#lightning doesn't strike twice

[ainadelothwen]

The thing that kills me is that even if another streaming service somehow picks up either Shadow and Bone Season 3 or the Six of Crows spin-off, the chance of getting all the cast back together is slim. Between contracts, schedules, legalities and other obligations - the logistics of production coordination is massive.

[howifeltabouthim]

But I do not know whether it follows that because he was brave and successful once he must necessarily be brave and successful again. A man rides at some outrageous fence, and by the wonderful activity and obedient zeal of his horse is carried over it in safety. It does not follow that his horse will carry him over a house, or that he should be fool enough to ask the beast to do so.

Anthony Trollope, from Phineas Redux

[punksalmons]

why did tumblr nuke u :(

don't get scared but basically everyone is at risk of getting flagged at any time bc that's done automaticly mostly. the queue to get an email from support is six months with how backed up they are (BY THEIR OWN FAULT)

[saintedbythestorm]

Thought i had another day to do comp fit. I did in fact not have another day.

It took 3 fucking hours to finish it!

[relleytrots]

I need a new writing/RP partner. Unfettered, feral long form. My freak is going unmatched, god damn it, and I'm not penning this shit by myself: it's just masturbatory.

[beforetimes]

Foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of role reversal Binghe and Yuan, don't mind me

Also don't mind me just spitballing here, you can take this as a prompt or not! But can you imagine Binghe's reaction to seeing Shen Yuan years in the future, probably still at Jinlan city? Not only is he taking in how different Shen Yuan looks, either in regards to how the abyss changed him or just how he's grown, but Binghe doesn't have prior knowledge that Shen Yuan would live through the abyss.

Can you imagine the shock? The misunderstanding as Binghe doesn't react to anything because he's still processing that his beloved disciple is THERE, he's ALIVE. He was though to be dead for years, but somehow he survived the abyss.

heyyyy anon so glad that i’ve managed to inspire the same obsession in you that’s spawned in me seemingly overnight. anddd i didn’t even consider the possibility of this scene when i came up with this scenario but let me try my hand at what it’d look like… also i know i wrote his name all as shen yuan in this but i only noticed after i finished and i don't want to rewrite. smile. enjoy!!

[og au post here!]

… 

Jinlan city carries with it a chilled breeze, curled up quietly against Luo Binghe’s skin under the edges of his robe, where flesh meets air. Face impassive, mouth a straight line and eyes heavy with poison-bourne-exhaustion only a few hours into the trip, everything spells out the path to his inevitable turning in for the night soon. The sun’s joined in his lulling to slumber, touching the horizon as the sky turns orange from blue. 

Luo Binghe drifts, a reed swaying in the wind by the riverside as he investigates the town, slipping away from Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang to survey the ghost town in his lonesome. 

Everything is par for the course, almost mundane enough that Luo Binghe feels a muted frustration grab at the epicentre of his chest, wrapped around the raw meat of his heart. Always muted, desaturated and less than every sensation could be, as though Shen Yuan took with him a shred of Luo Binghe. If he were an artist, then Shen Yuan wasn’t just his muse but every hue of colour, enshrined in Luo Binghe’s memory in smudges of peach, white, green, and rosy pinks. 

Of course, Luo Binghe hasn’t felt like much of anything in a long time. Every day feels like going through familiar, pre-determined motions, drifitng in and out of classes with a commitment inspired in him that never possessed him before the Immortal Alliance Conference. Even this mission, a slight deviation from the norm, feels easy enough to slot into a quiet part of his mind, where everything mundane gathers dust. Months, almost years worth of memories tucked away in a damp corner. 

This should be more of the same. Luo Binghe is anticipating nothing else. 

Then—a figure bumps into him, bringing him to a stumbling halt. 

He’s practiced; the figure picks up speed when his gaze passes over them, so Luo Binghe pursues, numbness clenching at the hollow of his chest like a bird nipping fingers. Short bursts of static aimed at his hummingbird heart as he ducks into shadowy alleyways, a maze bringing him eventually to the second story of a seemingly-abandoned home. 

Hand resting on his sword, Luo Binghe creeps up the stairs. Opening to a room, his gaze skips over the furniture in his first sweep before he stills at the sight of the balcony. Silhouette traced against the setting sun, the figure lowers their hood as Luo Binghe unsheaths his spiritual weapon. Its hardly silent, and the figure’s face snaps over to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. 

Lightning strikes, a shock to the heart. 

Shen Yuan exhales a moment later, and it hurts almost twice as bad. 

“Shizun…” He says, words so quiet he’s almost mouthing them to himself. Cultivation pulled from the equation, Luo Binghe doesn’t think he would have heard them. Here, however, they twist a blade into his palpating, trembling chest. “It’s really you here?” 

He opens his mouth but words loathe to creep past his throat and spill over his teeth. Luo Binghe can only stare, drinking in details he never dared imagine, his disciple last remembered bloodied and sobbing at the ridge of a gorge touched by years Luo Binghe thought Shen Yuan had lost because of his Shizun’s incompetence. 

Gone are the gentle greens and whites of Qing Jing Peak, replaced with navy blue, near black, and charcoal gray robes that layer over themselves thrice over, as though Shen Yuan tries to keep himself warm. His face lost its last vestiges of baby fat, severe green eyes dulled yet still imbued with life. Hair shiny, longer, left in a simple updo unbefitting of Qing Jing Peak’s strict standards. Luo Binghe’s mind wanders back to hazy mornings spent brushing his disciple’s hair before he’s forcefully yanked back to the present. 

“I suppose Shizun suspects this lowly demon to be responsible for the plague?” Shen Yuan asks, unsurprised yet words saddled with inexplicable defeat. “With word from Qing Jing Peak’s immortal master against this one, I suppose there’s no point in dragging out the inevitable trial, though Shizun can decide if this one should dare show his face to the other Peak Lords Shizun’s brought with him.” 

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe manages to croak, mind speeding to such an extent that forcing words out feels like fighting past a hot charcoal shoved down his throat. 

“Or,” Shen Yuan continues, as though uninterrupted, starting to pace in a way so familiar and practiced that any imagined excuses of possession or imitation vanish themselves from Luo Binghe’s mind, “Or maybe Shizun wants to bring this stupid evil demon to the Sect Leader himself before executing him—maybe he wants to claim the glory of becoming Jinlan’s saviour, maybe—maybe Shizun wants this disciples head on a spike, or—“ 

Shen Yuan whips around, eyes burning into Luo Binghe’s with intensity that would unwaver him if he wasn’t already off-balance. Hazy and near-floating, feeling his heart beat outside his frail body. Despite the weight of it, there’s a vulnerable desperation that robs him of breath, too reminiscent of days Shen Yuan spent at the end of Luo Binghe’s bed on days where the world pinned him to the sheets without mercy. Violent and fervent hope seems to overtake Shen Yuan.

“Or maybe Shizun just—? WIll—this one knows that Shizun wants… But everything else has changed, I can— This one—Maybe Shizun wants me to live?” 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Luo Binghe manages to say, and watches Shen Yuan’s expression freeze before shuttering, scrubbed away from a too-pale face and replaced with a jade-like twist to his lips so cold it feels as though it cuts at Luo Binghe’s skin. 

He reaches out and Shen Yuan flinches. 

You’re supposed to be dead, Luo Binghe thinks, standing days away from home yet able to feel the press of grass and stone under his knees as he stares at a solitary grave in Qing Jing Peak’s bamboo forest. 

You’re supposed to be dead, he thinks, watching Shen Yuan turn from disciple to stranger, any hope in his former student's shoulders deflating until Shen Yuan’s taking up very little space, completely unaware he’s done it at all. 

You’re supposed to be dead, Luo Binghe thinks, remembering every single conversation with Liu Qingge where they both quietly tell themselves there’s no body, there’s always a chance. They both knew they were lying to each other. I mourned you. I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you. 

In the same room, Shen Yuan retreats, and despite being closer than they have been in years, Luo Binghe can feel the channel of one-sided hatred between the two of them grow ever-deeper.

masterpost

[hayoomii]

ILYTOW⋆˚࿔

500ish words / tsukishima kei x f!reader

fluff , use of Y/N , sweet kisses , tsukki being pretty cheesy tbh

“Tsukishima…”  Y/N’s voice is a mere whisper, barely audible over the quiet melody drifting from the speaker.

“Hm?”  He cocks his head to look at her.  The blond is caught off guard, however, when he notices just how close she is.  And as if it is second nature to him, his gaze flickers down to her lips as quickly as lightning strikes.  Shit, he thinks.  He hopes she didn’t notice.

“What?”  The boy asks more adamantly this time, faux annoyance adorning his features.

She giggles lightly, “You’re really good at that, y’know…”

“Good at what?”  Tsukishima’s eyebrow quirks up.

“Acting mean,” this time her eyes look down at his lips, “but you’re lucky I know better.  You’re too nice to me.”

At this point, the space between them is rapidly closing, and Tsukki only has time to gulp and chuckle nervously before that distance is nonexistent.

Y/N’s lips are soft.  Her kiss is light, and Tsukishima can't help but let out a breath through his nose close enough to a whine.  He doesn't understand how she can make him feel this way so easily.  It's almost like he could start floating at any moment.  Or maybe his heart would race right out of his chest - rushing to burrow itself closer to hers.  Not that he would complain, though.  Deep down, he thinks it’d be happier that way…

Her nose nudges against his as she tilts her head slightly, pressing further into him, now gliding her gentle hands up his chest and around the nape of his neck.  She fiddles with the short blond tendrils there briefly before fully embracing him.

After a few moments, she pulls back.  Tsukshima’s lips subconsciously follow hers – like it’s some natural instinct to keep them melded together – but he’s stopped by a light peck on the tip of his nose.

He opens his eyes this time, lashes fluttering in a daze as he takes in the image before him.

She’s beautiful.

Tsukishima sighs imperceptibly.  He knows if she could read his thoughts she’d smack him for thinking such lies.  But, they’re not lies. And, he wishes, more than anything, for her to believe it too.

“Kei,” he swears he could get drunk just off her voice, “you’re so pretty.”

The boy blinks slowly once, then twice before finally registering her words.  And, without even thinking, the next words slip out of his mouth.

“That’s my line.”

If it were any other man than the one and only Tsukishima Kei, it wouldn’t have been so surprising.  But, it is him, and the shade of red that flushes across Y/N’s entire face, and down past the collar of her shirt, is almost record-breaking for the amount of time it occurred in.  In order to hide her embarrassment quickly, she slumps forward, face resting comfortably in the crook of his neck.

“Stop,” she mumbles, “that was too cheesy…”  Tsukki chuckles at her barely audible statement, trying not to squirm from her tickling breath.

“Don’t try to hide the fact that you liked it.  And, that makes you cheesy,” he whispers directly into her ear, which earns a quiet groan from the girl.

She pulls herself halfway out of her hiding spot but stops to leave a chaste kiss on his jaw.

“You’re stupid,” she says plainly.

“Yeah, yeah.  I love you too, or whatever.”

notes : this is the very first fic i have ever written with the intention of posting, so please be gentle! let me know what you think! i hope to post more in the near future <3

song : Peppers (feat. Tommy Genesis) by Lana Del Rey

Divider from saradika-graphics !

[letorip]

can u give us a summary of kiss with a fist 4 without spoiling?

lol... here's a spoiler

kiss with a fist [iv]

"you smashed a plate over my head, then I set fire to our bed"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: just as things begin to complicate even more between you and tara, her life becomes even more complicated

warnings: blood, angst, curse words, kissing, borderline sexual content

word count: 4.2k

A/N: i contemplated doing this in so many ways and i ended up thinking it was just funnier if i answered with the literal story. so... it was at least funny to me. it's shorter than normal, just because i didn't want to split up an action scene that'll take place next time, so expect a much longer part next time.

===+++===

===+++===

You didn’t like police stations very much, and you weren’t exactly doing a good job of keeping it hidden. Your knee bounced against the dusty linoleum in a quiet tapping noise, and although you yourself couldn’t hear it with the endless amount of phones ringing and shouting down the hall, Tara clearly could.

Her head rested on your shoulder, where you had slumped, and she placed a hand right upon your knee, stopping it from bouncing anymore. Her dark eyes looked up at you. “You’re making me even more nervous.”

“Sorry,” you rushed, quick to pull your knee away from her hand.

Tara frowned, looking back down to the tiling. “Of course this had to happen.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What do you mean?” She shrugged, and you had to nudge her gently. “Tara?”

“Nothing,” she murmured. "Just Sam's license and her getting attacked at the bodega... I wasn't there, (Y/n)."

"You couldn't have known," you said, frowning at her. "Everyone thought all the 'Stab' shit was over."

"Yeah," Tara scoffed. "Mindy always says lightning doesn't strike twice, but I'm starting to wonder if that's really true."

"Or maybe it's just a crazed copycat. There's no way of knowing it's actually after you yet."

"That's not what Sam'll say." She had an uncharacteristic look of defeat in her eyes that you hadn't seen before. Tara was a spitfire, even to Sam. But she looked beside herself, wallowing against the soft fabric of your jumper. "Sam'll say that Ghostface is back. That we need to leave."

"Maybe she's right," you shrug.

"Maybe," Tara said. "But I don't want to go. I don't want to leave. I want to live, but... if it's not him, I can't just keep living my life on the run from whoever's chasing me. That means Amber won."

"Amber?"

"Yeah... Amber. Amber Freeman. She was my, uh, girlfriend."

"Oh," you frown. Tara's dark eyes looked up at you, nervously watching your reaction.

"Yeah... and she was Ghostface."

"Oh," you repeated. Tara never spoke about her much, and neither had the rest of the core four, really. It had never really dawned on you to ask, just because it seemed important to Tara, and for the longest time, what was important to her wasn't important to you. "Are you still nursing that wound?" you asked.

She smiled, but it did not reach the corners of her eyes. "Sometimes. It feels weird since she almost killed me, but there are times I really miss her. Grief demands to be felt, and all."

"Even if it's a murderous psychopath?" you asked with a smile.

"Yeah," she snorted, turning her head on your shoulder. "Even if it's a murderous psychopath." Then, she grew serious. "We should probably talk about last night, right?"

You froze, swallowing what felt like a lump in your throat. "Uh, now?"

"Well, it's just, I kind of felt something... I don't know. I know we said this was fake and all, and I don't know if you have your eye on anyone else right now," Tara began to ramble, "so if you do, don't feel pressured to agree to anything. I know I kind of made a messy situation out of this, and I don't even know where to go--"

But she was interrupted by the door down the hall opening. It was loud enough that your attention was pulled towards it, and through it came a woman with a stack of files in her arm. She smiled warmly at Tara, walking right over, and Tara seemed to recognise her, sitting up in her chair.

The warmth on your chest where her head had been was gone in an instant, and you would have been lying if you said you hadn't selfishly begun to miss it.

"Tara, right?" the woman asked with a smile, and Tara nodded, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and an underlying suspicion. But the woman just gave her a gentle smile.

"Kirby," she said, extending her arm out for a handshake. "Kirby Reed. I used to go to high school with Sam, and now I'm with the FBI."

Your eyes widened. If the FBI were now involved with the case, it was definitely not a good sign. You felt Tara's hand go to yours, squeezing it. If you were to ask her about it, she'd likely say it was to calm the nervousness you hadn't been able to hide on your face, but you knew that it was to steady herself, if anything.

"FBI?" Tara asked. "So it's really him?"

Kirby frowned. "I'm hoping it's some copycat, but from what I've seen so far, I'm not too sure. Is Sam still back there being questioned?"

Tara nodded, grimacing. "Apparently, both of us are people of interest. Our roommate's dad is on the case."

"Well," Kirby said, "I'll see if I can help him." She turned to you. "And who's this?" she asked.

"Uh--" you started, but Tara shook her head, interrupting.

"--(Y/n) isn't involved," she glared, defending you with a ferocity in her voice.

Kirby gave you a look over. "Are you sure? I don't mean to disrespect either of you, but are you sure you can trust them, Tara? It's never who you expect."

Tara nods. "I know they're not Ghostface. (Y/n) wouldn't lie."

(Y/n) wouldn't lie. The sentence made you sick to your stomach. You could see Calvin in your mind, laughing at how you got yourself into this situation. Alisha would've found it funny, too. You swallowed, standing up from the chair. You smiled weakly at Tara. "It's okay, Tar. I'll go home... just let me know if you need to leave... for the... uh, arrangement, or whatever."

She nodded, mouth drawn into a line. "Yeah... see you later... Duck," she said, trying equally as hard to smile. You turned around, walking out.

===+++===

You had pretty much collapsed into bed, the moment you got home. It had been an exhausting few hours, what with finishing your model and then rushing with Tara to the police station. Your final class of the semester was later in the day, so you would take any sort of sleep you could get.

And the sleep you took, waking up a few hours later with mussed-up hair and a final to get over and done with. You grabbed the model and your backpack, heading for the train station, and finally checking your phone for the first time in a little while.

Little Shit (do not pick up): mindy wants everyone at the park later, after your final

Little Shit (do not pick up): good luck with that, btw

Little Shit (do not pick up): also we should still probably talk about last night i didn't get to finish earlier

You gave a thumbs-up to the first message, and quickly typed back a thanks, before tucking it into your pocket. The critique was boring, but you couldn't help but feel yourself swell with pride when your professor complimented the small amount of green space you had put within the actual walls of the building. It had been Tara's idea, and you reminded yourself to thank her later. Now all you had to do was go to Mindy's weird meeting, and you could begin your break.

The group was sitting on a group of benches near the green, with Mindy hovering over them, her arms crossed. When she saw you coming, she raised her eyebrow at you in suspicion. You rolled your eyes, coming to sit down next to where Tara had saved you a seat.

She sent you a small smile when you did, weaving your fingers together. You knew that to the group she was just doing it because you and Tara were allegedly a couple, but just to you it felt like so much more than that.

And it made you feel a little bit sick, again.

"How'd your final go?" she asked, and it made your heart stop for a moment, the way her warm brown eyes looked in the soft sunlight. You shrugged, but could not stop the smile spreading itself on your face.

"The professor liked your idea."

"Really?!" she asked, sounding super excited, and you nodded. "Well now who's silly, for telling me it was a bad idea?"

"Well because it is a silly idea, genuinely who would think of that."

"I would. It isn't silly, it's cool."

"I'm afraid cool doesn't always work, Tara."

"It did this time," she said smugly, sticking her tongue out at you. You rolled your eyes, knowing but not hating that she'd be gloating about it for weeks.

"Lovebirds, cut the chit-chat," Mindy shot, glaring in your direction, and Tara huffed in annoyance but begrudgingly turned towards her. "Now, as terrifying as it all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time."

"Mindy," Sam chided, arms crossed over her chest.

"Right, sorry," she said. "The way I see it, someone’s out to make a sequel to the requel."

"What’s a requel?" Anika asked, leaning forward as if trying to understand her girlfriend's antics. You didn't know either.

"You’re beautiful, sweetie, but let’s hold questions to the end," Mindy teased.

From next to you, Tara looked more worried. "Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro, but Stab 2 took place in college…"

Sam tensed. "So you think the killer’s copying the second movie?"

"Like a homage!" Chad suggested, looking proud of himself. The rest of the group shot him a look. "What? You all I know took French, it should not be a surprise that I know that word."

"Just a little bit," Tara teased. He sent her a small smile, one that you knew came from his massive crush on her. It only made you feel a bit worse about the both of you.

"That’s one possibility," Mindy said, nodding at the suggestion. "Heroes now in college? Check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and/or body count?" she looked at you, Ethan, Quinn, and Anika. "Check, check, check, and check."

"I really don't like this," Ethan said.

"But it can’t only be about Stab 2," Mindy continued. Tara's eyebrows furrowed.

"Why not?" she asked.

Mindy had a glint in her eye. "It would make sense if this were just a sequel. But we’re not in a sequel, because nobody just makes sequels anymore."

"So what is it?" you asked, deciding to bite on her theory.

"We’re in a franchise. And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise," she replied.

Sam sighed. "I had a feeling."

But Mindy wasn't deterred. "Now, rule one: everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count; longer chases, shoot-outs, beheadings- you gotta top what came before to keep people coming back."

"Beheadings?" Chad asked, taking notes.

Next to him, Ethan looked rather lost. Quinn and Anika looked just as confused. You were glad you weren't the only one lacking a real understanding of how the core four operated. They had earned a right to be a little nuts after surviving Woodsboro, that you knew. But the whole thing seemed a bit conspiratorial.

"Rule Two, whatever happened before, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations; if the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you can bet the opposite will be true here." It was hard to absorb these things laid out as facts, and you struggled to follow Mindy's train of thought, sending Anika a wary glance. She just shrugged.

Tara noticed your confusion, sending a small squeeze to your hand and mouthing the word 'later.' You nodded, turning your attention back to Mindy, attempting to do your best to listen.

"And Rule Three, no one is safe. Legacy characters are cannon fodder at this point, usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia. Sidney’s smart to sit this one out, but it’s not looking too good for Gale and Kirby. And that’s not even the worst part."

"There's a worst part?" You asked. Mindy nodded, smirking.

"The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic instalments designed to boost an IP, which means the main characters are completely expendable now too. Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond, even Luke Skywalker all died so their franchises could live on. That means it’s not just the friend group, any of us could go at any time, especially Sam and Tara."

You sent Tara a wary look at the suggestion, leaning harder against her. She tried to send you a small smile to comfort you, but it did little to stop the thought coming to your mind. You were cursed, that much was true from the sheer amount of grief that seemed to permeate around your family. It was a bad idea, to get so close to Tara, and that you knew. But it didn't stop the fact that you had a near electric desire to do so whenever she was nearby.

"Wait, any of us? Am I in the friend group?" Ethan asked, beginning to panic. "Am I one of the targets? Am I gonna die a virgin?"

"Um," Mindy started, blinking. "Weird overshare, but at least that brings us to our current suspects." Her gaze steeled over.

"Ethan. The shy dorky guy who no one suspects, because he’s so shy and dorky." Next to him, Chad shot him a more assessing glance.

"Why am I on the list? Because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?!" Ethan asked, raising his voice.

"Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could have fixed it to get next to us," Mindy shot back, crossing her arms in increased suspicion. She turned to Quinn. "Quinn. The slutty roommate. A horror movie classic."

"Sex positive," Quinn corrected, "but thank you."

"And how did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" Mindy asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I answered their ad online--" Quinn started, and Mindy scoffed, raising her hand up.

"Say no more, you’ve already implicated yourself enough. 'Ad online,' good lord."

"Mindy, it was an anonymous ad, and you know we vetted her, plus her Dad’s a cop," Tara interjected.

"Tara, Tara, Tara," Mindy said, shaking her head. "Cop Dad? That's a great cover. Don't you get that's how these movies would work? Speaking of, while we're on Tara," she continued, turning to you.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi (Y/n)," she replied, smiling. It dropped to a frown. Tara's grip on your hand tightened. "(Y/n). The enemies-to-lovers, quippy 'annoyance' one of our main characters has incredible sexual tension with."

"Ew," Sam shuddered.

"Ew indeed," Mindy agreed. "Never trust the love interest." She looked over to Anika, who was smiling at her girlfriend. "Ever." Anika's face fell.

"Okay. So we’ve got our rules, and we’ve got our suspects," Sam huffed.

"Wait- what about the rest of you?" Ethan interrupted.

"I mean, I think it’s safe to rule out the four of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro," Mindy shrugged.

"Agreed," Chad nods.

"Um, not agreed. Maybe the trauma of what you went through caused one or more of you to snap," Quinn suggested, playing with the nail polish on her fingers.

"Or the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more! Ethan jumped in again. "And, let’s be honest, some of those theories online about Sam are--"

Tara sends him a death glare. "Don'y you fucking dare finish that sentence."

"He’s right, though. Face facts. If we’re all suspects? You’re all suspects," Anika shrugs.

You sent a wary look around at everyone and then another look back down to Tara, wondering which one would hurt her, and just how you'd be able to stop it.

===+++===

That night was the first night in a while nothing was expected of you, but you couldn't find it in yourself to actually relax. Mindy's monologue about how royally bloody fucked everything was now that Ghostface was officially back had set you a bit on edge, and part of you couldn't help but blame yourself.

You had thought the curse would get left behind in Nebraska, when you left, but it seemed maybe you had taken it with you, packed with your belongings. Maybe it was now affecting the person you had wished to protect from any harm. It still felt miraculous, just how Tara had wormed her way from your shit list to deep within your heart. Maybe that was the curse. Someone who could make you so annoyed could also make you feel like your heart was skipping beats.

You coped with the extreme worrying through a cooked meal and TV binge, flopping down on the couch and turning your ringer on, in case you were needed. You knew that Sam and Tara were likely preparing for the worst, and you also knew that you had been included on the list of suspects.

Maybe none of them rightfully believed you had it in you, but you also knew that even being a possibility meant that the core four had to keep you at arm's length for a while.

Or, at least, that's what you figured they'd do.

Right as the episode you were watching began to roll credits, you heard a hard knock on the door, freezing. Mindy had said something in a text, telling you to be cautious of opening doors when no one was scheduled to come over. You shot a wary look to your magnetic strip of knives, hanging over the hotplate. If you were just fast enough, maybe you could grab a knife or two, if Ghostface busted the door in. There was usually a phone call, wasn't there? Then why--

"(Y/n)?" Tara called, giving a hard knock. You felt your cheeks flush. Oh. You dashed to the door, not wanting to leave her on the step for too long.

When you opened it, you could see that Tara's own cheeks were flushed, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

"Did you run here???" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

"Uh...maybe," Tara said, suddenly finding the hallway outside of your flat much more interesting.

"I thought Sam would have you under lock and key," you teased.

"I snuck out..." Tara said, cheeks flushing again, but this time not from the run.

"Oh, so I'm harbouring a criminal?" you joked. Tara rolled her eyes, groaning.

"Can I just come in?"

"Do you trust me to do that?" you asked, curious. "I understand if you say no, believe me I get it. If I had been attacked or anything, especially by my girlfriend, I wouldn't trust anyone for a long time..."

Tara watched you ramble speak, eyes wide and dark and beautiful in the dim hall light. "I trust you... and I, uh, want some small amount of normalcy, like it was at the lab. Before everything got so weird, you know?"

You nodded, stepping aside for her to enter and then freezing. "Wait, Tara, what happened to your hand?"

You hadn't noticed until now, but her knuckles on the other hand had been bruising a dusty purple colour, still red at the edges. You let the door shut behind you, turning to her hand and holding it up in the lamplight of your hall. "What happened?" you asked, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

Tara's cheeks flushed again. "I punched a bitch," she said flatly. Your eyes widened even more, and Tara was quick to shake her head. "Just Gale Weathers. She wrote, uh, a whole book on Woodsboro. Called Sam a bunch of bad stuff. She actually was outside the station with the news and stuff when Sam was questioned earlier today... so I punched her."

You snorted. "Judging by your hand you definitely got her."

"Oh absolutely," Tara scoffed, as if she was offended by a possibility that she hadn't.

"You should probably ice it," you said with a wince, looking at the bruised skin. She scoffed again.

"What're you, a doctor?"

You shrugged, leading her into your kitchen. "I was going to be."

"Oh," Tara hummed.

"Yeah... took one introductory class and realised I hated it. It sucks too, because I gave my parents this whole speech about how I wanted to be a doctor because of our family, and I dropped the profession about a month or two later afterwards."

"Is that why you and your dad don't talk much?" she asked. "Is he a doctor?"

"No," you said, shaking your head. It was an amusing suggestion. "About as far as you could get from it, actually. But no, it isn't why we don't really talk." You didn't say any more on the subject, even though you could tell that Tara was curious. "We should really get you iced up, your hand is swollen, I can't believe you didn't show me this earlier."

She rolled her eyes. "You're acting like my parent again."

"I'm just worried about you, Tara," you said, shooting her a meaningful look. She was staring up at you with those damn eyes again like you held her heart in your hands. "I mean, come on, let's just put a bag of ice on it or something, or--"

But before you could finish what you were suggesting, Tara interrupted you, throwing her arms around your neck and standing up on her toes. "Is this okay?" she whispered, voice low. It flooded your ears and squeezed the air from your lungs, just how close her lips were from yours.

You can't help the small nod, or the way you're probably dumbly staring at her mouth right now, but her eyes are warm and inviting, and your hands find their way to her waist, palming at the exposed skin of her cropped shirt with your thumbs. "I've, uh, kind of wanted to do this for weeks," Tara admits with a small grin. The words spin around and around in your mind like you're on some carousel of thought.

If you could have formed words, you would have told her the truth: you had wanted to kiss her since she walked in the room and you saw her for the first time. But you can't. So instead, you crash your lips onto hers.

Tara doesn't hesitate even a little bit, wrapping her arms around your neck and falling off her toes as she kisses you back with fervour. You follow her down, working your lips against hers as her hands give up on your neck and instead move to spread themselves out on the warm apples of your cheeks.

You're taken over by some other, hungry entity entirely, and you lift Tara up onto the kitchen counter, into the exact same place she was sitting when she asked you for help with this stupid scheme. It doesn't matter now, you're too lost in her lips. You feel her tongue push past and into your mouth, and her hands travel up your back to spread out against the back of your shirt and pull you against her.

You can't help the groan that escapes your mouth, and you feel Tara's teasing smile against your lips as she breathes in your smell. Your hands are still on her waist, sliding up so that your thumbs gently brush against the bottom of her bra. She shudders at the sensation, opening her mouth wider, and you can taste the lingering cherry of her chapstick on her lips.

Neither of you is especially sure how long you stay there, but when you finally have to pull away, you're scrambling for air. You lazily let your forehead rest against hers, catching your breath and struggling to stay on your feet. Tara lets her hands wander from your back into your hair, exploring the planes of your body for the first time, and you can't stop the small comment that worms its way from your mouth after.

"Exploring the merchandise?" you ask with a teasing, breathless laugh. Tara shakes her head, finally opening her eyes and looking up at you with that same damn beautiful look.

"You should come stay with me and the others. It's safer that way," she says, becoming worried again. Her hands rest on your cheeks and she kisses you again, softer, but just as meaningful.

You painfully have to shake your head. "I can't, you know that."

"I won't be mad if you leave town," she says. "I won't hold it against you."

You smile. "I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere, Tara."

She nods, processing it, before crashing her lips back onto yours and tugging at the bottom of your shirt, but you catch her hands before she can tug it over your head. "No, Tara- Tara wait."

"I want you," she says.

"I know, but we should wait," you say, hands on the side of her thighs. "Wait until it's over. Right now, Ghostface is more important."

"He gets everything, (Y/n). I just want this. I want you. I know we did this whole thing about fake dating, and I know it wasn't real, but I realise that I want it to be. I just want you."

There's a burning in your stomach, burning for her, and you pull her in for another kiss. Only to be stopped by the sound of your door creaking open.

You freeze and so does Tara at the noise. "(Y/n)?" she asks, trembling. "Did you lock your front door?"

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN catch you all next time for a big ole action sequence and a whole bunch of drama

[literallypyro]

Three (mostly) random headcanons for all the mercs!

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Scout:

-He can cook, but only WITHOUT a recipe. Look, I know he's illiterate, so just imagine someone's reading it to him, mkay? Idk what it is, but when he has to follow a recipe, it ends in disaster. Let him wing it, and you'll think you're at a 5 star restaurant.

-Tells his mom all about you. She basically knows everything about you, and it's not because she asked.

-Total malewife. What you say GOES (unless you tell him to stop buying Bonk. That's a losing battle, toots. When has a little radiation ever hurt anyone?)

Soldier:

-While this man is virtually never quiet, he's noticeably the least loud around you. Unless you feed into his loudness. If that's the case, may God have mercy on the rest of the team's souls.

-He isn't book smart, and with a lot of people, emotional intelligence isn't really his strong suit either. But around you? It's like this mf has a sixth sense. It's almost concerning. You CANNOT hide your emotions from this guy.

-Please for the love of all that is American, take this man to a chiropractor. I know he's used to rocket jumping, but that's precisely the issue. He doesn't even realize how fucked up his joints are.

Pyro:

-Actually the sweetest ever. Just cuz they're crazy doesn't mean they aren't the silliest hopeless romantic ever. Can't kiss you through the mask, but will damn sure try. They have left a print on your cheek from pressing their mask into it before, and they will do it again.

-If someone disrespects you, they will be catching Pyro's hands. The flamethrower will be saved for when the idiot who insulted you can't use any of their limbs.

-CLINGS to you when it's bed time. You'll have to wait until they fall asleep if you want out of their grasp (but why would you?)

Demoman:

-Never short on stories. If you're bored, just say so, and he already has five stories in mind that he hasn't told you yet. Sometimes he laughs a little too hard and it takes a minute to get back to the story.

-PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE compliment this man. We see how quickly he can swing between insecure and confident. Additionally, he would absolutely adore any eye patches you make him. If you make him multiple, he's switching them out every day. Make ones for specific occasions, and bro is at your mercy.

-If you can out drink him, or even just keep up, he's lowkey worried about you. He knows he has a problem. He's actually pretty realistic about it. He WILL be asking if there's something you want to talk about at some point.

Heavy:

-He knows you don't need to be protected at all times, but he has a hard time letting you defend yourself. Just look at the way he grew up. A big chunk of this man's personality is just "bodyguard to loved ones". You will have to bring his attention to it if you want him to back off, and as soon as you do, he listens. It's mostly out of habit, if I'm being honest.

-Lord help anyone who makes you uncomfortable. He gets such a threatening look on his face as he asks the person questions that don't SOUND like threats, but they damn sure feel like threats.

-Oh, you thought he wouldn't go out of his way to write translated versions of his Russian books so you can read them when he's not around? Well you're WRONG. If you ask if he has translated versions of his books, he won't tell you he was the one who translated them, but you recognize his handwriting.

Engineer:

-This guy will grill out every single day if you ask him to. Burgers? Got it. Hot dogs? Easy peasy. Smoked ribs? Don't gotta ask him twice! Mans will make sure every craving you have is satisfied, or may lightning strike him where he stands.

-He has already memorized your schedule. You were about to take a shower but- it's already on? No one's in there??? And it's at the perfect temperature???? Not to mention how your laundry was mysteriously folded when you were too tired to do it all at once... Safe to say, even though it was unintentional, he has committed every single one of your habits to memory like a tattoo.

-This man is a thinking, breathing jukebox. Can play literally any song from any genre off the top of his head. He can also easily convert songs to different genres.

Medic:

-He actually has amazing handwriting when it comes to signatures. The only reason he writes like a stereotypical doctor is because he wants to be able to switch up last second if he needs to.

-You are one of the very few people he trusts to watch his birds, and it's because he knows you know how he is. Did you forget about the whole baboon uterus thing? Surely not.

-Actually surprisingly careful with you. He'd be mentally punching himself if the rib thing with Heavy happened to you. Even owns your soul so the devil can't try to use you against him.

Sniper:

-Your are literally the only reason he would sleep in the base at night, but he REALLY prefers you sleep in the camper with him. He's kinda clingy, but not to Pyro's extent. Seeing how he is with everyone else, he obviously understands personal space.

-Secretly has the voice of an angel. He has intense stage fright about it, though, so NOBODY is about to find out.

-If you're scared or over-cautious of animals, he's definitely gonna fix that. He'll ease you into it, but given the time, you will have pet and fed every animal he can get his hands on.

Spy:

-We've all seen how much of a romantic this guy is. You are getting absolutely SPOILED ROTTEN when he is around. Hold his arm anytime you want. You want flowers? Tell him which ones, what color, and from where, darling. Can't dance? Well, he's pretending not to notice. He gazes at you lovingly, and you can't even tell he's in immense pain from you stepping on his feet.

-Has every high end cologne and has a different one for every occasion. This guy has SO MANY. He even has different ones for different restaurants. You could consider it a hyperfixation if you wanted to.

-You are his queen/king/monarch and WILL NOT let you forget it. Tells you every single day, sometimes multiple times a day how important you are to him and how much he cherishes you. Who cares if the team is around? They're just mad he got to you first, ma beauté.

[three--rings]

The thing I can't help thinking about in the wake of yet another preemptive TV show murder, is how terribly BAD these execs are at Making Money!

Like, okay, you have a show with great word of mouth and a loyal and passionate fanbase...

Do you make that show available to be paid for all over the world? No. If people outside the US want it, they can pirate it I guess.

Do you give people the opportunity to pay you twice by releasing physical copies?

No.

Do you merchandise the FUCK out of this property you own, that was the most popular new fandom on AO3 for a year?

No. Oh wait, after a year they released a couple T-shirts.

Being in Chinese fandoms has forever changed my idea of what actual people who want your money look like. Trying to watch a Chinese show? Cool, there's a partner to take your subscription fee for wherever you are in the world and episodes are released same day in most cases.

Want merch? Good cause you're going to get literally every type of possible merch from cheap plastic stuff to fashion lines and fine jewelry and candles and books and soundtracks and collector's editions, and it will keep coming for years and years.

Like, how do these people think Star Wars makes money? It's not tickets or Disney + subscriptions. It's fucking merch.

You could have SO MUCH MONEY if you wanted to actually make it. But what you want isn't money, it's Amorphous Cool Points you can turn into temporary stock increases and a better CEO job.

These networks have no interest in building fandoms and properties that continue to rake in cash over time. They just want to keep rolling the dice until they suddenly get a lightning strike of the biggest show in the world, and if it doesn't happen they lose interest.

And fewer and fewer people watch their new shows because they know it'll be two seasons and then cancelled unfinished like every other fucking thing.

These people are SO BAD AT CAPITALISM and it OFFENDS ME.

[holybibly]

Well, bunnies, are you ready for this?

It's terribly cold in this bloody desert at night, and you regret not listening to Asa and bringing a jacket, but in your own defense, you had absolutely not intended to stay out so late.

Your plan was to see Lana perform and spend the rest of the night in the hotel, but here you are, almost on the edge of the stage, pressed against the metal barriers by a loud, excited crowd while some DJ you don't know whips all of them into a state of euphoria.

Aside from the cold, it's dark as hell in here, and you lost Asa in this dancing, half-naked mass over an hour ago. The other girls are also nowhere to be seen, and you are all alone, sticking out like a sore thumb in your baby blue dress. You probably should have left immediately after Lana's set, but the rest of your group wanted to have fun (read: fuck someone cute and preferably famous).  This brings back a certain memory from a year and a half ago about a certain group who are also performing at Coachella this year, but lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place, right?

There are thousands of people here. What are the chances?

A strong push jolts you out of your thoughts, and your body practically snuggles into the metal barriers as you feel someone's hot, large body pressed against your back, leaving almost no space between your bodies. You want to turn around and tell the stranger to get lost; this isn't the first time today guys've tried to get into your pants, but you freeze as the stranger's palms rest on the metal fences on either side of you, literally locking you in a cage between his body and the bars of the fence that dig painfully into your skin.

You tremble slightly as you feel hot breath and soft, plump lips pressing against your ear.

"That's lucky, isn't it?" That low, pornographic voice… Oh, God, you've heard it before, but goddamn it, it can't be. "Did you miss me, doll?"

[eery-lir]

Straw Hat Crew Gangbang Headcanons

Female Reader, spanking, exhibitionism, spit roasting, triple penetration, oral (male receiving), p in v, p in a, unprotected sex, cumming inside

AN: This was not proofread and is basically word soup. I bit off more than I could chew and ran out of coherent thoughts.

A pretty girl across the bar, and three major flirts, along with two others that won't readily admit they had their eye on you.

Usopp definitely started it, a few drinks in and he was leaned up against the bar spinning tales of grandeur as you giggled at his antics.

Luffy came next, hyping Usopp up and making the story more and more wild.

Then Sanji decided to chime in, making you blush and fluster as he showered you in compliments.

Nami and Zoro watched their crew mates surround you, the two glance at each other and decide to step in.

"Alright, give the little lady a break." Nami smiles devilishly and places herself between you and Luffy.

Zoro takes up the other side, pushing Sanji back a bit. The blond grits his teeth, but before he can open his mouth, you open yours.

"It's okay, I'm having fun." You giggle, feeling the warmth from the alcohol wash through your body. Nami's hand feels like lightning on your skin and you glance at her. The way she's looking at you has your stomach twisting.

Zoro and Nami share a knowing look with each other.

"We can have more fun back on the ship!" Luffy's head pops up over Nami's shoulder, his eyes burning with excitement.

"Yeah, I got so many more stories, and the ship is much more comfortable than these rickety old bar seats." Usopp smirks, leaning over Luffy.

"What do you say darling?" Sanji steps around Zoro, who side eyes the man.

"I-.. Okay." You decide that the worst that could happen is you getting kidnapped by these pirates and that didn't seem so bad.

Back on the ship, it doesn't take long for Luffy and Ussop to take turns stealing greedy kisses from your lips. Sanji stands behind you, kissing your bare shoulders. Nami and Zoro sit and watch like predators waiting to strike.

Everything happens quickly, and yet all too slow at the same time.

Luffy lays beneath you, cock pounding into your needy cunt, Usopp behind you with his dick teasing the tight muscle of your ass, and Sanji in front gently lathing the tip of his cock on your tongue.

The three men groaning, whining and gasping as they use your holes. Hands grope, pinch and caress you. It's too much, yet not enough, and the sounds of your wet cunt has your clit throbbing.

You gag around Sanji's cock, moaning each time Ussop and Luffy's thrusts match with each other, filling you up so impossibly full.

Sanji strokes your face and gently tugs your hair. "Feel so good darling. Just like that."

Luffy takes one of your nipples into his mouth and sucks fervently. You feel sloppy spanks on your ass, and you flinch and mewl with each slap.

Three orgasms have been ripped from your body, you've squirted twice and the floor below you and the men is drenched in your slick.

You don't know who came first, all you know is suddenly everything felt intensely hot.

You're choking down Sanji's cum as he rides out his orgasm on your tongue. You can feel Luffy's spend spitting at your cervix and Usopp's spilling from your ass.

They three men pull out all at once, and you feel entirely too empty, even with their cum stuffed inside you.

The audience, that you completely forgot about, made their presence known once again.

"Alright boys you've had your fun. Let a real man show her a good time." Zoro rises from his place on the couch. You're not sure if you can take anymore.

Zoro lifts you up, and gently carries you away from the three men. Luffy lays breathless on the floor and Sanji sits back on his knees. Usopp smirks as he watches Zoro lay you on the couch and settles himself for a show.

Nami is immediately on you, wiping the cum and drool from your lips before leaning down to kiss you. Thoughts swirl your mind, wondering if her cunt tastes just as good as her lips. You just don't know how to ask.

"You look so pretty. Do you think you can go again for me and Zoro?" her hands slide over your tits as she admires your body.

Zoro's own hands rub your thighs, you glance down and your cunt throbs, his cock has been pulled from his pants. It thick and dripping with precum.

Fuck, you don't know how much more you can take, but you need that cock inside you.

[agoldenblackbird]

Here it is, the first chapter of the Buck's Bakery AU from @peppermintquartz's prompt!

I tweaked the timeline a little bit and have Buck choosing not to go back to firefighting after the lightning strike, mostly because me writing a 3a/lawsuit era fic where Buck doesn't or can't return to firefighting would be action-packed with angst and have at least one scene of either suicidal ideation or Buck yelling at everybody. And I mostly want this to be a cute happy fic about tevan making heart eyes at each other and Buck letting himself have a career with low risk of physical or emotional trauma.

Of all the times he's almost died, for some reason it's the lightning strike that's changed him the most.

He doesn't love the random muscle spasms, or the sudden shooting pains or pins and needles that come from nowhere, that the doctor calls 'peripheral neuropathy' and Buck calls bullshit, but both are already lessened compared to when he first got out of the hospital and will most likely continue to improve. He's not firefighting fit right now, but it's only been four weeks since he woke up from the coma. It took him longer just to be allowed to start weight-bearing after the ladder truck, or for Eddie to get the sling off after the shooting, and he actually died this time.

It's the 'actually died' part that's messing with him.

The past six, almost seven, years have been the best of his life, because of finding a purpose in firefighting and a family in the 118. But from the standpoint of emotional and physical trauma, they've also been some of the worst.

Every single member of the team has survived attempted murder. So have Maddie and Athena. Buck, Eddie, Maddie, Hen, Chim, Harry and Josh have all been kidnapped or taken hostage – for Maddie, twice. Most of them have either attempted suicide or had to be prevented from making an attempt. They've had to watch or listen to people die, been drenched in the blood of the injured or dying.

And the things that have happened to Buck himself, well. He's thirty-one years old – just – and some mornings, especially when the weather changes, he feels sixty. The crush injury and the lightning strike are the most seriously he's ever been injured, but there's been myriad strains, sprains, broken ribs, dislocations and concussions over the years, too, and sometimes he feels every single one of them.

The emotional toll weighs more heavily. Devon still haunts him some nights, all these years and hundreds, thousands if he counts the tsunami, of losses later. He still finds a purpose in helping people, saving them. He's just beginning to wonder if there's some other way he can do it that doesn't involve meeting them on the worst day of their life.

He's no longer convinced he'll lose his family if they don't work together. None of them gave up on Eddie when he went to Dispatch, or wrote off Chim or Maddie when they left the state, out of sight, out of mind. When Hen was considering leaving, after Jonah, to do med school full time, he'd known he'd miss her, but he hadn't been scared of losing her. He knows, now, that they might argue or even get mad enough to not talk for a bit, but they'll always come back together eventually.

So if he doesn't need to be a firefighter to keep his family, or to feel worthy of love – the coma-driven revelation that he's Buck and that's enough has stayed with him – then it comes down to, does he still want to be one?

And the answer is that he doesn't know. And as annoying as some of the lingering symptoms from the lightning strike are, the extra time to make up his mind is useful. He's been doing a lot of walking, soothing Maddie's sisterly worry with the excuse that both Dr. Copeland and his GP recommended it and his neighbour Mrs. Cleary's dogwalker quit so he'd be taking her labradoodle out anyway.

Really, it just gives him time to think and an excuse to be unreachable. He needs both, right now. Everyone trying to make up for how isolated he was after his leg was crushed by smothering him – Maddie denied the existence of a schedule but Buck knows from how twitchy Chim got that there is one – is sweet, but also lowkey driving him crazy.

Buck finds the place on one of his walks, when Noodle stops to sniff at a sickly sidewalk tree for long minutes. It's a second-hand bookstore called The Borogoves. Clearly not a very popular one, given that when he peers in the window, he sees nobody there on a Saturday afternoon. The fact that the two storefronts to the right of it are empty might have something to do with it. On the left is a Chase Bank.

Something about those two empty storefronts with their papered-over windows and For Sale Or Lease signs with the matching phone number piques his interest. There's offices above, but when he looks up the notary public on his phone, Google lists the business as permanently closed.

Huh.

——————————————————————————————————

Tommy doesn't usually have time on his commute to look around. He's got to pay attention to what the other drivers are doing. But when he's on his way home from his first night shift after two months of days, he's cruising down the nearly empty streets at just after 6 am with nothing else to do but look.

He understands why the schedule is the way it is, pilots can't do 24-hour shifts because they risk being too sleep deprived to fly or maxing out on flight hours before the shift is over or both, and that means 12-hour shifts in a 4 on, 4 off cycle, switching from nights to days or vice versa every 8 cycles. It makes sense, but god is it a pain in the ass.

The older he gets the harder it is to switch, plus it's a nightmare for dating guys who have a regular 9-to-5. Tyler had a lot to say when Tommy spent all of his last four off switching his schedule around and couldn't go with him on a business trip to Seattle. (He may have used the switch as an excuse to decline being dragged to schmoozy work dinners, but nobody, especially Tyler, needs to know that.)

Tommy goes past what he's pretty sure was two empty storefronts when he was last on nights. They're not empty now, lights are on and the paper's taken down from the windows, and he can hear the sounds of a table saw and a pneumatic nail gun. There's gold paint on the windows. First Javawocky, then Looking-Glass Cakes.

Huh. He'll have to keep an eye out for the grand opening. If nothing else, it'll be handy to have a coffee shop on his commute that isn't Starbucks.

——————————————————————————————————

No promises on when the second chapter will be out, (comment below to be added to the taglist for updates if you want!) but I think I've finally found my rhythm with doing one bit from each POV so that's helpful. Also I haven't made a moodboard in YEARS and I really had a lot of fun with it, so that's helping with motivation!

And if you believe that in this AU, after his heart attack Bobby chooses to stay retired and joins Buck at the bakery, and then Gerrard dies of a circular saw to the head bc his completely unrealistic face turn and unearned HEA was bullshit, Hen becomes Captain because she deserves it and Chim had previously said after his turn as Interim Captain that he never wanted to lead again, and no one dies of super-ebola because SoCal utilizes basic lab safety and security procedures and also does background checks and psych screenings on their employees, you are so sexy and correct and that is absolutely what happens!

[webslingingslasher]

Hey J, can you write something fluffy? Any Peter would do. it's exam season and it's stressing me out! I'm just searching for a little comfort 🥹

*cleaning out my inbox, based off some terrible storms we're having in my area. nerdy!peter* also- go me for coming out of retirement, i hope i'm still good 😁

there are three things that wake peter up in the dead of night.

the first was a loud crack of thunder, the second was a whimper, and the third was his skin being latched onto like he's velcro. peter's room flashes when lightning strikes outside his window, rain beating against it like it's begging to come inside.

there's another soft cry, hot breath washes across his ribcage.

'angel?' peter isn't awake enough to make the full connection yet. a pregnant pause, he can hear how hard the rain is coming down, his roof amplifies the sound.

'petey.' it's the soft drawl you have, you're calling out for him like he's your lifeline.

it's enough for him to rid all thoughts of sleep from his mind. 'hey, hey, hey, you're okay.' peter can feel you tremble under his hold, another strike of lightning, he's praying thunder doesn't follow.

'it's bad, it's so bad.' if peter had known about the storm he would've prepared better, instead it caught you both off guard and that made it so much worse for you.

'it's so loud. i don't like it, i don't like it, i don't like it.' you cling to him by hitching your leg over his hips, your arm thrown over his waist to keep yourself pressed against him is threatening a bruise.

peter's thankful this happened to be on a night you were sleeping over. 'sit up.' he rubs your back as a way to raise you, you shake your head. 'i think you need a hug.'

you're up in a second, peter's halfway to meeting you when the thunder he was terrified of hits and you scream while holding your hands over your ears.

peter has a funny feeling another rumble was coming, his hands pressing over yours- you scream again, you swear you felt the walls shake and peter wouldn't disagree.

you dive for him, a bundle of sobs and fast tears. 'you're okay, i promise you're okay.' your chest rises and falls rapidly, you weakly agree. 'i'm okay.'

'i'm here, right? you know i wouldn't let anything happen to you.' you nod. peter keeps you tucked in his neck, he thinks he can hear the rain lighten up, just barely. he reaches for his phone and looks for his weather app, a full radar shows him the threat is moving away.

'hey,' peter keeps his voice low for you. 'look at this,' you peek an eye open and lightly squint at the light, your focus settles in and you finally feel your heart rate lower. 'watch,' peter slides a bar, within the next thirty minutes it'll be completely past you.

'oh thank god, there's an end to my torment.'

'see? i'll will anything for my girl.' it's a nice thought but he can't control the weather. 'you can't control mother nature, petey.' the smile he gives you makes you doubt your words.

'but for you, i'd try.' he's never made fun of your fears, he's only ever been your security blanket when you need one. you can throw him a bone. 'i mean... it did go away after you woke up, so...'

peter laughs, your cheeks feel dry from your tear tracks. you sniff and feel silly for the bought of tears, peter doesn't think you're silly though, he thinks you're brave for toughing it out. he always does.

'you only screamed twice, and that's just because it caught you off guard! you're killing this, angel.' he's always so sweet, out of all the things you love about him, you think that's number one.

pouting your bottom lip out, you give him a small peck. 'i love you.' the rain comes to a sudden stop, peter gestures to his window, 'that's the kind of power your love gives me. bam, i just made mother nature my bitch.'

'peter, don't call women bitches.'

'she's a bitch for making you cry.'

'aw, okay, bitch usage allowed.'

this time, peter kisses you. it's gentle, not because you're weak from the near panic attack- because he's only ever known to be delicate with you. god, you really love his heart. 'i think you're the best person i know. i'm going to look into how to nominate you for a humanitarian award.'

peter ponders it for a second. 'well, the best part of me is you, so i'm not sure how-' you stop him with a light smack to his shoulder, he bows his head and accepts your compliment how you wanted, with a shy grin.

'as long as you keep me around to fight mother nature, i'll keep accepting your awards.'

that's a bet you're willing to take. 

[vcndrell]

The White Lotus - Hide or Seek (S3E4)

"Lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice."

[comical-fr]

Lightning Flight has the phrase, "Don't trust lightning that doesn't strike twice." The phrase is akin to 'waiting for the other shoe to drop' and with Lightning citizens being so used to multiple, rapid succession lightning strikes due to the multitude of metal spires, each bolt is met with anticipation for the one that usually follows. Outside of Lightning this phrase isn't popular, due to the previous.