#the air is clean and breezy

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

fuck it we're day drinking

[suckmydickclittits-666]

i woke up super late today around 9:30 and the breakfast was late bc it is my responsibility to make breakfast on weekends but mr. kumbhakarna was sleeping until very late bc of bad dreams

[alpha-dash1998]

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Experience with the Breezy+ Air Purifier

[butt3rmilkbunny]

Air Ghouls ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

More details and headcannons below!

- More bubbly, extroverted, and touchy

- Thicker fur for better insulation

- Sleeker bodies, smaller ears/ appendages to allow for more aerodynamics

- Can be more flexible

- Scents: Clean linens, breezy, citrus

- Magic: Can cause weather changes (voluntarily or involuntarily), cleansing, boosted jump (like a jumping mouse)

[retroaria]

hiii!!!! congrats on 1.5k omg!! could i get the dialogue nsfw no. 4 with chuuya (and maybe dazai if u feel like it) with sub!fem!reader please? tysm!!

₊˚⊹♡ Chuuya Nakahara x sub!fem!reader

a/n: cliffhanger lol bc i love leaving the smut up to your imagination 😌

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

There was an uncanny stillness in the air surrounding Yokohama tonight. It was thin, breezy, serene - the streets were quiet and clean. “Chuu~ did you have something planned for us tonight?” you leaned against your door as you held it open, your eyes flickered up and down Chuuya’s figure before you. “It’s awfully quiet out…”

A sly smirk spread across his face as he reached out to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, “Wouldn’t want anyone dying on date night, all operations are at a halt. You’ve got me all night darling.” he cooed at you, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into your sides. “Are you ready to go?”

“You lead the way.” you tilted your head up and spoke into his ear, teasingly. His hand shifted to your lower back, guiding you out the door.

Chuuya didn’t get to spend nights like this with you often. His position in the mafia demanded his full devotion, and you knew this when you decided to entangle yourself in his madness. You meet with him in shadows as he passes through, or you’ll wake up some mornings in his arms, left to wonder how he snuck in the night before. He often would apologize profusely for his shortcomings as a partner, though you both know you couldn’t leave each other no matter how distant you felt.

On occasion, life would slow down, and Chuuya would find a way to arrange a single night where he isn’t needed. He’d call you in the morning, tell you to dress up as nice as you please, and by nightfall, there he was at your doorstep - roses in hand and a smile on his face. These clandestine meetings gave you time in between to yearn and long for each other. It made every touch feel electric, and every teasing word that melted off his tongue pool into your panties.

The night was beautiful as always, Chuuya Nakahara wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything less than extravagant for the woman he loves. A candlelit dinner, a piano playing softly throughout the room, a bottle of his finest liquor, and his hand holding yours across the table as he gazes into your eyes and listens to you speak. You spent the evening getting blissfully lost in each others presence, your temptations aided by the alcohol.

Eventually you found yourselves stumbling slightly through the streets back to your apartment, hand in hand, clingy closely to each other. He recounted a recent mission, pride and righteousness laced in his words. Chuuya was nothing but a punk who made it big in the criminal underground, surely no one in your life would approve of your relationship with him, but that only made it all the more fun. No one could rile you up this much, keep you on your toes and at the edge of your seat - ready to release every inhibition upon his command. As you neared your building, he wrapped his arm snug around your waist and pulled you close, excitement and anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You fumbled with your keys as Chuuya pushed his body up against your backside, his warm breath trailing down your neck as he nibbled playfully on your ear. “Someone’s antsy…” you said just above a whisper as you finally pushed the right key in and opened the door.

“I only have but so much time with you doll, I think we better to make the most of every second…” he said, lacing his fingers with yours as he let your guide him into your apartment. As soon as the door shut he practically yanked you into his arms, his fingertips tilting your chin up to face him, “…that is, if you’ll allow me?” he smirked at you expectantly, his thumb tracing down your jawline before moving to gently rub your cheek.

“Whatever you want…” you muttered out, entranced by his seductive touch and gaze. You aren’t even sure how it happened, he wrapped you up in his cloud of lust, and you came back to as your back fell softly against the bed sheets. Chuuya kneeled on the bed before, sat perfectly between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips.

He slipped his hands under your shirt, smoothing against the skin of your body underneath as he hummed in delight. You sat up slightly and lifted your arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head and toss it to the side, his hands supported your back and he pulled you into a passionate kiss as you worked on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You both worked your way through each others clothes, you pulled down his boxers and watched his cock perk up against his stomach- his tip slightly leaking in anticipation. Chuuya stopped abruptly once he had you in your bra and panties. He took in the view before using his hands to pray open your legs, squeezing gently at the fat of your thighs. His fingertips grazing down until they met your clothed core, pressing slightly through the fabric of your panties. Your breath hitched and his eyes darted up at you. “Is this where you need me baby?” he said to you softly, playing with the hem of your panties teasingly.

You hummed in approval, shaking your head a bit as your hips gently grinded up further into his touch. He pulled his hand away and placed it firm against your chest, sliding up until his fingers were wrapped loosely around your neck. “Use your words doll, tell me where you need me.”

He’s barely even touched you and he’s already taken your breath away, your hips buck slightly again, “Hmph~ anywhere chuu, please…” you pleaded. His eyes darkened a bit.

“Anywhere I want?” the devilish smile he flashed down at you was painfully hot, you wanted to instinctively shut your legs for some amount of friction as you felt your wetness pooling in your panties.

“Anywhere…touch me anywhere chuu~” your approval was all he needed to finally begin playing with you as he pleased. He pulled your panties down, lifting your legs above his head so he could pluck them off and toss them to the ground. He kept one hand wrapped around you neck as he trailed the other down your thigh, feeling the gentle pulse of your nerves the closer he got to where you needed him most.

Finally, his fingertips made there way down to your heat, pushing through your folds and rubbing against your entrance, collecting your arousal to spread up towards your clit. As he drew slow circles on your bundle of nerves you let your eyes flutter shut in pleasure. You could feel his hand around your neck tighten.

“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.” he said sternly, increasing the pressure of his fingers rubbing against your clit. Your eyes met his and you were immediately pulled into his lusty gaze, your vision locked on him as you whimpered at his touch. He released your neck hesitantly, only to use his other hand to plunge two of his slender fingers into your gushing entrance. You rolled your hips into his hands, egging him on to speed up his thrusts. He curled his digits into your sweet spot and prodded at it roughly, continuing his movements on your clit and nearly pushing you over the edge. “I want you to look at me while you cum all over my hands princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

Your eyes darted down to watch his hands work your cunt and you could see his cock hanging eagerly over the sheets, his tip red and plump, a subtle white glaze precum dripping down into his shaft. Your mind filled with dirty visions of his cock pumping rope after rope of his hot seed into your weeping cunt. Your body squirmed and tosses under his touch and you looked back up at him, brows furrowed and rolling slightly back. He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he sped up all his movements.

Chuuya groaned as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. He removed his hand from your clit and brought it back up to wrap around your neck, his other hand continued finger fucking you so rough you could feel yourself tipping over the edge. You stomach fluttered and your hips lifted slightly. You brought your hand up to wrap around his bicep, your nails digging into him as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned out and he watched you fall apart beneath him with his mouth slightly ajar, looking at you like he was ready to devour you whole.

He rode you down from your high, removing his fingers from your hole and rubbing gently through your folds. He leaned down and kissed your neck, trailing his kisses up until he reached your soft lips. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away, quickly replacing his mouth with the fingers you came around moments ago, pushing them past your lips and swirling them around your tongue. “Mmm~ good girl, taste all that cum I fucked out of you…”

He reached his other hand down to slowly pump his throbbing cock, swiping his thumb over his leaking tip with a low groan. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and gripped your hip firmly, he rubbed his cock through your slick folds and moaned, his tip swiping back and forth against your clit. You squirmed beneath him, overstimulated, and he chuckled down at you.

“I’m hardly done with you baby, I know you can take it all for me tonight, isn’t that right?” he said as he lined his tip up with your entrance.

“Y-yes, Chuu~” you cooed at him. He reached one hand up to caress your cheek gently as he looked down at you with a mixture of lust and adoration.

“Good girl, now let me make you feel good princess…”

[shizunitis]

shizunitis mark of tumblr dot com… what does he ponder…

demon emperor luo binghe (-ge variant) meets shen yuan who becomes his loyal confidant and advisor just fresh out of the abyss. sy stays unobstructive and away from the emperor most times. he visits the palace every few years for a longer period of time to check up on binghe and offer any advice he might have. while he’s there, lbh’s wives and guards keep like. disappearing, dying, etc. it is heavily implied throughout the fic that, through how when shen yuan leaves the palace the disappearances/deaths stop, shen yuan is the culprit.

lbh refuses to believe this. he would not want to ever lose shen yuan. he looks forward to his visits and is happy when he’s there, something he won’t squander with speculations and offensive accusations.

but the thought lingers. shen yuan is clearly distancing himself from lbh, has been for decades, but now it’s more clear than ever. he cuts their meetings short. his visits become shorter and farther apart and, if lbh were to stop and think, he’d realise that shen yuan’s visit this time was highly unusual in its timing and sudden announcement.

finally, the evidence is stacked against shen yuan, who is spotted leaving the harem with blood on his clothes, looking angry. he is brought to the emperor in chains, and his eyes are empty as he stares up at lbh from where he’s made to kneel. the guards announce a wife was found near-dead in her chambers, and is unresponsive. the emperor listens to the accusations and drags shen yuan away himself, locks him in a room, and goes to have a terrible think. he accepts he doesn’t want to kill shen yuan, even still. he goes to find shen yuan again, to demand an explanation, but shen yuan is refusing to speak.

lbh is called away by an emergency in the human realm. he secures the room shen yuan is held in, and goes. when he comes back, exhausted from battle, he finds shen yuan speaking to shang qinghua, who had long been thought dead. lbh eavesdrops: the truth of shen yuan and sqh’s transmigration is revealed and shen yuan comes clean about what happened that night: he was helping one of lbh’s wives, who’d gone through a miscarriage. he was angry at lbh: he doesn’t say much other than speak about lbh’s cruelty, and how he hadn’t expected it to be this bad, but the underlying sentiment is clear.

sqh reassures him that “the plan” is going smoothly and the mushroom bodies are ready. lbh remembers them from when he encountered an enemy using them for their own ends, and puts two and two together.

but he hesitates to act. he could clear the misunderstanding up, he could explain and ask shen yuan for guidance, as he always had, but the truth is he doesn’t know that shen yuan would ever forgive him. he’d neglected his wife in a time of need, who had to call upon another man to save her, putting both in an impossible position. he’d imprisoned and mistreated shen yuan, who’d been with him for decades at this point. he’d done many things to drive everyone away. if shen yuan wants to be rid of him, shouldn’t he be allowed that?

this is where xin mo kicks in and lbh can’t hold himself back. he reveals himself. sqh disappears in a flurry of snowflakes, and shen yuan is left to defend himself against an angry, xin mo-fueled luo binghe who’s clearly just back from war. lbh slashes a portal in the air and pushes shen yuan towards it. shen yuan asks lbh to wait, that he has something important to say, he can’t leave just yet, he needs to listen to him; with the last of his sanity lbh demands shen yuan never return, unless he’d like to die with no back-up plan to fall on this time, and finally pushes him past the gaping maw of xin mo’s portal. then he has a quick and breezy breakdown.

the next day, lbh declares shen yuan dealt with. but oh! what’s this? the murders continue! it was not shen yuan after all?! some wives had demanded he be left alive, but everyone had thought them insane! it was actually a wife this whole time?! and liu mingyan and ning yingying were the first ones to notice?! and they brought their case to the emperor demanding justice?! and sha hualing was the first to rally her forces and go against the murderer, only to be imprisoned away from the palace, months ago?! and shen yuan released her and brought her back to the palace and begged she not tell anyone, least of all luo binghe?! oh my!! oh no!!

anyway. yeah thats. that’s what’s on my mind right now.

[princesskenny1998]

Big Mouth | Judd Birch x female!preppy!reader ~ Babysitter, PT.1

It was a breezy Saturday afternoon, and you were babysitting Nick Birch and his best friend Andrew Glouberman at the Birch residence. You had done this a few times before, and each time, it had been pretty uneventful. Nick and Andrew were quirky, sure, but babysitting them was easy enough. The Birches paid well, and their house was a nice place to hang out—large, clean, and quiet, except for the occasional outburst from Nick and Andrew about some ridiculous debate they were having.

You were sitting in the living room, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine as the two boys argued over which superhero would win in a fight—Superman or Thor. Their bickering was loud but not unexpected, so you just tuned them out and nodded along whenever one of them tried to pull you into the conversation. After all, it was just another typical babysitting job.

Until it wasn’t.

You heard the front door open with a soft click, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. You didn’t think much of it at first—Nick’s parents sometimes came home early, or maybe it was just Nick’s older sister, Leah, back from her day out. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Judd Birch.

You had heard about him before—Nick had mentioned him a few times in passing, describing him as a bit of a loner, someone who kept to himself and had a darker edge. But you’d never seen him in person, never really thought about him at all.

That changed the moment you laid eyes on him.

He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an air of casual indifference. Tall, dark hair that looked like it had been hastily tousled, a leather jacket thrown on like he hadn’t given it a second thought. He had a smirk that screamed trouble, and his eyes—sharp and dark—seemed to pierce right through you.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Your Hormone Monstress, who had been lying dormant until now, suddenly stirred to life. "Oh my God," she purred in your ear, her voice low and sultry. "Would you look at him? What a man! Forget babysitting, sweetheart, we’ve got ourselves a real treat right here."

You felt your cheeks flush, heat creeping up your neck as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. Judd’s gaze flickered over to you for a split second, his expression unreadable, before he turned away and disappeared down the hallway without a word.

But that was all it took. One look, one fleeting glance, and you were completely hooked.

You tried to focus on Nick and Andrew, who were still in the middle of their superhero debate, oblivious to the internal chaos you were experiencing. But it was impossible to concentrate. Your heart was racing, your mind was swirling with thoughts you couldn’t quite control, and your Hormone Monstress wasn’t helping.

"*He’s so brooding," she sighed dreamily. "You’ve gotta get him alone, doll. Just imagine what he’d be like…"

You blinked, shaking your head as if that would help clear the thoughts. "Stop it," you muttered under your breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration. You couldn’t believe you were getting all worked up over some guy you barely knew—Nick Birch’s brother, no less.

But your Hormone Monstress wasn’t having it. "Oh, honey, this is no ordinary crush. This is destiny. You need to get to know him. Now."

You sighed, knowing that there was no reasoning with her when she got like this. But honestly? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to reason with her. Because the truth was, Judd Birch was… different. He wasn’t like the boys you normally hung around, the preppy, clean-cut guys who always seemed so safe, so predictable. Judd was a mystery, and you couldn’t help but want to unravel it.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on, with Nick and Andrew eventually settling into their usual routine of playing video games and trading awkward jokes. But your mind was elsewhere. Every few minutes, you found yourself glancing toward the hallway, wondering if Judd would reappear. Wondering if he had noticed you at all, the way you had definitely noticed him.

Finally, when the boys were thoroughly engrossed in their game, you decided to take a walk around the house—under the guise of checking on things, of course. You wandered down the hall, trying to act casual, but your pulse quickened with each step.

You weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Maybe to bump into him again, maybe to exchange a few words—anything to break the strange tension that had been building inside you since he first walked in.

As you passed by the open door to one of the back rooms, you froze. There he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing something on his leather jacket. His back was to you, but you could still feel the pull, that strange magnetic energy that seemed to surround him.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not you should say something. Your Hormone Monstress was already screaming in your ear. "Go in there, babe! Now’s your chance! Ask him for help with something, anything. Just get him to look at you."

You swallowed, your palms suddenly sweaty, and before you could second-guess yourself, you knocked lightly on the doorframe.

Judd turned his head slightly, his eyes catching yours. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with that same unreadable expression. It was like he was sizing you up, trying to figure out what you wanted.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual. “Uh… hey. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay back here.”

Judd raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Everything’s fine. Why? You babysitting me too?”

Your face heated up, and you cursed yourself for blushing. “No, just, um… making sure.”

There was an awkward pause. You could feel your Hormone Monstress practically vibrating with excitement, urging you to say something—anything—to keep the conversation going. But your mind was blank.

Finally, Judd shrugged, turning back to his jacket. “Well, I’m not a kid, so you don’t need to check on me.”

You winced inwardly. Great, now you probably just looked like a nervous wreck. “Right,” you said quickly. “Sorry. I’ll, uh, let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

As you turned to leave, Judd’s voice stopped you. “Wait.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned back around, trying not to let the rush of adrenaline show on your face.

He was looking at you again, his eyes dark and intense. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You blinked, taken aback. You hadn’t expected him to ask that—hell, you hadn’t expected him to care. “Oh, um… it’s [Your Name].”

Judd nodded slowly, as if testing your name on his tongue. “You’re that girl who babysits the little twerp, right?”

You nodded, unsure where this was going. “Yeah, I’ve been babysitting him for a while now.”

Judd smirked, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Huh. I’ve seen you around, but I didn’t think you’d be the type to hang out with little kids.”

You felt your pulse quicken again, and your Hormone Monstress was back in full force. "He’s noticing you! He’s noticing you! Say something cool!"

You swallowed, trying to think of a response that didn’t make you sound like a complete idiot. “Well, Nick and Andrew are… entertaining, I guess,” you said with a small laugh, though your voice felt shaky.

Judd’s smirk widened slightly. “Entertaining, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

There was another pause, but this time, it didn’t feel quite as awkward. You felt a strange connection between you, something unspoken and electric. You didn’t know what it was, but it was there, and you couldn’t deny it.

Finally, Judd stood up, his tall frame looming over you as he adjusted his jacket. “Well, I’ll let you get back to babysitting,” he said, his voice casual, though there was a hint of something else in his tone. “Don’t let the little nerds drive you too crazy.”

You nodded, still feeling a little breathless. “I’ll try.”

And with that, Judd walked past you, his shoulder brushing yours for the briefest of moments. You watched him go, your heart pounding in your chest, and you knew—right then and there—that you were in deep trouble.

Because Judd Birch wasn’t just a crush. He was a problem. A problem you didn’t know how to handle, but one you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

Your Hormone Monstress, of course, was ecstatic. "Oh, sweetheart, this is going to be fun. Buckle up, because we’re just getting started."

And she was right. You knew it, deep down, that this was just the beginning of something far more complicated than you’d ever expected.

But for now, all you could think about was how you couldn’t wait to see him again.

[love-anddeepression]

Everything is fine -2

A/n: aaaaah thank you so much for waiting for part 2! sorry it's been so long im having fever and i had electoral campaigning to do so i've been so busy :DDD enjoy some revenge and a moment<3 not proofread so please excuse any mistakes

Part -1

The house is quiet when you enter. Spotless. As if it’s been frantically cleaned and the dust has been swept under the rug. You want to laugh. The bedroom door swings open but this time, he’s awake. He’s reading a book, his bottom half covered by the blanket. He looks up as you close the door and place your tote on the desk.

“Hey, baby.” he smiles and you let the corners of your mouth lift a little.

“I need some air.” you say and draw the curtains, unlatching the window and pushing it open. The night breeze is cool and the air in the room seems fresher. You stick your head out a little and breathe deeply, looking down.

You’re known to have the most absolute, shit eyesight, but even you can the the glow of red eyes a floor below you. You smile and draw back, Taking a towel from the cabinet and heading to the bathroom without a word, leaving your husband confused.

He can hear the shower turn on, and a few seconds later, the singular lamp in the roo switches off, leaving him in complete darkness. 

Miguel swears in frustration and huffs under his breath. His eyes come to focus as he gets used to the dark.

The only sounds are the rush of water in the shower, yet he feels the silence is eerie. The wind picks up, it’s almost howling, It sounds like a wail. His breathing quickens a little, and his eyes fall to the little expanse to the outside world.

He freezes. There’s something outside.

On the 18th floor. Staring at him. It’s eyes glow a deep red and he can see claws gripping the window sill. 

He wants to shout, to scream, to fucking move. But he can’t. 

The bathroom door swings open and he looks at you, then back at the window.

There’s nothing. No one.

“What’s wrong, honey?” your voice is soft and breezy, “It’s just the dark.” 

He looks almost manic, hunched over as he looked between you and the window, “There w-was something there. With red fucking eyes and it was staring at me.”

He looks at the window again and that’s when he shouts, “There!” he points and jumps off the bed, “Right there!”

You look to where he points and in the dark, you know he won’t see your smile. But Miguel will. 

You tilt you head, “Miggy, there’s nothing there. Are you okay?”

“Wha- how can you not see that?!”  he sputters and you walk over to him, turning his face away from the window, “Calm down, love. I think we should go to a doctor. In fact, I’ll make an appointment tomorrow, it’s the weekend anyway.”

 He takes your hands off his face and sighs, “I know what I saw.” he hugs you.

Your eyes flit to the window and you see one of the scarlet eyes shut in a wink. And then they disappear.

Your hand smooths his hair down, “We’ll be just fine.”

—---------------------

“I think it’s just stress, Miggy.” you say as you drive back from the clinic. He’d been subject to a number of tests by the doctors trying to find something wrong with one of the head scientists of the corporation that funded their work. Of course, they found nothing, but they did advise him to rest,  “After all, you spend so much time at work.” you shake your head in pity, “I’ll take off for a few days.”

“No!” he winces when you turn to look at him with an eyebrow raised, “I mean, no, you don’t have to. I’ll be alright. It’s just stress. You dob’t have to sacrifice your work.”

“Oh nonsense.” you wave him off, “It’s not a sacrifice to take care of the man I love. Unless, you want me to stay out of the house.” you chuckle, “You want me to stay out, honey?”

“No.” his voice breaks, “Of course not.”

A ting! Sounds from his phone and you peak at the notification thats from Dana.

“Is Dana coming over?”

He double takes, “How- nevermind. Yeah, she said she’d be visiting in an hour or so.”

You hum, with a small smile and swerve to the right, and he jerks and almost hits head on the window. You park, “Could you bring the groceries in?” you gesture to the shopping you’d gotten done when he was at the clinic. You smile and get out, leaving him behind.

He sighs and gets out, shutting the front seat door while opening the back one and taking out the paper bag. He notices a man standing opposite the car with his back turned to it.

He’s wearing the same clothes that Miguel’s wearing. And when he turns around he takes his shades off and he stares at him with red eyes. Miguel draws ina sharp breath.

If you ever see someone that looks identical to you, run away and hide.

His phone rings and he looks down at it and cuts the call. When he looks back him, the figure has disappeared. Shit. Shit.

Run away.

Hide.

He looks to his right, to where the entrance to the building is and he doesn’t even take a step before pain blooms across the back of his head. He doubles over with a groan but is pulled back by his hair and he can feel a sharp pain at his neck.

Then, darkness.

—-----------------------------------

“Miguel, I swear to god.” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “This wasn’t the plan!  How do I explain how he magically arrived here after fainting downstairs? You know the plan was that I dru-”

“Tell him a tall, nice man helped you.” he snarks and you resist the urge to throttle him. You settle for a glare that makes him chuckle.

“Relax, Sweetheart. He’ll believe you. Now I've healed the puncture with bacta spray and the wound is gone.” he gestures to the man currently spread out on your shared bed, “I need you to wake him up, tell him he passed out from exhaustion. I’ll take it from there.”

You look up at him, “Thank you. For wasting your time on this.”

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder and it tingles, “No time wasted, I assure you.” he nods reassuringly, “Now wake him up.” He rolls his shoulders and settles down on the plush couch you have that faces the bed.

You flick some water from the bottle you keep on the bedside table onto your husband’s face and when he wakes with a start, you fall into the role of the worried wife.

“Oh my god! Miggy! You’re finally awake!” you cup his face, “I was so worried! Are you okay?” His widened eyes look inyo yours and his furrowed eyebrows soften.

“I-I blacked out. There was this guy who looked like me and-” his gaze travels behind you to fall on the couch and he freezes at the sight of the menacing man staring at him with those fucking red eyes. 

Run away and hide.

“Baby.” he looks back at you, “Do not  look back.”

The room is silent. You can see Miguel in the reflection of your husbands eyes. Like the snap of a branch, the doorbell rings and youre forced to turn around, much to your husband’s protests. 

You lock eyes with Miguel and look back at your husband with incredulous eyes, “Miguel, are you crazy? There is nothing there!” 

“Can you not see that?” he stretches his hand out to make a point and Miguel scowls.

“I can see absolutely bullshit!” you raise your voice.

The bell interrupts whatever he was going to say and take a deep breath. 

“I’m assuming that’s Dana?” you raise and eyebrow and he nods, “I’ll get it.”

“No! Don’t leave me with that fucking thing!” he points to where Miguel sits and then at you. You groan.

“Then you go and open the door!” 

“FIne!” he storms out, wobbling just a little. You hear the door open and your stomach drops when you head Dana’s voice.

“Hey.” Miguel says and you look down, “You’re going to be okay.”

You nod, “I’m going to be fine.”

He gestures to the door and you steel yourself before stepping out, a smile making its way onto your face as you spread your arms and greet Dana who replies with her high pitched voice. Even your husband seems to be in a better mood and you can’t help but remember the hologram.

“I love you” he kissed her neck softly and she giggled.

“Hey!” Dana says your name, “You okay?” 

“Youre going to be okay.”

You snap out of you daze, “Yeah, sorry. Long day.” you smile again and she pouts almost condescendingly.

“Awwww, I’m sure you’ve had a tiring day. Writing is such a hard profession.” she says airily.

You grit your teeth, “Tea?”

“Yeah honey, I think we’d like that.” Miguel smiles.

As you walk to the kitchen, and get out the ingredients, Miguel recounts the events of the day to Miguel and she scrunches her nose and laughs. She, too, says it’s just stress. Only this time, he listens. You swallow hard and go back to boiling the tea.

The apartment is built in an industrial style, and very much an open plan. The design is such that Miguel can see you from the bedroom. He can see your hands flying to open and close cabinets and crushing cardamom and washing tea cups. Living a life so different from the one you live with him.

The teacups clink as you place the tray on the coffee table. They take the cups and sip the tea with relish, like they always do. Miguel sighs contently and Dana groans with satisfaction.

“Have fun.” you grin, “I gotta shower. I’ll see you in a bit.” you whip around to speed walk awkwardly to the bedroom. Cursing at yourself inwardly because really? That’s the best excuse you could find?

Paces away from the bedroom, your eyes meet Miguel’s. The variant of your husband. This variant who had patched you up, and got you food and held you and was currently waiting for you and wasting his time on your petty revenge.

You breathe from your mouth so they can’t hear the sniffles you’re trying to hide as you shut the door.

```````````````````````````````

The door shuts with a click as you step in and in five seconds, Miguel curses his stupid enhanced hearing and winces. You give him a sad smile and he moves to wrap his arms around you. Your hands go around his neck and you look up at him. After a few moments, his head dips, and he’s so close. So close that the both of you are breathing the same air. Noses nuzzling each other, cheeks rubbing against the other and lips leaving their light feather touch on the other. 

He can hear the small sniffle you try to hide and he does the only thing he can think of to make you think of anything else. His head hides in the crook of your neck and he breathes in your scent. He relishes the small sounds that leave you. He lets them envelop his senses, so he doesn’t have to hear whatever is going on in the next room. His hands travel the expanse of your back, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt.  It’s a messed up dance you’re both in. He knows that. But, god, you’re so soft and-

Oh.

He breathes out a moan. Your lips are on his neck, gently mouthing at flesh. Your eyelashes leave whispers of kisses in their wake that make him lurch forward and pick you up. Your legs wrap around his waist like it’s an instinct.

The windows bathe you in the setting sunlight. And you look ethereal.

But. You’re not her. You’re not his love. Her smile was different, her hair shorter. Her eyes are softer. His head wracks with guilt but then he looks at you again. You’re doing the same. 

He can hear the laughter from outside, but it’s like time stands till as the both of you look at each other. Searching for what is missing. Using the other for their own comfort.

Like a reverent follower, he gazes at you. Like you’re his saint. He wants to say the words. To tell you to use him. So that the both of you can have some semblance of comfort in each other. Your head dips down and your lips brush his and his eyes shut. Succumbing to the feeling.

Two thuds are heard and you pull back, “That was fast.”

“Wait, you used the drug?” his eyes widen and you smile.

“Well, what’s left now but to take them to HQ?” you chuckle.

The hall is silent. There is no laughter.

He smiles.

[qyxzun]

𝟓┆𝕳𝐎𝐌𝐄.

❝𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐔𝐏,❞ the prowler grumbled behind his mask with a distorted voice as he slung a hook across the city's highway. He ran and leaped from the high distance before he pulled himself above the many cars from below. Miles followed behind him, his webs constantly leaving his wrists while he aimed and propelled himself in his direction.

He watched how the prowler expeditiously swung through building from building with agility despite the thick fog that started to settle in from the rain. Miles looked down to catch a glimpse of the scenery yet what he saw made him realize how this dimension and his contrasted. The numerous policemen were all over the place, but they couldn't provide the same protection as a spider-man could. It made him realize how important such an individual like himself or any spider-variant was. But if Miles had to describe Earth 42 in one word, he'd call it dystopian.

"Sooo, how far away until-?" Miles inquired until his counterpart interrupted him already, flitting faster in the air like it was a race"

"Few more minutes inquieto. (restless)" Miles G. voiced as he jumped down the building despite the extreme heights. The spider-man only sighed as he watched his twin surprisingly already ahead of him.

He persuaded him further until they reached close to an area where light didn't shine. The two Miles landed on top of a rusty tower crane as they observed their surroundings. The darkness obscured Miles' view but upon further observation, he could make out a complex building of considerable size - bigger than a baseball field. The fences were wired poorly with no sign of a main entrance and multiple banners with warnings to leave were plastered everywhere, which left Miles a weird feeling down his gut.

"This was the Alcemax," Miles G. voiced before his mask distorted, probably because of the rain. Miles looked back at him, confused.

"Why does it look abandoned?" He asked curiously. His response took a while, making his suspicions grow when he saw his twin's visage. It was indecipherable yet all he did was look and stare down on the dark Alchemax.

"I destroyed its collider. It caused a meltdown." Miles G. responded with a low tone before the curly-haired teen's eyes rose in astonishment from such news.

"How the hell did you destroy a collider all by yourself?" Miles questioned, perplexed and surprised by such a response. He watched how his stern expression turned slightly softer. "No goober or anything at all?" Miles G. looked back at him, returning his look of confusion with a slightly stern expression. The spider-man's question made him look like a fool thanks to his words, guess only spider-people knew what a goober meant...

"Didn't do it alone. Y/N helped me," the prowler retorted with a sullen tone before he huffed. "She was so smart.. fine too," he rambled like a fool in love while Miles continued to listen. The rain still cast down on the two, but it didn't seem to bother them.

"She told me how to shut it down, but guess I was just too aggressive with that damn collider, not that I ever liked it anyway," The prowler's glum face hardened more before his mask glitched back.

"Let's go," He said before launching himself off the tower crane and leaping midair towards the abandoned Alchemax. Miles hastily followed, his webs firmly pulling him behind the anti-hero. The breezy air through the night easily got Miles to swing with no worry, yet it gawked him to see his twin advance with precision and speed. His equipment and boosters must have helped him glide recklessly but competently through the wind. Either way, his talent was worth praise.

They both landed on the dirty rooftop, their shoes clicking on the broken floors and the displeasing mud created by the rain. Miles G. advanced further with his twin behind him before they reached a malfunctioning door. The texture was smooth and clean if it weren't for the grime and squalor it presented. The prowler easily opened it while Miles followed along inside the dark edifice, the barrier behind them closing as it created a loud thud. He assumed he'd be seeing nothing but pitch-black until he noted how the lights flickered, creating a path to follow despite the anxiety it could impose on an unlucky person who could wander inside. Then again, who would come here?

The place looked ghastly and left an ominous aura that would leave others a sense of foreboding. The prowler appeared unperturbed and continued forward, he must've had doleful memories upon entering here since he mentioned you again. But then again, he was the one who came up with the idea to venture inside.

Miles was probably overthinking, it wasn't his business to pry into his other version's past. He was just curious of course, you could say he was looking out for himself.

They stopped in front of another broken entryway. The spider-man wondered what could be behind the secure entrance before his wonders were answered when the prowler suddenly slashed the wired board beside them. The door automatically malfunctioned yet slowly divided, letting the two look-alikes pass through.

The two ventured further as Miles could recognize more grubby machines and equipment. The deeper they went, the less often the lights flickered. While descending, he felt the air become more chilly and as the two entered another room, he recognized the discarded documents that were scattered on the dirty tiles under the flickering lights. From what he could find, the papers depicted diagrams and reports; mostly progress about the collider or test subjects they ran on. The spoiled files must've been vital information for the scientists before this place turned for the worst and remained deserted and untouched by the people of Earth 42. If anything, the files were nothing but forgotten memories of what really happened.

No one knew the complete story behind the Alchemax's meltdown, except for Miles G. He knew it remained better that way. Who would look him in the eye anyway after he destroyed an important piece of Brooklyn that the corrupt government and KingPin funded? Who wouldn't want to kill him after he destroyed these scientists' families, all because he wanted to avenge your death? He was selfish, but he would've never forgiven himself if he had never done something, your decease would've been for naught.

You were the only one that made him believe peace was still an option in this sick unforgiven world, yet those malignant fucking scientists.. the same people you supported for the project and killed you, he'd never forgive them.

"Yo Miles!" his counterpart interrupted his train of thought before he looked up to meet his gaze behind his mask. He was a little envious to see his other version of himself slightly taller than him. When his attention was turned to Miles, he continued.

"You gotta check this out," the spider-man disappeared into another room from a two-door way after he said that. Miles G. followed him inside the eerie room, and the moment he took another step, he felt the memories flush back into his mind.

They were in the collider room, the same room where you died. If he just looked further down, he would've seen your blood stains on the debris. God forbid you'd die in a place as filthy as this. You rested in peace, in a comfortable coffin of your favourite colour the vigilante provided. The room reeked of death, some bodies were piled up behind desks, but they didn't look so harmed as the radiation must've killed them. That fact didn't make the prowler's guts churn, he'd seen more bodies than a normal teen would. On the other hand, Miles was disturbed by such a place, but he had to continue, this Alchemax was his only shot at getting home after all.

"Don't forget," Miles G. asserted as his mask fell apart once more. He had the same morose expression, while Miles looked back at him with a befuddled one. "We're saving Y/N. You leave without saving her, I'm huntin' you down." He glowered with a stoic stare.

He must've really cared for you before you died. Miles could understand, you were friends with Gwen. But after that whole fiasco with her, Peter and Miguel.. he figured you knew and lied to him like the rest of them did. Yet, why does he still appreciate how you offered to catch bad guys with him? Why does he worry about you when he barely knows you? How come his counterpart had a version of you in his dimension while he was alone? Sure, Gwen was there, but she didn't last...

Maybe if you both had more time together, you and Miles could be friends too, even if canon events separated you two.

"Still don't trust me, huh?" Miles joked before his twin's expression only hardened. He ignored his sternness as they further ventured into the ginormous test room. Behind the gargantuan glass that had already shattered, the Afro-haired teen saw the closed collider, its parts folded into each other. He didn't have to approach it to know it was dusty from how long it was unkept, as it created some tingling sensation in his nose, almost making him sneeze like he had allergies.

What he definitely didn't expect was the collider suddenly unfolding and activating. Miles' eyes widened, and he turned back to his other self. The prowler was behind a desk that was surprisingly still functioning. By the look in his eyes, he knew what he was doing but it wasn't enough to trust him. Miles rushed towards him with his webs, looking down at the electronic table with wires and buttons before looking at him.

"What's Y/N's dimensional coordinates?" Miles G. asked in a rushed tone to which Miles looked like he was utterly perplexed.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" his eyebrow was raised as he retorted. His confused expression made the braided teen scoff.

"Aren't you her friend?" Miles G. jabbed back. It made Miles chuckle nervously. "I just met her..?" He responded to which his twin looked back at him with an "Are you serious right now" look. He grumbled and turned his mask back on. His boosters activated before he suddenly bolted like a dash through the broken glass behind the collider. "Wait f'me," the prowler asserted under his voice modulator and leaped down below the complex apparatus.

The black and red-suited hero was about to follow him yet when he turned around, the collider caught his attention. It was turned on. Miles hated betrayal and lies but with the grand machine already running, it was his chance to get out of there, to save his dad. Miles knew you were worth saving as well but he had no time left to waste, hesitation made him tap his foot against the floor. He kept glancing back and forth to see if his counterpart returned. He was taking too long.

With a conflicted sigh, Miles advanced towards the electronic desk as his fingers trailed down on the mechanisms and buttons. The collider further operated as dark matter started to appear from the formation and with that, he typed in his earth's dimensional signature. This was it, he was almost home. Just a little bit of time, and he could get out of here.

"I—Initializing co— collider.." the system announced through the speakers, its voice distorting like a broken record. Miles placed a hand on the initiator, preparing to pull on the lever for commencement.

Yet before he could even do so wrap his fingers around the trigger, a sharp pain shot through his neck from behind before his spider-senses could even get the chance to react. His spider-senses reacted late once more, causing his consciousness to slip again...

"F'r real? You were just gonna leave your twin like that?" The prowler sneered after he elbowed a nerve behind his neck, rendering him unconscious. A sardonic tone accompanied the odious glare present on his face. His animosity for the spider-man seemed to grow once he saw the collider already open with a portal to his dimension. 'He accessed it himself' He wondered.

"So much for trust and relation.." The anti-hero snarled before letting out a scoff. His hands were balled into fists yet they were careful to keep the vile of your blood safe. How did he retrieve it? Though his actions blossomed a memory and a tight feeling in his chest, Miles G. had jumped down at the bottom of the collider room earlier to reach where he had last seen your corpse. He doubted at first, but your blood was still there and surprisingly easy to liquify. Your sanguine liquid was an important key to the collider anyway.

Ignoring his passed-out identical other on the dusty floor, Miles G. entered a sequence into the commander circuit before he poured small drops of your blood on the transparent cuvette attached to the device. The black matter from the collider seemed to intensify and change as the vigilante's gloved fingers continued to type cryptic information on the malfunctioning screen, too fast to understand to the naked eye.

"Identifying the closest di—dime— mensional traces; Earth 61806N" Lights started to flicker quicker, and the ground began to shake from the frail and broken foundation below the functioning collider it was starting to create more of a mess. His mask was automatically placed before the vigilante fled at the speed of light through the broken glass to the opening portal. His calculations were never wrong, he believed— no, knew that upon entering that vortex, he would find you and reunite with you again.

Without further hesitation, Miles G. jumped into the glitching portal, an explosion muffled from his ears occurred behind. He didn't know what happened or when it occurred but he lost control of his body as all he could do was see countless stars, colours, galaxies, all impossible to count. He felt like a corpse but his consciousness was strangely still inside. He knew but didn't know what was happening. He could feel everything but nothing at the same time, what was happening? He had no clue.

The vigilante's moments stuck into infinity were short-lived when a hole was torn open in the middle of time and space. He was thrown out aggressively before his body crashed into the brick wall behind him. "joder.. eso duele, (fuck.. that hurt)" Miles G. coughed from the air that was knocked out of his body. He slowly got up, patting the dust off his clothes.

The scene was something he hadn't seen in a while; it was a city so peaceful that contrasted his own. No fires, not so much crime in the middle of the city, just normal for once. What baffled him was how he could rarely find anything Western-related. His eyes darted across the signs, all were bizarrely in Japanese. Why was he in Japan? Isn't he supposed to be on Earth 61806N? Or at least another version of Brooklyn? It was extremely fortunate he knew basic Japanese. His linguistics study sessions with you before you passed away proved to be successful.

Miles G. jumped down the tall building, leaving claw marks on walls that dropped him to an alleyway. It felt ominous and shady to a normal person but coming from someone who experienced with worst, he could care less about it. The anti-hero hid in the shadows once he heard a series of footsteps and police cars blaring in the distance, guess his first impressions were shortlived. Miles G. then peeked at the corner to see what was happening.

His perplexity didn't seem to shrink as he spotted a woman with scales, hair for live serpents and a grand tail resembling a snake. She was struggling and screaming with fury when a man bigger than her apprehended her. He dressed bizarrely, his beard and suit seemed to be on fire too. It made Miles G.'s eyes widen, how the hell isn't he affected by the flames? He could tell his grip on her was tight and secure, displaying she was a threat.

"GET OFF OF ME! YOU DAMN BASTARD HERO!!" She shrieked, her fangs showing. Miles G. watched how this supposed hero lifted her up easily, avoiding eye contact with the lady before he plastered a blindfold over her eyes. The medusa-looking woman struggled but the tall man eventually succeeded. "It's Endeavour, you low-classed villain." he hissed with a tone that didn't match the term hero at all. To say he was burning with anger might've been a fact.

Miles G.'s gaze soon left the two once he started to take her away. This place was weird, way too weird. The fact the creature and the hero's looks were normalized made the prowler uneasily out of place. Where really was he? Did he make a mistake coming here? No, of course not. He knew you were here, somewhere. He was about to walk further into the alleyway when suddenly, a large indescribable pain surged throughout his body. "Fuck—!" He grunted, almost falling down. When the pain stopped, he stumbled and leaned against the wall for support. He should've known this glitching effect would come early.

His grunt of help seemed to catch someone's attention behind him. Though Miles G. didn't possess the powers of a spider-man unlike his twin, he had some kind of danger-senses that sometimes helped him. When he turned around, he saw a man, a height that matched his own with pale hands, that stood out the most, plastered all over his upper body and his face. The vigilante doubted they were decorations after seeing how bizarre this place was. Between its fingers, his orbs were hidden behind his long, very pale cerulean-coloured tousled hair. His clothes were all wrinkled and dishevelled as if he repeatedly took them out of a hamper and refused to clean it.

"Look at this, a foreigner.. did you lose your tourist guide or something?" His hoarse voice taunted Miles G., he sounded annoyed like he just had a week's worth of bad luck. His finger crept up to his neck and began scratching, an unpleasant sound of skin ripping made the braided-teen scowl. The sound disgusted him but the fact he was picking a fight when he was just minding his own business made him realize how stupid he must be.

"What's with the hands then weirdo? You ugly behind those?" Miles G. scoffed with a pissed-off glare. He could tell from the tense silence that the light silver-haired guy was speechless by his perfect Japanese while also fuming. It didn't stop him from scratching his neck more. It didn't concern the vigilante but he was surprised he wasn't bleeding yet.

"You're as terrible as the hero society.." He sneered maliciously. "The same type of people who don't know their place, who believe they're superior.. always feeding their ego," He continued as his back curved more, both of his hands were scratching his neck like mad, so profusely. Shigaraki's nails dug deep in his flesh, why was he getting so triggered over a tourist like him? Why is he not afraid? Why the fuck was he here?! In enemy territory out of all places?!

"You're the type of people I hate the most!" Tomura snarled with disdain. He darted towards him, it felt like his body reacted without thinking straight. His animosity blinded him to rationally think before he could realize he was about to kill someone just from a few words.

All of his five fingers extended to touch this braided guy's face. But when his dry digits hit his dark skin, his eyes widened. He wasn't decaying, he wasn't dying or even groaning in pain. He was still there. What the hell was happening? Did he have an erasure quirk like that damn Eraserhead? That must've been it!

"Get your fuckin' hand off me!" His opponent yelled. Shigaraki reacted late once more as he suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face. His grip was tight enough to break his wrist that it created a crack sound. A gut-wrenching hiss escaped Tomura's lips loudly. He didn't even get a nanosecond to realize what was happening when the figure in front of him wrapped his clawed gauntlet around the villain's throat. The fingers were sharp, they irritated and dug into Tomura's mortally wounded scratches while air couldn't enter his lungs.

Miles G. slammed his head into the brick wall, causing the building behind his capture to slightly shake. His opponent coughed and gagged, struggling in vain to punch him yet all the prowler could do was ruthlessly choke his poor throat. The anti-hero glared at him with disdain. "Shame I have'ta kill you,"

"Ku-Kurogiri! Send me away!!" Tomura wheezed, moving his head frantically in a panic frenzy. Miles G. tightened his grip further when all of a sudden, a dark violent purple fog emerged behind the choking bastard. He fell behind and disappeared but the prowler, not for one to let his victims get away, dashed inside the mysterious fog.

His shoes stumbled on the hard wooden floorboards before his gaze darted back at the light geyser-haired man gasping for air on the floor. His prowler gauntlet charged up as he began to walk over to him, ready to kill. His efforts were in vain when a sharp blade suddenly penetrated his shoulder. He let out an injured cry as the figure behind him pinned him down on the floor.

When Miles G. looked up, a tall dishevelled dark-haired man with a torn-up mask gripped the katana stuck in his shoulder. He pulled the sharp blade out with a maniacal smile and licked a drop of blood. "What the fuck? Gross..." The prowler's nose wrinkled in disgust. With a harsh kick, he sent the man flying to the brick wall before he let out a grunt of pain when he got up.

The black-haired man easily recovered but his eyes were wide open like he was shocked. 'That's strange.. my quirk didn't work...' He wondered under his breath and licked most of the blood off his katana once more. He watched how the dark-braided teen got up from the ground once more, shocking Shigaraki and himself.

"What the fuck is this.." the hero killer Stain seethed, his gaze turning to the injured Tomura.

"He's no normal fiend.." Shigaraki grunted, stumbling on the floorboards. "Ya think? Cancellation quirks are far rarer than it already is..." Stain rolled his eyes. Shigaraki winced from his broken wrist but, being the stubborn man-baby he was, tried to ignore it. When the prowler's back faced him, he rapidly bolted and placed all five of his fingers on his shoulder yet again but nothing happened.

The anti-hero grabbed his wrist from behind and threw him on the ground, creating a large gap on the floor. His claws reflected into the light before Miles G. pinned the hand-covered man down and slashed his right thumb off clean, blood spattering on the wall. Shigaraki let out a loud hiss of pain, small drops of tears forming in his eyes. He definitely couldn't use his quirk on his right hand anymore.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something.." A sudden voice appeared again. The prowler tilted his head up and saw the small monitor on top of the table bar distorting. It didn't show a face, only displaying sound. "Hm.. a new recruit, Shigaraki?" The voice answered with a calm tone.

"Fuck no." Miles G. smouldered with resentment. "Your lil' shitstain here had a problem with me, you wouldn't mind if I killed him would you?" He mocked as the voice remained silent for a few moments. A chuckle escaped the masculine voice's lips.

"How impressive, you managed to find the League of Villains' hideout and even beat my poor prodigy to a pulp. Yet instead of calling the police or other pro heroes, there's a fire in you that rages you to kill." He spoke before he continued. "What pushes you to do such a thing?"

"If all you're gonna do is yap about heroes n shit, I'm not interested," Miles G. scoffed. "You think I wanna join your stupid group? Is your head located in your ass?" He grumbled, ignoring the glitching effect that surged through his body again. It made Stain and Kurogiri's eyes widen. What the hell is happening to him?

"Hmm... a strange phenomenon indeed," He mumbled under his breath. There was a brief pause until his carefree attitude let out another chuckle. It made Miles slightly concerned how this person behind the monitor was just acting so untroubled. "Oh, you just keep getting better..." He voiced with an amused sigh.

"Another variant from another universe.. what a grand surprise, a spur of the moment indeed," The faceless man chortled, making the prowler's eyes widen in shock as well. His glitching repeated yet he could care less.

"How the fuck do y'know?" Miles G. inquired with a glare.

"Poor anomaly, with nowhere left to go and in constant pain..." the voice continued. "The study of the multiverse is indeed fascinating, to know that it is actually real has given me more opportunities." He sounded optimistic of such news yet he gave off a strong enigmatic aura despite only hearing his voice.

"If you value your life and wish to stay longer in this world, you need nothing but to stay under this roof and sojourn. After all, you must've come here with a plan. You should be thankful I'm this generous, I'll lend you my support when the time has come." He persuaded with an elusively cryptic voice. Miles G. could tell behind that monitor, he was smirking to his fullest.

The prowler moves in shadows and acts independently but without anything to support him, he'll end up caving and suffering. What other choice has this stupid voice left him? He knew it felt humiliating but he had no other choice. And with a sigh, he got off the bleeding Shigaraki and deactivated his gauntlet... for now.

"Excellent," All for Onesmirked.

"Have you tried Earth F90J?"

"What about Earth 251OL?"

"Earth 36NMA9?"

The overlapped talk from the countless spider-people in the society caused the majority of them to have a headache, yet they didn't stop. Screens, holograms, dimensional traces, DNA, they were all that these spider-variants had been using these past few hours and talking about them non-stop. The atmosphere in the spider-society used to be optimistic, and full of joy, yet they all felt on edge.

"Get every available spider-man and dispatch them to untravelled universes Lyla, I don't want a single earth unexplored!" The Latin spider-man ordered fiercely, a harsher expression present on his face. His whole body was tense and any more bad news could cause another desk to be thrown at a wall. Miguel has been hard on work the past day just to find you or that damn anomaly Miles. After he sent Gwen home with the Go Home Machine, he lost all his leads finding the two missing teens.

"Yelling at me doesn't speed up the process Mig," Lyla rolled her eyes behind her cute and pink heart-shaped glasses. Her hologram glitched away, appearing behind Margo who was looking through the Go Home Machine's archives with a semi-stressed expression. He rolled his eyes at the lyrate lifeform's attitude before he let out a groan and pinched his temple out of frustration.

Miguel needed to find you and Miles, or else it'll turn for the worst.

𝕾𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄.

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

PAIRING: tech x gn!reader

SUMMARY: "when i met ana, i knew; i loved her to the point of invention." -sarah ruhl

WORDS COUNT: 1.1k

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences. fluff. valentines day blurb. use of y/n. au where everyone is happy on pabu.

NOTES: bada bing bada boom this is 4 days laaaaaaaaate so sorry humblest of apologies please love it

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

“Tech?” 

“Yes?”

“...what is that?” 

Life on Pabu was breezy. Safe, protected, warm, and happy; Pabu was cut from a different cloth than the rest of the galaxy, light despite the unrelenting weight of Empirical oppression. Thus was why the Bad Batch had chosen it to hunker down and perhaps create some roots somewhere not centered around war and pain.

With the entrance of the Batch on Pabu, came the entrance of Tech into Y/N’s life. 

Peculiar, that one was, but you couldn’t help but find yourself enamored by him. Naturally, it was a slow progression between the two of you, with a friendship forming before the man even started processing the second layer of your relationship. Even with the ever so gracious help of Omega, Tech was oblivious to the little hints, the tension that organically formed, and could not fathom why you would go out of your way to do the simplest of things for him. 

Tech was more than capable of feeding himself, yet from time to time dinner was brought over with claims of having extra. He knew there was no way you, who lived alone, would have this much leftover food for one meal yet the possibility of you intentionally making this just to bring it to him was unrealistic—and even further, impossible. 

It had been Hunter who had let him in on the not so hidden fact that dinner nights with you weren’t really meant for them all. Yes, you were all of their friend—but those visits, that thought and care was for Tech. He had argued, of course, and it had been Omega this time who informed him that that was just what you do. 

“What they care for someone, they do things for them,” she explained as if it was the most obvious thing as she tinkered with some gadget. “Y/N makes dinner for all of us, but they always make your favorites, Tech. You know,” she turned, grinning at her brothers, “they always carry a cloth in case you need to clean your goggles.” With that, the girl stood from her seat, gathering her things and exiting the room, leaving behind an air of wisdom of someone much older than her. She did that often, and that was why Tech slightly believed her. 

Upon further research, Tech discovered what was known as a love language. The dots, how ever he missed them before, finally connected in his mind in the late of night. 

Rules he upheld with his brothers and Omega, he was more lax with you. Your presence when he was not in the mood to socialize was more tolerable than the rest, and he recalled all the times he had observed and factually stated that you were beautiful to himself. Beauty, though subjective in nature, was a natural occurrence in life. And Tech was not afraid of the truth, and the truth was that you had been beautiful all along, and he had thought of you slightly more special than most others he knew. 

That was what had led them to this moment. Tech had stayed up all night, working into the wee hours of morning on as many projects as he could manage. And then, waiting until he knew you would go about your usual tasks of the day, he trekked to your home and installed every creation he had produced. 

“You complained that the cover over your walkway floods your garden when it rains, so I created a funneling system to redirect the waterflow elsewhere,” he answered, pushing his goggles up his nose. “And you mentioned a draft because your front door would not close all the way, so I fixed it. And the side window that was previously cracked has been replaced with an upgraded version.” 

Your heart squeezed in your chest as you watched him rock ever so slightly on his feet, glancing at you here and there but not keeping his eyes on one thing too long, and it struck you that he must have been nervous. While Tech was known to fidget, nerves were not something he displayed signs of hardly ever, and heat gathered in your cheeks. 

The sun was warm, Tech was as handsome as ever, and your smile could not have been any larger. “An upgraded version, huh?” Your eyebrows raised playfully, voice light as you took one step closer. 

“Yes, upgraded,” he affirmed seriously before continuing, beginning to walk away. “As per your complaints, the window offered no privacy nor did it—” he cut himself off, stopping in his tracks when he noticed you hadn’t walked off with him. Instead of grumbling or giving a sarcastic quip, as he was ever inclined to do, he backtracked until your hand was grasped in his. He tugged your arm lightly, beckoning you to follow him as he resumed his explanation. “As I was saying, nor did it filter any of Pabu’s natural light in your home, so…” he trailed off until the two of you were planted right in front of the said window on the side of your house. 

It was your bedroom window to be exact, and true to his word, it was no longer cracked.

But instead of regular transparasteel, the surface had been frosted over. You could no longer see right into the room, but instead see little designs in the glass, swirls and such riddled all over the place. “I made this last night,” he offered, looking between you and the window, voice much softer than before. “The light, it will not be as harsh on you, and you now have privacy while still having the effect of an open window, which…” he exhaled ever so slightly, the weight of your hand in his heavy on his mind as he looked over at you once again, “which I know you love.” 

He was right. You had mentioned that the solution to your problem was as simple as some curtains, but then that would eliminate the natural light as a whole and that was the opposite of what you wanted. You had not had the skills or the mindset to create the solutions to these problems, though not detrimental in severity, but for some reason Tech had taken it upon himself to be the one to remedy them. 

“Tech…” you whispered, looking at him with a tender love he was not used to receiving. It made his heart rate accelerate in his chest, as he thought back to all of the acts of service you had done for not only him but his family as well.

You had loved him to the point of service, and Tech had realized that he loved you to the point of invention. 

“No need to mention it,” he whispered back, unable to fight off the blush in his cheeks as you smiled at him. “That is just what people do when they care. You taught me that.” 

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my work as your own.

[covid-safer-hotties]

I would like to ask if there are some things I've misunderstood or been misinformed about when it comes to masking. Are the following things true?

If I take off my mask in public for even a brief moment, it cancels out any positive effect wearing it might have had up until then.

If I touch my mask with my hands, my hands are contaminated and must be washed immediately with soap and water before I touch anything else.

If I take off my mask, it's "spent" and must be thrown away, and I have to put on a new mask.

I'm asking because I'm having a hard time figuring out how to drink water or eat food while masking, or if it's even possible to do so safely.

There's some crossed wires and half-truths here.

While unmasking in public for a moment doesn't undo the protection you've been doing, it does remove that protection and potentially expose you to covid. This risk is lessened outdoors, especially when you're far from others and it's breezy/windy (covid aresols don't stay aloft long on moving air; and the turbulence can potentially kill any virions that remain aloft... and being away from people diffuses any potential covid they may be exhaling, substantially reducing chances for infective exposure.) The risk rises the closer the people and in public indoor spaces (air changes often aren't high enough to clear covid aresols via ventilation. Big offenders in bad air circulation are schools, many medical buildings, and resturants.) You also are far less likely to get a good seal when putting your mask back on in public, increasing your exposure risk while masked again. It isn't all or nothing, but donning and doffing [taking off] a mask isn't just like pulling up socks: there's ways to do it correctly and most people don't.

This is following contamination controls for diseases spread by fluids or fomites. While covid rarely if ever spreads via surface contact, other diseases (such as mpox, potentially) could seep through the fibers of your mask given the right circumstances. All this being said, touching your mask (especially with dirty hands) fouls it like any filter. It means it will have to be thrown out sooner, and touching it may also break your seal. Avoid touching your mask in public and do try to touch it with mostly clear hands, and only on the edges of the filter material for best longevity.

Most masks used for covid can be used several times by most people. It's been proven in studies that the elastic on a disposable mask will wear out before average usage would wear out its filter medium. You should throw out any mask that is visibly dirty: sweaty masks grow mold. Dry masks can be stored in paper bags for a week or more to aid in basic decontamination, and you can use most masks that still have stiffness in the nosepiece and good elastic 3 or 4 times depending on type and how you use them. Daily wear (multiple hours at a time) will wear out the components faster. I have some KN95s that I opened in 2021 that I still use when opening the door to get a delivery or when I'm pumping gas around people or something like that. They probably need to be replaced soon (and many have been) but they've been used maybe a total of 25 minutes each and they're clean and the elastic and nosepieces are still good! It's all about being able to judge the quality. If you struggle with this aspect, it's best to play it safe and not reuse masks much.

[arcadia-smith]

TW:abuse, torture, SA.

Find Part 1 here

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's Prayer

Part 2

***

It was one of those fleeting weekends, the kind that felt stolen from time itself- where the demands of work fell silent, and the weather conspired just enough to lure you outdoors.

You and Simon, untethered from duty, had decided to take Mia to the playground, her laughter ringing out like tiny chimes against the backdrop of a breezy afternoon.

"I don't know, Simon," you murmured, exhaling a sigh that felt heavier than the wind brushing past your cheeks. Your fingers swept stray strands of hair from your face as your gaze lingered on Mia, her small figure darting through the jungle gym. "The field isn’t my place. I’m an interpreter, not a soldier."

Simon’s response was as steady as the earth beneath your feet. “You’ve passed every physical and psychological test the sergeants have thrown at you,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “And if I’m being honest, you shoot better than half of them.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Why me, Simon? Why do you need me for this?”

He turned to you, his eyes steady, carrying the weight of unspoken truths. “Because you speak Arabic. Because you wear a woman’s face.” His voice was measured but edged with quiet urgency. “And because Basma will only trust us if she sees someone like you. It’s a simple job—quick, clean. In and out. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Your brow furrowed, doubt threading through your voice. “And what about Mia? My mum’s all the way in London, and I can’t ask her to drop everything.”

Simon reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, a silent anchor amidst the storm of your thoughts. “Johnny’s already agreed. He’ll take care of her. Three days- no more. I swear I’ll bring you back without so much as a scratch.”

He paused, his lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. “And maybe, after this, we can revisit that conversation about giving Mia a little sibling?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips. Before you could form a reply, Mia’s voice rang out, bright and insistent.

“Daddy! Come push me on the swing!”

She bounded toward Simon, her tiny hand clasping his with the determination only a five-year-old could muster. With a soft chuckle, he let her lead him away, leaving you on the bench, the echo of their laughter swirling in the air.

Your heart wavered, caught between the unease of his request and the quiet confidence in his promise. You weren’t thrilled by the thought of stepping into the field, but you understood why he had asked. And despite your fears, you trusted Simon’s word- that you’d return home, unscathed, to the sanctuary of your daughter’s laughter and his steadfast embrace.

***

Darkness greeted you like an old enemy.

Your consciousness returned in fragments, each shard bringing new pain, your head a symphony of dull aches and dried blood turned to rust in your hair.

Movement became a study in agony — every muscle a testament to violence. The chain around your ankle sang cold songs against your skin as it trapped you in this tomb of shadows.

Awareness crept in slowly, like poison through veins: the chill air kissing bare skin, your clothes stripped away like dignity, leaving you vulnerable in cotton basics that offered no armor against the world.

Pain bloomed like dark flowers across your body — legs, arms, stomach. And deeper still, where violation lived like a curse.

The cold floor became your sanctuary as you curled inward, knees drawing close like a child seeking comfort in the womb.

Time lost meaning in the darkness, minutes or hours flowing past like black water while you lay there, a comma in death's sentence.

Tears gathered like morning dew, but pride held them prisoner. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of salt tracks on your cheeks.

Anger rose like a tide — at Simon, whose faith in you had become a betrayal, whose love had led you from safety into nightmare. At the men who'd written their cruelty on your flesh in bruises and blood.

Then Basma's face floated through your mind like a ghost, followed by her children — and Noor, sweet Noor, whose tears had been the last light you'd seen before darkness claimed you.

The voices outside grew like thunder clouds, Arabic words seeping through walls "If she's awake, we'll make her speak."

Then another voice, smooth as silk hiding steel "I need to find my wife. That's all I care about. Do what you want with the foreign woman." Nasir — a man whose name tasted like ash and endings.

Light invaded like a blade, carving through darkness to blind you. In the doorway, a silhouette became a man whose eyes held all the warmth of winter frost, his satisfaction curved like a scythe across his face.

"Little hero awake." His words stumbled from his tongue, broken English sharp as shattered glass.

His gaze crawled across your skin like insects, his tongue darting out — a snake tasting fear in the air. He moved with the terrible patience of a predator who knows its prey is trapped, fingers suddenly tangling in your hair like thorns. Your head snapped back, neck exposed to the cold air. His other hand found your face, fingers tracing your features like a sculptor modeling clay, but there was nothing of art in his touch — only ownership and cruel intent.

"It will be more fun while you're awake." Each word fell like acid rain, promising storms to come.

Pain bloomed as he yanked you upward, your gasp a butterfly breaking free against your will.

"Tell me where that traitor wife is and I might not hurt your pretty face more than I already have." His words slithered through the air as his fingers found your throat, a collar of cruelty tightening with each breath.

Your defiant silence painted rage across his features. He threw you down like a discarded doll, but his anger transformed into something worse — a terrible pleasure that turned his mouth cruel.

He descended like a shadow, dragging you closer by your chained ankle. You fought with all the fury of a caged storm, legs kicking, but his strength overwhelmed yours like darkness swallowing light. His weight pressed you into the cold floor, a mountain you couldn't move.

Tears you held hidden now broke free, a loud scream of pain as you tried to claw at man's shoulders. To push him away, yet he seemed immune to your struggles.

Closing your eyes you drifted off. To thoughts of Simon and Mia. And a sunny day at the park. Far away from here.

The chill on bare skin once more returned. You were left raw and exposed.

[juuuulez]

📰 | prologue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.

summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.

You valued consistency.

Doing the same thing, every day.

Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.

You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.

It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.

As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Second period, Tuesday.

Sport.

Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.

The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.

You didn’t mind your teacher.

Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.

But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.

You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.

Regardless, you fall in line with the others.

Baseball.

Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.

You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.

It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.

“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.

The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.

But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.

It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.

Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.

It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.

Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.

You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.

Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.

“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.

“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.

“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”

That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.

“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”

Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.

“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.

He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.

“Get some practise in before the weekend.”

Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.

You’re late.

Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.

Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.

But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.

You’d take detention over home any day of the week.

So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.

Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.

It sat propped up against your desk.

Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.

The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.

You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.

At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.

Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.

But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.

Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.

“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.

Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.

It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.

You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.

You slide it back.

“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”

This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”

However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”

Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.

The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.

He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.

One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.

When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.

Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.

Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.

“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.

You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.

It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”

“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”

You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.

“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”

You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.

As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.

Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.

Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.

When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.

“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.

Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.

You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.

There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.

Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.

“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.

“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”

Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”

You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”

He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”

There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.

You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.

Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.

You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”

Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.

You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.

It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.

Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.

It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.

As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.

But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.

It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.

“Dad?”

Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.

You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.

There’s no response.

“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.

That isn’t seeming very likely.

Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.

You wished he would yell at you.

Pin you against the wall by your neck.

Bruise you. Beat you.

Anything other than this.

“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.

And what does he do?

He scoffs.

His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.

Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.

Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.

So you do.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.

You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.

It’s already happened before you can understand.

There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.

You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.

Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.

The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.

It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.

It was a mercy-kill, at best.

Vengeance at worst.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.

Negan.

Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.

Untouchable.

[joesheistyy]

Red Nosed Boy

The Bills and Bengals game was approaching quickly. Which meant the team would need to be out practicing in the cold. Joe hated the cold, but he loved his team and he knew he needed to get the job done.

Tuesday morning practice had rolled around and it was breezy with a temperature of 24°. Joe was dreading leaving the cozy house and he made sure the whole world knew it.

“I love my job and I love what I do, but I do not want to go today,” he groaned, pulling you closer to him in bed.

“I know babe. It’s cold so it’s hard to leave, but you don’t make millions for nothing,” you replied, turning to face him. Sometimes a little gaslighting could make Joe get up and go without much more complaining.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he croaked out as he tossed the blankets off of his body, exposing himself to the harsh cold air of the bedroom.

Joe headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Brushing his teeth, shaving, and putting on layers to attempt to keep his body warmth in for practice.

You soon got out of bed, checking the thermostat the moment you got downstairs. The 70° temperature in the house wouldn’t be nearly warm enough for Joe when he got home.

Joe had left quickly, realizing he had to face the snow flurries and idiots who freak out on the roads when even a single snowflake falls. As badly as he didn’t want to practice outside, he hid that and encouraged his teammates that it’s what needed to be done to better the team in preparation for the game against Buffalo.

You continued your house work and relaxation while Joe was gone. You tried to conjure up some ideas to warm him up for when he arrived home. You enjoyed your hot coffee under a cozy blanket on the couch, feeling a little guilty that Joe was out in the cold. However, he did make millions to do that, so you shut your guilt down quickly.

You heard the garage door open, and in walks a cold, red-nosed Joe. That poor boy struggled to warm up when it was this cold and breezy out. Not even blasting the heat in his car on the way home could do much.

“Hi baby, how was practice?” You asked, going up to hug him.

“Cold,” he mumbled out, pulling you in closer to try to use your body heat to warm him up.

"What can we do to get you warmed up, baby?" you questioned, looking up to kiss his cold chin.

"Dunno, even my bones feel cold," he slumped into your body, resting his weight onto you.

"Let's start with getting rid of your practice stuff. There's no way that's warm anymore," You said, helping him drop his bag of equipment.

You lead Joe upstairs to change. You had already put some clean clothes in the towel warmer for him. He headed for the bathroom, considering taking a warm bath. He decided against it, considering that involved more effort than he wanted to commit to it.

"Any warmer?" you ask after he came out of the bathroom in his warm Nike sweatpants and looney tunes crew neck, bengals hat still on.

"A bit, but it's one of those cold feelings that takes hours to go away. I hate, hate, hate it," he groaned, walking out of the bedroom. You followed him back downstairs. Joe headed for the thermostat, turning the heat up to 74. You hated being hot, so keeping the house cool was typically the way to go. But in this case, you would happily deal so Joe could be comfortable. No one needed him sick before the Bills game.

Joe then laid down on the couch. He took the thick fuzzy Ugg blanket and draped it over his legs. You had laid out a heating pad for him that he put his back on. He would do anything to try to warm up.

You approached the couch, kneeling down to lay a kiss on his cold cheek. "How about some tea?" you suggested, seeing his eyes light up a little bit.

"That sounds good babe, do we have green tea?" he asked, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

"We do! I'll get that started for you," you joked like you worked at Starbucks. He laughed in response.

You made Joe tea in his favorite mug. He wasn't a coffee drinker, but he had a few favorite mugs for tea.

"Thanks baby," he said, leaning up to take the tea from you.

"Have any other ideas to warm up?" you asked, hoping that something had come to mind.

"Lay with me?" he suggested, opening up the blanket to let you under with him.

You crawled under the blanket with Joe, the touch of his skin still cool. He grabbed the remote, turning on Looney Tunes. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the outside atmosphere became white with powered snow. Joe's arms wrapped around you, his body slowly but surely warming up.

[yourlocallyneysimp]

Dancing With Them

A/n: I can’t dance at all. 🙂

Characters: Lyney, Venti, Kazuha, Albedo, Aether, Xingqiu, Ayato, Thoma

+Bonus: Nilou, Yun Jin, Ayaka, Barbara, Columbina, Eula, Lynette

Lyney:

Lyney is a professional dancer and he performs all of the time, so as his s/o, it’s natural to him that he would try to teach you how to dance as well. No matter how many mistakes you make or how much you mess up, he still offers his hand each time with a small smile on his face. <3

Venti:

Venti doesn’t really know how to dance either, so it’s just a freestyle. Venti would use the wind to make it more fun and exciting and would even lift you up into the air for fun which results you both falling onto the ground laughing. It’s overall pretty exciting to dance with Venti and sometimes you wish that moments like these could last forever. 

Kazuha:

Kazuha likes to dance with you under the moonlight and when it’s slightly breezy outside.

It’s really cute since no matter how many times you step on his foot, he still holds you close and never lets go. 

Albedo:

Albedo is a prince okay. Ok, so, I feel like he would have some experience in dancing. If one day Albedo is in a odd mood, he would lift you up from your seat and start twirling you around his room. It’s fun at first until you notice that the star that was previously on his neck is missing. 

Aether:

Instead of Aether asking you for a dance, you take his hand into your own and start going around the room. You mostly do this when he’s not in a good mood or when he’s drowning himself in his depressing thoughts. Even though it’s a small gesture, he still appreciates it and it makes him feel better. 

Xingqiu:

Xingqiu probably took lessons to learn how to dance since he’s from a rich family, but he most likely didn’t stick to it since he chose books over exercise. Even though he told you this fact, it was sort of hard to believe since he literally does a flip in the air when he’s fighting.

Sometimes when Xingqiu finishes reading a good book, he would take your hand and start twirling you around the room talking about how amazing the book was. 💙

Ayato:

Ayato treats you like a princess and will kiss your hand when he asks for you to dance with him. He already took lessons since he has to eventually dance with his future wife- *COUGH* (you) so he made sure to perfect every step.

You don’t even know it, but he’s been teaching you how to dance for a while now. Until the day he proposes and the day of your wedding, he will make sure you know each and every step. 

Thoma:

This is canon in my head and I can’t stop thinking about it. Thoma WILL dance with you whenever he’s cleaning or when the Kamisato’s are out doing errands. It’s something you both do in secret.

When Ayaka eventually catches you both, she can’t help but smile at the heaetwarming moment. 

--------

Bonus!!

Nilou:

Dancing with Nilou will be a lot of fun and you can’t tell me otherwise. Whether you're both dancing in water or in the desert or even on stage- it’s still something you both enjoy. 

Yun Jin:

Dancing and singing with Yun Jin is definitely a learning experience since you learn a lot about opera and you both teach each other new dancing moves. 

Ayaka:

Ayaka thought that dancing with you would be embarrassing at first since she can’t really dance herself (lie), but when you both step into the water and start twirling each other around while laughing, she can’t help but treasure the moment.

She hopes that she could dance like this with you forever. This thought causes her to have dreams about you both eventually getting married. <3

Barbara:

You and Barbara are both idols and you both enjoy performing on stage together. Singing with each other brings joy to the both of you and it’s something that makes all the bad thoughts and stress in Barbara’s head go away. 

Columbina:

Columbina was shocked when you suddenly took her hand and started twirling her around. Columbina is a singer, not a dancer. It was cute seeing her shocked for the first time, but that expression quickly turns into a look of happiness as she starts matching your every step. You taking her hand was just a reminder of why she loves you! <3

Eula:

Eula is a professional dancer, so to be honest, you already lost. Eula would give you dancing lessons on a daily basis if you ask her and will teach you while trying to seem professional at the same time. (Even though she's embarrassed. Plus points if you compliment her dancing skills!)

Lynette:

Lynette met you during one of her and her brother’s performances. Even though her brother enjoyed performing, she didn’t really like the experience. Whenever the performances were over, she would watch as everyone else was dancing with their partner or friends.

When you came over to her and asked her to dance for the first time, that was the day that she felt human emotions for the first time.

She fell in love. 🌹💞

[blue-jisungs]

HAZE

a/n. i’m so pissed bc the pic at genius didn’t have the lil description as all the other ones… sigh… ignore it…

living with taehyun was never boring. sure, sometimes you were alone for longer amounts of time when he was on tours or at practice until late night but even despite that, it wasn’t dull. thanks to his personality, you were always entertained.

well, you didn’t have midnight conversations because your boyfriend a) slept like a rock b) denied to waste his beauty sleep c) you didn’t want him to miss on his well deserved sleep because of you. but your equivalent of midnight talks were just… philosophical conversations while during mundane tasks. that’s why he hit you with the iconic “would you still love me if i was a worm?” during cooking, a whole debate whether mint chocolate is actually good while you deep cleaning your room or once during ironing you almost burned your clothes because you were so invested in listening how taehyun explained the whole ridiculous aspects of earth being possibly flat.

today, on a friday night you put the dirty laundry in a basket while taehyun was scribbling something in a text book.

“tynnie, do you want to go to the laundry room near by? the one that’s open whole night, self…” you started and were met with an unexpected slam of closing book.

“of course” he hummed, standing up

“that’s great, you’ll carry this one and i’ll carry the lighter one” you sent him a toothy grin. taehyun just scoffed, placing a quick peck on your nose.

you quickly grabbed one of your boyfriend’s hoodies and pulled it over before heading out.

the air was fresh and breezy, a scent of summer night hitting your nose. the sun has already set, more and more stars starting to blink on the navy sky. even though the street was empty, you could hear the pleasant buzz of people far away. after all, seoul never sleeps.

“y/n, i never told you this…” taehyun started suddenly, causing you to bring you back to reality. you looked at him curious, his brows abbot furrowed “i met you after i had a rough time in my life, i had given up hope. and you… you reminded me how things can be good again”

you pushed the door open to the laundry room. expectantly, it was empty. soft, quiet music played in the room, lightened by a warmish light. you looked at taehyun, unsure what to say. you didn’t know about all of this that he just said.

“i… hyun…” you mumbled, his features softening. a tender smile adorned his face, dimples showing.

“you don’t have to say anything, what happened – happened. i was in a haze and things became clear again, thanks to you” he hummed, putting the basket with laundry on top of one of the machines.

you started sorting them, his presence making the activity more comforting.

“got me feelin' alright when the feeling's all gone, got me feelin' uptight every moment you're gone” he blurted out, helping you out “it’s a hell of a ride lovin’ you, i’ll admit but in a good way. it’s good, adventurous, never dull and full of love”

taehyun focused on the laundry, wording out his thoughts in such a deep thought that he failed to notice how you started shaking.

“i love being an idol, i really do but all this… pretending, hiding secrets, holding back. and then you pick me up, now i don't have to play pretend and i am human once again” taehyun continued, hands automatically throwing the dark clothes into one maschine and the bright ones into the other.

you sniffled quietly and he snapped back, boba eyes widening when he noticed your teary eyes.

“oh, y/n” his eyes softened, dropping what he was doing. his arms pulled you closer, hand going to the back of your head. you started sniffling, clutching his t-shirt “why are you crying?”

you scoffed and nuzzled your head into his chest.

“because of you, dumbass. you can’t say such heartwarming stuff out of a sudden” you let out a chuckle, pulling away. taehyun’s hands moved to cup your hands gently, thumbs wiping your pearly tears.

“why not? it’s the truth, it’s on my mind. i want you to know this. for expamle when i open my eyes, hope to see your face… or the feeling that if i’m with you, i’ll never die” he said, shaking his head when he noticed your eyes tearing up again “stop crying!”

“then stop giving me reasons to do so!” you laughed, scoffing.

“sorry… will you forgive me if i kiss you?” taehyun hummed, tilting his head with a boyish smile.

“maybe. let me turn on the laundry first though” you poked his chest and wriggled out of his grip.

quickly adding the necessary laundry detergents, you put on the maschine.

you turned around to face taehyun again but he had other plans.

with one swift move he grabbed you by your waist and put on the top of the maschine, next to the empty basket. you let out a yelp of surprise, causing him to giggle.

then he stood between your legs, calloused hands cupping your face. taehyun shortened the distance between you two, planning to kiss you when the soft in the background suddenly changed to their cover of “fairy of shampoo”.

his eyes widened in surprise and you took advantage of that, pulling him closer by his shirt and crashing your lips on his. he hummed into the kiss, letting you take the lead.

you pulled away slightly, lips resting against his but not pressing onto them.

“you’re really my fairy of shampoo, huh?” he grunted upon the song’s chorus playing. you scoffed, the air tickling his skin.

“i love you so much” you whispered, heart thumping in your chest.

“i guess i love you too” he murmured and this time, he initiated the kiss.

the buzz of washing machine, their song in the background and pleasant smell of fresh laundry made taehyun realise something.

that he wants to put on the suit and the tie. that he wants to see you in a wedding dress, with a golden ring adorning your finger.

txt masterlist | event masterlist

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