, steam already curling into the air. Joel glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes warm, steady, that familiar softness creeping back into his face.

“Water’s warm,” he said, tilting his chin toward the shower. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

You sighed, stretching your limbs before stepping in after him, your body still buzzing, still humming in the aftermath of everything he just gave you.

The hot water cascaded over your skin, washing away the evidence of your shared pleasure, but Joel’s hands never stopped taking care of you.

Strong, steady palms kneaded into your sore muscles, working out the tension, soothing where he might’ve held you too tight, where his grip had branded you as his. He reached for the soap, lathering it in his hands before running it over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing you all over again.

He worked through your hair next, fingers massaging against your scalp, his touch firm but careful, gentle in a way that made your heart stutter.

You leaned into him, your back pressing against his front, your body melting under his touch.

“Love you, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “Mess and all.”

A soft smile stretched across your lips, your eyes drifting closed as you reached back for him, fingers threading through his damp hair.

“Love you more,” you whispered.

Joel just hummed, arms tightening around you, holding you close as the water poured over both of you, sealing you in the warmth of something deeper than just this.

[toonice113]

Renegade ⋆ ★ Matt Rempe

Pairings: Matt Rempe x Reader

Genre: angst 

Summary: After a heated fight, you finally tell Matt all you’ve been keeping in.

Warnings: none 

Word count: 644

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ a short blurb of something longer i could write but probably won’t because college sucks, full angst because i'm PMSing and been crying and getting angry at the stupidest things ever (and also not so stupid things because the world sucks rn) 

“I don’t know what you want me to do” Matt’s voice is quiet yet the change in volume from your previous shouting match does nothing to ease the situation, in fact, it feels worse

“You never do! And that’s the problem” At this point he’s sitting on the couch while you are leaning on the small dining table in your shared apartment “I moved my life to be here with you and it just feels like we’ve never been further apart” Matt doesn’t say anything, his head is in his hands and you wait and wait for him to say something but nothing comes out so you pick up the bag you had discarded when the fight started and walk towards the door 

His hand stops you as you are opening the door “Don’t” he shakes his head “Don’t go” 

“Why? Matt, this is not working, we’re not working, it’s breaking us” Your eyes are filled with tears, and although they were tears of rage before, there’s a deep sadness in them now 

“Okay, okay yeah, you’re right” He says, an exhausted air coming from him “Things haven’t been great lately and I’m sorry, baby I’m so sorry I haven’t been all you’ve needed me to be and I won’t stop you from leaving right now, not if you really think that’s what we need” You look at him, he looks tired, and he probably is since he had just gotten back from a game before you started fighting, his suit still on “But please come back to me, this whole thing, it’s not us, it’s the timing, maybe it’s the wrong time for us to be together, but I can’t lose you completely” 

“Matt” You say, tired as well “I can’t promise you that and you know it, this is not about timing, this has been going on for forever, everytime we fight we just push it down and move on acting like everything is right the next day and we can’t keep doing this, truth is you don’t trust me” 

“I do trust you” His words are sharp, defensive 

“But you don’t, When was the last time we talked, like actually took a moment to talk about something not superficial? We talk about our days, we talk about my work and we talk about hockey, sometimes we talk about tv shows or tiktoks but we never talk about ourselves” You feel silly saying these words, and that’s the reason you haven’t brought it up before, but you know it’s exactly what you need to talk about right now “You often come in angry after a game and when I ask about it you only say it was a rough game and you don’t want to talk about it, and if I was any other person I would get it because you keep this mask up that you are this big scary enforcer with a massive ego that only cares about winning fights, but I know you Matt, you are so much more than that, and sometimes I wish you would feel comfortable enough to talk to me when you are hurting” The words seem to sink into matt as soon as you speak them “I want to be there for you because I love you, but every time you push me away it kills me a little more so no Matt, this is not about timing, it’s about you not trusting me” 

“I-” But he has nothing to say, you’re right and he knows it.

“Matt please, get your shit together so I can love you” With that you let go of his hand and walk out of the door shutting it behind you and not looking back, in the apartment Matt crumbles, he just did it, ruined the best thing in his life because he was too scared to open up.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Leo And Jason DoorDash A Baby

Summary: Jason made a displeased noise as the lights came on. He said something that sounded like half a nickname in garbled Spanish and grumbled about it being late and being abandoned to sleep on his own.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, Sparky,” Leo said. “More importantly, though: look at this baby I found.”

“Can you please come to bed first and make jokes at me after?” his husband complained, yawning. “I just want to cuddle for a bit.”

“I would, but I think we’ve got more immediate problems than me depriving you of cuddles. Namely: the fact that I’m holding a child.”

“Leo, I love you, but what in the world are you talking about?” Jason murmured, finally starting to untangle himself from the blankets.

Then the little girl in Leo’s arms started crying.

Jason sat up with a start, wide awake the instant it dawned on him that this wasn’t one of Leo’s jokes. “What did you do?”

Leo looked his husband dead in the eyes and said, “I cloned myself.”

—

Or: someone leaves a baby at the entrance of the Waystation in the middle of the night. It’s not quite how Leo and Jason expected this whole adoption process to work, but, well… when has anything in their lives ever gone the way they expected it to?

Word Count: 7.3k

Rating: Teen and Up (just to be safe)

CWs: mentions of past traumatic experiences, since those are gone into to a certain extend (Jason is not going to be okay about finding an abandoned child when he’s been an abandoned child in the past).

I have spent a lot of time waffling with @queenjunothegreat about this concept and had a lot of fun writing it out! Ended up quite a bit longer than I expected, but I’m not complaining.

Main focus of the fic is accidental baby acquisition feat. married Valgrace, but there is also some lost trio content (Piper is having a great time during that particular Iris message, lmao), and little Emilia McLean from this fic is also here, a little older now! There’s references to that fic in this one but reading it is not a requirement to understand this fic.

———

It was 3 am, and Leo was just trying to get to the bedroom after finishing up his latest magic object repair project in the workshop. As was the case with the Waystation sometimes, he tripped out the front door instead.

That was just how it worked, living in a magic building. Sometimes it was convenient, like when someone was hurt and the Waystation made the infirmary appear in the next room, or when Leo and Calypso had needed space after their breakup and simply hadn’t crossed paths for a week. Sometimes, it was a little less convenient, like when the workshop was suddenly next to the bedroom so Jason only had to cross one room if he wanted to drag his sleep-deprived husband to bed. Once, when Leo had neglected maintenance for too long, the Waystation had dropped him into the pool fully clothed. It had an attitude like that.

Currently, Leo couldn’t think of anything he might have done to piss off the building, though, so there was probably a different reason why he’d ended up out here. 

The air was cold enough that he pulled the large hoodie he’d borrowed from his husband a little closer around himself. He realized how stupid the impulse was a moment later—he could have just upped his body temperature instead. That was sleep deprivation 1, Leo Valdez 0.

It was a night of a full moon, and between the moon’s soft glow and the street lights, Leo could see alright. No need for a flashlight or to light himself on fire. 

He let his eyes wander, trying to figure out why he’d been thrown out of his home in the middle of the night. They didn’t have to wander far. 

Someone had placed a basket beside the entrance to the Waystation. And inside that basket…

“Holy shit.” Leo pinched himself, trying to confirm he wasn’t so sleep deprived he was hallucinating the whole thing. 

Nope, the basket was still there. And that was definitely a baby. What the hell?

He kneeled down next to the basket, looking at the infant that had been left here all alone, with no one but the moon to guard her.

They were wide awake, looking at him with large, dark eyes. 

“What are you doing out here, hm?” 

He scanned the area again, trying to see if there was a parent around who’d come back to collect their baby. He couldn’t see anyone. Not that leaving a child on some stranger’s doorstep to go buy groceries or something would have been peak parenting, exactly.

The wind was bitingly cold. And if it was that bad for him, Leo couldn’t imagine basket baby was doing much better, in their thin onesie and blanket.

“Okay, we need to get you inside,” he decided, reaching out towards the basket, then stopping suddenly as he spotted something tucked underneath it.

It was a small piece of paper, no larger than a postcard. He pulled it out from beneath the basket so he could take a look at it, slowly, so as to not startle the child in the process. Words had been hastily scribbled onto the paper. 

‘I can’t care for her, but I know she’ll be safe here. This is what’s best for both of us.’ 

Leo’s heart was hammering in his chest, aching for the poor kid and whatever demigod had dropped her off here—and it had to have been a demigod. No one else would think to drop their child off at what the general public considered to be a generic event space—never mind in the middle of the night—expecting her to be safe.

Leo folded the note and put it into one of his many, many pockets. 

He hesitated again, trying to remember whether he’d washed his hands properly coming out of the workshop. He decided better safe than sorry and went for the effective, if slightly unusual, disinfecting technique of temporarily setting his hands on fire.

Once he’d put them out and cooled them back down to a semi-normal temperature, he reached out to scoop the baby up out of the basket.

Thankfully, Leo wasn’t completely useless with babies. Em, his honorary niece, was three now, but he’d held her enough times as an infant to know how this went. Make sure the head and neck are supported first, then place the other hand under the baby's bottom and lift them up carefully.

He still remembered how Piper had first explained it to him, Reyna glaring at him from across the room like she was fully expecting him to drop the baby. That had made two of them.

He’d been weeping, still reeling from the declaration that the girl was named after him—as a gesture of love and because in a world where names had power, the name of someone who’d defied death twice and found his happy ending against all odds was good luck. He’d spent so long thinking of himself as a curse that someone choosing his name as a blessing hadn’t quite computed.

“Don’t mind my lovely wife. Rey’s just nervous,” Piper had whispered to him, patting his arm encouragingly while he held Emilia for the very first time. “You’re the first person aside from us and the hospital staff who gets to hold Em.”

Leo had understood nervous, then, with his best friend’s kid snuggled up against his chest. He understood nervous now, with this small, vulnerable human in his arms. Despite knowing exactly what he was doing, he was still anxious he might hurt her accidentally. This had to be terrifying for her, and the last thing he wanted was to make it even worse.

The Waystation roulette was merciful. After walking back up the ramp with the baby in tow, Leo found himself standing right outside his bedroom door.

Thank the gods. He really needed Jason right now.

Okay, technically Emmie and Jo would probably have been more convenient than Leo’s poor husband, whose experience with babies was about the same as Leo’s own—limited to playing with Em and babysitting for Percy and Annabeth back at uni. But Emmie and Jo weren’t here right now. They were in New Rome with Georgina.

The thought of Georgina at NRU was still weird as hell. Leo had known this kid since she was seven years old. The fact that she was attending university now would never, ever, feel normal to him. 

But in all honesty, even if his foster parents had been at the Waystation right now, Leo probably still would have wanted Jason. He was pretty sure wanting your husband there was a natural instinct when one found a child on their doorstep. He’d have to ask around for reference.

Leo pushed open the bedroom door with his hip, wincing as it creaked. He’d been meaning to take care of the rusted hinges for a while, but between the dracon incident last month and an emergency pegasus landing two weeks ago, he’d been preoccupied with other fixes and forgotten about this one. He hadn’t exactly thought to account for the inconvenience the issue might cause to any babies found on the doorstep in the middle of the night.

The little girl in his arms scrunched up her face like she might start to cry.

“Shhhh. Hey. You’re okay,” he tried to soothe her, bouncing her awkwardly. “That’s what I get for prioritizing fixing the person-sized hole in the roof over some rusty hinges.”

The baby didn’t start crying, though she still looked very unhappy about the entire situation. Leo couldn’t say he blamed her.

Jason shifted in his blanket heap.

Leo wasn’t surprised he’d woken up. Creaky door or not, he almost always woke up when Leo came to bed. His husband had always been a light sleeper—all too ready to jump out of bed with his sword drawn at even the hint of a threat. Even though more than a decade had come and gone since he’d been an active member of the legion, he’d never quite managed to break that particular habit. 

Usually, Leo felt bad for waking him. Right now, that he woke so easily was a huge relief. Having to shake Jason awake with one arm while balancing a baby in the other wasn’t an experience Leo was particularly sad to miss out on. 

His husband made a displeased noise as the light was switched on. He covered his face with one arm, said something that sounded like half a nickname in garbled Spanish and grumbled about it being late and being abandoned to sleep on his own.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry about that, Sparky. More importantly, though: look at this baby I found.”

“Can you please come to bed first and make jokes at me after?” Jason complained, yawning. He patted the mattress next to him. “I promise I’ll laugh, even if I’m way too tired to understand the joke. I just want to cuddle for a bit.”

“I would, but I think we’ve got more immediate problems than me depriving you of cuddles. Namely: the fact that I’m holding a child right now.”

“Leo, I love you so much, but you know I don’t have the capacity for your sense of humor at this hour. What in the world are you talking about?” Jason murmured, finally starting to untangle himself from the blankets. 

As if on cue, the little girl in Leo’s arms started crying. Whether this was because she was hungry or cold or because the existential dread of being ditched on a stranger’s doorstep by the only person she’d ever known was starting to hit her, Leo couldn’t immediately tell.

Jason sat up with a start, wide awake the instant it dawned on him that this wasn’t one of Leo’s weird jokes.

He looked at the two of them, eyes wide as saucers. “What did you do?”

“I cloned myself,” Leo said, looking his husband dead in the eye. The joke didn’t entirely work. Her skin was a shade darker than his and the tufts of hair on the girl’s head were clearly brown instead of black.

He rocked the baby gently against his chest. 

“What?” Jason was out of bed at a speed that was honestly frightening, even for someone who had seen him go from zero to battle-ready in under thirty seconds before.

Jason looked frantic, apparently completely willing to believe Leo’s stupid joke, the obvious inconsistencies be damned. He moved to stand beside them.

“Kidding, mi cielo. I’m still working on cloning.” Leo grinned at him. He felt as terrified as Jason looked, and even now, despite the fact that he was supposed to be a semi-responsible adult and had been married for almost a decade, jokes were sometimes the only thing that helped. “I just ordered DoorDash. Not sure why they sent a baby. I’m pretty sure I just asked for fries.”

“Leo, whose child is that?” 

Okay, that was enough with the jokes. They might have been helpful for Leo, but it was obvious they were doing the opposite for Jason, and getting him even more worked up would probably not help the situation.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. He continued to rock the baby, but it wasn’t helping. She just wouldn’t stop crying. “It wasn’t DoorDash, but someone did leave her at the entrance of the Waystation with no intention of coming back.”

“Oh.” Jason’s posture immediately changed. The tension went out of his body, replaced with a kind of vulnerability Leo had only seen his husband show a handful of times. “But she’s so small.Someone just abandoned her?”

Leo’s chest constricted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Jason sound so utterly broken.

The parent that had left the girl here probably had their reasons—and, speaking as someone who’d spent a lot of time in the care of foster parents who hadn’t been fit for the job, sometimes not having a parent at all was definitely the preferable option.

But how could Jason have thought of anything other than the feeling of being that small, abandoned child, waiting in the woods for a mother who never came back?

Leo wanted to pull his husband to his chest and soothe him, but currently he had an armful of wailing baby, which made that a little difficult.

“Come on, let’s sit for a while, yeah?” Leo suggested gently. Jason nodded, and together they sank down onto the edge of their bed, the mattress creaking slightly as they did. “You wanna hold her for a bit?”

“I…” Jason hesitated, then nodded. “I do, actually.”

Leo very carefully handed him the baby. That made her crying even worse. Leo gulped, wondering if she thought she was being abandoned again.

“Hey, cariño, I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he said soothingly. “That’s Jason. He’s nice, I promise. I wouldn’t have married him otherwise.”

He gently poked one of the girl’s palms with his finger. She immediately grasped for it, meaning she had to be very little. He knew that because he loved being Em’s tío and had been endlessly bummed out when she’d grown out of automatically grasping his fingers at five months.

“Hey. You’re going to be okay,” Jason said to the girl, sounding almost shy. His voice was quavering as he cradled the child protectively. He looked at her with all the determination of someone who knew exactly what it was like to be abandoned and would have done anything to make sure it didn’t happen to anyone else. “I’m sorry. This is so, so much, and it has to be so overwhelming for you. But you’re safe. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

His voice cracked.

Leo wrapped his free arm around his husband, placing his head down on Jason’s shoulder. Jason was shaking.

“You’re okay, too,” Leo reminded him gently, pressing a kiss to the side of Jason’s head. “I’m not going anywhere. Expert at sticking around, remember?”

Jason nodded, smiling weakly.

“I love you,” he sniffled, leaning into Leo. His eyes were brimming with tears. “She’s so upset.”

“I know, Jase.”

Leo thought for a moment, then started humming the melody of an old lullaby his mom had sung to him when he’d been little, the words of which long since been lost to time.

Between this, Jason’s gentle rocking and Leo’s finger grasped tightly in her little fist, the baby startled to settle down, staring at them with large, dark eyes.

“There you go. That’s better. You’re way too young for that level of existential dread,” Leo joked, heart aching. “I could go find you a warmer blanket, if you want? You’re a little cold.” He tried to pull his hand back, but the second she lost her grip on his finger, she started crying again. “Or not! Maybe you’ll continue to hold my finger hostage instead,” he decided, letting her grasp it again.

She immediately quieted back down.

Leo’s tool belt wasn’t super helpful at producing blankets. It could do car covers and cleaning rags, but Leo wasn’t convinced those materials were baby-safe, so instead he leaned as far as he could off the bed without removing his finger from the girl’s little fist again and pulled a fresh bed sheet out of a drawer. Then, he asked the tool belt for scissors.

~~~

A few minutes later, Jason had wrapped the baby up in the remnants of a very wrecked bedsheet. She cooed happily, still hanging onto Leo’s hand, though he put a stop to it when she tried to stick his finger in her mouth.

“Trust me, kid. You do not want to do that. My hands are clean-ish, but you don’t know where I’ve been.” She scrunched her face up again. “Nope, I’m not budging on that. You do not need to know what oil tastes like yet. Spoilers: I’ve tried it. Do not recommend.”

He hummed at her again, which slightly soothed her offense at the terrible injustice of not getting to eat his fingers.

“I wish we had a pacifier we could give her,” Jason said quietly. 

“I’m not sure Georgina’s twenty year old pacifiers still exist, but even if they do, I don’t think they’d be any safer for her than my fingers,” Leo commented, sighing. “I wish we had something to give her, too. Her bio parent at least could have had the decency to dump her on our doorstep with some basic necessities.”

“They’re really not going to come back for her, are they?” Jason asked. He didn’t look like he was about to break down in tears anymore, but his breaths still came shakily.

“No,” Leo said, running his free hand soothingly down his husband’s arm. “The note they left made it sound pretty permanent.”

Looking at him—at the way Jason was smiling down at the child, so, so very gentle despite all his grief, and the way all three of them fit together—something in Leo’s mind began to click into place. 

Before he could decide what, exactly, that something was, Jason beat him to it.

“Can we keep her?” he asked suddenly, with no preamble or warning. He was tense, anxiety written all over his face. He continued hastily, “I know it’s not really how we planned to do this, but-”

“She’s here now. And she needs someone,” Leo finished, smiling at the fact that their minds had gone to the same place. They were like two gears in the same machine, running perfectly in sync.

Jason nodded. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. 

“You don’t think I’m being completely ridiculous?”

“For wanting to adopt a child you met maybe ten minutes ago?” Leo beamed at him. “I mean, a little. But I can’t be making all the ridiculously impulsive decisions in this relationship.”

He pressed a kiss to Jason’s temple.

Jason smiled weakly. The grief in his expression started to melt away into something soft and almost hopeful. “So you’re saying we’ll think about it?”

That would have been reasonable. This was maybe not the sort of decision one should make at this hour of night. But Leo had never been the reasonable sort. Mostly, this had been to his benefit—if he had been reasonable, he would have been extremely fucking dead, and Jason with him.

Honestly, Leo made some of his best choices when he wasn’t overthinking things. 

Besides, considering how easily the girl had settled in his husband’s arms, and the soft way Jason was looking at him…

Well, fuck being reasonable.

“Eh, I’ve told you before that I try not to think too much. It interferes with being nuts.” Leo grinned. “So, I guess we have a kid now?”

Jason leaned forward and kissed him.

~~~

Maybe Leo should have been freaking out more. That seemed like the reasonable way to act when you’d suddenly become a dad from one minute to the next with no warning.

But apparently he’d gotten most of his frantic energy out of his system when he’d found the baby, and now that Jason was with him and they knew they’d be keeping her, the whole thing didn’t seem quite as ridiculously terrifying anymore.

When the baby started crying again—utterly inconsolable this time in a way that, from all their past baby experiences, made Jason and Leo agree she was probably hungry—he didn’t let himself panic. He briefly left his husband and the baby to go bother the nice mortal couple down the street about diapers and formula and a baby bottle, fumbling his way through an explanation about unexpectedly ending up with a Safe Haven Box baby. He figured that was close enough to the truth. 

Preparing the formula wasn’t too hard, but he was glad he had practice from babysitting.

When he got back to the bedroom, Jason was hovering—like, literally hovering a good foot above the ground—and talking to the baby in a hushed tone. 

“What in the world are you doing?” Leo laughed, raising an eyebrow at his husband.

“I don’t know. She seems to like it,” Jason told him, slowly floating back down.

The baby was still obviously unhappy, but she wasn’t crying quite as hard anymore. Huh. They'd have to put that down for future reference.

“Hey, cariño. I brought food.” Leo waved the bottle at her. “Jase, do you wanna feed her?”

Jason’s eyes gleamed. “Would that be okay?”

“I mean, it’s not like this is a one and done kind of deal. I can feed her next time. Besides,” Leo continued teasingly, “seems only fair that you take more of the baby feeding shifts. We both know I’m gonna be making most of her food once she grows out of formula and puree age. You’re a safety hazard in the kitchen.”

“You’re impossible,” Jason laughed, sitting back down on the bed and adjusting his hold on the baby to get her into a better position for feeding.

“I’m also right.” Leo smirked. “Remember that time back at NRU when you tried to make popcorn and somehow exploded the microwave?”

“That was ten years ago,” Jason pouted. 

“And you’ve since managed to fry our microwave a minimum of five times, and the oven at least twice. You are not helping your case, mi cielo.” He handed over the bottle. The baby looked at it suspiciously for a moment. “Solid instincts, cariño, but I made that one. It’s good, promise,” Leo told her, feeling incredibly smug when she started to drink.

Her tiny scrunched up face started to relax.

“There, that's much better, isn’t it?” Jason asked soothingly. 

“Look at that. A bit of Chef Leo food and she’s immediately content,” Leo announced, ignoring the fact that in this particular case, his specific input in preparing the food had been minimal. “I can’t believe she’s been with us for all of an hour and she’s already taking after you.”

His husband gently headbutted Leo in the neck, like he sometimes did. He was a fucking weirdo. 

But he was Leo’s fucking weirdo. Forever.

“Hey, it’s not our fault you’re a great cook.” Jason was smiling softly. “She’s gonna fit right in.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Leo was transfixed on the image of Jason holding their baby. Their baby. They had a daughter now. 

It was almost startling, how quickly the certainty of it had settled over him. How right it all felt. They’d been talking about adopting for a while, and it had felt more and more like it was the right time.

Her appearing on their doorstep now… it was something like destiny. 

Normally, the concept of destiny would have set off alarm bells in Leo’s head. For most of his life, destiny hadn’t been a good thing. So little of his and Jason’s lives had ever been coincidental. They’d both spent their entire childhoods tangled up in strings the Fates had woven for them.

But he figured after all the awful things he’d been destined to be—an orphan and a hero and dead—being a dad wasn’t a destiny he minded all that much.

“The note didn’t mention a name, right?” Jason asked as he put down the bottle. Leo shook his head. “Does that mean we get to choose one?”

Jason shifted the baby in his arms, holding her upright and gently patting her back to burp her. 

“Yeah. She seems very enthusiastic about being named.” Leo chuckled. “I’m partial towards Leo 2.0, personally, but between me and Em, that might get a little confusing, so 3.0 might be better.”

“Serious suggestions only, please?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, if that’s your condition you’re gonna have to find a different husband.” 

Leo flicked him in the head, still grinning, but then he dutifully redirected his attention towards the baby. He thought back to the list of baby names they’d made—a list that he’d always figured they most likely wouldn’t need, considering most adoptees came much older than this, with a name already attached. Jason had insisted they make a list anyway, just in case. Leo hadn’t had the heart to tell him no.

And, well, considering their 3 am postal delivery baby, that was a point in favor of Jason’s incessant need to prepare for all possible scenarios.

Names—especially demigod names and the power woven into them via the Fates—were kind of a huge deal, and not a decision to make lightly. He was more than glad their past selves had narrowed it down.

“What do you think of Sofía?” he asked, tilting his head at the baby. 

She cooed at him. 

“She seems to like it. I think that’s a good sign.” Jason smiled, but there was a hesitation in his expression, like there was something more he wasn’t saying.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. If you’d rather name her something else-” Leo started, but Jason shook his head.

“It’s not that. I think Sofía fits her. I just thought maybe she’d like a middle name.” He bit his lip, but then he looked right at Leo with those startlingly blue eyes of his that Leo loved so much. “We don’t have to, if it doesn’t feel right to you, but… what do you think of Sofía Esperanza?”

Leo’s heart skipped a beat.

It had taken him longer than he felt comfortable admitting to talk about his mom to Jason—to really talk about her. The good times they shared and the joyful memories and the stinging feeling of loss that still remained, despite everything.

Leo had gotten closure. He had a mother who loved him dearly, throughout life and beyond death. Jason’s mother had been such a dickhead that she’d made a point of breaking out of the Underworld to re-traumatize him. How was it fair to burden him with all this—to share his mourning for a kind of love Jason had never known?

But when Leo had finally fully shown that part of himself, Jason had held him through it, and gladly. Through the joy and the pain of it all. 

They carried each other’s burdens, the way they always had.

Jason wouldn’t have made the suggestion lightly. He must have been thinking about this for a long time. Maybe since they’d first made that list, back when the child in question had still been entirely hypothetical.

“Would that… is that really okay with you? I mean-” Leo stammered, struggling to find the words—struggling to find any words at all. His thoughts were failing him utterly. 

In his defense, it was almost 4 am, and they’d just adopted a baby on a whim. These things tended to turn one’s brain to mush even when they occurred separately.

“Of course I’d be okay with it. It was literally my suggestion, mi vida.” Jason smiled softly at him. “Besides, Esperanza means hope, right? If we’re worried about names having power, I think this one is powerful in a good way.”

And, as was the case far more often than Leo would ever admit out loud, his husband was right. They’d both learned a long time ago that hope was perhaps the greatest power of all.

“Wisdom and hope, hm?” Leo gently booped Sofía’s nose. “Guess we’re really trying to drive home the fact that you’re not related to either one of us.“ Sofía smiled up at him, catching one of his fingers in her little fist again, and Leo laughed. “Look, Jase, she’s got your reflexes.”

Her hand was warm and soft and her adorable little smile made Leo melt. 

Jason looked down at their daughter with pure adoration in his eyes. 

Oh, they were in so much trouble. Leo wasn’t sure how they’d ever manage to tell her no on anything.

On the upside: they’d make sure little Sofía Esperanza would never feel unloved a day in her life.

~~~ Leo was officially never sending a vaguely worded Iris Message again.

His first impulse had been to call Piper—because, well, it was Piper—which would have worked great if she had been awake, but that seemed like a long shot at this hour. The thing was: Piper slept like a log. When she was out, she was completely dead to the world, and if that was the case, they would be sent right to rainbow voicemail.

Going with “McLean household, Oklahoma. Just give me whoever is most awake,” had seemed like a safe bet at the time. If Reyna and/or Piper were up, they were good. If neither of them was, then they’d at least know that it was pointless to call again tonight and they’d just try again in the morning.

Except, well… Leo was currently looking at his three year old niece.

“Tío Leo!! Uncle Jason!” Em beamed at them. “I’m up!”

“We can see that.” Leo blinked at her. “Uhm, as awesome as it is to see you, could you maybe get one of your moms? Either one works.”

“But I wanna talk,” she pouted. Then she sat bolt upright. “You’re playing dolls? Without me?”

“I would never,” Leo said in mock-offense. “Also, that's a baby, not a doll.”

He shifted Sofía in his arms so his niece could take a proper look at her. Jason had handed her back to Leo when he’d gone to collect Georgina’s old bassinet from the attic that had mercifully decided to pop up next door, and Leo had been holding her since.

“A baby?” Emilia stared through the rainbow with wide eyes. “She’s so small.”

“Yeah. Babies are kinda just like that. They don’t come in too many different sizes,” he explained with a shrug. “This is Sofía. Say hi to your prima, cariño.” The baby just kind of blinked at Em, but she was smiling, which he figured probably counted. “Sorry. They don’t come very talkative at that age, either.”

Em didn’t seem to mind. She waved at the baby excitedly.

“Hi Sofía.” Her voice was full of wonder. “She’s adorable.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of perfect, isn’t she?” Jason’s voice was stupidly fond. Leo would have married him all over again in an instant.

Before anyone could say anything else, the door to Emilia’s room opened, light spilling inside from the hallway.

Leo made a little shushing noise at his niece, holding the baby just out of frame. Emilia giggled.

“Emmy, I thought we decided you were going back to sleep,” Piper’s groggy voice came from somewhere beyond the rainbow’s visual range. “Hang on, is that an Iris Message? What the-” A second later, her face appeared in the corner of the rainbow. “Leo? Jason?”

“Pipes! Hey!” Leo beamed at her. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I say this in the fondest way possible, but I am literally going to kill you guys. I just managed to get her settled back in bed.”

“Sorry,” Jason said immediately. “It’s kind of an emergency.”

“What sort of emergency requires you to call my toddler in the middle of the night?” She looked at them incredulously “Leo, it’s four thirty in the morning. I know it’s a full moon, but can you please get your werewolf husband under control?”

“No, I cannot. May I remind you that you were the one who said if you wanted a responsible godfather, you would have picked someone else?” Leo asked with a grin. “Though, in our defense, we were technically trying to call you or Reyna. Iris just decided to be funny.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I think you’ll probably forgive us, considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Piper narrowed her eyes, looking suspiciously from Leo to her giggling toddler, like she expected them to have hidden paint bombs across the house together.

Talk about bearing grudges. They’d only done that once. 

…okay, maybe twice. But still. 

Besides, Leo was halfway across the country right now. That made getting into trouble with his niece a lot more difficult.

“And what were you trying to call us about? Because you both seem way too cheerful for this to be an actual emergency.”

“It is an actual emergency. The good kind, though,” Jason explained, voice soft. He wasn’t even looking up at Piper. He’d gone back to smiling at Sofía. The little girl cooed happily at him.

“I don’t think that’s a thing.” Piper paused. “What was that noise?”

“Surprise! You’re an aunt now!” Leo lifted his armful of baby into the frame. “Sofía, this is Piper. Piper, Sofía Valdez.”

Piper rubbed her eyes. Then, apparently realizing that the baby was very much still there and not going anywhere, she stared at him in utter disbelief. “Leo, what the f-”

“No cursing!” Jason yelped, moving to cover Sofía’s ears.

Emilia burst into a fresh fit of giggles. “Mommy said a bad word.”

“Yeah, I did. But it’s a mommy only word, reserved for special occasions, so please don’t use it, okay?” Piper said quickly. She covered her face with her hands. 

“Okay, no saying fuck,” Em agreed, causing Jason to make a fresh offended yelping noise while Leo just burst into laughter.

“Not. A. Word,” Piper grumbled, glaring at him. 

Leo would have pointed out that technically, he hadn’t said anything, but figured that if he was planning to see his daughter grow up, he should probably leave it.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said instead, taking a few breaths to try and get himself to stop laughing. It was only semi-successful. “Emilia, listen to your mom, okay?”

“I am!” she pointed out, grinning. “No using the word. Just said I won’t.”

“Smart kid,” Leo said approvingly, which just made Piper glare at him even harder. Hey, it wasn’t his fault his niece had inherited Piper’s chaotic energy and Reyna’s ability to win political debates. His only crime was not discouraging her. 

And honestly, which decent tío would have? As far as he was concerned, she should be allowed to make use of her natural talents.

“Matters of teaching my child to curse at four thirty in the morning aside,” Piper sighed, shaking her head, “would you guys please tell me what in the world is going on? Whose child did you two kidnap?”

“She’s ours,” Jason said, completely matter-of-factly. “No kidnapping involved.”

“I’m a prima,” Emilia told her mom, beaming.

“That’s great, sweetheart.” Even through the rainbow filter, it was easy to tell that Piper was barely listening to Emilia. She looked from Jason to Leo to Sofía, wide-eyed, apparently reassessing the situation. “You two are actually serious.”

She sat down hard on her daughter’s bed. 

“Yeah. Why would you think we were joking about that?” Leo asked, shaking his head. “Gods, Pipes, I’m thirty years old, for crying out loud. Don’t you think I’m a bit too mature to prank call you at four thirty in the morning?” Despite the fact that she was obviously in shock, Piper still raised an eyebrow at him at that question. “Okay, fine, maybe I would do that, but what would the punch line even be in this case?”

“I don’t know!” Piper gestured vaguely. “Where did you guys get a baby at four in the morning?”

“Annabeth had Cooper at one in the morning,” Leo told her with a shrug. “Babies don’t exactly come with business hours.”

Sofía cooed in his arms. 

“That’s different!” Piper protested, clearly exasperated. “I saw you guys last weekend! If one of you had been pregnant, I’m pretty sure I would have known!”

“Someone left her on the doorstep of the Waystation an hour ago,” Jason explained, that same fragility from earlier creeping back into his voice. “She’s ours now.”

“Oh.” All the fight drained out of Piper in an instant. She turned to Emilia, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Can you do me a favor? Can you go wake your mamá for me, sweetheart?”

“But I wanna stay,” Emilia pouted. “Sofía’s cute.”

“I know, honey. But she’s still gonna be here when you get back. And mamá’s gonna want to meet the baby, too.”

Emilia thought about this intensely for a moment. Then she nodded and climbed out of the bed. “Okay.” 

“Besides, mommy might need to use a few more curse words, and I do not want you around for that,” Piper muttered after her daughter had left.

Jason crossed his arms. “Hey, you can’t curse at our child, either.”

“She’s not gonna remember at that age,” Piper said. She looked a lot less confused and a lot more upset now. “Is she okay?” she asked, wringing her hands.

“Dunno. She had a bit of a crying fit when I brought her inside, but Emilia had a lot of crying fits at that age without you guys ditching her at a random event space, so I’m not sure that’s related,” Leo told her. He gently bounced the baby in his arms. Sofía was cooing at him again, waving her little hands around. Considering everything that had happened tonight, Leo was surprised she still had this much energy. “We’ll ask Nico if he can shadow travel Will over in the morning so he can check her over. She doesn’t seem hurt or sick, but we figured it’s better to be sure.”

“She’s really small. I don’t think she actually understands what’s happening,” Jason added. “But we’re gonna make sure she’ll be okay.” He said it in such a fierce, protective way, and Leo’s heart broke for his husband for the umpteenth time. 

“Are you guys okay?” Piper asked. She was looking directly at Jason now. “This is a lot.“

“We’re okay,” Jason said, in a way that made it blatantly obvious to both Piper and Leo that he wasn’t. “It has been kind of overwhelming, but I’m managing. Leo’s been amazing.” 

“Superman’s being unnecessarily modest,” Leo told Piper, shaking his head. “He’s doing a great job. He fed her and found her a crib and everything.”

Jason smiled weakly. “I- thanks.”

“She’s lucky to have you both,” Piper said. She still looked tired and seriously worried, but her voice was fond. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re amazing, and you only want to kill us a little bit for Iris Messaging your toddler in the middle of the night,” Leo said, smiling at her. 

“Just this once, you’re pardoned due to extenuating circumstances,” Piper decided solemnly. “Besides, I’m not orphaning your child.”

“Thanks?” Jason said. It came out more like a question than a statement, but his voice was tinged with amusement, and after everything that had happened tonight, that was a huge relief. “We wanted you and Reyna to be the first ones to know. And, uhm. Maybe ask if you’ve still got some of Em’s old baby clothes?”

“We do.” Piper smiled softly. “Reyna couldn’t bring herself to get rid of any of them. She’s incredibly sappy at heart.”

“Oh, we know,” Leo said with a grin. “We’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Piper sighed contently. She opened her mouth to say something else, but she was interrupted by the sound of a door banging open.

“Em said you used a bad word and also something about a kidnapping?” Reyna asked, sounding seriously concerned. “Who are you IMing at this hour? Is anyone hurt? Do we need to send out search parties?”

She stepped into range of the rainbow, but she wasn’t looking at the Iris Message. Her eyes were firmly on her wife, their daughter clutched protectively to her chest.

“No one’s hurt. No one’s missing, either.” Piper made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “So glad our three year old covered all the important bullet points.”

“I got mamá awake,” Em reported, yawning.

Leo couldn’t blame her. It was almost morning. He was starting to feel seriously tired, too.

Sofía wasn’t. She was still wide awake, cooing and wiggling happily in his arms. Leo wasn’t sure if that was normal, but he figured it did not bode well for the amount of sleep he and Jason would be getting going forward.

“That you did, sweetie,” Piper said, smiling at her daughter. Then she looked up at her wife. “Morning, Love. I promise it’s nothing bad, but you might still want to sit down.”

“Hi Reyna,” Leo greeted her. “So, uhm, funny story. You know how Jason and I have sort of been talking about adoption for a while?”

~~~

By the time they got off the line with Piper and Reyna, it was well past six am. Em had dozed off on her mamá’s lap more than an hour ago. Sofía was somehow still awake, though she’d been wiggling a lot less and yawning a lot more in the last half an hour. 

In the end, it took a diaper change and a second feeding session for Sofía to finally start dozing off in Leo’s arms. By then, the sun was starting to come up.

He still held her for a while after, making sure she was well and truly asleep before swaddling her properly and gently transferring her into the bassinet. The sunlight through the window was tickling his face as he sat back down on the bed with a quiet thunk.

“I can’t believe she’s inherited my awful sleep schedule. That's not good,” he joked, letting himself sink into Jason’s side. “Make better choices, kid!”

“On the bright side, you probably won’t have any trouble staying up with her,” Jason said, wrapping both arms around Leo and pressing a kiss to his curls. “We’re really doing this, hm?”

“Yeah. Weirdest adoption circumstances of the century, maybe, but we are.” Leo laughed. “Man, this is so on-brand for us. We can never do anything the normal way.”

Jason laughed right along with him—a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through Leo’s body with how close they were pressed together. Leo loved that laugh. Loved that it wasn’t the suppressed chuckle that had been Jason’s default when they met. It had been so hard to make him laugh, back then. Not that it had ever stopped Leo from trying.

For a while, they just sat there, all wrapped up in each other as the sun slowly rose on the other side of the window.

“There’s so much we don’t know,” Jason said eventually, breaking the silence. Leo didn't have to see his face to know he was looking at Sofía. “Do we have any idea what we’re doing?”

“Do any parents? Especially demigods?” Leo asked, raising an eyebrow. When that just made his husband grow even more tense, Leo hugged him tightly. “Hey. We managed to save the world when you didn’t know anything except for your first name, sword fighting and whatever vague mythology fun facts your godly stepmom decided to leave inside your skull. Compared to that situation? I think we’ve got a lot to work with here.”

“I just don’t want to fail her,” Jason said, very quietly.

“I don’t think we’ve ever failed at anything we did together.” Leo paused. “Well, at least not when it comes to anything important. Despite your best efforts, I’m still a really shitty dancer,” he amended.

“You’re not that bad,” Jason insisted, pressing another kiss to his hair.

“Right. And you’re only a mildly terrible cook,” Leo teased, still holding on tight. “We’ll figure things out, Jase. We always have.” 

“You’re probably right,” Jason sighed, sinking into him and gently nuzzling Leo’s cheek. “Together.”

“Always. You married me, so you’re never getting rid of me now,” Leo told him, failing to suppress a yawn. 

It had been a long night, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

Leo looked back at Sofía, who was peacefully snoring away in her bassinet. 

If ‘together’ meant three of them instead of two of them now… well, he was more than okay with that.

Leo had faced the end of the world with Jason by his side. He figured they could probably handle parenting, too.

———

Fic Notes:

-Sorry about the extremely silly fic title. Juno made a joke about this to me forever ago when we were first talking about this concept and it just kind of stuck.

-Fun fact: I've been working on this fic on and off since last year! I cannot believe how long it ended up being, lmao.

-Family stuff is super fun to me, and considering Jason’s was abandoned as a little kid and Leo knows exactly what it’s like to not have anyone look out for you from his later childhood and teens, I always knew they'd somehow end up adopting. Me and QueenJunoTheGreat have been chatting about Sofía forever now, and I’ve made several tumblr posts about her, so it’s a little strange that this is technically the first fic I’ve posted about her.

-This kid has a lot of lore and thoughts attached to her (as does Em, though this is technically her second fic), so if you wanna read more about her you can always just scroll through my tumblr and specifically the (specifically the “pjo next gen” tag)! -Would actually love to write some more fics about these kids, but we’ll see how it goes.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments extremely appreciated!

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 13

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: so much fucking angst it literally isnt funny. soft!joel

Summary: You're embarking on a journey of self discovery. Of things that make YOU feel good. Like setting boundaries, and getting your dream job! But that means leaving Sarah, and Joel. You actively don't think about it, until you have to. (1.7k+)

a/n: okay so shoutout to @frankensteingotwet because their vision literally inspired this chapter. ive been so down the dumps w this fic because of many reasons and im so sorry this took so long. but, if you've stuck around this long, this ones for you too. leave a like or a comment or a reblog, they mean the world. love u all bunches xoxoxo ps still figuring out writing from other POVs and boarders. :P bear with me pps didnt proof this so sorry for any errors :/

Chapter 12 - Masterlist - Chapter 14 (coming soon)

boarders: @evansyhelp

It’s been a few months since the fallout with Joel and things are relatively the same. Every so often there's muffins on the porch or you bring Sarah home, but you leave his spare key under the flowerpot and you don’t go out of your way to speak to him. 

You try to tell yourself you’re healing. You tell yourself that in order to heal you need to take more time. More time to think, more time to find yourself. But what you’ve actually done is build a wall. A wall so tall and so thick that not even the Romans themselves could conquer it. A wall so strong that a meteor would barely scratch its surface. 

But despite that big ass wall, you’re trying to get back out there. You’re trying to fix the shit that you didn’t even break. Trying to be better for yourself. You’ve gone on a handful of dates but none of them made it past the first one. The first guy, Bryan, wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how damaged he was from his ex, and the second guy, Carter, didn’t talk at all. The third? You don’t even remember his name because he didn’t show. Or at least you don't think he did. You sat alone at the bar 15 minutes past when he was supposed to get there before you blocked his number and left. Men these days make you want to become a fucking nun. 

Work is fine, and you still occasionally bring Sarah home but don’t stick around for casual conversation. You don't ask how he is or about his recent jobs. You decline many coffee invitations, and leave little room for misinterpretation. You might be trying to get back out there, but not with him. 

The more you think about your relationship(?) with Joel, you want to smack yourself. It’s like you had red fucking glasses on and couldn’t see the flags. But you were no saint either, which is why you don’t think it will ever work. There's too much shit that you both did that screams “WE ARE SO TOXIC, ESPECIALLY TO EACH OTHER!” 

Your most recent life development has been preparing to take the middle school social studies Praxis exam, your dream job. And you’ve told no one. Not even Penny. Again, “protecting your peace” or whatever self-help journey you think you’re on. 

After months of studying, you take the Praxis. And you pass. With flying fucking colors. Your excitement can’t be contained and you call Penny. She answers after 2 rings. 

“My sweet Yellow!! How are you?!” she basically screams into the phone. 

“So good Pen. You have no idea!” you pause, barely able to get the words out. 

“I passed my test! My test to teach middle school social studies-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” She screams so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. 

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SEE HOW ELEMENTARY WAS? REGARDLESS.. AHHHH!! YELLOW I'M SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!” 

“I know I know!! I considered it but I really want a change, and I want it now. I think it’ll be good for me. I'm even considering taking a position at the charter school which means I’ll have to possibly move so I'm not driving a borderline 40 minutes to work everyday but I'm excited.” you say, feeling like this is the first right decision you’ve made since you moved here. 

“You know I support you, no matter what. But…” she trails off

“Spit it out Pen. You’re making me nervous.” You say, chuckling in both joy and anxiety. 

“But… I’ll be moving back at the end of July. I'm going to finish my doctorate at UT Austin. I love Ireland so much but with everything going on at home with moms health and being far from my friends, I just think it's time for me to come home.” she says, more cheery than you’d expect. 

“I haven't really figured out the logistics yet, but I’ll definitely be back. I found an apartment that's about halfway between my moms and campus.” 

You speak lightly, empathy lining every word. “Oh Pen, I'm so sorry. I know how much Ireland means to you.” 

“Hey, I got all my clinical shit done so really all that's left is my dissertation. But I’ve got to finish some stuff up here before I head out for the evening. I'm so glad you called. We have so much to catch up on. I'll text you, and we can schedule something, kay? I love ya. Soooooo so much.” 

“I love you too Pen!” you say, clicking the phone shut. 

You accept the position at the charter school and inform your current school that you won’t be returning. It feels like a weight off your chest, knowing that you’ll soon be in a new town miles and miles from here. But your stomach churns at the thought of having to tell Joel, having to tell Sarah. Be away from Sarah. From Joel. But you’re healing. You’re getting the fuck over it. 

The rest of the school year flies by. Everyday is like the last. Wake up, go to work, take Sarah home occasionally and avoid small talk with Joel, maybe eat, sleep, repeat. You browse newspapers and websites for homes to rent, not finding anything worth calling about. You start to worry the closer to July you get but push it to the back of your mind.

With one week of school left, your kids are beyond done. They’re so mentally checked out from school it's like having 23 little zombies everyday. On the last day, you receive that same “Hey works running late, can you hang with Sarah?” text from Joel and the answer is always the same bland “Of course!”. 

You guys jam out to Sum 41 on the way home and do all the basics; homework, some version of spa day, dinner, and a movie. 

You both fall asleep on the couch watching Freaky Friday, and don’t even notice Joel come in. Sarah is splayed across the couch, her head using your thigh as a pillow and her feet hanging off the edge. You have your hand sitting on her head, fingers nestled in her hair like she's a baby needing the external stimuli to fall asleep. 

*Joel's POV*

Things never really changed after that last conversation, and her words play in Joel’s head like a broken record, stuck skipping on the same groove over and over. “Joel, respectfully, you were an ass to me the day we met. You don’t treat someone you care about this much, like that”. It makes him want to punch a wall every goddamn time he thinks about it, because she's right. He was an ass.  

But on that night, the night on her porch, he was vulnerable. Soft. Like a butterfly on its first day out of the cocoon. But her blinds never opened back up. And she never took the key, never accepted coffee dates, and never stuck around for banter after Sarah was asleep. It hit him like a ton of fucking bricks everytime he saw her. 

Especially when he saw her leave at night in mini-skirts and heels, knowing that someone else was getting to see her. Getting to touch her porcelain skin. Kiss her strawberry lips. Run their fingers through her walnut colored locks. It made him spiral, but she said she needed space. But how much space is too much? How much before she's gone for good? He wishes he knew. But for now, even just seeing you for 5 minutes when he gets home late will be enough. It has to be. 

It’s been months and he’s trying to accept the new normal. But when he comes home and Sarah is splayed across the couch with head in your lap and your fingers tangled in her coils, it shoots a wave of pain and agony through his once strong body. His eyes overflowed at the sight. How could he fuck up something so goddamn perfect? Despite anything you ever did, it would never compare to the shit he put you through. He felt like he was drowning, and needed to calm himself down. He quietly sneaks off to his bathroom and tries to wash away the negative thoughts running rampant through his mind. 

He throws on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, combing his chocolate curls from his eyes. Walking out, his steps echo through the house. The TV must've auto shut off and the only sound heard is the hum of the refrigerator mixed with the soft snores of his 2 favorite girls. He dreads having to disturb either of you. You both look so peaceful, holding onto each other like your lives depend on it. He rubs his thumb across your cheek, soft as not to wake you. Knowing it would only cause more turmoil. He sighs, scooping Sarah off your lap. You barely stir, mumbling softly as Joel carries Sarah to her room. He comes back and you’re burrowed into the couch, your hair covering your eyes. 

*Readers POV*

“Hey” Joel whispers, standing over you, but you don’t move. 

He crouches down so he's now eye level with her “Sweet girl, I’m home” 

“Yellow? You gotta wake up. Sarahs already in bed.” He says, a little louder this time, rubbing your shoulder, your skin so hot it makes him feel like he’s going up in flames. His heart is full of desire, and regret. 

You stir, eyes crinkling open. “Hey Joel. Where’s Sarah?” your voice groggy and light. His heart melting at the mere sound of it. 

“I took her to bed, ya both were knocked out on the couch.” he says, flashing you a quick smile. 

She stretches, becoming more conscious as the seconds pass. 

And then it hits you. The thought of having to tell Joel that you’re moving makes your stomach churn, but it needs to be done. You want him to have time to arrange her transportation next year. 

“Joel?” you ask, your mouth salivating because of how nauseous you are.. “Can we talk?” you say, sitting up. 

“Always. I actually need to ask you something too.” He sits beside you, but not too close. His honey brown eyes meeting yours, looking at you rather than through you. 

You both sit in silence, just staring. And almost as if the same spit it out bug bites you both in the ass at the same damn time,

“I’m moving.” “Can you keep Sarah for me some days this summer?” 

And a singular tear rolls down Joel’s cheek.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

you broke me first

part 33

authors note: i’m back, what’d i miss

Zoe sat at her desk at work, staring at the blank screen. She had an article to write, but her mind was elseware - specifically, the text messages from Cillian she received this morning.

She thought about it as she got dressed, as she combed her hair, as she tried to find shoes that went with her outfit. She thought about it so much, she burnt her toast in the toaster and almost left the house with Scout still out in the backyard.

She ended up making another piece of toast; she was nauseous again, probably because of how her morning went. She inhaled it as she drove to the office, wiping the crumbs off her shirt as she parked and speed-walked into the building, hoping she got to her desk before anyone noticed she was 20 minutes late.

Once she made it to her office, she closed the door and sunk into her chair with a sigh of relief. She made it; she was behind on all her assignments and now she can hide out until 5, keep the office door closed, put her head down and just work. Shen she can leave and dwell on this some more.

That was the plan, at least.

And, you should know by now, nothing in Zoe’s life ever goes to plan.

Which brings us here, 12:30pm, with Zoe staring at her blank word document and her mind on Cillian.

Her phone buzzed. Her heart dropped, but saw Dana’s name and released the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

dana: hey! leaving pilates now, you still want to meet for lunch? Wanna do the cafe on the corner by your office?

Zoe quickly replied with a yes, and grabbed her bag. She put on her sunglasses and slowly opened her office door, peeking out to see if anyone was there.

Empty hallway. The front door is right there. A quick getaway. I can do this, Zoe thought.

“Excuse me, Zoe, do you have a minute?”

wrong.

Zoe turned around and saw Donna there with a legal pad and pen in her hand. She looked like she was about to go into Zoe’s office.

“Hey! I actually don’t, I gotta run to a lunch meeting..” Zoe lied.

“Oh great! With who?” Donna countered.

“Uh.. Emma Stone’s manager. Still hasn’t gotten back to me with a date yet. Gonna get one today.”

Donna’s smile faltered. She blinked and broke eye contact, giving off the feeling that she knew she was being lied to.

“…okay. I still need a lot of stuff from you, the Jennifer Garner storyboard you wanted to do… I can’t pitch anything to her people without a gameplan- ”

“I got it Donna, don’t worry. I’ll get it to you today,” Zoe asserted. Shit, i haven’t even started that.

“Let me know if you need Mia to take some stuff off your plate, the junior writers are here to help” Donna said, walking away coldly.

whatever. i’ll deal with that later.

—————-

Zoe sipped her iced tea and poked her overpriced salad with her fork. She had three, maybe four bites tops. She had no appetite.

She just told Dana everything, and she currently had her phone looking at the texts that Cillian sent.

“that is… so bizzare,” Dana replied, handing the phone back to Zoe. “It’s like night and day. This isn’t the man that picked us up from the bar that night. He sounds like a dick.”

“I was scared of this happening..He assured me that it wouldn’t. And here we are,” Zoe said, sighing.

“Have you texted him back? or called him?”

“no, he told me not to.” Upon hearing that, Dana’s hand fell to the table.

“Zoe, for God’s sakes, stop letting a man tell you what to do.”

“Dana, don’t start..” Zoe groaned.

“No Zo, i’m serious. Don’t let this scrub drag you from across the world. It’s not fair and i’m sick of it. You are an amazing girl and my best friend. He should be so disgustingly in love with you that your phone doesn’t stop going off from texts and phone calls. You helped him out so much in such a short time, helped him organize his new house while he’s off filming, and he talks to you like that? Beat him at his own game. If he wants to be cold and tell you not to text him? fine. but YOU go out and live your life. don’t sit at work dwelling over this. Don’t text, don’t call, don’t think about him -”

“Dana i’m staying at his house,” Zoe interrupted.

“GOOD. Stay there until he kicks you out. Look at you, I bet you got no work done today, right? because he has this much control over your emotions, all the way from across the ocean. Put yourself first babe,” Dana begged.

“It’s not that easy, Dana, I…I really opened up to him…”

“Just because you opened up to him, does not mean that you are obligated to put up with being treated like this. I’m serious, i’d make him sweat this. Fine, don’t contact him until he contacts you. But let’s go out later. Let’s have FUN. We’re young and pretty and live in one of the best cities in the world…. and you’re staying in a mansion for free. Hello???” Dana added, trying to lighten the situation.

Zoe sighed. She knew Dana was right, she didn’t deserve to be talked to like that. But Dana also knew how insecure she was, and how this will effect her for months. She wasn’t strong like Dana was and she knew that.

“Zoe,” Dana said, interrupting Zoe’s thoughts. “look at me.”

Zoe took her eyes off her sad salad and looked at Dana, bracing for whatever she was going to throw at her next.

“Do you remember when you told me you were visiting your sister, and when you both picked up Sophie from daycare, the teacher said she was being really bad and was ‘being like a brat’?”

Zoe stared at her. “yes.

“And what did you do?”

Zoe knew where this was going. “I told the teacher to never speak about my neice like that again.”

“….and? i think you’re leaving a part out” Dana hinted.

Zoe sighed. “And i said if she ever called her a brat again, she can have a meeting with me, her aunt who is 10 times more bratier than her and knows how to punch.” Zoe concluded.

“There you go,” Dana said. “How would you feel if one day, Sophie’s boyfriend talks to her like this. How would you feel? what would you tell her? Why can’t you take that advice for yourself?” Dana smiled, reaching across the table and squeezing Zoe’s hand. “You know, you’re someone’s daughter too. Someone’s aunt, someone’s sister… someone’s friend,” Dana said softly. “I know if i came to you with this, you’d tell me exactly what to do. I just want you to want more and better for yourself. I don’t want you putting up with this kind of stuff. Or this kind of treatment from him… or ANYONE, in any type of relationship in your life, wether it be boyfriends, friends, work relationships… put yourself first. Please. I love you.”

Zoe blinked back tears. She was right. Dana was right. She won’t admit it out loud, but she was right.

“Ok,” Zoe whispered. “you’re right. i don’t have control. over anything. including my emotions. It ends here,” Zoe said with a sigh.

“I’m here for you,” Dana said. “no matter what. You. First. No exceptions.”

“What do i do when he calls?”

“Just be short and to the point. that this isn’t going to fly if this is how it’s going to be. and if he can’t handle it - BYEEEEE” Dana said, yelling the last part, causing some people to turn and look.

Zoe couldn’t hold back from laughing. She loved Dana for this exact reason. She was the perfect cheerleader.

“Okay, okay!!” Zoe said, picking up her glass, holding it out. “here’s to me, and me only”

“and that big ass house you’re staying in until he royally kicks your ass out” Dana replied, clinking her glass against Zoe’s.

——————-

Zoe had just gotten back from a run when he called.

Shit, shit, okay, okay, Zoe thought, placing Scout’s leash on the counter. she took a deep breath and hit the green “accept”

“hello?”

“hey! I haven’t heard from you all day”

“sorry. I was busy.” Zoe replied coldly.

“oh.. anything good?” Cill responded.

“Work. Stayed late to catch up on stuff. Went for a run with your dog.”

“my dog?” Cillian replied. “okay, okay. how was work?”

“fine.”

Cillian knew something was wrong. “what’s wrong, bunny?”

“I’m just tired, i want to go to bed. I had a long day”

“okay, well go take a bath and relax. I have another late night ahead of me.”

“Yea? another cast dinner?” Zoe spit out before she realized what she was saying.

“Oh yea, you saw those pics i assume,” Cillian chuckled nervously. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Cill. enjoy your dinner. I’m taking care of everything for you back here. Tell Lizzie I said hi,” Zoe said before hanging up the phone.

Zoe dropped the phone on the counter as if it was on fire. Her heart was pounding so fast, she couldn’t believe she just said that.

Her phone buzzed a minute later:

Cill: baby, stop. don’t let those thoughts get in your head. i love you.

Something about him texting her immediately after felt … empowering?

Zoe didn’t respond. If he wanted to go to another dinner with Lizzie Longlegs, that’s his prerogative. She had a shower to take and her own dinner to date to go on.

He didn’t need to know her “date” was Dana.

———————

Cillian stared at his phone, at the last message she sent to Zoe. She had her read receipts on, and it clearly stated it was read shortly after he sent it … no response.

Cillian was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, like Zoe was mad at him but not wanting to talk it out with him.

His anxiety peaked because this is exactly what happened with his ex wife.

He picked up the phone to call her again when Hannah came into the hotel room, unannounced.

“Hey Cill! got a minute?”

Cillian sighed and looked at the watch. “it’s nearly 1am Hannah, can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Just wanted to let you know filming got pushed back for tomorrow - well technically today. They need additional clearance for the horses, and they shouldn’t have it until 3 or 4pm. so you have a free day until then, but the cast wants to get together at about noon if that’s good?” Hannah replied sweetly.

“uh, yea sure. that’s fine. I wanna get some sleep though..” Cillian said, hoping she’d get the hint.

She did. “Say no more i’m out. sleep good! i’ll check in tomorrow at about 10 to make sure wardrobe and stuff is here for you. goodnight!” Hannah said, leaving.

She walked across the hall to her room and sat at the small table and pulled out her phone, dialing the number she had come to memorize over the last week.

“Hey, Tara? It’s Hannah over at Elite… those pictures you got of the cast the other night was PERFECT… do you think you can do it again?…. no no, no cast this time… this time, it’ll be just Cillian Murphy and Lizzie Hughes solo… yup. A day date. can it make the next day press?….. you’re the best. Thanks Tara,” Hannah said, hanging up the phone.

tags: @lau219 @cillianmurphyvevo @bleakmidwinter00 @amelyyyyyyy @teawonderfultea-blog1 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @supershadowymiraclestudent @shopgirl6us

[lea-sbian]

Currently no context but I have a vision and I must create

[randomwriteronline]

Bionicle and Plato's Cave: Mata Nui help us Random has been thinking again

HI. MY BRAIN HAS ONCE AGAIN BEEN SCRAMBLED. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING.

A thing about stories is that there aren't really fully, one-hundred percent original ones. This is not a bad thing, it just happens.

Stories keep repeating one another whether we like it or not, maintaining their own identities through a variety of changes, and Bionicle repeats many, many stories within itself: you've got Polynesian mythos, fantasy epics, dystopian fiction, cosmic horrors, torahic and/or biblical episodes, a subversion of Pinocchio, an Odissey cut short... The works. I'm half certain one would manage to fit some parts of the Divine Comedy in there, probably.

But speaking of deeply allegorical works, the Organic Annal is that too - specifically bearing a resemblance to one of Greek philosopher Plato's most famous allegorical myths, that of the cave.

For those who do not know it, please have a simplistic bastardized version of its first half, which is the most relevant in this case:

A group of men have been, since birth, shackled within the deepest recesses of a cave. They are sat facing a wall upon which a fire casts the shadows of figurines (a tree, a donkey, a vase, etc) placed before it: this is all they've ever known, what they perceive to be reality. Imagine, then, that one of these prisoners manages to free themself from their restraints, and for the first time looks back. Thus they discover the figurines, the fire, and the lie they thought was truth; and though it would be easy to consider these new idols the "true" reality, the prisoner looks past them and sees that the cave stretches forward. As such they crawl through it until they reach the outside world: the sunlight forces their eyes down as they are not used to it yet, and their first taste of this new environment is a reflection in a puddle, or maybe a lake, wobbly and not quite clear. Only when they've accustomed to the Sun they can raise their head and properly discover the real world.

The myth of the cave is an allegory for the philosopher's quest in search of true knowledge, which resides not in the imperfect physical world, but in the perfect metaphysical realm of ideas.

This is not, necessarily, the allegory I believe the Innard Scoresheet represents.

The Biological Chronicle is, to me, a story about stories. About making stories, about being swept in the flow of a story, about recreating ourselves in stories over and over and over again.

I promise it will probably make more sense later.

But back to the point: the myth and the Flesh Record follow a similar structure and have a similar message. That is the thesis of this post until I inevitably get derailed again. Let's look at that.

In applying the steps (shadow, copy, reflection, reality) of the philosopher's journey towards enlightenment to the Meat Diaries, I'll do what Plato would bludgeon my head with a stick for and take them much more literally: the places described are physical ones, and the characters actively move between them. This is not because of any personal wish to specifically spite some dead Athenian fuck, but because that is literally what happens in the Entrail Annotations, whether through actual movement or changes of perspective.

The island of Mata Nui is of course the first step: shadows cast upon a cave wall.

There is a certain irony in this. Mata Nui shares the same allegorical location as the cave, yet physically is its complete opposite - an open space signaling the end of an enormous interconnected system of caves. The journey starts from the end. Great job everybody, we've found reality! This philosophy shit is easy.

But the island is still very much the cave. It looks prettier and livelier than the cave, but it's still a prison in which the Matoran have been confined with no chance of escaping; it's still cut off from the world at large, be it beneath it ir around it; it's still a place where beings who do not know any better blindly believe what is told to them. Only seven people know the truth (or what they believe to be the truth) and spin it in tales of shadow puppets: simplistic retellings full of gaps to fill with magic and terror and prophecies. The Turaga mean no harm - they had no way to know when or if they would have ever returned to Metru Nui, and it made no sense reminding the Matoran of a place they may end up agonizing to see without being able to - but it remains that Mata Nui is a cave, a prison of ignorance.

Things change after Mask of Light: shackles broken and door opened, the silver sea stretches before the Matoran and offers them a sight familiar yet different, more defined.

Metru Nui is the figurine, the copy held in front of the fire. It's the first introduction to the Matoran Universe proper, the first step towards the cave's exit. Here we see how the Matoran are supposed to work, how this sort of society is meant to function, and it... well, it sort of sucks the joy out of it, doesn't it? The soft edges of the figurine's shadow have been replaced by hard protodermis sides that leave no room to the imagination, letting us see the craftmanship clearly. And it's... it's kind of unpleasant. Kind of dull and mean and so... unmagical. I'd like the shadows again please. Those were nicer.

(Plato describes this exact happenstance in the philosopher's journey - upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

Or perhaps this step is not Metru Nui itself, but the Turaga's recollection of it. The city they knew is now gone, abandoned to itself and rotting miserably alone for a thousand years, and yet they still cling to that pristine image their minds have sculpted for it, forgetting details, crafting imperfect copies of its reality: their own stories place it in a time before time, turn it as they say in a "city of legends", of great minds and a great hero and a strange tension pervading it that they might not consciously recognize. This is their basis for the stories they told, and they believe it to be the truth. It is not. The truth is deeper behind them.

The Matoran Universe as a whole is a reflection in the water. We've gotten out of that cave, but it's still too bright and our eyes can't adapt quickly enough: this will have to do for now.

But what is it a reflection of? A body? That's a given, since the whole thing is housed inside one. Yet this body does not behave like a body, its organs don't act like organs. They are landmarks and settlements, and there are species and parties involved in their own more or less treacherous businesses, and death is everywhere and seldom spares anybody, and evil isn't a singular incomprehensible thing but many perfectly identical pieces, and everything is happening all the time and I would like a break. Please. I can't handle all of this. It's too close to how everything already is. Let's go back to the figurines. They were worse than the shadows, but not to this extent. Please. I just don't want to see the bad guys win. I just don't want to see my friends die.

(Upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

The Matoran Universe is a terrible place, but it's still far away. The edges are wobbly when the surface shifts: the stakes are universal in size, the rivalries are exaggerated, the situations are fantastical, the evil so terrible and terribly simple. It does what it does because it simply does it, and after all why else should it do it? In its increasing complexity it's still simple and sometimes a bit silly. It's still dolls that you can hold in your hand to make fly around.

As @sepublic mentions briefly here, Bara Magna is by contrast just so human. Before the big bombastic Rock-Em-Sock-Em Jumbo Edition ending and peeling away the sci-fi elements, these are stories of people trying to live. This is reality.

People are sleazy. People have priorities that not always include the well-being of other being put first. People are evil for reasons beyond just "power" or "money" or "why not". Strakk is a massive selfish bastard and also he is the one motherfucker who gets me because to be very honest I too would not want to wade through a desert crawling with quicksand and huge bat winged serpents and raptor riding marauders and spartans so bloodthirsty they don't even name their children until they make a new body count record without being paid well enough. Mata Nui's idealized honor makes him a complete anomaly because nobody is a prince in shining armor here. They're all covered in bones and doing their best not to start a war again.

Even his quest, despite what it entails and how solemnly he presents it and the information we as readers have (his identity as a usurped god exiled from his own body), is surprisingly real - in fact, his struggle is actually the same as Kiina's: both of them are strangers to the region suddenly separated from their people during a time of great strife and desperately wanting to reunite with them. The difference being that while Kiina had no chance to do such a thing, Mata Nui was built to fix both of their problems.

This is what the Matoran Universe is made in the image of. And while it very much deviated across time, the core of it remained the same: elemental tribes and variegated species caught in a dance of death, biting each other's tails endlessly.

This is the world the MU beings find once fully free. It's rough, but they've been through something like this before.

They'll handle it.

They always have.

That is the will of the Non-Mineral Journal.

Of Bionicle, the story-that-ended.

BUT.

Not necessarily of Bionicle, the story-that-does-not-end.

Now we are getting into "Random Experiences Getting The Brain Scrubbed By The Hard Back Of A Sponge And Makes It The Problem Of Everybody Listening To The Inane Yelling" territory. I'm talking walking into headcanon if not straight up just fanfiction territory. Possibly also sensible speculation but I don't know how to tell. Please do come smack me if you feel it is needed.

It's wild that Bionicle has managed to endure for what now (2024) are 23 years. The endless rebuildable possibilities intrinsic to being a LEGO product have certainly helped, but at the same time I really do feel like it wouldn't have held this strongly without its story.

I will admit I'm not a building kind of person. I had some ancient LEGO bricks when I was little and what I usually did with them was stacking them in a really tall line and try to keep it upright until they fell and scattered like lemmings booking it for a cliff. Getting into Bionicle would have never been possible for me had my dear beautiful friend @cantankerouscanuck not innocently dropped me links to Legends of Metru Nui, Web of Shadows, and the Crosswired Geeks website asking if I could have please considered skimming through it. This was back in september 2023. These pieces of plastic have been irreversibly fucking up my brain for nine months, and it was only possible because the plot and characters were written in a way that actively sunk its teeth into my skull and did an alligator death spin so potent that I'm still reeling from it, thinking about it.

I do think that's one of the main reasons why it's still going, why people still talk about it. It lives on through fans who still look at all the enormous potential left by the gaps and holes in the story and work on them, analyze them, make their own versions of them. So this second section is about that part of Bionicle, the story that just does not end, carried on by others.

So back to the point, what actually kickstarted this entire line of thought (the Squishy Note and the allegory of the cave are sort of the same lol) was a headcanon I have about the characters that have been actually missing from this analysis: the Great Beings.

You Know.

The Guys Who Kickstarted Every Single Thing, And Notably Continuously Did All Of It Wrong.

From my own prior knowledge I had understood that they are all Glatorian, and I just learned that they also were, apparently, given their incredible weird fucked up mental powers that made them into godly creatures by a space octopus.

I am going to take both pieces of information and discard them.

There is nothing necessarily wrong with them, except maybe coming from the leftest field available like a sack of granite to the face, but I feel like this kind of explanation for who and what they are isn't really satisfactory to me specifically. It does fit with the allegory of the cave still, technically - they are part of the real world, the ones who created every layer of detachment from it on purpose (somebody must have shackled those prisoners at the bottom of the cave, after all) and have managed to get to a higher level of reality still, following the platonic quest for knowledge into something that resembles the iperuranium, the perfect metaphysical world in which ideas reside.

But also... I'd like for there to be a limit to how higher we can go, you know? Into the cosmic horror? Because everything is cosmic horror in the Doctor's Report already. We live on a god's face. We live in a god's body. We are a god's cells. Our universe is a tiny manmade action figure in a larger universe. Our god is just a synthetic soul. The real older gods made it and sent it around to do their bidding. Also they're all gonna kill us when we figure out our universe is fake. Cosmic horror. Cosmic horror for miles. These are fucking LEGOs. Why is there so much existentialism in them.

So yeah, at the cost of sounding boring the psychic octopus from outer space might be a little bit too far for my personal tastes.

This does not mean I am immune to adding onto the cosmic horror.

Because my personal interpretation of who/what they are still adds onto the cosmic horror.

It just doesn't also include "giant aquatic fauna with psychic powers" in the already very large salad of sentient sapient species who have stakes in this universe, because I think we have enough of those.

So what is my platonic ideal form for them?

The Great Beings are human beings. Straight up just people. They're the readers, the players, the writers, the designers, the creators and tellers of the chronicle itself - they have this immense dominion over everything around them because they are the origin of everything around them in a sense, but their constant failings make sense because for all the influence and power they are still human, and that makes them very, very fallible. I mean, mr Greg "I will rewire your brain chemistry forever with some of the best stuff you'll read as a kid, and also for undiscernible reasons doors aren't canon" Farshtey would be one of them. Things make a lot of sense.

(this is impossible in Stone Cold Canon by the way and I am aware, because if we got to properly see the Great Beings they would have needed to be products to sell, but this is not a matter of probability it's a matter of Vision. like can you imagine how fucking cool would have been a Bonkle movie where the characters finally meet the Great Beings face to face and when it happens the style just completely shifts from 3D animation to a stop-motion and live-action combo with the Great Beings played by people and the characters portrayed by their actual sets with all of the lack of expression and stiff hands and all. do you see it. im about to blow up)

And so, we return to the allegory.

What are the shadows on the wall? Are they still the Turaga's tales? Then shouldn't they be their memories, as well? Everything that comes out of their mouth is hazy either with nostalgia or simplification, and none of it can be real. Yet they present it as such, because to them it is. Their ignorance is the same as the Matoran's, but they do not grasp it because they can't. Mata Nui to them is not the cave, it's the reflection in a lake: an imperfect mirror of reality. They cannot see the fire nor the figurines.

They are the figurines. Man-made creations confined under artificial light in a vast underground system, as large as a whole galaxy and yet so small, so isolated, so far back into the cave they are never meant to know anything other than. The shadows were their own but they can't realize that, and they can't realize they themselves are copies. The Matoran Universe is a puppet show that Teridax shuts down as he takes its reigns: he banishes its fire, Mata Nui (who is a gnostic Demiurge, a god made by gods demanding worship despite its falsehood - another copy not fully aware of being a copy) and shuts the entrance, plunging it all into darkness. No more knowledge. It is not something dolls need, after all.

Bara Magna is not the last step. It is not yet reality, not yet the truth. It's closer, much closer, but it's not: it's the lake, the puddle, the reflection that distorts when something is thrown into it. The stakes are more realistic, the characters and motivations, but not yet real. There is still a layer of separation: the elemental powers, the alien setting, the strange beasts, the supernatural history, the secrets pointing to things much bigger and more fantastical than anything reality could be, the way it is cut short by no fault of its own. What does it reflect? It's not the Matoran Universe, since that is a model based on Bara/Spherus Magna. It's not Mata Nui, because that is an attempt at recreating what the Matoran Universe was, at least in part. So... Is it the real world? Our, world?

It must be.

The Great Beings (us, the players and readers and writers and artists) shaped all of this. This universe is their creation, their work, and it is based on what they know, on their reality, because all stories are.

Maybe it was a story as close to real as possible that turned fantastic and wild until it became mythical, or maybe it was a simple story that grew so complex and grounded that it became life-like. It doesn't matter. It's a long story, a really, really long one, and maybe they're tired of it, or maybe they don't know what to do with it, or maybe they just think it has run its course, or maybe... Maybe they don't know how to tell it again. Tell it like this again.

So... I guess the thing to do is clean up.

Full tabula rasa.

And once we're done we can take these figurines we still have left, the last proof of all this immense work, this spiraling dive into who and what we are, how we function, how we create, how we imitate and recreate ourselves in fictional worlds that are our own and yet completely alien over and over, and make new ones. Distorted reflections that become imperfect copies to place before a fire so that their shadows can play out a new story upon a cave wall, for those same dolls to believe they are real.

God I got sidetracked severely

[foreverxdaydreaming]

x

[becauseplot]

Touching Base

Just a little Roommates/Cellmates AU oneshot because they live in my head like how Cell lives in Felps' apartment: rent-free. (Also because I am procrastinating on bigger projects rn.) (What who said that.)

Takes place a couple years after the events of Miss Me? and Shared Living Space. Cell has officially started going by Cellbit, a relatively recent development. He still sleeps on the couch, but that's mainly because the second "bedroom" in the apartment is used for Felps' storage and both of them dread having to clear it out. He has a job and puts most of that money towards groceries, new clothes, and therapy. Felps---finally working at a station where his superiors don't hate his guts---covers pretty much everything else.

(TWs: discussions of killing/murder, light allusions to suicide in a joking manner (they're fine, someone's just being dramatic). they are having a conversation that is oh so very normal for two friends to have yesyes. tbh this was supposed to be way more light hearted but then the angst. the angst...)

Key ring dangling from his finger, Cellbit shoulders his way through the apartment door, juggling a box of redstone bulbs, a stack of spam mail, and the library book that doesn’t quite fit in his over-full messenger bag. “Felps?”

There's no verbal answer, but over the back of the couch, Cellbit sees a tired hand rise and wave. There’s a dull whump when it drops back down.

Cellbit, taking this and the fact that the TV isn't even on, raises an eyebrow. "Long day?" There's a muffled groan in response, and that's all Cellbit needs to hear to get the gist of it. He wiggles his keychain off his finger and into the dish before shutting the door behind him with his foot and heading to the table, where he dumps off his things. Hands free, he slips his bag off his shoulder and sits down to take off his work boots. Once he's got them off, he takes a moment to slump back in the chair, relief washing over his aching back and shoulder, before he picks himself up and heads over to see what the situation is.

The situation, it seems, is as follows: Felps is lying on his back on the couch, still wearing his uniform, with a pillow pressed into his face like he's trying very, very hard to smother himself with it.

Cellbit sits himself down on the floor with his side against the foot of the couch, right by Felps. He plants an elbow on the cushions and drops his chin into the heel of his hand. "So. Who do I need to kill?"

Felps groans again and shifts the pillow off his face just enough to free his mouth. "Me. Kill me, please. Kill me. Literally just kill me."

"Ehhh," Cellbit says. "You know, I did that once, and you didn't like me very much after that."

"Cellbit I am begging you. You'd be doing me a favor."

"Mm, no. I don't think so." He pokes one of the fingers Felps has dug into the cushion. "Now come on—a name, an address. Give me something to work with here, Felps."

Felps sighs and finally yanks the pillow off his face, flipping his hands around and throwing it into his lap. His hair is a complete, frazzled mess, though Cellbit supposes that's the least of his worries. "No one's getting killed. This isn't a problem you can fix by killing someone."

"Except for you?"

"Except for me."

"Okay. So what happened?"

Felps makes a pained noise and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. At least he's not suffocating this time. "Davi," he mumbles.

Cellbit blinks. Usually, he has a hard time keeping all of the names of Felps' coworkers, friends, and acquaintances straight in his head since there's so many of them, but this one registers immediately. He takes this in, looks at Felps agonizing on the couch, thinks back onto what Felps told him the other day, does some rapid mental math, and comes to the conclusion that maybe the situation actually could be fixed by killing someone. Potentially.

But before that thought can properly start, Felps flicks him against the temple. "Hey, no plotting. I'm serious."

"Plotting?" Cellbit echoes, oh-so-perplexed. "I wasn't plotting. Who said anything about plotting?"

"Cellbit."

"Who said anything about plotting the murder of the hot guy at the train station who rejected your friend after he spent two weeks working up the courage to ask him out? I sure didn't."

"Cellbit," Felps says, insistent. Cellbit stops, but only because Felps wants him to, and only because he’s joking. Really. "It's fine. It's my fault anyway. I totally fucked it up. I got the timing all wrong, and—" Felps breaks off into another horrified sound, dragging his hands down his face. "God, it was so bad. I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright. Anything I can do? That doesn't involve killing you?"

Felps pauses. He peeks at Cellbit from behind his hands. "...Grab the remote for me?"

Cellbit snorts. "Sure." He gets up (swallows a grunt; fuck, his shoulder's being funny) and grabs the remote off the TV stand. When he comes back, Felps has managed to get his-wallowing-self into an upright position so Cellbit can collapse back into the sofa beside him.

Cellbit clicks on the TV. "What're we feeling?"

"Pain."

"I mean what do you feel like watching, dumbass."

"Literally anything," Felps says with a wave of his hand.

"Right… So if I put on Blood on the Taiga—"

"Parkour tag."

"Okay, parkour tag it is."

They start to chat a little as Cellbit flicks through the minigame channels, looking for one that's broadcasting parkour tag: ("How was work at the station?" "Were the docks busy today?" "Did that warrant finally get processed?" "Is your shoulder still bothering you?" "You should probably change out of your uniform." "You should probably take a shower." "In a bit, my back has to unbreak itself first.")

It doesn't take him long to find a channel, so they end up talking through part of the first round, swapping the work updates they usually provide each other. After that, they settle in, feet up on the coffee table, shoulders pressed together. Cellbit watches the teams trade off "runners" and "hunters." Felps usually roots for the team in the blue and green jerseys, but it doesn't seem like they're playing today. Still, these teams aren't half-bad. The tall one on the red-orange team is a good hunter, Cellbit idly notes. She's light on her feet.

It's at the start of the third round that Felps speaks up again.

"So. Hypothetical question for you."

Cellbit watches the good-hunter spring off a piston-platform. "Alright."

"And this is completely hypothetical. One hundred percent, utterly hypothetical."

"Okay."

"I'd never genuinely ask this of you."

"Sure."

The good-hunter drops down a ladder, missing a tag on a runner by a hair's breadth. The squeak of her sneakers echoes through the arena.

"...If I told you I needed you to kill someone for me, would you actually do it?"

Cellbit tilts his head. The good-hunter whirls around a corner and swings herself up onto another platform. "Yeah."

He feels more than sees Felps startle beside him. "...R...Really?"

"Yeah."

"Just like that?"

"Well, like I said earlier, I'd need, like, a name. An address if you can get it. At least a general location—"

"No, no, I mean..."

Felps falters, and Cellbit takes his eyes away from the game to look up at him. Felps is staring right back, a furrow in his brow.

"...You wouldn't even question it? Or hesitate?"

Ohhh. Cellbit understands now. The morals. He was asking about the morals. "Well," starts Cellbit. He pauses. Then, he drags his feet over to the edge of the couch, legs curled up, in front of his chest. The position makes his back ache, but the rest of him feels better this way. He hangs his arms over his knees. He stares at the TV, but he's not really sure who's hunting and who's running anymore.

He sighs. "...The way I see it—you would never ask me to kill someone unless they actually deserved it. I think it would take a lot for you to decide someone needs to die, then a lot more to tell me to kill them because...you know me. I'll get it done. And I won't half-ass it either."

And if they hurt you, Cellbit thinks, with a sudden, rising fury, I'll kill them dead. I'll make it hurt. Carve their throat out with my teeth. They'll be begging for the Void long before I'm through with them.

But he lets that one go on an exhale, lets it pass wordlessly between his lips, before it can get too far. He flexes his hands, loosening them. "But..." he continues, scraping together the courage to say the rest. "You also know I'm trying not to— You know I'm better about that now. Past it. Moving past it. And you're—" He falters. His tongue darts over his lip. He bites it. "You're generally helpful in that regard, so..."

"...You don't think I'd ask you to do something that would ruin your progress unless it was serious," Felps finishes.

"Yeah." Cellbit tilts his head to either side, cracking his neck, and flexes his hands again. God, his therapist would be so fucking proud of him.

"Okay." Felps clears his throat. "Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, I just—the thought wouldn't leave me alone, and..."

"No, no, it's—it's fine. It's a good question to ask. Making sure we're on the same page, and all that. Touching base. Getting caught up. Just like we always do."

"Right," Felps says. "Just like we always do."

A beat.

"But I wouldn't. Ask that of you, I mean. I'd never ask you to kill someone for me."

"I know," Cellbit replies easily. "I heard you the first time."

(And Cellbit trusts Felps to stick to his word. Honestly, he does. But the issue—or perhaps the best part, depending on how much he wants to disappoint his therapist—is that Felps wouldn't even have to ask. In no universe would Felps ever have to ask.)

"...Oh. Okay."

"Okay."

The conversation hangs in the air, gradually dissipating. Slowly, Cellbit manages to recenter his attention on the game of parkour tag. Round four. She's hunting again, though this is her last hunting round. After that, she'll be stuck as a runner for the rest of the tournament. Felps rests his head on Cellbit's shoulder as the alarm blares and the competitors are released from their chambers. Cellbit nestles his cheek in Felps' curls. The final hunt has begun.

[edgydroned]

what's with the hate for uzi's dad

do i really have to spell it out

[novadorks]

finally finished orv after two years . . . what do i do with my life now

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[pericky; a look into ricky's head during their meeting.]

---

"I'm glad you came, I wasn't sure you would." The wine pours, the sound of it drowning out the missing word in that sentence: back.

Of course, is the response, and the part of Ricky that's spent twenty years tearing itself apart to understand why vibrates with relief. It doesn't matter anymore. Of course, of course, he thinks giddily along with the words. He never needed to wonder why Pericles wasn't coming back in the first place; he was always going to.

I'm happy you invited me, and of course he thinks again. A lifetime of pretending he wasn't always going to either falls away. However harsh and lonely the world has been, all's right with it again; and the shy voice of the boy inside him that he's tried so hard to kill says, so quietly, I missed you.

[byanyan]

mkay i wrote two more good chunks (bringing us up to exactly 4k fucking words...........) of byan's bio but i'm just starting to touch on the actual lowest, darkest point of their life and it's not really helping the already shit place i'm in mentally, so. think i'm done for the night lmao