#ship from beyond Earth

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

But, the real reason the BOOTH landed where she did was to allow the Inspector to witness the arrival of a ship from far beyond Earth

which he manages to track down, only to stumble upon W.I.T. soldiers surrounding the building in which the spacecraft crashed.

[fumifooms]

Marchil crumbs part 5

Part 1 - Part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8

The anime has come and since I have my shipping goggles on I am going to notice so much. This part will be less spoilery for anime onlys (tho if you want to see me talk about why I ship them and why they’re complementary this is not a good part to start with haha). Edit: After completing this part I can confirm it’s fully anime-onlys friendly and spoiler-free! For manga veterans though there are still some fun tidbits to be found, some recontextualisations and new extra content.

Holy shit guys they’re mirroring each other in the mural and reaching out to each other AND looking towards each other?!!!! Their pose is so striking and like perfectly align?! Which means it was so intentional and the staff wanted to highlight them (for an aesthetic and/or narrative purpose I’m sure but it happened)! I will never let this go we won so fucking hard let’s goooooo we are so back

Character foils!! Dynamic duo!!

Soulmates!!

In the opening at 1:16 he looks at her to see if she’s really going to it as the most critical of monster food & muster up courage to dig into it himself lmao… "Marcille doesn’t look too grossed out, she’s picky so this food must be fine then" Aka treating her as a poison taster/good cuisine judge lmao

Doodle from the animation director (source). I should translate it but I’m procrastinating on it so uh director’s brotp? Anyways they hanging out look at them :]

Laios is thinking to himself there (he’s the one saying the subs), and in the meantime Marcille and Chilchuck talk, likely figuring out the money situation. Strategizing duo back at it again not wasting a second

In the beginning of ep 1, when Marcille is rambling about where they could go to get food and what to grab, Chilchuck listens with a big smile & even closes his eyes as they walk. The implication is that he’s thinking about food, but man the scene hits different now that it’s voiced and I remember that indeed Chilchuck is closing his eyes to her voice and enjoying hearing her talk and ramble. I may be too far gone into the marchil pit

I feel like already they’ve come far from when Chilchuck dreaded being alone with Shuro and Marcille, waiting for the Toudens and Namari to arrive.

Ok this might actually be smth I’m gonna complain about but I feel like blushes have been drawn too vividly so far. Why does Chilchuck look like he’s confessing when he tells her she’s not a burden and he didn’t mean to make her feel that way. It almost comes across as "Woah she cares what I think?" 💀 The banter ensuing is of course also great

Ep 2 was an episode centered on them both that had the "Magic/Traps are my domain, don’t interfere!" parallel… And now with ep 3 we’re back to them being haters together. That’s her emotional support man

In ep 4, it doesn’t show well with a screenshot but when Senshi talks about his unmanned vegetable stand with a treasure chest, while in the manga Marcille and Chilchuck both think the same thing, "That’s why that treasure chest akways had money in it…", but in the anime instead they literally finish each other’s thought. Talk about being on the same wavelength.

Ep 5 is a marchil goldmine actually, it showcases perfectly how much of a package deal they are lol. Always sticking close to each other. Glancing at each other during meals… They literally nod at each other before they try a bite to steel themselves. They exchange a serious thoughtful glance when Laios talks about Falin truly being gone atm. They argue a bit but they go right back to sitting right next to each other after the meal <3 My god I can’t deal with them they are so…… "Hate this bitch, not my friend" 3 secs later "Heyy bestie!!" Also he’s worried he brought her mood down after mentioning Falin. Made a post about ep 5 collecting even more screenshots.

Episode 6 my hero my beloved… Again I made a post about the ep collecting all my screenshots here, and even a clip! But this IS the marchil crumbs masterpost thus I must collect the major ones here as well. First of all, fun staff drawings for the first screening!

I already posted a screenshot from the trailer of when Chil had his head on his knees sitting next to her, but after seeing episode 5 I think it’s a fun and interesting trend to notice that they sit next to each other way unnecessarily close wow. They continue to banter a ton, she continues to be very casual with touch, and they’re really cute! I love just how much Marcille blushed damn- It’s really cute too when you remember with the bicorn chapter that Chilchuck teases Marcille BECAUSE he enjoys getting a rise out of her, flustering her and seeing her reactions. I support the teasing -> laughing because her reaction is over the top all-Chilchuck economy. Also she apologizes for having let him go alone and be gone for so long by helping him with sewing his cowl… Cuties

She looked so happy when he opened up about his age!… And then seemed… Disappointed? When he "truly was just a kid". "So you really are a kid! How boring…" This implies that her intent was to tease him for funsies… Ok lads we reached 30 pics see you next post, I’m gonna cover the "wake up clumsy head" manga-anime differences and we’re gonna go back to our usual spoilers yummy schedule.

Here’s Marcille cosplaying as a succubus in the newest Daydream Hour… She may not be a half-foot or have deep-set eyes but let’s be real I think he’d explode

part 6 here!!

[waywardsalt]

feeling insane abt my bellum x linebeck oneshot again thank god

[somnoir]

Masterpost [1]

Multi-Parts:

Bats and Phantoms

Summary:

The Fenton/Masters Siblings and members of the Bat Family meet. One by one, they end up together while the rest of the family is oblivious that their partners are related to the others.

Ships: Danny/Jason, Dan/Dick, Cass/Jazz, Dani(Elle)/Damian

Tumblr Parts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

My Father's Secretary

Summary:

Danny Fenton gets a job as Bruce Wayne's secretary. After being gifted a coffee maker, he might actually go to the ends of the earth for this clumsy man.

Ships: Danny/Jason (Dead on Main)

Tumblr Posts:

Part 1 | Part 2

Gotham's newest Crime Lord

Summary:

Dan kills the Joker and proceeds to become a crime lord. Shenanigans ensure between the Bats and the three ghosts in Gotham trying to screw with the criminal underworld

Ships: Dan/Dick, Danny/Jason

Tumblr Posts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Prodigal son beyond time

Summary:

Ra's Al Ghul's first born is a peculiar child. Talia is curious about the prodigal son, her strange brother beyond time.

Ships: Bruce/Danny (possibly)

Tumblr Posts

Part 1 | Part 2

One-shots:

Demon Twins and Death

Summary:

In which the twins meet after one kills the other.

A Family of Rogues

Summary:

The Fentons/Masters move to Gotham. Everyone, except the Fentons, think they're future Rogues.

Ghost KingConsort?

Summary:

Danny is a petty and dead twin brother that decides to give his brother and father a heart attack by implying Danny and Phantom were married.

How to pull a Batman by J. Constantine

Summary:

John Constantine acquires six children from an ancient being that also happens to be one of his exes. He's gonna fight god and batman.

Little Star's favorite

Summary:

Demons twins au where Danny is brought to Bruce a couple years after Damian. He proceeds to hate the family except for one very specific person.

Damian's Future Husband

Summary:

In which Jason Todd must fight his brother to the death for Phantom's hand in marriage.

Credits to @strangergraphics-archive for the divider <3

[superbat-love]

AU of the Wayne family history. At the batkids’ insistence, Alfred finally agreed to read them an old, leather-bound book he’d been holding—a memoir of the very first Wayne.

Clearing his throat, Alfred began in his usual calm, measured tone. "Long ago, a celestial being descended from the heavens, landing in a field owned by a struggling farmer. The celestial arrived in a dazzling ship, unlike anything seen on Earth. But the farmer, desperate to survive, dismantled the ship and sold its parts, making himself a fortune. When the celestial discovered what had happened, he was furious and sought out the farmer to demand justice."

The kids leaned in, totally hooked.

Alfred continued, "The farmer, terrified, begged for forgiveness. He promised that one day, his descendant would marry the celestial's firstborn child to atone for his crime. The celestial, after much thought, relented. He gifted the farmer the rest of the ship as dowry. From that moment on, the Wayne family flourished, their wealth growing beyond imagination."

Bruce, who’d been half-listening while skimming through some files on genetic engineering from the Fortress of Solitude, snorted. "Someone clearly had quite an imagination."

Without saying a word, Alfred flipped the book around and held it up for Bruce to see. The smirk faded from Bruce’s face as his eyes landed on the page. There, drawn in faded ink, was a detailed sketch of the ship… emblazoned with a symbol Bruce recognized immediately.

The crest of the House of El.

Alfred straightened, his tone subdued. "It would seem, Master Bruce, that the promise made to Jor-El must now be honored, given that his firstborn son has arrived on Earth."

Bruce froze. He recalled the Fortress’ eccentric behavior toward him and broke out in cold sweat.

[heron-knight]

decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it.

Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air. 

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours. 

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do.  As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory  information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later. 

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon. 

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7: 

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive. 

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth. 

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 1 masterlist

-

In the end, gazing out of the ship's portholes into the dark vastness of space proves to be less comforting than the architects must have originally anticipated. You can attest to this more than most.

Every morning, you get up an hour earlier than the rest of your crew and make your way to the galley to make your morning cup of coffee. A pack of instant crystals into your favorite mug and hot recycled water from the kettle. Sometimes you stay to have breakfast, but often you take your coffee with you to the main viewing deck for your morning sojourn. 

There, you sit curled up in the navigator’s chair and stare out of the flight deck window until your breathing levels out. Early morning meditations. With the sun only visible through the rear porthole, the Milky Way stretches out before you, immeasurably vast. Ancient cosmic entities, some already long dead. 

Stars fill your field of vision like an intricate latticework of varying brightness. The watery glass warps at the edges, bending the far off light. All things with their propensity for brightness and decay.

A deep, steady hum fills the room. It’s cathartic to be alone. Sometimes, when you look out into the depths of space, you imagine yourself as a cartographer of old, labeling everything beyond this point: “here there be dragons.” 

Farah is the first person to join you, the ship’s maintenance technician already washed and dressed, floral cumberbund cinched around her midriff and her headwrap pinned in place. She greets you with a firm nod upon her entry, never one to mince words. In the months since your ship set off on its course for Jupiter, you’ve exchanged all of ten words, most of your conversation one-sided. 

She glides in like she’s been up for hours, likely running through her routine maintenance checklist. Monitoring propulsion, life support, and all critical systems. You wouldn’t doubt if she had been, descending into the bowels of the ship and cataloging every minute difference from the day before. Nothing if not thorough. 

Graves sweeps in not twenty minutes later, his uniform pressed and ironed. When he glances your way, you shrink under his gaze, self-conscious about something unidentifiable. He is every bit the commander you met briefly back on Earth, never a hair out of place. If he were less intimidating, he’d be insufferable. 

“Morning,” you murmur, the mug still close to your lips making your voice reverberate. He doesn’t respond. You wonder if he even heard you greet him. It likely wouldn't matter.

Medic has a different connotation this far from Earth. Hierarchy out in space is typically determined by way of one’s importance to the ship, and the scope of your role does not, unfortunately, include maintaining the ship. What that means, unofficially, is that you speak when spoken to, and not for any other reason. 

In the months to come, there may be moments or days when your usefulness is acknowledged, usually much to your colleagues’ chagrin. Though it’s not likely that any of the crew will encounter foreign pathogens while on a hermetically sealed ship in the middle of space, they’re all still susceptible to falls and cuts and worse. Nikolai, the chief engineer on board, had sprained his wrist during the first week of the mission, lending you immediate purpose and validation. 

You make way for the second officer when he finally deigns to make an appearance, sliding quietly out of his seat and stepping to the back of the cockpit, back pressed to the wall closest to the door. 

“Morning, everyone,” he greets, peppier than the three of you despite his rumpled appearance. His thick mustache twitches with the force of his smile. “Ready to seize another day?”

“Jesus Christ, Keller, let’s tone it down ‘til about ten o’clock, alright?” Graves sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.  

“Our clocks are off, commander,” Alex jokes, coming over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. It would be insubordination from anyone else. “I’m about ready to eat lunch.” 

“Let’s just get through formation and then you can go fill up the bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

The morning briefing never takes up too much time. It’s as much of an excuse to have coffee together as it is to go through the day’s schedule. Graves spends most of the time reviewing the flight course, charting where the ship will be by day’s end. 

“Almost through the belt,” Alex remarks, staring down at the monitor in front of him. It’s an incomprehensible jumble when you try to peer over his shoulder, but he must be able to make sense of it. 

The crew had been on high alert since entering the torus-shaped region between Mars and Jupiter a month back. For the most part, they needn’t have been so on edge—the average distance of the asteroids in the circumstellar disc between the two planets tended to be quite substantial—but a collision the previous day had reinstated their earlier anxiety. 

“Can we switch from manual yet, Farah?” Graves asks from his seat at the helm of the ship. 

She shakes her head, lips tightening with frustration. “I still have to figure out what’s going on with cruise control—it’s not responding correctly.”

“Was that from that little ding the other day?” you ask, blurting out the question without thinking.

Farah’s expression is flat when she glances over at you. “That ‘little ding’ nearly took out our communications system altogether.” 

You wince at that, staring down at your feet instead. Better to just shut your mouth than make a fool of yourself. Had you not blurted out the question, you might have even surmised the nature of the situation given the comm specialist’s notable absence from the cockpit. 

When Nikolai eventually ambles in with a thermos of coffee and deep troughs under his eyes, Farah looks up and frowns. “Where’s Hadir?”

The man shrugs, nonplussed. “Cargo?” he grunts, rolling the toothpick between his teeth around the words. 

She sighs. “I’ll go find him.”

No one says anything when she leaves, the double doors sliding open and shut automatically at her approach, and she doesn’t bother saying goodbye. 

“Dismissed, I guess,” Graves sighs, collapsing into his chair and spinning around to face the stars proliferating in front of him. 

The informality digs at you sometimes because you know you can’t indulge in it. The times you’ve attempted to, you’ve been rebuffed. Sometimes unintentionally, but often to remind you of your place.

This isn’t a crew you’ve ever worked with before. From conversations you’ve overheard, you’ve gleaned that they’ve all worked together in different capacities before, years of familiarity breeding an easy trust and companionship between them. Two of them might even be lovers—though Farah maintains a neutral facade at all times, the same can’t be said for Alex, the man always hovering nearby, eyes going soft at the sight of her. 

You’re the only odd man out. The newcomer. And though you sit with them in the mess for meals and partake in conversation and pass jokes like small stones from hand to hand, you know deep down, in the dark well of your heart, that you are not one of them. You are a passenger that they picked up along the way. A straggler. 

This wasn’t supposed to be the case. When you signed on to the mission months ago, the circumstances were wholly different. A newer ship, a different crew, some of which you’d worked with before. Then ownership changed hands and budgets were cut. Slashed to ribbons even. You had a chance to tour the ship before the launch date, and even down on Earth with all the glitz and glam available to trick the eye, you hadn’t been convinced of the vessel’s ability to withstand the extreme conditions of space.  

But by then, you were locked into a contract so iron-clad that the consequences of breaking it seemed worse than simply seeing the mission through. 

Most days, you feel like you’re waiting for something to give. You pass through halls that echo with low creaks and a deep, rhythmic thrum. Sometimes the walls of the ship groan so loud that you wait with baited breath for the hull to implode around you, to feel the metal crush the delicate eggshell of your body beneath its weight. 

It’s not any better to just stay in your room, your quarters too cramped to nurture anything other than claustrophobia. A recent, unfortunate side effect of spending months on such a small ship. You’ve become accustomed to crews numbering in the tens and hundreds, ships so colossal in size that even months spent aboard weren’t enough to explore all of its nooks and crannies. Cargo holds with excavators and backhoes for excavations on Mars and humvees for getting around the rough terrain. 

This ship barely holds six people and the payload you’ve been hauling to Europa. Pipes hiss in the corridors. Once a week, the radiator splutters or the intercom overhead crackles, kicking your heart into hyperdrive. 

You leave formation more out of sorts than ever. Vaguely aimless. With nothing to do, you grab breakfast in the galley and eat at the counter, too uncomfortable to venture over to the mess. Your days consist mainly of hovering around the ship or sitting quietly in the medbay, waiting for something to happen. A morbid preoccupation. 

The stairs clunk under your feet as you make your way down towards the medbay. You’ve long grown used to the sharp sound of your boots against the metal floor. 

Rationally, you know they don’t dislike you. You might even venture to say that you get along with the majority of them, particularly the chief engineer and Farah’s brother. The big man likes that it only takes a single drink to get you plastered, often howls with laughter when you stumble out of the mess after drinking with the crew, always the first to turn in for the night. Farah herself is only frosty because she works twice as hard as anyone else, burning the midnight oil on the regular. 

You swallow half-truths like stones to help settle your stomach. 

It doesn’t replace real companionship though; it approximates, but doesn’t quite replicate it. You feel its absence most acutely in the sidelong glances you sometimes get of real affection: Alex grazing his pinkie across Farah’s when he thinks no one is looking; Farah’s eyes softening at the sight of her brother; Graves and Nikolai reminiscing about something a decade past, hardly even aware of your presence in the room. 

It’s something you’ve endured before, but never for such an extended period of time. Prolonged isolation prickles at the mind, feathering the edges. It purples space; passes through the vents. The crew rarely goes on spacewalks (hardly any need for it), but sometimes you swear the ship’s oxygen has a faint sulfuric undertone, like rotten eggs. It permeates the air wherever you go. 

Someone knocks at the window just as you walk by.

You pause mid-sip, the mug raised to your lips and just pressing into your bottom lip, not yet tilted. 

“Hello,” you hear through the thick-paned glass, the voice muffled through the layers of glass and plastic partitions. “Could you let me in, please?”

Though your reflex is to look up, you don’t for some reason. The muscles in your neck stay locked instead. Shoulders stiff, weighed down by an unnatural force. 

The thing outside the ship knocks again. “Love? Can you hear me?”

Your head turns towards the porthole, the hand holding your mug drifting away from your mouth. It tips in your hand and a drop leaks down the side. Your lips tingle, almost numb. 

There’s a man outside the porthole, clear as day. He hovers outside the window, a hand raised in a friendly wave and full lips splitting to reveal perfect, white teeth when he smiles. He’s dressed in a spacesuit, no different than any of the crew on a spacewalk. Through the helmet, you can make out dark eyes and dimples. A close cropped beard.

It’s not a face you’ve ever seen before though. You think you might’ve remembered someone so handsome working on the ship with you.

Something needles inside of you though. A sickening feeling, like something you’ve forgotten but you desperately need to remember. 

“Hi there,” the man says, voice as charming as you’ve ever heard, so velvety rich that you feel the blood heat your cheeks. “Glad you were passing by. Mind letting me in?”

[unopposablethumbsao3]

Med school student and noted old man fucker Julian Bashir taking his daddy issues to get drunk one night and running into noted old man Curzon Dax--Curzon, of course, is like "oh hey, free twink", and fucks him in a bathroom stall before heading out to continue his evening of, I don't know, head butting Klingons and both causing and resolving interstellar diplomatic crises. Julian never actually gets his name, and continues with his hot mess express voyage to salutatorian and Deep Space Nine.

Years later, Jadzia Dax on a ship to her new posting, only half paying attention to the sort-of-familiar twink CMO who's very awkwardly hitting on her. She knows she's seen this guy before, she just can't quite figure out where, like, this is his very first posting, he's a brand new graduate from Starfleet medical, and Jadzia's never actually been to Earth herself, in fact the last time Dax was in San Francisco was ... Oh. Oh no.

And of course, at first this is just a little awkward for her--she doesn't like all the things Curzon used to get up to, but like, they were mostly pretty harmless, and she certainly doesn't begrudge him a quick hookup with a very pretty young med student, even if he was possibly a little drunker than she'd like. And of course, it's not like Julian's ever going to know--he was wasted, and Curzon never even told him his name, so really, it's not a problem for Jadzia to put it aside and just be a professional. He's a colleague! No worries! That's that!

Except then she starts to get to know Julian. And beyond the fact that he's a damn good doctor and, it turns out, a deeply loyal friend, the closer they get, the more she starts to see flashes of how vulnerable he is under all the bluster and bravado--he puts on a hell of a brave front, but there's something wounded about him, and a deep, deep need for other people's approval, especially from potential father figures. All of which adds up to Jadzia feeling worse and worse about what happened between him and Curzon. But of course at this point, it feels like it's a little too late for her to say anything. What would it achieve other than embarrassing him, and adding a layer of complication to what's somehow become one of her closest, most important friendships.

Which is why she instead quietly swears a Klingon blood oath that she will protect this twink with her life if it comes to it--that's her pet twink now and anybody messing with him in any way for any reason is going to have to answer to her.

And yes this also means that when Julian and Garak start dating, Jadzia turns up at Garak's shop at closing time with some very pointed questions and an even pointier knife, and refuses to leave until she's absolutely certain that Garak's intentions are honourable (insofar as he's capable of honourable intentions) AND that he knows that if he hurts Julian, she will in fact be carving out his heart and eating it in the middle of the Promenade. Which of course means that Garak figures out what happened between Julian and Curzon because you can't go off on him like that without him instantly clocking the ulterior motives, so now they're at mutually assured destruction, which of course is how they also start to become very good friends (yes Worf hates this).

Also, Jadzia does NOT die during the war--she's Julian's best man when he marries Garak on Cardassia ten years later (neither she nor Garak ever tell Julian about the whole Curzon thing, or the whole I-will-eat-your-heart thing, though he lowkey knows SOMETHING is up because they won't stop exchanging meaningful nods every time they get a little drunk together).

[a-leg-without-fear]

Cold🔥🌧️

i'd like to thank matthew michael murdock for getting me back into writing

Ship: Matt Murdock x Female!Reader

Rating: 18+ (WE'RE BACK BAYBEE)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, sexual situations, foreplay, oral (fem receiving), shower sex, violence, blood, faith, depressive thoughts, angst, cursing, mentions of choking/hanging, DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN SPOILERS

Song: Cold by Annie Lennox

Chk. Kssssssss.

Hot water rained down in pellets of fire against Matt’s skin. Beating on his bruises and cuts, both cleansing and punishing in their nature. Warmth licked along his flesh and cooked him alive. His heart still pounding, jaw clenched, muscles twitching as if ready to pounce. Steam immediately clogged his senses with a pure, fog-like mist. 

Matt had leaned forward, body suspended by his palms braced against the glass wall. His head hung low between his shoulders. Streams of water raced from his slicked hair down his battered chest. Faint traces of crimson leeched into the clear streaks and merged into a puddle around the drain. Swirls of grime and sweat and blood circled the steel grate.

A twinge from the darkening bruise lining his back, a sharp jab of agony, and Matt was yanked back a mere four hours.

Musty. Musty and old, were his first thoughts. The tiles lining the walls of this tunnel were caked in layer after layer of age. Notes of mold, earth, dust, and several other unsavory smells surrounded Matt on all sides. Whistled passed him as he charged down the unused subway tracks.

He grimaced, straightening his posture and dropping his arms. A reluctant shiver rolled up his spine at the change in position. Faint caresses of fatigue laced through the tendons in his calves.

New scents emerged in the path Matt followed. Cortisol, blood beating through a pounding heart, unwashed rags coated in copper-smelling paint. A young man, standing at 5-feet 9-inches. Whispers of countless victims surrounded this person like a dark aura.

Neck cracking, he tilted his head to stretch out the tension hardening his shoulders. The shower pummeled Matt’s sensitive skin. Harsh collisions shifted to soothing blows, massaging sore muscles and strained joints. Matt let out a labored breath. He lifted his head and let the forgiving water run down his face in penitent rivulets.

The chill of the silver chain around his neck was a stark contrast to the comforting warmth wrapping around Matt like a blanket. An ever-present reminder, cradling the simple cross right above where his heart slowed behind his ribs. He moved to glance a touch off the shining metal, fingers gently tremoring, then diverted to rub at his heavy eyelids.

Rage gathered at the base of his skull like a brewing storm. Fiery, explosive, lightning flashing and bathing Matt’s senses in a red blaze. A guttural scream bellowed from between his bared teeth. With a crouch, coiled like a snake, Matt launched himself into the air.

Movement. The creak of the bathroom door. Matt tensed, widening his awareness beyond the fogged glass walls of the shower. Someone had entered the room. They were familiar, close, Matt's own scent followed the new presence like a shadow. He cocked his head as he focused.

Hair tousled and lightly tangled, eyes still drooping from sleep, one of Matt's shirts draped across a shambling frame. A quiet yawn fell from between pursed lips.

Matt let a small smile tug at his features. He turned his head to offer acknowledgement, an understanding that your presence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Hey," you offered, graveled voice passing through the air like a hand through smoke. More rustling, the sound of cotton rasping against skin, only a trace of Matt's scent left dancing along your skin as the shirt crumpled in a pile on the floor.

The shower door opened with a hiss. Steam roiled in the air and encompassed your body with open arms. You moved to stand behind Matt, every step accompanied by a light splash of water lapping at the soles of your feet.

Gentle fingertips brushed the glaring splotches across Matt's back. His body responded with an involuntary shudder, fists clenching at his sides. A light gasp caught between your teeth.

"Matt..." you whispered under your breath. Your hands glided across the bruises with delicate precision.

The steel, pointed barb shot out of Matt's baton like a bullet. It soared through the air, propelling him forward, before embedding itself in the bricks behind the canvas-covered man with a spray of rubble.

"Hey. Matt? What happened?"

Your palms smoothed around the warmed skin of his waist, embracing him from behind. A soothing breath coasted along the droplets clinging to his back. His hands wrapped around yours, clasped just below his ribs.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he answered simply. You sighed, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. Matt could feel tendrils of your hair sticking to his skin like vines on an old building.

"You can talk to me, you know," you breathed, the words falling heavy from your lips. You squeezed him tighter as you nuzzled closer against his back. Matt winced, your collarbone digging into a fractured rib.

"Of course I do," he replied.

Matt turned in your arms until he was facing you. Your chests pressed together, breath mingling in the space between you, water cascading in trails and carving highways down your bodies. He ran his fingertips along your arms until he could cup your jaw in his hands.

It was in times like these, when thousands of water drops hit your body in rapid succession, that Matt felt like he could truly see you. Every splash of liquid against the planes of your face illuminated your features like fireworks. The slope of your nose, how your cheekbones rose and fell until they met your jaw line, the crinkle in the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him.

He traced a delicate pattern in the water still clinging to your cheek with his thumb. The crease between your eyebrows deepened the longer Matt went without giving an explanation.

But he didn't feel like giving one.

Fist collided with face as Matt tackled Muse. Blow after blow both thrown and received between the two. Matt would hook a punch over Muse's head, only to dodge a kick to his ribs in the next millisecond. The faint heartbeat echoing from Angela's chest gave Matt a strict deadline. Her slowing pulse echoed inside his head, spurring him on as Muse kneed him in the hip. A dance of blood and death.

"Matt?"

Shoving down the events of last night, he connected your lips to his in a heated kiss. His long fingers tangled in your soaked hair as he tilted your head in just the way he needed. He drew you impossibly closer, tighter, making you pliant beneath his touch. You gasped into his mouth, a noise that was easily swallowed by Matt.

The pads of your fingertips glided up his back in near reverence. As if the lines in your skin spelled worship. Every point of connection between the two of you was Matt's lifeline. His reason for being. The altar he prayed to every evening.

Matt walked you back with every exchanged breath. He lavished in how perfectly you fit together. His tongue tracing the edges of your teeth, his lips brushing against yours, his hands falling from your hair to drift over the warm dew gathering on your arms.

"Matt," you whispered between breaths, voice already dripping with need. He could sense the prologue of your body's symphony. Waves of heat and arousal orchestrated from between your legs floated through the bathroom's haze. A gentle nip under your ear conducted the violins to join the revelry. A touch brushed across your hip beckoned the flutes. Your back resting against the misted glass invited the drums and harps.

Once your body was flush with the glass, Matt began making his journey down. Painting brushstrokes of idolatry along the thin skin under your jaw. Utter adoration flowed from each kiss, each drag of his canines. You are where I can find forgiveness.

"Matt, please," you whined. Your palms found purchase on the swell of his chest, pushing gently, "What- Shit! -What happened? Where did the bruises-"

"Let me have this," he gasped, tearing his mouth from your skin like separating pieces of velcro. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder.

"Matt-"

"I need this. I'll tell you after," he begged softly. Matt willed his pulse to even out with heavy gulps of air as he waited for your response.

A moment. Two. Electricity darted between the water molecules surrounding you like your own solar system. Matt tilted his chin to breathe in the skin at the crook of your neck. His senses zeroed in on you like entering a long tunnel.

God, he could taste how aroused you were. Wave after wave of the scent that was distinctly you overwhelmed the flashes of pain and violence from hours prior. Splashes of blood were coated in a rose-colored hue, screams were muted, pain was temporary. If heaven was real, it was buried within your scent.

"Promise?" you asked tentatively.

Matt pressed a chaste kiss against the hinge of your jaw, "Promise."

You hooked a finger under his chin, angling his face so you could meet his unseeing eyes. There was no forgery in his desperation for you. Every waking moment, every second that passed without you held against him was another mile added to his descent into hell.

"Okay. After," you finally said. That was all the answer Matt needed.

His knees collided with the slick tile, a dull thud ricocheting up his thighs. Supplicant. Hands gripping at your hips like you were this all-encompassing deity. He could practically feel the warmth of your holy radiance evaporating the water still trailing down his back.

The first step in his path to salvation was hooking your knee over his broad shoulder.

You let out a drawn "fuck," as Matt dragged his lips along the inside of your thigh. He could feel the pulse of your blood flowing through the thin skin, how every cell in your body ached for him.

A long drag with the flat of his tongue along your thigh had him groaning against you. He hadn't even reached your folds, his north star, the summit he aspired to, and his eyes were rolling underneath their lids. Another rasping swipe made a shudder roll through his body.

Scraping, pulling fingers wove through his drenched hair. Tugged him higher and higher to that zenith he could never be without. An involuntary hum rumbled deep in his chest. His one and only goal achievable, now that he'd been led to where you needed him most.

Your body beckoned him to drink from you. Practically begged for him to sup of your ambrosia, to feel your arousal flow down his throat. Every pass of his tongue through your cunt guided you both to rapture. Matt clung to your legs like you were his means of survival.

He was addicted to you. That much was painfully obvious. Like any devout to their god, Matt worshipped you. He could lay at your feet and drink from your body's chalice for the rest of his sinful life and never live up to your sanctity.

If Matt was the devil, then you were an angel.

Nothing mattered as much as pleasuring you. Whether it be with his tongue, his scarred hands, or his cock. The world could burn if it meant hearing your breathless moans one last time.

"Matt..."

Even the way you said his name. Like a choir singing the most beautiful hymn. The chords of an organ framed every gasp, every whine that fell from your parted lips. You were rapidly approaching the crest. You stood at the white cliff's edge before a roaring tide, waves crashing over your body like the water from a steaming shower.

Hips rocking in time with his ministrations, thighs squeezing around the crown of his head, fingers pulling at his hair. Strings of blasphemous curses flew from between your clenched teeth. Your head had fallen against the wall, eyes screwed shut, with strands of your hair sticking to the glass in a halo.

One last gentle flick of his tongue against your bundle of nerves and you shattered. Fractals of broken, stained glass rained down over Matt's prostrated body. Currents of ecstasy coursed through your veins. A choked breath caught on your tongue.

Matt reveled in the unbridled swell of pride that filled his chest. He was the one who made you feel this way. He was the one who had you moaning his name. Gone were the flecks of blood coating his skin in a constellation of violence. Gone was the unrepentant fool who entered this shower. He truly, undeniably, felt forgiveness leak from between your thighs and into his waiting mouth.

And he didn't stop.

He kept working at that bundle of nerves, begging for this euphoria to never end. You squirmed as best you could in your position. Back slumped against the glass, held upright by Matt's embodiment of Atlas holding the world.

It wasn't until he felt a gentle prod at his face that he pulled away. He barely moved an inch before he felt the tremor running up your legs. As gracefully as he could, he lowered the leg on his shoulder to the floor.

Your chest heaved with strained breaths. Water, or maybe sweat, beaded on your skin. A shaking hand untangled from Matt's hair and pressed to your forehead.

"H-Holy shit, Matt," you uttered into the steam. A sly smile finally spread across his lips. Ever the devil, was he.

A faint note of copper caught his attention. Sparked bright in his senses like a lens flare. His eyebrows knit together as he focused on the source.

You had bit your lip. Hard enough to draw blood.

Threaded cord wrapped around a sinner's neck. Thrashing limbs, choked and broken pleas, scrabbling boots against concrete. None of it mattered. Matt continued to tighten the noose.

"You okay?" came your panted voice through Matt's churning thoughts.

He squared his shoulders, rising on sore feet. His fingers twitched as his mind fought with itself. Two halves of him barking and snarling at each other like rabid dogs.

"I'll go get dressed. You finish up," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Matt ignored the gnawing guilt in his gut as he stepped out of the shower.

"O-Okay."

The silhouette of your body remained burned in his senses, the brilliant beam to navigate the gathering thunderstorm in his head. How utterly rhapsodic every nerve spiderwebbed through your skin had glowed. And how he'd left you standing vacant and alone in that shower.

He cursed the very fiber of his being. Damned men don't get to delight in otherworldly pleasures. Wicked creatures should remain in the shadows where they belong. The chill of the early-morning air only solidified that line of thought.

Matt was unholy, a scorn to your radiant image. The broken horn on his nightstand, caked in blood and sacrifice, was a constant reminder of how impious he truly was.

As he sat on the bed, devil horn rubbed between his thumb and index finger, all he could think of was how utterly cold he was.

HAPPY SEASON FINALE OF DD:BA!!! what a fucking WILD ride they've taken us on, huh. it has been.... mostly ok!!! i love how matt blew up his life for most of the season, very on brand we love that for him. ep7 happened. it definitely aired. but other than that cold sore in the middle, i've loved the show!! thank GOD it's better than i expected.

also, thank you to the tuna team!!! chatting with y'all is always a highlight of my days, whether it be about the (FAR TOO BRIEF) shower scene or the cinematic beauty that was this show.

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You’re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.

A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread

Word Count: 4k+

It starts like a whisper—barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.

Until the earth moves for real.

You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.

The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.

Earthquake.

It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.

Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?

“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”

Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.

And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.

The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.

“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”

He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”

“Name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”

Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.

“You were inside?”

“Under that scaffolding.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”

“You need to let us handle this.”

“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”

“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”

“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”

His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“Then don’t. Keep up.”

You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”

You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”

He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.

The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.

“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.

“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.

“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”

You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”

He doesn’t move.

“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”

You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.

“Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.

“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.

You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.

You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.

You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.

“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”

Bradford nods. “Stay low.”

The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.

“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.

He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.

You sit back, panting.

“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.

You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.

And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”

“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”

As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.

Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.

You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.

“How many are left?” Tim asks.

You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”

“Is it stable?”

You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”

“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”

He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look. You wink.

You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.

You freeze.

So does he.

You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.

Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.

You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.

You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.

But the adrenaline has started to fade.

The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.

When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.

“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.

You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.

He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You held it together. You did everything right.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”

Your lip quivers.

His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.

“You’re allowed to feel it now.”

And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.

Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.

“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.

“You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”

You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.

He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”

You lean back just enough to see his face.

And something shifts between you.

A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.

“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.

“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”

You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”

The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.

Then a shout breaks the spell.

“Y/n!”

You turn. “Dad!”

Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.

You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”

He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”

You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”

“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.

“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.

You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.

Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.

He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.

“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”

“You gonna ask for her number?”

He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”

“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.

Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.

Maybe he could.

[the-court-of-dreams]

ONYX STORM SPOILERS

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Quotes that KILLED ME in Onyx Storm

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1)

To the ones who don’t run with the popular crowd, the ones who get caught reading under their desks, the ones who feel like they never get invited, included, or represented. Get your leathers. We have dragons to ride.

Books have always been a safe place for me. I still remember picking up The Hobbit when I was still a kid, closing my bedroom door and going on an adventure. I'm almost 25 now and I still love going on adventures. From magic schools to institutes, hidden cities to castles, forests to enormous capitals. With cars and ships and horses and broomsticks and dragons. Every story, a new adventure. Every book, a new journey. Oh, how I love travelling!

I only ever had one friend who loves reading as much as I do and our conversations about books, the hours we spend making theories, and analysing everything that happened... they are some of my most beloved moments. ( @strovilos , you are the joy of my life) My other friends don't understand as much, it's okay. I' ve always been the kid hiding books under my desk, staying up past my bedtime with a light under the covers. So yeah... that dedication really got me.

I was invited to places, but I almost never felt included while being there. That was okay too.

I always preferred riding dragons anyway.

2)

Xaden is mine. My heart, my soul, my everything. He channeled from the earth to save me, and I’ll scour the world until I find a way to save him right back.

Wow, that didn't take long at all, huh? Straight in the fucking feels.

3)

I could reach the rank of Maven, lead armies of dark wielders against everyone we care for, and watch every vein in my body turn red as I channel all the power in the Continent, and I would still love you. What I did doesn’t change that. I’m not sure anything can.

Such a good start for me and my fucking heart. Thanks, Rebecca... I really appreciate it.

4)

If I’m to be court-martialed for helping Braxtyn defend his people, then I shall welcome the trial. All who channel from dragon and gryphon alike should flourish under the wards, and now Aretia will be that haven should one of the others ever return.

Lyra... I fucking stan!

5)

So with all the love in my heart, put your fucking uniform on, because we need you.

Look, I'm not saying that Ridoc is my favourite character in this book... but... Ridoc IS my favourite character in this book.

I died with the whole squad dynamic, but the four of them will always hold a special place in my heart, I fucking love these kids.

6)

Even hundreds of miles away, he’s still taking care of me and doesn’t even know it.

I KNEW this godsdamned book would be full of angst....BUT DID IT HAVE TO BE ALL OF IT??? DID IT REBECCA????

7)

You might be angry when you realize I didn’t wake you to say goodbye. But it’s only because I no longer fully trust my ability to walk away.

—Recovered Correspondence of His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor, to Cadet Violet Sorrengail

FUCK ME MAN....Come on...WHYYYYYYY????

8)

But the thought of you being out there, beyond the wards, facing down a known attack of venin, triggered something in me I’ve never felt before. It was hotter than rage, and sharper than fear, and cut deeper than helplessness, all because I couldn’t get to you.

Fuck you.

9)

I would have killed anything and anyone in that moment to reach you. No exceptions. I would have channeled every ounce of power beneath my feet without hesitation if it would have landed me at your side.

Double fuck you.

10)

If I’d been there, beyond the wards, I would have drained the very earth to its core to keep you safe.

TRIPLE FUCKING FUCK YOU!!!!

11)

Pain isn’t new to me, Jack. She’s an old friend I spend most of my days with, so I don’t mind if she sings to you.

Violet Sorrengail... you are the most badass bitch to ever badass. (I feel like that's SUCH a Remi thing to say. Fucking finally.... iykyk. Shout out to @skyfallscotland for writing fucking masterpieces. Getting notifications from you always makes my day. If any of you are into fanfcition, i STRONGLY recommend reading everything this girl has written. You can start with Fear and Flame. Thank me, and HER, later.)

12)

“We live by the Codex—” I try again.

“I live by you. When have I ever given a fuck about the Codex or the Code of Conduct?” He cradles my face and leans down, resting his forehead against mine. “I am yours and you are mine, and there’s no law or rule in this world or the next that will change that.”

I love them so much it hurts.

13)

Love of my life. You have nothing to be jealous of.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

14)

“There’s no magic here.” He tugs me against him. “No power. No lure. No taunting reminder that I can save everyone if I just reach for it and take what’s offered. It’s only…peace.”

For the first time since fetching the luminary, I seriously debate Tecarus’s offer.

When I tell you this book was PAINFUL for me....I'M NOT FUCKING KIDDING.

15)

"...Sgaeyl…" He glances up at the trees as if he can see her in the sky above us, a look of longing on his face.

If I had a dollar for everytime this book broke my fucking heart.

16)

“My consort,” Xaden replies casually. “Violet Sorrengail.”

I'm deceased.

17)

I can’t quit watching Xaden’s eyes in case their flecks change back to gold whenever I see him during Signet Sparring.

They never do.

Like my heart will never again NOT be broken for these two.

18)

“The pain. The mess. Give it to me. I’ll hold it. I know that sounds ludicrous, but I’ll find a way.” I lace our fingers. “I will hold everything you don’t want to feel because I love every part of you.”

This ship... this fucking ship...

19)

“Seems Catriona has found someone worth lagging behind for.”

I loathed her in the previous book....but gods did the poor girl go through it in this one....

20)

“There is no cure for me.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “That’s why you have to become better than me. There’s only you.”

I seriously don't know why I'm putting myself through this torture.

21)

When things get…shitty, I hope you can look down at it and imagine us sitting there together when this is all over. That’s the vision I’m going to cling to: you and me, holding hands, looking over the city.

This right here broke whatever soul I thought I had left. It just hurts so much when the characters cling to a future that I fucking know isn't going to happen.

22)

It’s almost like this room is removed from time itself, a tiny corner of the world where we simultaneously live together yet don’t.

Rebecca literally...WHYYYYY????

23)

I didn’t reach for any form of power because even in that state, I knew it could take me back to day zero, and day zero doesn’t give me you. I clawed my way back to myself and left.

Screaming, crying, throwing up.

24)

While most deities allow temple attendants to choose their timeline of service, only two require a lifetime of dedication: Dunne and Loial. For both war and love change souls irrevocably.

For the love of Gods, please let this be some kind of clue.

25)

I love you more than this city. Do not die defending it.

Screaming. Crying. Throwing up.

26)

At some point I’ll stop looking for her, right?

I KNOW Andarna had her reasons... but my girl Violet did not deserve that after everything she's been through.

27)

His smile instantly becomes a core memory.

MY smile instantly becomes a core memory....as in I don't think I'll have one again.

28)

You’re not a weapon of destruction. You’re not venin. You’re the artery power chooses to flow through. You’re life.

I fucking ship this SO MUCH. I love me some enemies to lovers, slow burn, full of angst shit.

29)

When push comes to shove, I'm not the best of us. She is.

YES VIOLET, THAT'S YOUR BESTIE!!!!!!

30)

“That’s a little menacing,” I admit to Feirge. “Then let us be menaces,”

I ADORE multiple povs. I've been waiting for Rhi's and Imogen's pov for 3 books, and I was NOT disappointed. Wish I could have more of them though.

31)

She’ll rip the very sky apart before she and Glane accept defeat.

GO IMOGEN! GO! GO! GO!

32)

The flame of perpetual rage that lives in my chest burns hotter. Fuck that horde. Fuck the venin who ride them. Fuck that unholy vortex of a tornado at the end of the northern field, and fuck the orders to stay grounded in these winds.

FUCK! I love this girl so damn much.

33)

I’m glad it’s you with me. Parapet to Malek’s own doorstep. I’m so sorry I have to go first this time.

To be honest, I didn't really care about Quinn for three books now... but I SOBBED in these 3 pages.

34)

And you should tell him, Gen. Tell him, and you find some happy.

And the fact that she preached for my second favourite ship of the series with her dying breath??? Miss Quinn, you have my heart. I didn't care for your existence for three books, but man, did you get me in the end.

35)

“We made it a good one.”

This one cut me so fuckign deep I had to stop for a good ten minutes. I did not see it coming. I did not think I'd care. I still don't understand why I did. But I really, really did.

36)

“I’m not leaving you!” He leans in and slides his hand behind my neck. “I’m not leaving you, Imogen,” he repeats, softer this time.

If these two don't end up together, I'm gonna make it everybody's problem. I PROMISE!

37)

“You have been the gift of my life,” I tell Tairn.

I've read some theories that Tairn will die in the end... First of all...HOW DARE YOU? And second of all... REBECCA DON'T YOU DARE, I WILL-

38)

She was the first to choose me, to elevate me above all others, the first to see every ugly side of me and accept it all, and every single person in this fucking canyon will die before they remove a single one of her scales.

The fact that Xaden channeled for Violet but really turned to save Sgaeyl... I did not expect that. And although it was painful as fuck to read through... to me it was perfect and a job really well done.

39)

Shadow brings quiet. My soul departs like pieces of ash from a fire, flaking free and drifting away as power consumes the space it once inhabited. I’m no longer on the ice—I am the ice.

Xaden...baby...no....

40)

Save them, the last remaining pieces of me beg, holding on with teeth and claw to keep from being torn away, too.

I will never... ever... recover from this.

41)

“I love you.” Violet’s voice cracks the cold, and a silken thread of warmth wedges itself in the opening before it seals shut, locking it in place.

No. Wait. I grab for that thread with desperate hands, clawing to keep her as more of my pieces are blown away, lost to the void. She is warmth and light and air and love.

This was so fucking painful to read I literally have no fucking words.

44)

I love her. That is the emotion I cling to, the fire of pure power burning at the feeling’s edges, and I know if I take it any further, it will be the next and final piece to float away.

😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔

45)

“What did you do?” My head snaps toward Imogen, and a deep sense of foreboding takes root in my chest. She slowly lifts her gaze to mine.

“What you asked me to.”

How THE FUCK am I supposed to wait who-knows how long for the next damned book???

All in all, I really enjoyed this. I never got bored and I didn't mind the side missions at all.

The xaden×violet of it all shattered my heart. I definitely loved their relationship more than the previous books (It really reminded me of their dynamic from one of the best pieces of literature I've ever had the pleasure to read, a fanfiction piece called Storm in the quiet by @justallihere. She is truly the best.).

I just knew this was coming, and all of their trying would lead to this... it tore my heart apart. I love heavy angst in my books, but it hurts like a motherfucker when you have to wait for the next book in a series. I've promised myself I would never start an unfinished series ever again but oh well....

I loved the side characters so much, and I feel like I got to see them more and get to know them better in this one.

Ridoc is the best comic relief character I've read in a long, long time, and I love him so much (I almost had a heart attack when I thought the cook actually stabbed him.)

Aaric is a little shit and I'm so here for it. His exceptionally well written character was one of the highlights of the book for me.

Imogen and Garrick are my babies and I want them to end up together SO FUCKING BAD.

Also, the Drake and Mira crumbs? Chef's kiss.

I have to admit I was very fed shipping wise.

Unexpectedly, I also laughed my ass off in this book... so I'll probably make another post with all the times I died of laughter. Who would have thought?

My soul will definitely need mending and a good dose of fanfiction to get me through the long wait. To the people who are gifted enough to write these fanfcitions, you are my heroes. Cheers!

Final thought, Xaden Riorson, THE MAN that you are.

Accurate image of me after finishing Onyx Storm:

[zaczenemiji]

Hi there! It's me...again. Hope your doing okay.

I was thinking about a new request about Kenji Sato x Fem! Reader based on the song "Please, Please, Please" from Sabrina Carpenter. Reader is a singer just like her so and has a relationship with Ken but she thinks that some things aren't doing good, but she also has him wrapped around her finger. Like the part with "I beg you, don't embarrass me, mother******". It can be angst but also fluffy and spice (Only if you want to but no smut) It can end in a happy ending.

The rest is up to you because I know you'll do a great job. No need to rush so take your time.

Don’t Prove ‘Em Right

Kenji Sato x Singer!Reader

Word Count: 1,358

Genre/Warnings: Angst (light), Character Development, Drama, Emotional, Redemption

Author’s Note: I went with a bit of angst 🤧

MASTERLIST

“You could do better.”

This was one thing you’ve always heard since you started dating men as a singer. Throughout your career, you were either cheated on, abandoned, or used in a way that they just rode your fame.

Other times, fans would ship you with another singer or celebrity or whoever famous and you’d give it a try for them but the ending is the always same: you two were just pretending for public entertainment and there was never love at all.

Your perception of love blurred the longer you got in the singing industry. You sang about it, wrote songs about it, but you’ve never really experienced it for a significant amount of time or for a significant depth.

That was until you met Kenji.

Despite his fame, he seemed down-to-earth and genuinely interested in getting to know you. He took you to his baseball games and introduced you to his teammates. In return, you invited him to your recording sessions.

Kenji was always supportive, and always encouraging. He seemed genuinely proud of your achievements and was always there for you. Despite his busy schedule, he shows up at your gigs and concerts and cheers you on from the front row.

He had a way of making you feel special like you were the most important person in his world. It was easy to overlook the occasional outbursts, the moments of impulsiveness that seemed to come with his fiery temperament.

You told yourself that everyone had flaws, and Kenji's good qualities far outweighed his bad ones.

You believed in him and in the future you could build together. Despite the red lights and the stop signs, you held on to the belief that this time, this love was right.

But as time went on, the cracks in Kenji's facade began to show. His temper flared more frequently, and his impulsive decisions started to take a toll on your relationship.

You made excuses for him and justified his actions to your friends and family. You told them he’s different.

But they told you that with the way he’s behaving, you’ll just end up in the dumps again—that he’s going to cheat on you, hurt you, leave you, and the ending will be the same…

“You could do better.”

Heartbreak is one thing, but your ego is another. You couldn’t afford your name dominating the headlines again. And for what reason? Another breakup.

You loved him deeply, but the constant cycle of highs and lows was exhausting. You wanted to believe that he could change, that he could be the man you fell in love with.

But the more you tried to fix things, the more you realized that some things were beyond your control.

You sat in front of your vanity doing your makeup nicely. You glanced at the clock. Kenji would be here any minute to pick you up now. Tonight is your big night. It’s an afterparty to celebrate the release of your new single.

Your boyfriend had a reputation for causing a scene. It wasn't entirely his fault—he was passionate but it sometimes translated into impulsiveness. Tonight, of all nights, you needed him to be on his best behavior.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Kenji stood there, looking dashing in a tailored suit, a grin spreading across his face as he saw you.

"Wow, you look stunning," he said, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a smile. "You sure you wanna come?"

"Of course," he replied with a confidence that both reassured and worried you. “I’m always here for you.”

You arrived at the venue in no time. Celebrities, reporters, and fans filled the room, all eager to celebrate your success. You and Kenji mingled with the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and accepting congratulations.

But as the night went on, Kenji's behavior started to shift. The drinks were flowing, and while you had stuck to soda water, Kenji had not.

You watched with growing anxiety as he laughed a little too loudly, and gestured a little too wildly. The conversations around you started to feel like a backdrop to a ticking time bomb.

You pulled him aside. "Kenji, please," you whispered urgently. "Just... take it easy, okay?"

He frowned, a mix of confusion and irritation crossing his features. "What? I'm just having a good time."

"I know," you said, forcing another smile. “Just... for me, okay?"

He sighed but nodded and for a while, it seemed like he was keeping his promise. He stuck by your side, an arm around your waist, engaging in polite conversation with your friends and family.

However, you left him one moment and then the next, he was talking to one of the reporters. The latter walked away, a smirk on his face. Kenji turned to you, his face flushed with anger.

"Can you believe that guy?" he spat. "He had the nerve to ask about the last game. Said I sucked."

"Kenji," you said softly, trying to calm him down. You placed your hand on his chest. "It's not worth it."

"But—"

"Please, Kenji. Just... let it go."

He looked at you, the anger in his eyes slowly fading. He took a deep breath and nodded. "For you," he said quietly.

But the reprieve was short-lived. You caught sight of him at the bar, raising his voice at someone who had apparently made a snide comment.

The situation escalated quickly, and before you knew it, Kenji had thrown a punch, causing a commotion that drew everyone's attention.

Your heart sank as security rushed in to break up the fight. You could feel all eyes on you, whispers spreading through the crowd.

You felt a sense of dejà vu as this wasn't the first time Kenji let his emotions get the best of him, and you were able to hold it together as you’ve always done, but then you heard the one thing you hated.

“She could’ve done better.”

Without a word, you grabbed your things and stormed out of the venue, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over.

Not long after, Kenji arrived at your house, disheveled and remorseful. "(Y/n), I'm so sorry," he began, reaching out to you. "I didn't mean to ruin everything."

You stepped back, keeping a distance between you. "Kenji, this can't keep happening. You promised me you would behave tonight!” You said in between sobs. “This was supposed to be my night, and you turned it into a disaster.”

You sat on your couch, your legs feeling too tired to keep you up. "I can't keep making excuses for you,” you continued. “I can't keep sacrificing my career for your mistakes."

Kenji fell silent, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He’s scared. He knew what those words meant. At that moment, he felt like the sky was crashing on him.

"I don't want to lose you, (y/n)," he said quietly, tears falling down. "I love you, and I know I've been screwing up. But I'm willing to do everything to make things right. Therapy, anger management, whatever it takes."

You stared at him, your heart aching with a mix of love and doubt. "Kenji, this isn't just about tonight,” you said. “This has been happening for a while now.“

“Please, (y/n),” he begged, his voice trembling as he knelt in front of you, embracing your legs as he rested his head on your lap. “I want to be the man you deserve. Please, give me one more chance."

Over the next few weeks, Kenji followed through on his promise. He made genuine efforts to address his issues.

He went out of his way to apologize to your friends and family for his behavior at the party, taking full responsibility for his actions.

Slowly but surely, he’s coming back to being the man you fell in love with. He made sure you wouldn’t be the one doing better because he was becoming better himself.

One afternoon, you had lunch with your friends. They asked about how things are now going between you and Kenji. You gave them a smile, a genuine one since after the party.

“He became better.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@flowerloves @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle

[midnight-xx]

Hiii, I hope you’re having a lovely day/night! I wanted to request a Hiccup x fem reader (preferably RTTE timeline) where reader is royalty from a far away land and she fled to escape a war within the kingdom and as she fled she met and bonded with a wild female night fury and as they sailed away they came across Berk and met hiccup (this prompt is very inspired by HOTD and I thought it would be cool to mash the two a little bit) thank you for reading this and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

I love how detailed this is!! I haven’t watched or read HOTD before so I made smth up lmao. They also didn’t end up meeting in berk but shh

SELCOUTH

Pairing: Hiccup x Fem!reader

Synopsis: In the process of escaping war, (name) crashes into the one thing missing from her life. Literally.

Timeline: After the events of RTTE, but let’s pretend they’re still on the Edge

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

War. The one thing (name) despised.

Ironically, it was (name)‘s choice to abandon her home and flee. Not for the safety of her people, but for the safety of herself.

She knew that it was wrong. She knew that she should’ve stayed and fought to the death for those loyal to her. However, she didn’t. In an act of selfishness, she left those who trusted her to fend for themselves while she evacuated.

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

(Name)’s feet pounded down the dock as she ran to the ship tethered to the end of it. She wasn’t sure why she was running so fast, as she had no pursuers, but she ran anyway.

After hurriedly untying the ship from the pole it was tied to, she hopped aboard and tossed her bag of supplies to the side before unraveling the sails and starting her journey.

“That’s princess (name)! She’s escaping!” Someone cried from the dock, and (name) turned back only to see the colors of her kingdom’s attackers.

As (name) heard the running footsteps of the soldier, she sailed further into the mist surrounding the island. She glanced back to her homeland, knowing that she wouldn’t be back for a long time, or ever.

The mist consumed the ship, and Princess (name) along with it.

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

Three days and two nights of no sleep later, (name) found herself dozing off but snapped awake at the gentle bump of her ship against land.

(Name) carefully stepped out of the ship, now wide awake, and carefully walked across the wet sand and to the shore.

(Name) collapsed onto the grass beyond the shore and embraced the feeling of solid earth beneath her body. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the dusk sky, watching as the sky faded to navy blue, and stars dotted the sky one by one.

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

(Name) didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she realized she did when she heard a twig snap about ten feet away. Getting up from her spot on the ground, she grasped the sword she had brought with her and faced the dark edge of the woods.

(Name) squinted, and gasped softly when she caught two green eyes staring back at her. The creature stepped into the light of day, and (name) noticed its powerful wings, and rippling muscles underneath pitch black scales.

(Name) gasped and tripped over her own feet in an attempt to get away from the night fury. She had heard tales of other tribes being demolished by this dragon, and she didn’t want to be next.

The dragon inched toward her until it stood right in front of her, then tilted its head down to inspect the fallen woman.

In a panic, (name) raised her sword and pointed it at the dragon quickly. In response, the night fury growled and shot it from her hand. (Name) could only watch as the blade went spinning into the distance.

(Name)’s breaths shortened in fear, but the dragon only watched as (name) panicked. The lack of air eventually got to (name), and she fainted.

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

When (name) woke up, the dragon was gone. Any tracks it may have left were gone as well, and (name) groaned as she rubbed her aching head.

A huff came from behind her, and (name) slowly turned around to see the dragon from before. However, (name) looked into its eyes and say no malicious intent, so she slowly stood up and stepped towards the night fury. The night fury tilted its head curiously, and crooned softly while it matched her strides.

The two met in the middle, and (name) stretched her arm out with her palm facing the dragon. In confusion, the dragon tilted its head and licked her hand.

(Name) chuckled to herself and shook the saliva from her hand, finding the dragon hilarious.

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

Over the next few months, (name) had learned that the night fury was a girl and named her Stelle, for the night sky when (name) sailed to the island.

Currently, (name) was flying bareback on Stelle’s back, on their way to map another unexplored island. The woman cheered as her hair whipped in the wind from the speed her dragon was flying at.

After a few short minutes, the duo landed on an eerily silent island. Furrowing her brows, (name) dismounted her dragon and gestured for the dragon to be quiet while taking careful steps forward.

A little bit of walking later, the two had found themselves at the top of a semi-steep hill. Stelle glanced mischievously at (name) and nudged her forward little by little.

“Stelle, what are you—“ (name) didn’t get to finish before she toppled down the hill and began rolling.

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

“Well, bud? What do you think?” Hiccup asked Toothless, gesturing to the island around them.

Toothless merely chuffed and walked off, busying himself with a few pine cones.

“Really? It’s that bad?” Hiccup questioned, but never got to find out his response before he was knocked to the ground like a bowling pin.

“Wha—“ Hiccup exclaimed as he sat up. He immediately noticed the woman who landed on top of him, groaning and glaring up at the hill she rolled down.

Toothless’s pupils shrunk, and he growled at the girl.

“Woah, woah.” The woman’s eyes widened at the aggressive stance.

“Um, could you… get off?” Hiccup muttered from below the woman.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” The woman apologized as she stood up and helped Hiccup from the ground. “My dragon pushed me down the hill.”

“There’s other dragon riders out here?!” Hiccup interrogated in shock.

“No, it’s just me as far as I know… sorry,” The woman explained as her dragon swooped down from above.

Toothless growled again, and the other dragon growled in response, curling its tail protectively around the woman.

“Another night fury!?” Hiccup gasped, and Toothless backed down.

The woman hushed her night fury, and the two dragons slowly approached each other as the two humans watched. Toothless took the initiative, licking the other night fury’s forehead, while the night fury blinked in surprise. The two dragons began to run around the clearing, and the two dragon riders turned to look at each other.

“So, uh… what’s your name?” Hiccup awkwardly attempted to start conversation.

“(Name). What about you?” The woman, now known as (name) replied.

“I’m Hiccup. What’s your dragon’s name?” Hiccup asked with an excited lilt in his voice.

“Her name is Stelle,” (name) responded thoughtfully.

“A girl night fury?” Hiccup’s eyes lit up. “This could potentially be the salvation of the night fury population! They might as well be the only two night furies in the entire world!”

“Slow down there,” (name) jested. “At least let them go on a date.”

Hiccup chuckled and responded, “Maybe we could go on a date…”

“…What?” Name met Hiccup’s eyes.

“Oh, um, nothing!” Hiccup defended, averting his gaze.

(Name) shook her head. “Whatever you say, charmer.”

— ཐི♡ཋྀ—

Note: I yapped a lil too much with the stuff before meeting Hiccup but we don’t talk abt that 🎀

links

ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ

[yaut-jaknowit]

Left Behind Part 2

Pairing: Dai'stbaen (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Mother!Reader

Word Count: 3410

Summary: After escaping the facility, Dai takes you and his son to his planet. It's not the smartest of ideas but you have no choice. Earth is no longer safe for the both of you. Yautja Prime isn't either. Dai knows how to play the game though. The first obstacle was convincing the council to allow you asylum. There's not enough begging from you or Dai to crack them.

Author Note: I swore I had an ask about this but apparently Tumblr decided to eat it. Heads up, might got a bit MIA. Had things happen at work and trying to figure out life now. IDK

Part 1

Masterlist

Ao3

A warm plate of meat and a glass of light green juice was set on a counter. Austin was already sitting on the ground with his own food, clearly enjoying his first, real meal in about a month. A least, that’s how long you though you were there. There was no sun or clocks. Just the rotation of scientists for the day and night. You were beyond thankful to be out and saved by Dai.

Speak of the man.

Dai’stbaen’s yellow eyes were on Austin, carefully watching him with a critical eye. One you felt a bit uneasy about. Your motherly instincts flared to life despite that being the father.

“It takes time,” you murmured and picked a slice off of your plate. The sound of your voice snapped Dai out of his stupor. You took a bite of the unknown meat and did your best to hide the cringe at the sour taste. The meat was alien but that wasn’t what you were expecting at all. It was food though. After going so long without it, you didn’t let it go to waste.

The alien turned his gaze towards you. He studies you now. “I was sent to find and kill the hybrid… our son,” he says. All of your muscles locked into place. Then, you began to scoot towards your son. You knew deep down if Dai seriously wanted Autin dead though, he would’ve been long gone before getting on the ship.

“But, you didn’t,” you whispered and timidly gazed at Dai.

“But I didn’t.”

The question hangs between the two of you. Why? Why did he save Austin instead of going through with what he was sent to do? Why agree to help you with Austin in the first place? You observed Dai closely as he leaned against the nearest wall. It was hard to read his alien face and know what he was thinking.

He leans back and lets his head rest against the wall eyes closing. “You cannot return to your home but my home will be just as deadly for you and… our son. My tribe won’t agree to his existence.” You could hear something underlining tone though and waited for him to continue. “With my rank, I may be able to convince the elders to allow existence if I train him. He’s already behind but if he can best his chiva, no one could kill him for being a hybrid.”

You stopped mid bite to look at him in horror. “He’s just a child! Your kind will kill a child because he’s a hybrid?! What is so bad about being a hybrid?” you questioned and abandoned your food to march up to Dai. Heated anger burning in your eyes, a passion to protect your son. The very son who’s father had come to kill.

“Everything.” Your face twisted with hurt. “It is a taint on a bloodline. A hybrid will never be as strong as its full blooded other. They are seen as weak. The yautja who aided as well.” His eyes finally meet yours again.

Did he just call himself weak? Your anger spurted out to glowing embers. That you didn’t expect. “So, you regret it. You regret that night.” Yautjas, or at least him, don’t use emotions very often. Just facts and instincts to drive them. The opposite to humans. You drew away from him and hugged yourself. His next move surprised you.

Dai shoved off of the wall and reached out with a hand. His palm cupped you cheek, thumb swiping away a stray tear. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t regret you saving me I saving you. I enjoyed that night. I… I wish I stayed.” The unique alien was showing emotion. More then you’ve ever seen before. “I wish I helped you.”

Words you never expected from him. He’s so stoic but this?

More tears flowed freely. “I was so scared. I-I couldn’t have anyone over to help me. I had to give birth alone! In my apartment and hoped nothing went wrong because I wouldn’t be able to take him to a hospital. I was terrified,” you cried. Then, you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his midsection. The Yautja tensed up, arms held up slightly, unsure what to do. A few moments past before he mimics you and hugs you back. You sniffed into his chest as he holds you.

.

Before stepping off the ship, Dai has to crudely attach a metal mask over your entire face. It was too large for you face but Dai was able to make it seal. Apparently, the air was more rich in nitrogen then oxygen for you to comfortably breathe. As for Austin, he had to bear the air without aid. He couldn’t show weakness. Even though he is just a child.

You’re lead down the ramp while holding Austin’s hand despite what Dai warned. This was your child. You didn’t care what others though if you seemed to be coddling him. Austin was only give. He’s still a baby to you and deserves to be coddled. Specially after everything the two of you endured at that… place.

Humid heat instantly smacked you in the face and made your clothes feel ten times heavier. You pinched the collared of your shirt and moved it quickly from your body to invite over movement. It didn’t help.

From the ship, Dai brings you into a small village. At the first sight of another yautja, you tugged Austin closer and tucked closer to Dai’s side. He stiffened for a millisecond but did nothing to produce space between the two of you.

Deadly glares were pointed on the two of you. Some eyes filled with confusion or even betrayal. Many kept a wide berth as if you were diseased. Others… were more daring and made attempts to grab at Austin. You reared around on the offender, ready to show how protective of Austin you were. Dai snagged an arm around your waist though and carried you away from the situation. Austin had to run after the two of you to keep up with Dai’s long strides.

He came to a sudden stop. A shadow casted over you. Your head snapped over to see a towering yautja glaring down at Dai’stbaen. This one was at least a head taller, easily more. Your anger washed away with hear freezing the bleed in your veins. This one could easily pop Dai’s head off it wanted to.

“You brough it back. Alive? With the mother?” it snarled viciously and crowded into your shared space. Dai slowly set you back down and guided with on hand to have you stand behind him. You realized the unknown yautja was speaking what must be their native language but the mask was translating to you. “The council will have your head for this. I should take care of the problem before it reaches them.” It steps even closer. Your beats loudly, threatening to explode. You hadn’t even been on the planet longer than five minutes and were about to be killed.

A growl tumbled out of the yautja protecting you. “You have no authority, Luc-ilio. This is an issue for the council, not you.” What parts of his back that weren’t covered, you saw the muscles rippling as he prepared for a fight. You clutched Austin’s hand tighter.

The newly named Luc-ilio stood tall and looked down at Dai. “Who knew an enforcer such as yourself would stoop to such levels to breed. I am glad you declined me for breeding rights now. No one wants your tainted bloodline now,” it sneered before spinning on its heel and strutting away.

Though confused on most of what it had said, you couldn’t help the guilt that pooled in the pit of your belly. Clearly having a child with his has tainted his image to his tribe.

Dai acted no different and carried down the stone path. You followed after him with Austin in tow. The child not understanding a word that was just said. At least the air didn’t seem to be affecting him.

A large pyramid-like building stood tall in the middle of what must be the middle of the town. Dai didn’t stop and marched up the first flight of stairs. You picked Austin up and placed him on your hip before going up the steps. Dai didn’t slow his stride. The steps were meant for someone of his stature, making the journey hard for you. Worst of all, carrying your fifty pound child wasn’t easy either. But you made it to an entrance about one-third from the base of the pyramid. You could feel the mask struggling to provide the necessary oxygen for you.

Two guards stood on either side of the entrance. Both geared up with fancy armor and large spears. Their eyes narrowed on you at first then darkened at the sight of Austin there. You held onto him a little tighter and turned your body away from them.

“The council is in a meeting,” one grunted after tearing its green eyes off of Austin.

“They will want to speak to me,” Dai’stbaen countered and squared his shoulders. The guards look him up and down then snorted.

“Yes. Yes, they will,” the other spoke in a hoarse voice that grated on your ears.

The guards allow you access into the building. You were thankful to get out of the direct heat and sun. It felt like it was cooking you alive.

Once inside it wasn’t much better. There was no breeze to help ease the stifling heat that threatened to suffocate you. More guards were scattered on other doorways leading further and deeper into this tomb. Austin tightened his grip on your clothing and huddled closer to you.

Soon enough, deep down, the three of you reached a grand set of doors. Another pair of guards stood on either side. These two were massive like the first yautja you had seen on the planet. You got a good look at them and realized… Are those breasts? Their woman are larger than their men. Holy shit. They were much larger.

Two spears came down and blocked the door by creating an ‘X’. “The council is in meeting. No entry is allowed until afterwards,” the one on the right, a rich brown hide, stated firmly and met your gaze. Disgust evident in them.

“I must speak to them. This is important,” Dai demanded and stepped forward, urging them to let the three of you in.

The sneer they gave Dai dribbled onto you and Austin. “Male, you have no rights to demand anything. That thing is your offspring.” How did they know? Austin has speckles of red scales along various spots on his body but besides that, you couldn’t see other similarities. You hugged Austin once more and watched them careful. It’s evident that everyone has something against Austin and you for just existing unfortunately.

“Just tell-“ Dai started.

The beige woman stomped her foot down with a growl. “No! Leave now before we finish the job for you and satisfy the council at your slackness.” You gasped and stepped back, ready to flee if need be. The rich brown yautja grinned at the fear you had for them. Who wouldn’t?!

Before either of them could get another word in, the large doors were pulled open.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Another massive Yautja appeared in the door way with a snarl on her wrinkly face. Her golden eyes roamed over the scene in front of her and landed on Austin and you. The center of attention at this point. “In Paya’s name, we ordered you to kill it, not bring the wretched thing here with its mother!”

Dai’stbaen fell to a knee and bowed his head. “Ma’dam Siln-taunh,” he greeted with great respect. Ma’dam Siln-taunh was highly decorated in armor, bones, and fur. Her status clear even to your clueless self. You started to tremble at the deadly look she gaze you. Even Austin whimpered and tucked into your side, burying his face into your neck. “Ma-dam, if I ma-“ he began but was quickly cut off.

“Don’t tell me you-you sired it!” she gasped, mandibles flaring either in disgust or anger or both. Probably both. You took a step back. Her teal blue eyes snapped towards you at the movement. The disgust tenfolded in the blueness.

Instead of cowering or bowing his head in shame. Dai stood tall, head level. “I did. The ooman had saved me but got injured in return. I let her stay with me until she was healed. We g-“ She interrupted him again.

“It should end there. You pay back that duty due to our code and left the soft meat immediately afterwards.” If Dai hadn’t kept you for that month… Austin wouldn’t extist. None of this would’ve happened. And you didn’t know if you would’ve wanted that.

When a pregnant pause entered the air, a figure appeared behind Ma’dam Siln-taunh. Unlink Siln-taunh, she stood there with mirth in her eyes. She found Austin tucked against you, gaze softening. Before you knew it, the rust brown pushed past Siln-taunh with a gasp.

“Oh my goodness!” she said and stopped directly in front of you. Dai’s shoulders tensed up but he didn’t come to your recue. You stared wide eyed at her and took a step away, turning your body away to hide Austin from her. Her overexcitement died off. She took a step back and immediately clamed down. “Apologies. I did not mean to frighten you in such a way. I have never seen a young hybrid before.”

“Calinork, do no,” Siln-taunh growled out. “Get away from them. They are probably riddles with diseases.” Calinork snorted and squatted down in front of you. Your protective instincts continued to flare to like. An unsure glare was set on Calinork.

“He is adorable, ooman,” Calinork stated, ignoring what Siln-taunh said to her. “How old is her? Has he began training yet? He seems big enough.” She was definitely different compared to the beige alien you began to slow relaxed, still on the edge. The lump in your throat was push down.

“He recently turned five… and, uh, no. We don’t do that. He’s not like you guys.” Austin may have half of their DNA, but you weren’t going to let him go fight monsters and aliens. He was going to stay safe under your wing until the day you died. No one was going to hurt him. No under your watch.

She smiled, at least you think it was a smile. “But he is. If he has a lick of his sire’s heart, he’ll do just fine here,” she told you with a confidence you didn’t have. You hugged Austin harder despite the ache in your arms.

Ma’dam Siln-taunh hissed and marched towards thee two of you. Calinork whirled around while standing up at the same time. Dai moved towards you as well, hands flying to his hunting knife at his side.

“That thing will not be permitted to stay here, let alone alive. It needs to be put down like the disgusting, soft meat hybrid it is!” Ma’dam Siln-taunh snarled and tried to get to you, almost bypassing Calinork. Dai pushed you behind him, knife at the ready. Calinork stares the Ma’dam down until she finally stopped. The two of them sizing each other up before Siln-taunh backed down.

“As the right hand of our empress, my word overshadows yours tenfold, little Ma’dam. The hybrid will get to live like any other offspring. He will be trained by the esteemed Dai’stbaen to overcome his chiva at the rightful age of fifteen solar cycles. His mother will wear my seal to ensure her safety. Should anyone come to harm either without reason, punishment will be the last of their worries.”

All four of you stared wide-eyed at Calinork. Her declaration firm in the air. Siln-taunh’s mandibles tightened over her mouth. It looked like she wanted to heavily disagree with Calinork but wasn’t in an position of authorityto disobey the command.

Ma’dam Siln-taunh respectfully bowed her head, muscles strained. “Yes, La’dam Calinork.” There was something in her voice that made you feel uneasy about the whole situation. More than before. You glanced at the back of Dai’s head want comfort and reassurance. The moment far too tense to allow any weakness to reveal itself.

“You’re dismissed,” Calinork sent Siln-taunh away. The beige woman staged for a moment longer, glaring daggers that promised death, then took her leave.

Not all the tension left the hallway. The guards still stood at their post watching the whole thing. Calinork shut the door and lead the two of you away from there and into a private room. The door closed with a soft click.

You finally set Austin down, your arm about to give out. You kneeled down to his height and checked him over, ensuring nothing had happened to him. Dai knelt next to you and gingerly placed a hand on your shoulder. Tears pooled in your eyes but you did your best to suck them back down for Austin.

“Why does everyone want to kill him? He’s just a child, an innocent kid. He’s done nothing wrong!” you broke into a crying fit and hugged Austin close. He was a bit confused but returned the gesture. You didn’t care if Calinork watched. Fuck everyone. “Your kind are monsters for killing children just because they are different.”

Calinork walked around to stand a few feet behind Austin. “Hybrid are looked down because they aren’t pure blooded yautjas. A taint on a bloodline. Only the strong survive in our society. It’s the way of life,” she explained and leaned back against a stone desk built into the ground.

You scowled at her through the tears. You could care less about her being the right hand of the empress. Their whole society sucked. “I don’t care. Let Dai’stbaen disown him and cut his ties. I will not let anyone take him away or kill him. He’s my child!”

Dai looked at you with a hint of hurt in his gaze. Calinork shook her head. “One, it doesn’t like that. Two, even if you could, I wouldn’t recommend you doing that. Dai’stbaen will have to defend you and your child until he can do it himself. All of you have painted a massive target on your back. Dai’stbaen will also have to work twice as hard to gain the favor of the elders favor again.”

At this point, it sounded like being back in that facility was better than here. At least they needed you alive to keep Austin somewhat calm. They just wanted you dead here. No remorse.

All you wanted to do was break down and cry. To sob to your hearts content. There hasn’t been a moment in the last six years that you’ve caught a breath.

Finally, you picked up your head to look at the rust colored yautja in the yellow eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” It feels like you’ve been backed into a spiky corner. Either to be slaughtered by a very murderous race or be impaled by spikes. Neither sounded pleasant or ever merciful.

She steeled her gaze on you.

“Survive.”

.

The cottage-like home that Dai brought Austin and you to was homy. In a way, it was both primitive and modern. The skulls and pelts decorating the walls gave you a cabin feel. Except it was a jungle where the home sat. Thick, possibly deadly foliage around you.

Dai’stbaen sets down the gear he brought off of his ship. “There is only one bed,” he stated and rummaged through the bag. A metal canteen was pulled out. “I do have plenty of pelts to craft another sleeping spot if you wish.” He seemed unsure, almost in a nervous way. After the day’s events, you wanted to just collapse. “You hadn’t gotten much sleep on the way here. All you could do was nod your head and follow after him to a bedroom decorated heavily with skulls. If you weren’t exhausted, you maybe you would’ve had a different reaction.

Instead, you went over to the low, massive bed and flopped onto it. Austin crawled up after you and made his own spot near the middle. The moment your head hit the mattress, you were out like a light.

[castiels-peopleskills]

okay i have nobody to talk about destiel irl with and i am losing my mind so here goes.

dean’s love is absolutely insane. he was betrayed by the only man (angel) he ever let into his life that was not his blood relatives or father figure. he denied it again and again despite usually being the one between him, sam, and bobby to jump to conclusions. then, after all the events of betrayal and lying and godstiel and the leviathans, he keeps cas’ freaking coat. it was practically cas’ only possession on earth- and dean kept it. he moved it from trunk to trunk when the brothers were in hiding. no matter how much anger drove him and flooded his thoughts, he kept the coat.

fast forward to purgatory (skipping events in s7 tbh cause i did not like it, then again who did?) and he searches for cas for a YEAR. an entire year passed and he never wavered with his mission of finding the angel. despite still having such complex feelings about the recent events, he was still determined to find him. he was legitimately haunted by images of cas after he got out.

all in all, we understood clearly throughout the entire series that cas was driven by love for his humans. but to believe dean was merely driven by duty or debt or anger concerning cas is beyond me. he loved that angel so much. for a man who was driven by anger his entire life and it was all he had known, his love for cas triumphed that to a point where that anger still existed, yet he loved. his love became second nature. i will not believe for a second that dean only did all he did because he thought he owed cas for pulling him out of hell and saving him.

both dean and cas were soldiers. both of them abandoned their positions for a love neither of them could have. they are so tragically close to love and yet so far from it. nothing will ever compare to this freaking cw ship.

[superbat-love]

The supernova explosion in the distance sent ripples of light and energy cascading outward, painting the universe in a fiery brilliance.

Inside the spaceship, cheers erupted as the kids pressed their faces against the windows, marveling at the wonder. Jon and Damian argued over who had spotted the supernova first. Tim and Conner busied themselves snapping endless pictures. Jason leaned back in his seat, arms crossed but wearing a rare, relaxed grin. Even Dick had abandoned his attempt to get a group selfie, mesmerized by the cosmic spectacle outside.

Beyond the ship, floating silently in the void, Clark and Bruce watched the celestial display unfold.

“It’s… beautiful,” Bruce murmured, the awe in his voice audible even through the comm link.

“It really is,” Clark agreed. For a moment, he simply watched Bruce, content to see him caught up in the grandeur. Then, with a soft smile, he said, “Happy New Year, Bruce.”

Bruce blinked, caught off guard. “New Year?” he repeated. “It’s not midnight. And we’re not even on Earth.”

Clark’s smile widened. “I can hear them,” he said quietly. “Back in Gotham. Metropolis. They’re celebrating. Counting down. Cheering.”

Bruce tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “You can hear that? From here?”

“Of course,” Clark replied. “And what better way to start the year than with this view? With you?”

Bruce’s gaze shifted back to the supernova, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re being sentimental.”

“And you’re enjoying it,” Clark countered teasingly.

Behind them, the laughter of the kids echoed faintly through the comms. The ship’s blinking lights stood out against the infinite void like a cozy beacon.

As the supernova dissolved into the stars, Bruce glanced at Clark. His expression softened for a moment, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Happy New Year, Clark.”