#((Mod thinks he has come down with some stomach bug or something...))

[gaseous-science-blog]

Curls up in pain...

[foulserpent]

nosleep mods deleted this for apparently not being a horror story. enjoy

My friend Ed is a bit of an outdoorsman. Not one of those hardcore 'two week hike hunting for food and sleeping in the dirt' types, but he does his share of hunting and camping. He and I got into it together when we met in community college and went on a weed-fueled camping trip over spring break, and since then he has far outgrown my own outdoor endeavors.

He's gotten some great stories to tell over the years. Finding a pair of souvenir Vegas dice in the stomach of a rabbit he was cleaning, getting hit by two skunks in a single day, close encounters with pumas and bears, and the far more harrowing and painful encounters with other hikers. But he's never come back with anything all that disturbing. Until his last trip.

Ed had been making an admirable effort of converting his 'spend the fall watching netflix and consuming pumpkin themed beverages' oriented boyfriend, Saúl, to some small game hunting. About a year ago, the two of them had taken a trip down south to do just that.

A few days into their week-long trip, I got a flurry of panicked texts from Saúl. It was all things like, "omg we just saw something so messed up" and "never going to the desert again LMAO there was a naked guy" or something to that effect.

I barely remember. I was bedridden with the worst case of the flu I'd ever experienced, and received these texts through a haze of fever and Nyquil. At that time, my response to those texts was more or less "Wow, hate when that happens :("

Neither of them provided elaboration upon their return, and I was a little too consumed in my own misery to ask for it. It was left at that.

Last week, Ed and I were practicing our usual 7 o'clock ritual of smoking behind the gas station during his break and complaining about the mere existence of customers. His mask was pulled down to his chin and he was fumbling with an entire cigar he'd brought to work, complaining about some customer who was shirtless in the middle of November and clearly blitzed out of his mind.

It was as he was describing the man's public indecency that I remembered the frantic texts I had received last fall.

"Hey, speaking of nudity...What was the story with the naked dude in the desert?" I asked him.

He cringed.

"From last year, on your trip?" I pressed.

"Yeah, I know, I know. God. Did Saúl text you?"

"Yeah, but he didn't give me the details of it."

Ed finished lighting the cigar, and took a long drag.

"Yeah, okay." He said. "I was honestly trying to forget about it but like. I don't know why Saúl was so stuck on the nudity like, that was the least messed up part of it all. It was the craziest thing."

It was the craziest thing is the set of words he would begin every particularly intriguing story with, and I realized I should probably settle in. I made myself comfortable against the dumpster in anticipation.

His story was as follows.

"So, yeah. We were out in the scrub. Technically weren't supposed to be there, we were a little ways off my aunt's land but like, there's no one to bug you about that out there. It was this kinda rocky area, lots of little hills and tall brush. So you couldn't see very far from the ground. And it was pretty well into the afternoon, and we hadn't caught a damn thing, so we were just kinda screwing around at that point. And we were near this bigass arroyo, and-"

He paused.

"Wait, you know what an arroyo is?" He asked me, taking another drag from his cigar.

I shook my head. He nodded solemnly at my midwestern ignorance.

“Okay, yeah. So it's a dry sorta riverbed in the desert. You ever seen a dried up creek? It's like that. They form when the rains come and are completely dry the rest of the year. And a lot of them are pretty small, but this one was like, a miniature canyon. Probably thirty feet across and ten feet deep. And it kind of winds around the hills before getting shallower when the elevation changes or whatever.

“So anyway we’re… yeah we’re there. The arroyo is on the other side of some rocks, and the open desert is in front of us. And we were sat down in the shade, having some beef jerky and stuff."

He paused again. He seemed to be lost in thought, eyes squinting and looking somewhere distant.

"So yeah, we're having a grand old time, just having a snack or whatever. And suddenly we hear screaming. Some guy’s screaming, ‘help! help me!’ out in the bush somewhere nearby.”

“And you know how Saúl is. Too much of a sweetheart for his own good. He's like nudging me and going "Eddie, we should go help." And yeah, sure, I wanted to help but there was something… Weird? About it? Like the shouting sounded real close but I wasn’t hearing anything else that, you know, accompanies a call for help. Like, no running, no sounds of struggling or being mauled by a wild animal or whatever. It was DEAD silent whenever the guy wasn't shouting.

"And like, call me an asshole but I'm not gonna do some ‘white person in a horror movie 'lets split up, gang!'’ shit. I was staying right where I was.”

"So we just kind of sat there, listening to it. The guy had started just- shrieking. No words, just making noise. And at this point I was starting to feel like a complete bastard for being the pragmatic one, but Saúl didn't seem to wanna move either. Like, it was super off.

"And then, there’s another sound. Kind of a…uh… Gurgling noise? Like-”

Ed broke off to make an odd sound in his throat. It was a low, prolonged croak that slowly lifted into a 'whoop!’

Some old woman in the process of fueling her SUV glared at him. He scowled back.

“Okay, it was actually nothing like that. But you get the idea.”

“And that happens a couple times, and it... It didn't sound like a person's voice anymore. And I'm thinking maybe the world's most fucked up coyote just killed a guy and was celebrating or whatever, but it didn't really sound like an animal either. It was kinda inorganic, you know what I mean?

"But yeah, it kind of whoops a couple more times, and then the last time it just... Didn't stop. It kept going, and it turns into this- music? It sounded, uh, sort of like a bunch of different flutes being played at once. But lower. Very deep. I don’t remember the tune so don’t ask. But it was music, and me and Saúl are just looking at each other like "what the fuck?”.

"And at that point, curiosity is kicking in and I'm gripped by this wave of idiocy, so I get up and start walking towards the sound. Low to the ground, super slow. Stealth. And I can tell it’s coming from the arroyo. So I just verrrrry carefully climb up the side and look inside.“

Ed paused to grasp for words.

"And there’s a man in there. Some pasty dude. Sunburnt, t-shirt tan lines, all that. Pretty scrawny, but otherwise normal looking from the chest down. No injuries or nothing, which I can say for sure because, yeah, the dude is completely naked. I mean naked. There was a pile of his clothes nearby, and his whole dick was out and he was barefoot. And he was DANCING. He’s just dancing naked in this friggin’ ditch.

"And it took me a bit to process what was going on with his head. Like, the music sounds are coming from up there. And I’m thinking he’s got some sort of weird instrument over his head, but he dances towards me and um. He has no head. Or like- Shit. He kind of has a head? Like I could sort of make it out, but it’s tilted all the way backwards. Like, touching his back. So his neck's facing the sky, and his eyes are just kind of staring out behind him.

"And there’s all these… tubes. Coming out of where the nose and mouth probably used to be. Big fleshy tubes, skin toned. But they didn't flop around, they were like, pretty firm. And they’ve got little holes all over them. And that’s where the music is coming from. He’s playing them.”

Ed lifted his arms over his head and mimed with his fingers. “Like a flute”

“So like, it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen, basically, but I can’t stop watching. And Saúl eventually comes up beside me, and we don’t say anything, we just watch this guy. It’s gotta be like… A solid hour we’re just sitting there, with this guy playing his music and dancing around. And he starts moving up the arroyo, still dancing the whole time, and eventually he’s out of sight. But we hear the music a good while longer until it gets too distant. I don't think he ever saw us. Or he didn't care. I don't know."

He was silent for a long while. I waited for him to continue, but it was evident that it was over.

"And... That was it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that was it. We got the hell out of there and didn't see him again. Or hear anything about a crazy nudist in the area."

He took another puff of his cigar, and coughed.

"I mean, it could have been... A really, really good costume or something. Like, REALLY good. I mean I definitely saw his eyes blinking. On the head that was... You know. Bent entirely backwards. But hey, could be a costume!" He added with a flourish, clearly not entertaining this possibility whatsoever.

"Holy shit." I said.

He laughed, and snuffed out his cigar in the snow. "Damn right."

[moonvains]

How would you feel about writing a Nagito x fem!Reader where he has Hanahaki over her? I’d prefer angst with a happy ending but that’s up to you

Nagito x Fem! Reader - Hanahaki Disease

‘How would you feel about writing a Nagito x fem!reader where he has Hanahaki over her? I’d prefer angst with a happy ending but thats up to you’

Hello Anon !! I absolutely love this request, I feel like theres so much I can do with it y’know? I added my own twist that is very, very angsty, and made me cry once or twice. but hopefully, this happy ending will work in some ways - Mod Mikan

Italics = Flashbacks/Past

Standard = Present Tense

TW for accidental overdose scene and seizures

TW for emetophobia, goes without saying since I’m writing a hanahaki plot!

-----

It started with the hiccups, small breathy hitches in his chest, that felt like collapsed buildings and porcelain shards, it stung his throat. Nagito, most very naive, thought almost nothing of it at first. That changed, when he sat heaving and coughing over the fancy porcelain toilet at hopes peak.

As he sat there on his knees, sweat dripping from his head, a pain in his cheek and sticky palms wiped onto his dress pants, he cursed himself with his luck.

It could be worse, just a stomach bug, my luck has obviously changed..

That is what he thought, or maybe wanted to think. A thought deeply embedded into his frail mind every time there is a mild convenience burdening his way. Its just my luck.

Though, as he looked up, green eyes glossing over what would usually be a nasty sight of a quick snack.

Nagito saw flowers, ethereal, magenta roses, dainty petunias and elegant dandelions, floating in the water below him, almost as if they were dancing.

Once again, his breath hitched, though he wasn’t sure if it was from whatever this was. This wasn’t his luck, this wasn’t despair, this wasn’t hope. This was plain, lonely, one sided symptoms of something so delicate, something so sad.

Nagito met you on a summer day, a cool breeze blowing, his hair stuck to his lips like glue. Ultimate luck he guessed. The rest wasn’t important, it was forgotten, and it was irrelevant and it was stupid.

stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid

Nagito was stupid from the moment he ran into you, from the moment he brushed his lips against yours, and from the moment he looked into your eyes. he was stupid.

Stupid to think he, a disappointment, a burden, would ever be graced with something as angelic, gentle and kindhearted as you. He was right, he was really stupid.

It all made sense after you were taken away. The words still rang in his head, quite frequently

Nagito yawned, for a day where he had almost nothing to do, he was quite sleepy. He sat in class 1-A, it was Friday “study” period for class 77-B. Usually you would sit next to him or sleep on his shoulder, or maybe play video games with Chiaki. Though this time you were sick with a bad case of the flu, and he was bored shitless. He blew his hair off his face, only to watch it float back down, then he’d blow it up again.

This went on for about 15 minutes until he got a call, he wishes he didn’t get it, though knows if he didn’t pick up, it would’ve been worse.

“Nagito.. I think I messed up”, your words were slurred, hiccuping and teary.

He knew immediately something bad had happened, he would tell in the way his stomach dropped, and the uneasy anxiousness took over his body.

“Can you please come back to my house, its only me here, I need help”.

Nagito didn’t have to think twice, he ran to your house in a sprint. he didn’t know what was going on, nor what had taken place. Though with the urgency in your house, and the way you sounded off the edge of reality, he knew it was bad.

He didn’t think it would be this bad, he didn’t think it would be his fault, But it was, thats how luck works.

He walked into your house, door unlocked, the air smelt musty and there was silence apart from a dripping tap and muffled crying, it’s not hard to guess which one he went running too.

He ran into the living room to find you on the floor in a ball, your lips were blue, skin pale and eyes wider than they’d ever been before.

“Please just help me”, you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to do this”

Nagito clenched his fists while he sat, flashbacks of what happened circled through his mind. the bathroom floor was cold but his hands felt hot. He didn’t want to admit it, but this was a long time coming.

Hanahaki disease, one sided love huh? I guess it is one sided to love someone nonexistent. What hurt the most is that there was no recovering, the cure stems from the love being returned. There is no love from six feet underground, only worms, maggots and empty promises.

Eyes clenched shut, Nagito held your hair back as you expelled whatever was left in your stomach, he hated that you were in pain, there was yet to be an explanation of what was happening. Walking in only to find his lover sprawled out of the floor, crying slurred nothings before vomiting all over the carpet.

“I..I”

“Speak slowly my love, whats happened?’

“I took a handful of those herbal flu pills you left out on the counter this morning, I figured because they were plant based ”

Thats right, Nagito thought, he left his medication on the counter this morning after staying the night.

his medication on the counter

not herbal pills

a handful of Prozac 50mg capsules

he felt his heart stop

his mind searched for the side affect panel on the pamphlet when he first started taking them

strange dreams, dry mouth, decreased appetite

he remembered the second page

signs of overdose:

dilated pupils, seizures, nausea and vomiting, respiratory issues, fast heart rate and oh my god what the fuck have I done

Mind racing, hands trembling, Nagito held you close, there wasn’t time to explain, thats it, there wasn't time. His hands fumbled for his phone, holding sobs back listening to the operator instruct him to position your barely conscious body into a position seizure friendly.

Cries and mumbled words of “what have i done” escaped from his mouth as he laid you on your side, his school bag under your head and floor cleared from anything potentially dangerous. He sat there, on the floor, holding his chest sobbing, waiting for the ambulance

(Authors note ! DONT use this as a guide to help someone having a seizure or overdose, this is simply from some googling and own personal experiences, if you suspect someone you know is in danger, get a trsuted adult or medical professional)

Luck is a tricky thing, bad luck, good luck, there is a spectrum. Usually someone lives out their life on a scaled ratio of luck, some have unfortunate luck, some have spectacular luck. Though there are the unfortunate few that lie on the sidelines. Their luck a forceful rollercoaster of up and downs, tragedies and utter miracles.

The past couple of months in Nagitos life was a tragedy, who knew the dip of the rollercoaster could cost him so very much of what made him whole.  

As he sat there, the cold tile floor providing comfort for his aching palms, he remembered the paramedics, pathetically inserting a needle in your arm and calling it a day.

“We couldn’t save her, our deepest apologies”

He was angry, he knew you were gone from the moment your eyes rolled back and you lost control of your muscles, he could only sit there and scream.

But if they tried? At least do you decency? Not just act like you were another statistic is their salary, a teenager making a stupid decision.

Your parents were called, the room cleaned, and you were gone, that was it. The relationship you and Nagito held for two years crumbled. gone, as simple as that.

The white haired boy turned up to school the next day, face hollowed out with utter despair, eyes puffy and hair matted. He simply couldn’t deal with being alone, god knows what would’ve happened.

He reluctantly walked into homeroom, Miss Yukizome stationed at her desk with her almost programmed smile “Goodmorning Komaeda! I’m so glad youre joining us for another wonderful day!”

Another wonderful day? Another wonderful day watching the love of your life dying on her living room floor, loosing all control of her body and all you can do is sit there and tell her you love her, praying to all gods above she can hear it? Or Another wonderful day of crying and screaming yourself to sleep? ripping and smashing all the memories you have together in a pile because thats better than sleeping in a comfortable bed knowing she is on a plate of steel in the morgue?

Nagito kept his thoughts to himself, god knows he would probably get sent to a psychiatry institution if he spoke what was really on his mind.

With that, he sat down, eyes at the blank blackboard, fingers tapping at his desk, holding back tears that were already cried.

“Komaeda, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Teruteru exclaimed as he entered the classroom

“I wish I had”

He put his head on his desk, talking he couldn’t make out among his classmates filled his ears, he wanted quiet, ‘I wonder if she got quiet?’

Was there an afterlife? Or just a void of empty words and unfinished business. he wouldn’t know unless he experiences it himself, sooner or later.

“Okay class, try and get in some work today okay! I know you can do it” Miss Yukizome sung.

“Komaeda, can you get out of y/n’s seat, she should be coming in soon, hm?”

He didn’t even realise he was sitting in her seat, he was used to sitting at her desk with her, helping her with her work, playing with her hair and just enjoying the company of each other.

“No”, Nagito replied, fast and cold. It was strange for him to act this way, sure, he had a very valid excuse. Though it was unknown territory for the rest of the class.

“Oh no, has she still got that nasty flu? I hope you don’t catch it my dear boy”.

“No”, again, the same, the class had quieted down, he was usually so cheery, so full of hope and adoration for every single one of them.

“Well send my love to her, It’ll be great to see her again when I can” She smiled, completely oblivious.

“You can, the 18th, its an open casket’, Nagito grinned at her, a grin of something so far away from happiness, it reminded Yukizome of a clown, so creepy, yet so theoretically happy.

Everyones faces dropped

Nagito got up from the bathroom floor, this had happened weeks ago, but felt like minutes ago. He waited, and eventually, it stopped.

He walked back to class, the heels of his shoes tapping the hardwood floor of the hall leading up to his classroom. he entered solemnly, like he has every day since then.

Everyones faces dropped

Yet again.

Nagito knew what they were staring at, he didn’t want to address it, but he knew.

On his cheek grew a rose, sprouting at the top of his lip to the bottom of his cheekbone. For such a tragic disease, it was quite beautiful.

For such a tragic event, it felt so beautiful

God okay this was sad and a bit quick, I really did try to do a happy ending, though sometimes, for stories like this, I think it is a little to cliché, Stay safe everyone ! I hope you like this <3

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 9/11

So, this is one of the chapters that earned this fic its M rating. Those who read the original probably remember what’s coming, but just to warn the rest of you: this chapter contains attempted rape and graphic violence.

Now that I have those trigger warnings out of the way, this is also the chapter that finally gets around to the prompt that originally inspired this whole idea. The prompt was: “A child is kidnapped, and the monster under the bed isn’t happy about it.” Let’s just say, Killian is the monster and something happens that makes him very, very angry. You won’t like Captain Hook when he’s angry ;) Well, I do, honestly, but there are characters in this chapter who won’t.

Thanks once again to the @captainswanbigbang​ mods for hosting the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-Thon as well as my betas @shippingtheswann​ and @optimisticgirl​ - you both are the best!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: About 3k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 23

Emma is on pins and needles all day long, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s such a bundle of nerves at her new waitressing job, that she spills coffee and breaks two dishes. She berates herself, thinking she’s going to end up her own worst enemy and get herself fired. But her boss is surprisingly patient, chalking it up to first day jitters.

It’s jitters, all right. Fear of the universe screwing her over again, for one. And then the more pleasant kind of jitters, the kind that has red creeping up her neck and butterflies doing a chorus line in the pit of her stomach. The memories of last night with Killian are making it incredibly hard to concentrate on the here and now.

Surprisingly, Emma makes it to the end of the day without any major catastrophes. Her bug starts just fine, and nothing looks amiss when she gets to Jackie’s. She unlocks the back door entrance to her rented room with her eyes closed. She isn’t sure what she expects. A fire? A flood? Neal? She chuckles ironically at that last thought. She spent two years looking, waiting, pining. Now Neal is the last person on earth she wants to see.

But when she opens her eyes, nothing is amiss. Yet her feeling of dread doesn’t abate as the night wears on. The mac n cheese she makes for supper sticks to her throat, imaginary sounds assault her in the shower, and her hands shake as she slips into her pajamas. (Though she doesn’t worry about dropping the towel – Killian is welcome to look now.)

She climbs into bed wide awake. If she was the type, she would read a book to pass the time. She wishes there was a TV. Instead, she lies there staring at the cracks in the ceiling. As time ticks on, she sits up and hugs her knees like she’s ten again and stares at the wardrobe. Could it be possible? Have she and Killian finally defied fate?

As if fate has a sick sense of humor, Emma hears at that very moment loud shouts from the main part of the house. Then crashes, things breaking, and a scream. Emma curses herself for her delayed reflexes; she’s entirely too off her game tonight. She leaps from the bed and grabs a poker resting against the fireplace and hoists it like a club just as two burly, tattooed men burst through her bedroom door. Emma swings the poker at them as they barrel towards her, but she may as well be swinging a toothpick at a grizzly bear. They sling her across the room, then lift her up and slam her against the wardrobe. The first of the two men, with a shaved head and biceps the size of boulders, squeezes her throat with both hands.

“Where are the drugs?” he demands, shaking her.

“I don’t know!” she gasps, clawing at the hands around her throat.

The second man begins to tear her room apart, opening drawers and flinging out their contents. He pulls her duffel out from under the bed and dumps it all out on the floor. Emma thinks of Killian and begins to kick her feet against the wardrobe door. It kicks her assailant, too, which is convenient, and one particularly hard kick lands right where it hurts most. He yells and drops her, and Emma scrambles across the floor on her hands and knees as she gasps in sweet air.

She’s just gotten to her bedroom door and grasped the knob when the second man grabs her by her hair and slings her across the room. She hits the side of her bed and slides to the floor. The man lifts her up, pinning her arms against her side, and shoves her onto the bed. He gets on top of her, his knees pinning her legs to the bed.

“Let’s have fun with her,” he snarls to his companion, “then I bet she’ll tell us where Jackie hid the stash.”

Emma thrashes, but he has her pinned. She looks longingly towards the door, which has swung open. Her heart plummets when she sees Jackie lying there in a pool of blood, her throat slashed. The bald man chuckles at his friend’s suggestion and comes over the other side of the bed.

“Sounds fun,” he sneers.

Emma panics and claws at the men as they pin her arms above her head. “Killian!” she screams, turning her head towards the wardrobe. “Killian!”

“Shut up,” the men snap, one of them slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. Emma turns and tries to bite him.

“She’s feisty,” the one on top of her says, his breath rancid, “this will be fun.” He pulls out a knife and holds it to Emma’s throat.

Just as the other man reaches down and rips at her pajama shirt, a blur of black leather comes crashing through the wardrobe with a feral yell. Killian yanks the man with the knife off Emma and slashes him across the throat with his hook before he can even lift his knife. Emma slides from the bed and to the floor, pulling her ripped shirt closed. The bald man flies over the bed towards Killian, and Killian spins out of the way. The man lands with a loud grunt, and by the time he scrambles to his feet, Killian has pulled a sword from a scabbard at his side. Before the man even realizes what is happening, the sword is plunged deep in his gut. Killian yanks the sword free, and the man crumples, dead in a pool of his own blood.

Killian spins towards her, his long leather coat swirling about his legs, his eyes a steely blue as he gazes at her with a tortured expression. She’s always been one to scoff at the whole damsel in distress trope, but at this moment, she has never seen anything more beautiful than this man. She swears he seems to glow like some avenging angel.

His face falls as he glances first at his bloodied hook and then at his bloodied sword. “You’re afraid of me,” he says.

Emma shakes her head, unable to speak as tears tumble down her cheeks. She knows how she must look, curled in around herself and shivering on the floor. “H-he ripped my shirt,” she says, hating how small and vulnerable her voice sounds.

Killian’s sword clatters to the floor, and he quickly wipes his hook on the bed sheets as he falls to his knees beside her. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

He then shrugs out of his duster and drapes the heavy leather over her shoulders. Emma clutches the coat closed and falls against his chest. He holds her as she weeps.

“Did I get here in time?” he chokes out, and she can hear that he’s crying, too.

She nods against his chest.

His hold tightens around her, and when his words come again, they are tight with righteous indignation, “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she whispers.

They fall silent as he holds her, running his hand through her hair. Eventually, his hand moves to cup her face and he gently tips her head back to look at him. “Emma, last night changed everything for me. For the first time since I was a lad, light filled my heart.” His thumb wipes at the tracks of her tears, and he smiles hesitantly at her. “Come with me, Emma.”

She looks long into those pools of cerulean and braces herself for him to say he’ll take care of her. It’s what men always say in these situations, at least in the movies, and while part of her longs for that, another part of her rebels against it. She doesn’t want to owe him or need him to the point she loses herself, like with Neal. Killian traces her jaw, then thumbs her chin, and she waits.

He smiles at her and says, “We’d make quite the team, I’m sure of it. And I have a feeling there’s a little pirate in you, love.”

Emma’s eyes widen in complete surprise. That wasn’t what she thought he would say at all. Even now, trembling in a ripped shirt, he’s still looking at her the way he did when she told him about kneeing Robby Eddleston in the nads. Like he believes that she can do anything.

Emma glances around the tiny room with cracks on the ceiling and yellowed paper on the walls. At the miniature table with only room for one lonely chair. What’s keeping her here anyway?

Then her eyes take in the gruesome scene of three dead bodies. She’s the only survivor of this little bloodbath, which evidently has something to do with drugs. The cops won’t believe she’s innocent, not with her past criminal record. No one will vouch for her, the court assigned attorney won’t see a need to fight for her defense. Case closed, neat and tidy. She’ll go back to jail.

Emma smiles up at her pirate in shining armor. “Why not?”

His grin practically splits his face at her answer, and he presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. He sheathes his sword, then before she knows what’s happening, he’s scooped her up in his strong arms. Emma rolls her eyes.

“Killian, I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

He smiles down at her with that crooked grin he’s always had, even at ten. “Never said you weren’t, love, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

The wardrobe begins to emit that familiar glow as he turns towards it. Killian toes it open with his boot, then steps through with Emma in his arms. Behind her is death and decay, but before her is a stately Captain’s quarters with a bank of bright windows. Killian puts her down and she turns in a slow circle, still clutching his duster about her frame.

“It's so . . . neat and tidy. I was expecting it to look more like the Black Pearl in the movies.”

Killian scoffs, “That git Jack Sparrow? I take far more pride in my ship than he does. And why does he get a movie, too?”

Emma laughs as she turns to him. “You don’t even know what a movie is. Or have you seen one since I saw you last?”

He scratches behind that ear again. “Um, no. But I like the idea of being famous even in your realm.”

He grins at her cockily, rocking back on his heels. She turns and sees the wardrobe behind her. Emma reaches out a shaking hand in wonder. “Unbelievable. It’s just like the one in my world.”

“Aye,” Killian remarks, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She turns in his embrace, wrapping her own arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.

“I’m so tired, Killian.”

“I’ll leave you then,” he tells her, “there’s a trunk in the corner of Milah’s old things. There should be a nightgown. I’m not sure if it’s your size, but we can stop in the next port and buy you some things of your own. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

He kisses the top of her head and turns to go, but she grabs his hook to stop him. “Don’t go. Please.”

He steps closer, eyeing her in return. “After what happened, I wasn’t sure . . .”

His words make her melt inside. How could he ever have been a villain? She takes his hand and threads their fingers. “I trust you,” she tells him, “and I just want you to hold me.”

He does as she asks, and his embrace combined with the swaying of the sea, lulls her into the deepest sleep Emma has ever had.

 Emma and Killian: 23

When the sun shines through the small windows of his quarters the next morning, Killian feels content and well rested in a way he hasn’t in years. He knows that a large reason for that is the woman in his arms. He looks down at Emma, her back to his front. Her blonde hair is a riotous mess, tickling his nose and chin. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her cheeks pink. He remembers how she trembled the night before, how wide her eyes had been, how small she had looked curled in on herself as she attempted to cover her body. He wishes he didn’t know what that trauma was like, wishes seeing her didn’t bring back memories of recoiling from Liam’s touch after . . .

Killian presses his eyes shut, unwilling to go back to that place, even all these years later. Instead he presses a gentle kiss to Emma’s head and lightly runs his finger down her forearm. Sex is the last thing on his mind right now; he’s far too concerned with making sure she feels safe. He knows it may take her awhile to feel comfortable with more than platonic embraces, and some days, she may not want even that. He is determined to be whatever she needs.

She’s here with him; that’s all that matters now. Finally, after so many years, they can really be together. There’s no rush for them to figure things out, and he’ll wait as long as it takes. He lifts her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles before turning her palm up and pressing a chaste kiss there. His thumb runs over the inside of her wrist, and he stills.

Blinking, Killian leans closer to look at the design upon her inner wrist, and his breath catches in his throat. He’s seen that mark before . . .

“He has it, the mark that I found in my research,” Tink whispers to Killian.

The boy finishes the cup of water the fairies had given him, his brown eyes still wide and fearful as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth. When he does, Killian sees it - the mark. It looks more like a tattoo than a birthmark and is shaped like a small flower. The child sets his cup down, and Killian notices his hands are still trembling.

“It’s okay,” Tiger Lily tries to assure him, “no one will hurt you anymore.”

“Where’s John?” the boy asks. It’s the first words he’s spoken since Hawkins rescued him from Pan.

Killian exchanges nervous glances with the fairies. Tink’s eyes are struggling against tears as she kneels beside the boy.

“He . . . had to go away. He didn’t want to, but . . . he . . . “

Killian tosses aside the poultice Tiger Lily had put on his head wound and paces with nervous energy.

“Do you want that wound to get well or do you want to drop where you stand?” Tiger Lily admonishes him.

“Oh please,” Tink grumbles, pulling her wand from the pouch at her side. She snaps her wrist towards Killian’s head, and his wound is bathed in pixie dust. He touches it tentatively, and grins when he feels no pain.

“Tink!” Tiger Lily scolds. “Magic isn’t to be used to -”

“Ladies,” Killian hisses, gesturing to the corner where the boy is now cowering. “It may be best to limit the magic until he’s adjusted, savvy?”

Killian spies Michael’s old teddy bear in a basket near the rocking chair. He remembers Wendy sitting there darning socks, and his breath catches. Pushing aside the memory, he picks up the teddy bear and gets down on his knees before the lad.

“We only want to help you, my boy,” he tells the child, offering him the toy.

The boy inches forward, eyeing Killian warily. He snatches the teddy bear and

holds it close, burying his face against the bear’s furry head.

“Let’s start with introductions, shall we? My name is Killian. What’s yours?”

“Henry.”

In the present, Emma begins to stir in Killian’s arms.

“Hey,” she murmurs as she turns her face towards him, eyes blinking with the remnants of sleep.

“Morning, love,” he whispers back, his thumb still tracing over the pattern on her wrist as he attempts to pull his thoughts together.

Emma turns in his embrace and gives him a sleepy smile. “Thanks for . . . well, everything.”

“I wish it had never happened,” he tells her huskily as he twirls a piece of her hair around his finger.

“Hey,” she says, pressing her palm against his cheek, “are you okay?”

He swallows, unsure if this is the best time to bring up her birthmark. “Just worried about you, ‘tis all.”

Emma frowns. “You’re lying.” She sits up and leans back against the headboard.

Killian takes in every line of her face, amazed at the intelligence and strength that he sees. There will be no subterfuge where Emma is concerned, that much is clear. He lets out a long sigh and takes her hand, gently turning it to reveal the mark on her wrist.

“How long have you had this, love?”

She chuckles lightly. “It’s not a tattoo, if you can believe it. I’ve always had it. Martha - you remember her, right? - well, she said it looks like a buttercup.”

Every nerve in his body begins to tingle. It scarcely seems possible. All this time . . .

“Emma,” he says carefully, taking her face in his hand, “the son you gave up . . . “ He hesitates, searches her widening eyes, licks his lips nervously, “did he have this same birthmark?”

“Yes,” she breathes, “how . . . how did you know?”

He presses his forehead to hers, hoping to bolster her. “Darling, would you like to meet him?”

“What?”

“Your son. I know where he is.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​​  @kmomof4​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @teamhook​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​ @winterbaby89​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @jennjenn615​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @spartanguard​​​ @shireness-says​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @nikkiemms​​​​@delirious-latenight-laughs​

[agent-yolk-writes]

Friends Like You and Us - Venom!Reader - Ch. 5

Successfully (hopefully) queued at the stroke of midnight to bring you the latest chapter of some spider shenanigans. Fresh off the back of AO3!

In this episode: The gang throws spaghetti at the wall until something sticks, Noir enjoys playing with the remote, you have a breakdown for five minutes, and your aunt really needs to get her shit together for important business trips.

I also made a master list! Anyone new who wants to start or the veterans who want to revisit that one part in that one chapter!

AO3 Version | Masterlist

”Welcome to the first, and hopefully only, Spider-Persons conference. First off, I would like to thank (First Name) for hosting us and fixing up drinks with what they had to work with. Our main objective tonight: get everyone back to their proper universes before we don’t feel so good anymore…” Ham eccentrically led the charge of the brainstorm session. He managed to clap the lights off and pulled down a projector screen out of nowhere, the screen flashing crude images of the four of you finding a potential solution with lines and circles everywhere. It almost looked like what football coaches had to look at. Staring down on all of you squeezed on the couch he added, ”...any ideas?” Before clapping the lights back on, shooting the screen back from where it came.

Not risking what damage you might’ve inflicted on your phone, you pursued what you were looking for on your laptop while being squished to the side of the couch. It’s loading speeds left something to be desired, but it’s still functional and you can’t complain. Venom does about the heat, but that’s out of your control.

Over the horizon of your screen, you could see Peni, seated in the middle, pulling a projection of your New York out of nowhere and zoomed in on your current location. You weren’t really paying attention to what she was saying as she played around with the map. You were internally arguing with your backseat navigator on where you say the post last, only to find out the mods did indeed removed it from the search bar. Now you’re left in a predicament.

Try finding news archives.

Oh...Oh yea...No wonder I keep you around.

Where was he when you had to take the SATs?

He was right. Spider-Man’s death was the national news! There were so many news choppers around that it almost risked the two of you being forced apart by sound alone. Because of that, as well as the risk of you getting caught, you didn’t feel it was safe enough to investigate it yourself. Thanks to the media, you didn’t have to do the heavy lifting.

“You thinking it could be Osbird?” You heard Ham ask.

“Osbird? Ain’t it supposed to be Osborn?” Noir questioned.

“(First Name)!” Peni calls to you. “Does the Green Goblin exist in this universe?”

Didn’t he...

Died with Spider-Man.

“...Exist

ed

. I think he got killed in the same explosion.” You mentally high fives your companion for being a database for most things super. Good thing your universes are very similar.

Still, that doesn’t help your allies as your enhanced ears heard Ham cursing under his breath.

To alleviate some of the pain you added, “...If it helps, I think he was working for this guy named Wilson Fisk.”

“Kingpin…” Everyone else said at the same time. “What in the Sam hell is he scheming?” Noir grimly added. Glancing at the Wikipedia page for him, apparently he has more money than god. Of course he would be living in NYC. That’s where all the corrupt billionaires live!

You wouldn't happen to know him, right?

Never met him.

Well, there goes your first potential lead. The first news article that pops up is Fisk sending his condolences to the aunt of Spider-Man, May Parker, as well as his wife Mary Jane. He released a sympathetic statement relating what it’s like to lose someone close. A jump to his Wiki states that he had a wife and son that were killed during a high-speed car crash. There were rumors for a while about the wife being the one in the speeding car, but all whispers were quickly squashed before the sun could rise the next day. Money really is an effective superpower these days.

Another article tells you that he’s been heavily involved in Alchemax, a business he acquired a few years ago. His main advisor and the one who looks after the company while he’s away is Doctor Olivia Octavius, a woman with the frizziest hair ever. You vaguely recall watching a documentary she was the main star in during your science class, but you didn’t really absorb what she was saying.

Your fingers rubbed your eyes to relieve some strain. It felt like listening to Hannah yapping non-stop about any villain Spider-man even looked at during lunch. Ever since this whole series of wacky events dragged you into this mess, you have just the right about of knowledge on at least the most popular, infamous really, supervillains.

“Welcome back to Inside Edition-” The new voice almost triggered your fight or flight responses if you didn’t look up and see that the television was on playing tonight’s Inside Edition. Wait, you didn’t turn it on. Looking to your left, you realized it was the only other person left on the couch with you and, thus, the closest one to the table with the remotes.

Squinting at Noir with tired eyes, you asked, “What are you doing?”

The monochrome detective was fixated on gripping the device in various locations. “Interesting...it doesn’t have wires, and yet it calls the huge black mirror to awake. It doesn’t run on steam or heat, not to mention it’s so tiny.” Surely they had batteries back then, right?

“Yea. That’s what remotes are.” You commented. “They were made so we don’t have to get up every time to change the channel. You can even change the volume to hear better...the long ones with the plus and minus on it.”

“And please do.” Ham waved his hand to get both of your attention. “I think something important is coming up.” You didn’t even have to question him as the television had the collapsed remnants of Spider-Man’s final stand being narrated by a blonde woman you can’t piece the name of.

“While the world still mourns the loss of Spider-Man, many are still trying to pick up the pieces of his final moments to paint a picture. Tonight, Insider Edition has gained exclusive footage from one of the first helicopters on sight of the explosion. What you’re about to see is graphic and may upset some viewers. Take a look-”

The camera switched to a shaky camera arriving on the scene. For a few seconds, you could see the East River and the Williamsburg Bridge that connects Manhattan and Brooklyn before it forces the viewers to focus on a trail of smoke coming from a crater.

“What used to be one of Wilson Fisk’s many investments is now up in smoke. There’s no word yet if there are any other casualties in the explosion. It is rumored that this building was used to hold scientific research and experimentations in the medical field. We tried contacting Fisk for a comment, but he has yet to respond.”

It cuts to another angle, and you could see a blur hiding away something red and blue. The original cameraman holding it let out a gasp and said something expletive. “We censored this for the viewers at home, but it was here that the camera crew noticed the body of Peter Parker, better known as Spider-Man, unmoving-”

The feeling in your stomach only got worse as the newsreel goes on. You felt upset to point of nausea. You wanted to tear your eyes away from all this sad news but at the same time, you don’t. You were there when the news broke out, you were at his funeral hiding behind one of the church’s spirals as his widow encouraged others wearing his mask that they too can be a hero. You could still remember the bile burning your throat that night, muttering ‘what-ifs’ to yourself as if you were the cause of his death.

You’ve only paid attention to him because he was your solstice to your new powers, but he’s now gone, leaving the two of you in the dark. You should be over this, but for some reason, you’re not.

“I-We’re going to bed. Goodnight.” With a slam of your laptop, you didn’t give them time to react before you slammed the door to your room shut and placing your desk chair under the knob as a security measure. You needed to be alone right now.

If it wasn’t for your companion supporting your body, you would’ve slammed your head on the bed frame. You were that much of a wreck that Venom had to assume control to get you safely on the bed.

“Talk to me, (First Name).” He rarely calls you by your name.

“I-I…” You got distracted with the tears streaming down your face. “I’m scared. It...It’s all coming crashing down on m-me now.” You grabbed the nearest pillow and stuffed your face in it. While anyone else couldn’t comprehend the muffled wailing through the pillow, Venom could hear you perfectly. “I don’t wanna do this! I never did!” After sobbing in silence for what could’ve been minutes, you let go of it to hug your knees. “Last month I thought about pursuing a career in journalism. How can I do that now? Now that I have a bugged alien in my system tearing me apart with him! Explain that to me, Venom!” You’re trying so hard not to alarm your compatriots outside your door, but you’re too exhausted emotionally at this point to properly check yourself at this point.

You could feel Venom’s tendrils wiping away your tears. His inky forehead bumps into yours like a cat. “(First Name), look at us. Breathe.” His voice rumbles something comforting in your chest. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and breathe alongside him. “That’s it…”

The room was quiet except for your synced breathing and the occasional sniffling. More minutes have passed and already you feel better than earlier.

“I...I’m sorry, Vee.” You whispered. “Everything just...happened, all at once. You, the other Spiders...I think this is what they call ‘imposter syndrome’ kicking in, I dunno.” Forcing out a laugh to ease the tension, you continued. “I just...felt out of place, having to put wool over our eyes to believe we’re sheep too. I hope we don’t have to suffer any longer. If everything works out, I don’t think anyone would have a clue about you...about us.”

Your symbiote friend curled himself around the pillow you were still latching onto. While it doesn’t feel like a genuine embrace, it’s the best thing you can work with.

“Do...Do you think tomorrow will be a better day?” You whisper.

“...I don’t know.” You’re not surprised at that answer. “We’re in a deep bond, we can’t lie to you even if we tried.”

“Do...Do you think it’ll affect whenever we find a way back to your home? The whole bonding thing?”

“...”

“...Vee?” You remembered him explaining about bonding briefly, when you had nightmares from his previous hosts. Symbiotes don’t really exist in this universe, so there’s no real documentation or even a tabloid piece about it.

“It's hard to say for certain. At this rate, we might die if this ’Kingpin’ lead gives us nothing to work on.”

”Yeah...That’s true.” You agreed, letting out a deep sigh. “But he has influence all over the place. He could hide anything if he waves enough money under someone’s nose.”

“Then we’ll eat them. Simple as that.” Venmo’s enthusiasm made you chuckle a bit.

“Well try not to eat their hands if there’s a fingerprint lock.”

“No promises. Now sleep.”

“Yeah yeah…” You snuggled deeper into your hugging pillow. “Night, Vee. Tomorrow’s gonna be better, I hope.”

“Goodnight, (First Name).” With that, you closed your eyes. If you went to sleep any later, you would’ve caught a conversation of two certain spiders from outside and something about a goober.

~

Outside of your room, the others were fixated on what came on after seeing the remnants of the explosion.

“Social media is blowing up over this mystery figure seen all across Manhattan. Blink and you’ll miss it, but it looks like there’s already someone taking the shape of Spider-Man!” It was a set of shaky pictures and so-called ‘tweets’ of people freaking out.

“On person tweeted quote, “Some nightmare version of Spider-Man just passed my window, i think that’s my sleep paralysis demon #fml.” Another reported saying quote, “I think I saw it ate the local drug dealer whole. gross. to think i had to witness vore at four in the morning. stay classy, nyc.””

“Our sources at PDNY say that this mysterious person, if it even is a person, is not believed to be involved in Spider-Man’s death. However, they are a person of interest in multiple disappearance cases involving convicted felons that have been released from prison ranging from drug dealers to serial killers.”

“PDNY reminds everyone that if they see something, say something.”

The trio looked at each other, an unspoken question is trying to be answered. Ham was the only one who looked at the door where you entered for the night before passing air through his lips.

“Pfft, there’s no way.” He says to Peni and Noir. “I mean, what are the chances? They’re too nice and they’re housing us. If they were harboring a murderous symbiote, they would’ve told by now...right? Right?”

~

A surprise pair of glitching and convulsions woke you up earlier that day. Not wanting to feel sick by getting up immediately, you just lied there and drifted up for two hours or so before a series of knocks jolted your sleep away.

“Rise and shine, kid!” Noir yelled.

“We got a mission!” Peni added enthusiastically. A mission? This early? A glance on your phone, however, says it’s almost 10 in the morning. So much for going to school.

You pushed your upper body off the bed with a groan. Venom pushes himself back under your body and into your ‘pajamas’.

“Mmmf...it’s too early for hero stuff..” You grumble, wiping off any remnants of sleep. “Don’t heroes have...unions, or whatever?” Was among the other incoherent grumbles as you washed up and got ready for the day.

Finishing your wakeup routine in the bathroom, you were immediately greeted with your three inter-dimensional companions bustling around as much as they can in such a small apartment. SP//dr’s hanging out on the fire escape ladder, but his visor is lighting up inside so you can barely make out Peni hard at work with something. Noir’s holding the remote, continuously surfing channels and not really stopping at all even at the channels that play classic black and white film. Ham is...stacking a tower from whatever he can find on the fridge. You pray he didn’t see the unopened package of black forest ham you know that’s in there.

Of course, Ham was the first one to notice you staring at him. “What? I’m a growing pig.” Before you could even answer that, he slides the leaning tower of breakfast into his mouth in a single bite. You couldn’t help but be impressed yet slightly jealous.

The mech’s visor slides open and out pops out Peni. “Good morning! Sorry we didn’t wake you up earlier, but the phone rang.” She explains.

“Did you...answer it?” You asked with an eyebrow popped up.

“Well…” She looks down, pushing her pointer fingers together like she’s hiding something she broke. “We tried, buuut...we couldn’t figure out how to actually answer it.”

You looked over at the home phone. It wasn’t anything special, just a wireless phone that you had to press a button in order to answer an incoming call. “...You don’t have cordless phones in your home universe?”

“Everything’s at my fingertips, so I don’t need one at home.” Was her defense.

“Mine has a sleek new design that looks like a candlestick.” Noir turned his head to add in.

You looked over at Ham. “And what’s your excuse?”

“...In my defense, we have cans with a string between them. Reception’s a hit or miss these days.” You shouldn’t be surprised at his answer, but it still doesn’t stop the double facepalm you gave yourself. Peering back to the phone, you noticed that there’s a blinking light indicating someone left a voice message. As you walked over to play it, part of you prayed it wasn’t the school asking for your unexcused whereabouts.

“You have, one, new message.” Don’t be school, don’t be school... “Hi, sweetie! It’s your aunt!” Oh, thank god. “I hope you’re doing okay on your own, but I need your help with something. I...accidentally forgot to send out a file on my work computer, and I need it for an important meeting tomorrow. Would you be a dear and head over to my office? There should be like multiple post-it notes with the file name as a reminder for me to send it.” Mary laughed as her own forgetfulness. “Your visitor pass should still be working, so use that to get in. I’m sure the guards will enjoy seeing your lovely face again. Try not to stumble onto Alchemax’s floor this time. Call back soon, love you~”

“End of message. To delete the message…”

You look back over at the trio sheepishly. “Oh, yea...forgot my aunt works in a pharmaceutical building that neighbors an Alchemax branch...Hahaaa, that’s soo weird…Now what?”

You could hear Venom sighing inside your head. Funny how things seem to go together right when you need it.

[pokeshippingflashfic]

One word prompt: facepalm

(Sorry for the delay. As I said in my mod note awhile back, I had a rough 24-36 hours, and then got a bad cut on my finger a day or two later that made it hard to type so I had to give it a couple days to heal up.)

If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the past eight or so months of traveling with him, it’s that Ash Ketchum is quite the embarrassment.

You’re halfway to sleeping when the initial thought crosses your mind but it sprints around in ascending circles inside your head before you think to stop it in its tracks.

Whether he’s running off to do something bullheaded or eating himself into a coma while spectators take bets or his pants are falling down in the middle of the street (who cares that it only happened that one time Sabrina’s dad used his psychic power; the point is that it mortified you to witness such a thing), Ash Ketchum is an embarrassment to have around sometimes.

The whole thing stresses you out beyond belief. It’s even led to you eyeballing him out of the corner of your eye nearly constantly just so you can be mentally prepared to handle his next stunt. Sometimes your instincts kick in and you grab a hold of him to try and tell him off, dragging him in the opposite direction. Sometimes you need to scarf down a parfait in the closest cafe you can find in the city your group’s currently traveling through just to relieve the pressure of being in Ash Ketchum’s company. Oh, and sometimes you end up wrapped up and pulled into one of his stupid scenarios too, which is far too exhausting to consider the reasons for!

But now, for the first time since tagging along on that dumb kid’s dumb Pokemon journey, you’re eroded with a random wave of insomnia while sharing a room at the local PokeCenter and all you can do is lay back and think about what a gawd-awful embarrassment that Ash Ketchum is.

All of the above commentary is not to say that he has a tendency to keep you up at night (though the current situation may seem evidentiary to the contrary). And, while a partial statement lifted from your aforementioned thought process could be construed as something akin to caring about him, you’re setting the record straight and clearing that air asap! You don’t care about Ash Ketchum, not really. Sure, you’re civil most of the time, you’ve even felt concerned enough once or twice to personally check in and make sure he’s still alive but… but any decent human being would do the same thing so that shouldn’t count!

No, the truth is you can barely stomach him more than you can stand the presence of bug-type Pokemon. That’s what Ash is to you. A bug. An annoyance.

Though, and your brows furrow together, forehead creasing down and nose scrunching up, it’s not… quite the same. Bug Pokemon are creepy, they even kinda… if you’re gonna go so far as to admit it… scare you. Ash, by comparison, makes you feel neither creeped out nor afraid.

In fact, haven’t there been a couple of times when you’ve… depended on him? Even when it concerned bugs?

You groan aloud to yourself, going immediately stiff in the dark when you hear one of your companions shuffle as they roll over on one of the other beds in the room. You squint in the direction of the silhouette as it shifts and eventually stills, concerned someone would wake and ask questions about what’s preventing your sleep. And there’s no way you’re going to let anyone lord over you the fact that Ash Ketchum is keeping you up at night.

Because he’s not. Because that’s absolutely ridiculous.

… Though, even if someone asks, it wouldn’t be frowned upon to admit that the densest, most frustrating Pokemon trainer in the world is haunting you.

No! You snap onto your side, wrenching the pillow halfway from under your head and covering the ear that is on the other side as if this tactic will somehow drown out your thoughts. No, no! If there’s one way to prevent such a thing from even cropping up in conversation, it’s to change your entire thought process right now before it spirals any further!

If Ash Ketchum makes you think of other things you don’t like then the best way to combat that until you finally get called to dreamland is to think of things you do like, right? Hah! Flawless plan!

So you think about the water, and swimming, and swimming with water-type Pokemon, which are your favorite… That’s nice…  But really, Pokemon in general can be quite nice… and so, quite definitely, are the people who treat Pokemon well…

… People like Ash Ketchum?

I’ve never met anyone like him before…

Your eyes shoot open as the direct quote of your past self flutters through your mind. Some part of you, the part that really had begun to doze off again, can still feel your fingers lace together behind your back, can remember the fullness bursting in your heart as you admire him from afar. But that tender scene took place months ago now.

This isn’t working, you think, rubbing both of your palms against your strained and burning eyelids, falling once more onto your back. What’s the saying? You’re doomed if you do, doomed if you don’t?

What can you do when a particular someone else is invading your consciousness and keeping you from the rest you need? Your ire burns in first, screeching that you should obviously cause that person the same disturbance they’re causing you. It’s what they deserve for insighting such distress!

And yet… and yet there’s another piece of you, logical, more mature, that chimes in next, stating that… perhaps there’s something to be worked out here in the middle of the night involving this other person if they’re capable of keeping you up.

Ash Ketchum is an embarrassment. That’s the root thought that started everything. But Ash Ketchum is admittedly… quite a lot of things. He’s a… decent trainer, you suppose, though he’ll never compare to you. He treats Pokemon like equals, like friends, and it warms your heart to know that people like him indeed exist. You always felt out of place for thinking similarly in Cerulean City. It’s not that people back home were cruel to Pokemon but… was it the same as the level of personal sacrifice Ash tended to lay on the line?

There’s a snort from one of your roommates, presumably the same boy that’s consuming your consciousness, though it irks you some to think a split second later that you know him well enough to recognize the odd sounds he makes while asleep… Where has the time even gone these past eight months?

Ash is - well, he rarely ever allows you the gracious firsthand experience but he’s - a decent person to have around at all. Sure, there are times when he’s annoying, when he’s dumb, dense, stubborn, reckless, immature - oh, wait, you’re working yourself up again… Let’s give it another go…

The point is, despite all of these traits you have bared the brunt of, there are other times when… when he’s more than decent. The times when he stands up against Team Rocket, for instance! Sure, they’re not much of a threat but it’s not like Ash is obligated to fight them… and yet he does almost daily! And there are the people he helps on a regular basis too.

And… well, beyond interpersonal exchanges, Ash is… he reminds you of yourself… which is kinda weird to consider now but once the thought is in your head it refuses to dissipate. He’s young yet passionate enough about training Pokemon that he wants to run headfirst at any challenge coming his way. He cares about nothing but his Pokemon and being the best, his spirit occasionally overwhelming bystanders, including yourself. It’s nice to see that same fire in someone else on a daily basis. It reminds you of how much dedication and work you have to do as well in order to make it to the top.

Was there… a reason for these thoughts circling your mind?

You can’t quite remember, but they put you at ease, comfort you as you lull into a snooze.

The lightning strike of emotional turmoil stamps you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, both your hands immediately, instinctively clamping over the front of your face as you straighten up against the mattress. You can feel your eyelashes flutter against your finger tips, your hot breath puffing against your palms as you moan quietly to yourself in the dead dark and quiet.

You’d thought that Ash, in all his frustrating egoism and with all his childish quirks, was the embarrassing one… But here you’ve been using him as a coping mechanism to help you fall asleep, internally listing reasons for admiration and likeness and telling yourself it’s a must in order to find any peace tonight…

And honestly, is there anything at all more embarrassing than that?

You spend the next few minutes rolling around, mourning your less emotionally aware state of mind, gone now after half the night’s been spent on dissecting your relationship with this dumb boy…

But after that, you spend the following five or so hours sleeping soundly among your companions without any disruption until it’s time to get the next part of your journey together started.

And you’re remiss to confess even to yourself that thinking good thoughts about Ash Ketchum effectively did its job.

Thus your next round of denial begins.

[saccharinedanganimagines]

Shuichi, Kokichi, Rantarou, Komaeda, and Gonta flirting with their crush

Shuichi

Will occasionally side-eye you, contemplating on whether or not he should even flirt.

It takes him a long while and he gets really quiet, opting to half-listen to you while he rambles in his head.

‘Hey! S/O, you look really cute today!’ Uh... no, that would imply that they don’t look cute everyday, which isn’t the case because-

You’re gonna have to snap him out of it before he cuts off his own air supply. Because he cups his hand around his face while deep in thought.

When he registers that you’ve been calling his name, he flushes.

“H-huh? Sorry, S/O... I was just...

Shuichi stops, thinking if he should just lie about what he’s been thinking or not as he steels his reddened face.

“It’s just that... It’s cute whenever you get so passionate about something.. I-I can’t help but to admire you and get lost in though because of it.”

Was- was that too honest? Cheesy? He gets a bit self-conscious. He shrinks away from you.

Until you react positively from his words.

He doesn’t regret saying it now. Not when your cheeks start to look a little rosier.

Though, you may have to initiate the flirting, Shuichi would respond to you. It just takes him a little bit of time o adjust to flirtateous banter.

Kokichi

Unless you’re easily flustered, Kokichi will have to work more to have his flirting taken seriously.

Because he rapid fires his flirts around you in the first place, you got to the point where you just figured it’s how he usually acted.

And following after that, he’d either tease you or try to sweep most traces of sincerity under the rug.

“Oh! It’s S/O! It aaaalways makes me smile whenever I see them.” He’s gonna say this as loud as he can so lots of people can hear as you approach him.

... “Just kidding! Aww! You were blushing, weren’t you~”

How else can he tell you that you need to stop being so adorable?

He’ll also be a bit touchy.

He’ll look for excuses to cling to your arm or hold your hand. He’ll likely do it if he wants to drag you off to set up a prank or to show you something.  

His favorite thing though, is seeing you laugh.

It’s when you two are engrossed in your usual conversations that he lets his true thoughts slip through.

“Nishishi! Man, if I knew that would have made you laugh so easily I would’ve brought it up earlier!”

 ...

“I hope I could give you more reasons to smile like that!”

It’s subtle, but that’s as far as he’s willing to admit to you. For now. He tries to pass it off casually, but it greatly contrasts his usual jovial demeanor.

He means it. This clown will do anything to get you to laugh more.

Rantaro

He’s the Ultimate Playboy

No,not really. He just seems like one. But that’ just the rumors talking. 

It’s just that his way of being sweet also included becoming a walking, talking compliment machine. He’s casual about it too.

But only around the person he likes. 

New skirt? Looks nice. Not as lovely as the person wearing it though.

Cue that perfect smile of his.

He’s often concerned that he would come off as a completely overconfident cassanova.

But the way he bashfully rubs the back of his head and smiles sheepishly reassures you that he truly means the best of what he says.

As the Ultimate Survivor, he’s naturally aware of his surroundings.

He notices the tiniest little things.

The way you smile a little whenever you see something you like or even recall a nice memory with him.

He wishes that he could share memories to smile about with you too.

It drives him semi-mad whenever he sees you chipped a nail, but he doesn’t say anything unless you bring it up.

He’ll be smooth about his flirting the more he realizes he wants to ask you out.

“Hey, your shoelaces are untied.”

Honestly, he thought that this might be crossing a boundary between the two of you.

But what’s an adventurer without a risk?

“Heh. ‘Can’t have you falling for other people, now.”

By now it should be really obvious that he likes you a lot.

Komaeda

Hopesexual

Your hope makes you shine brighter than anyone he’s ever seen before!

But it’s strange... The ultimate hope shouldn’t feel so much despair as you...

Before and/or during his time in the Neo World Program, Komaeda would take a long time to see you for you, rather than seeing the hope inside you.

It throws him into a loop, trying to both disprove and justify that you’re everyone’s hope. Trying to see you as a person, but often failing and regressing into hope rambles.

Post Neo World Program Komaeda would tone his hope obssession around you now that he’s able to differentiate between hope and a person more.

Komaeda is a blunt and laid back person. He’d let slip what he really thinks once you get to know him a little.

The difference is that, if he can’t tell you and Hope apart, his flirts are less of a compliment and more of a way to place himself under you.

The way he puts himself down or acts self-destructively encourages you to spend more time with him. He lowkey takes advantage of that, just so he could be around you more.

He enjoys your company, believing that his feelings for you is just hope.

Subconsciously, he may start to let that slip through his words too.

“S/O... if you keep holding my hand like that, I might just start developing feelings for you!”

“Hmm.. Maybe I should start looking for ways to cast myself some bad luck. So that I could use the good luck after it to spend some time with you.”

Eventually, he’ll begin to realize that it’s you, and not that idea that drove him mad.

Gonta

Sweet and Gentle Cinnamon roll

“Hey, S/O! Would you like to spend some time with Gonta?”

He’s going to go Full Gentleman Mode

All the while he spends time with you, a happy and content smile graces his face.

He’ll open doors for you, pull up your chair for you, and ask every now and then if you’re enjoying your time with him.

Ah! But only if you’re comfortable with it! Gonta understands that S/O is an independent lady too!

The most considerate one of all the boys. He tries so hard so that you’d enjoy his company

You have to convince him that an Insect Meet and Greet 2 wouldn’t be necessary.

He has a lot of butterfly friends.

He’ll ask you to come take a look at them every now and then. You’ll watch them grow and fly around his lab with him.

He finds himself looking at you more than the butterflies.

“Gonta thinks you’re as pretty and colorful as Gonta’s bug friends, S/O!”

“Could it be... this is the ‘Stomach butterflies’ feeling that Tenko mentions around Himiko??”

Because of you, he tries to set his butterfly friends free in his lab more often. Just so he could remind himself of you.

First ever imagine! Yippee! - Mod Ouma

[atuasandprankstersimagines]

NDV3 Boys confessing to their crush.

A new imagines blog! Can I request the NDV3 boys confessing to their crush? Thanks in advance.

I hope you like it dear!

-Mod Angie

Shuichi Saihara

This poor boy is really nervous.

What if you reject him? What if you ignore him afterward? What if he never sees you again?

So many things are going through his head.

He spent an entire day writing his confession for you, but he was still really insecure about it.

He finally decided it’s time for him to confess.

He went to your house and knocked on your door.

‘She probably isn’t even going to answer it...’ he thought.

But you opened it right away, smiling at the sight of your friend.

You asked him why he was holding a bouquet of flowers and a piece of paper, only for him to stutter.

His face was already as red as a tomato.

He looked at the paper in his hands and started to slowly read the confession out loud:

“S/o, y-you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had, spending time with you always make me happy, staying by your side makes my heart beat faster, your presence calms me d-down during the worst moments, your eyes that are always filled with hope bring me joy every day. Even if there are high chances that you’ll reject me, I want to confess that I... I-l love you, I can’t imagine a world without you.”

His face is probably burning at this moment.

You smile to yourself, hearing the adorable confession made your heart flutter with joy.

It’s up to you your answer and true feelings.

Rantaro Amami

From all of the boys, he’s definitely the most chill about this.

He had asked his sisters before some advice on how to do a good confession.

Just keep it simple, just buy a flower for you, maybe some chocolate.

Everything is going to be a-okay.

That’s at least what he expects.

First of all, he invited you for a walk around the park, the weather was a little hot, but not too bad.

He bought some ice cream for you and him to keep you both cool during this quite sunny day.

Are you hungry? Let’s go get some snacks.

Are you thirsty? Let’s go get something to drink.

Are you tired? How about we lay down under that tree?

You had a really fun day!

Now you two are sitting on a bench, the sun is setting down as you both talk to each other.

It’s finally time for his confession.

He takes a deep breath and looks deep into your eyes.

“S/o, I’ve loved you since the day we met, your bright smile brings hope to me every day, your fun personality makes me happy, your beauty always makes me blush... I can’t really express my feelings in words, they are too big to be expressed through a simple confession, but hopefully, you’ll know that I love you more than anything else in the world.”

His cheeks were dusted with a light pink, one of his hands was behind his head.

You were flattered by his words, but... Do you love him too?

Kokichi Ouma

He acts like it isn’t a big deal.

But he has never been so nervous in his entire life.

He makes a plan to confess to you, and his organization’s members are going to help him.

He first asks you if you would like to hang out with him.

Then, he selects a place for you two to hang out at, which in this case is going to be an amusement park

He sets his entire organization to make everything go as perfectly as possible.

During the end of the day, he’s going to confess.

Nishishi! There’s no way this plan is going to fail!

Right..?

Well, there’s only one way to find out!

When the day of the ‘date’ reaches, he’s feeling nervous.

Thankfully he’s able to pretend that he’s totally fine.

The day went as smoothly as he wanted it to go.

His organization’s members set up accidents so you two would get closer to each other, they randomly served you popcorn and cotton candy and even got a way to let you into a ride for free.

Everything was perfect so far!

But the hard time has come.

He has to confess his feelings for you.

“Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile.”

Wait... What?

“Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears! “

Is this..?

“If you were a vegetable you'd be a cute-cumber!”

“Ouma, what are you-”

“Do you have a Band-Aid? Because I just scraped my knee falling for you.”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“No, it’s a confession! Nishishi!”

“You aren’t lying, right?”

“Nope! It’s totally true!”

He looks happy and bubbly on the outside, but he’s dying on the inside.

You don’t know if you should laugh, blush or cringe, but you must answer one thing: do you love him the way he loves you?

Gonta Gokuhara

What should he do?

W h a t  s h o u l d  a  g e n t l e m a n  d o ?

He’s clueless about how to confess to you.

Should he write something? Should he give you a little bug? Should he just directly tell you?

He needs help, he really needs help.

He asks Kaede for advice. She tells him to come up with something on his own.

This doesn’t help him too much.

Since Kaede told him to come up with something on his own, maybe he should write a poem!

He grabs a pencil and a paper, already imagining what he will write for you.

He wants to tell you how beautiful you look, how amazing you are, so why not make a poem about all of this?

He starts it, not thinking it would be too hard.

But it takes him hours to come up with the perfect words to describe what he thinks about you.

There’s also the problem that his writing isn’t the best, you can barely understand what he writes...

But he’s going to persist and do it!

The poem ended up not so bad, it was okay actually!

He needs to show it to you right now!

He takes a little monarch butterfly with him, inside a bag, it’s an addition to the poem!

He asks you to go to the forest with him, and you accept.

You find it a little weird for him to be carrying a big bag around but doesn’t question it.

When you two are deep enough into the forest, he says there’s something he wants to tell you.

He takes a butterfly container out of the bag and asks you to hold it.

He also takes the paper with the poem out of the bag and starts to recite it for you.

“S/o is as beautiful as a monarch butterfly, Monarch butterflies make Gonta happy, S/o is as cute as a monarch butterfly, And Gonta likes monarch butterfly’s cuteness! Gonta loves S/o, even more than he loves monarch butterfly! So does S/o love Gonta too?”

You have never heard something so cute and innocent like this in your entire life.

He stares at you with a smile and hopeful eyes.

But... Do you love him too?

Kaito Momota

This guy right here.

He’s REALLY STRAIGHTFORWARD.

If you think that he’s going to plan a confession, bring you flowers and prepare a beautiful dinner.

Well, I think you’ll be a little disappointed.

He’s anxious, of course, but he doesn’t have anything planned.

He just randomly decides that he’s going to confess, RANDOMLY.

He just calls you and asks you to come over, SIMPLY OUT OF NOWHERE.

He prepares a few snacks for you two and has the idea of you two watching a movie together.

But that’s all he has planned.

He planned it at the moment you ringed his houses' doorbell.

AT THE LAST SECOND.

He opens the door and greets you, he tells you that you’re going to watch a romantic comedy.

You didn’t know he that likes romantic comedies, but you decide to not question it.

You two ate popcorn, drank soda, cringed and laughed during the entire movie.

There were the cheesy scenes that made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but that’s okay!

After the movie ended, he decided to confess to you.

He asked you to look at his eyes, straight into his eyes.

He finally opens his mouth to speak.

“S/o, I’m not really that good with confessions, but I think you’ll get the idea! I love you more than anyone in this universe! You’re my star! You’re the girl I’ve dreamed during my entire life! Actually, not my entire life, but since I met you. You’re the most amazing and awesome person in this entire galaxy! Do you love me too?”

What the-

You weren’t expecting this.

He said such sweet words... He’s truly an amazing person!

But... How should you answer this?

Kiibo

This one is really anxious about it.

He did a research on feelings like love and the chances of being rejected or accepted.

The poor boy didn’t understand most of it.

He asked Miu for help. It definitely wasn’t a good idea.

So, he decided he needs to come up with a nice confession.

He spent 1 hour thinking about the right words to use in every single sentence of the confession and memorized it.

While he was still getting prepared, he got a phone call from you asking him if you can come over to his house.

Oh no.

He told you that you can come over.

But was it the right thing to do now?

He isn’t prepared for this, he’s panicking.

He managed to calm down a little... Only for him to hear the doorbell ringing.

He rushed to the door and opened it, he’s almost over-heating.

You greeted him with a smile, but you frowned at the moment you saw his red face. What happened?

You asked him if there was something wrong, only for him to panic even more.

In an act of even more panic, he blurted out his confession.

“S-S/o, I really really like you! You make me feel human emotions that I never thought I would ever feel. Love isn’t something that I understand very well, but I can assure you that I have feelings for you! Seeing your face makes my heart flutter, watching you laugh gives me weird butterflies in my stomach, I can barely understand these feeling! So please, answer truthfully, do you love me too?”

You take a few seconds to process everything. Kiibo loves? How is that possible?

But the most important thing is: do you love him too?

Ryoma Hoshi

He really didn’t want to confess to you since he’s already expecting rejection.

But keeping these feeling to himself is making his situation even worse than it already is.

He needs to do something about it.

He plans to confess to you the next day, he knows you’ll reject him anyway, so why plan something complicated? Why not just go up to you and tell you that he loves you?

Maybe if he confesses, you’ll distance yourself from him, maybe this way it won’t be so hurtful to you when his end comes.

The next day, he asks you to come over to his house, he has something really important to tell you.

He hangs up before you can say anything.

Getting to his front door, you ring the doorbell and wait for him to answer the door.

He opens it right away, with a depressed look on his face.

He asks you to sit with him on the sofa.

You’re confused, what is it that can be so important?

And then, out of nowhere.

“S/o, I love you.”

W-What?

“Excuse me?”

“I love you, I really love you.”

So... Ryoma loves you...

You weren’t expecting this... You definitely weren’t expecting this.

You wonder how much time he has loved you, maybe days, months, or even years.

Do you... Love him too?

Korekiyo Shinguuji

You probably are the most beautiful exemplar of humanity he has ever seen.

He loves you deeply, he loves you more than anyone else in this world!

He can’t keep these feelings to himself, he has to confess to you as soon as possible.

He planned to confess to you during nighttime, under the light of the moon.

He bought a bouquet of lilies for you, a type flower that he loves.

They’re just as beautiful as you.

He invites you to his house, smiling to himself while talking to you through his phone.

You take no time to get to his house.

When he hears the doorbell ringing, he answers the door as fast as possible.

You look beautiful as aways.

He invites you to have a cup of tea with him, and you accept with no hesitation.

You two sat down on the sofa, Korekiyo offered you a cup of tea.

He takes off his mask to drink the tea while looking at you mesmerizing face.

When you two finish the, he takes you outside.

it’s time for him to confess.

He takes your hands and starts to confess.

“I have never seen such a beautiful human being before in my entire life, your beauty is almost the same as of millions of other human beings, you bring joy and creativity to me every time I see your beautiful face. I could say hundreds of words to describe how wonderful you are, but I don’t have the time. I love you, I love you a lot dear S/o, do you love me too?”

You were speechless, no one has ever said stuff about you like that.

He loves you a lot, and that’s something that you appreciate, but...

Do you love him as much as he loves you?

[pokemagines]

guzma & kukui + guccihighwaters prompts

ask: Hey, yes. Can I pretty please have some Guzma/reader or Kukui/reader imagines based on some sadchill music? (I really love guccihighwaters and think it would be pretty neato to have imagines based on that.) (Also, if you don't want to do it, its fine. I'm in a down funk, anyways.) <3

a/n: the other mods were like wtf is this but i looked up and listened to guccihighwaters specifically for this ask and … oh my god i understand what anon means… i Fucking Understand… signed, mod elesa. 

guzma: you can’t really save me. / i hate me too. / way out of my head.

guzma isn’t sure when he realized what love was.

his eyes rake your sleeping form, the moonlight from the broken mansion window casting highlights across the sheets. you look so peaceful like this, compared to how stressed out you usually are when awake.

he likes watching you sleep, bare shoulders littered with freckles and love bites from the prior lovemaking. his bony fingers lazily trace patterns on your skin.

tick. tick. tick.

he doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you, thinking about you and how you kicked his ass in malie city. it made his blood boil, losing to someone who looked like they were twelve — at the same time, he craved that adrenaline rush from the heat of battle.

guzma challenged the elite four numerous times solely for the chance to battle you again. of course, with how much time had passed, you beat him easily. if he didn’t stray from his bug strategy, he didn’t have a chance against your team.

a part of you admired his dedication to his team members. golisopod always fist-bumped you after a heated battle, something that always made you smile. although the loser is supposed to immediately leave, you let guzma stay a while, chatting and playing with your pokemon in the champion’s room.

tick. tick.

you’ve watched him go from gang member to upstanding citizen. the transition is barely noticeable looking day to day. you looked at where guzma was before you came to alola versus a year and a half later and for some reason, you feel proud.

you decide to pay him a visit, knocking at the door of the team skull mansion and greeting the many grunts with a smile. you’re not a new face around the hideout; your little visits to guzma didn’t go unnoticed.

someone’s finally able to tame the big boss?

i think he likes her. he wouldn’t let her visit if he didn’t, right?

she really brings out the best in him, doesn’t she?

tick.

another argument. another vase broken. another wall with a fist-sized hole. guzma just can’t seem to get things right; he always ends up hurting someone.

this time, it was you.

you’d forgiven him, but he swore he still saw disgust in your eyes. he groveled for days on end, wanting things to go back to how they were.

that’s not reasonable, guz. we just have to work through it and build something new.

and he finds himself agreeing, mirroring the smile on your face as he brings you in for a passionate kiss.

tock.

you awaken to an empty bed, nothing but a warm spot where guzma once lay.

it’s nothing new; he likes to disappear sometimes. he says it keeps him sane. you don’t know where he goes or what he does, but you trust him.

right?

kukui: these dreams feel real / run from me

professor kukui was an enigma.

from the first moment you met him, you knew this. he had stories to tell, secrets he hid, things he couldn’t share, but you ignored that because he’s beaming and he’s excited to show you around the island. you’re a little older than the rest of the challenge-goers ( “professor kukui, i’m 18.” “you’re joking me, cousin! oh my goodness, are you really? you’re so old!” “…thanks.” ) but he brushes it off, reassuring you that you’ll have a good time.

a gentle caress of the shoulder, a pat on the back — all the feelings come flooding back, but you ignore them like you always do.

kukui pops up randomly on your island challenge, helping you clear ilima’s trial and offering to go explore routes with you.

“don’t you have professor work to do?” you’re picking berries from a pile at the base of a tree. kukui chuckles — a light, airy one — and your heart skips a beat as he places his hand on the small of your back.

“nah, not today, cousin!”

you smile. “okay, then.”

you’re not sure of the feelings you have for the professor. he stirs the beautifly in your stomach. every touch from him makes your heart race. when he smiles, you can’t help but lift your spirits. you think about him during your afternoon siestas, and you dream of him when you fall asleep at night. you imagine it’s him when you touch yourself in the loft in his lab, cheeks flushed and hair mussed as you whisper his name.

you want him, you realize, but it’s too late for that.

he found someone. her name is burnet. she’s elegant, beautiful, charming — she’s better than you, and she makes kukui happy. that should make you happy, right? why do you feel so sad? why are your eyes watering seeing them together? what is this feeling?

the sparkle of their wedding rings makes you nauseated; the sounds of their lovemaking has you rushing to the bathroom, vomiting and crying and rocking on the floor until you fall asleep against the cool bathroom wall.

you don’t know what day it is when burnet announces she’s leaving for unova on a week trip for her research. you and kukui see her off at the marina, and kukui stirs up a sliver of hope: “we can hang out like old times, cousin! excited?”

your heart wrenches. he doesn’t know what he’s done. you nod, masking the pain of an unrequited love underneath a smile.

the first day of burnet’s absence you already feel better, your mind blocking out the glint of the wedding ring on his left hand. the second day, you hugged kukui for the first time in months. the third day, he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring when he taught you how to ride a bike. the fourth day, you kissed him and told him how you felt. the fourth night, he said it’d be better if you left the lab. the fifth day, you were alone in your room on route 1, bawling your eyes out. the sixth day, you yelled at kukui for abandoning you, for casting you aside, for letting this get between you. you yell and say that you hate him. you hate him for making you fall in love with him, a married man. the seventh day, you stood at the edge of the ocean, the waves inviting you in.

“i ruin everything i touch. i can never be happy. why even bother, huh?” you laugh, ignoring the tears streaming down your face.

the ocean is your end and the end is your ocean, saltwater engulfing you and filling your ears, your nose, your mouth. you feel tapu koko’s anger, tapu lele’s grief, tapu bulu’s wrath and tapu fini’s resentment. you feel the elements as they caress your skin, telling you

it’s okay, you’re okay, you can live happily now

and you believe them.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Mac Ruaidh - Part Fourteen

This is the last installment, save for an epilogue. Thank you everyone for your enthusiasm about this AU. I’m sure I’ll revisit it again at some point in the future but it will be a while as I work on wrapping up some other open AUs I have right now.

~ Mod Lenny

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight A & B, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

A universe in which Jamie raises William as his own from the start.

Jamie and Claire continued to sit just holding each other in the dark for a few minutes after they had stopped crying.

Jamie broke the contented silence.

“Tell me about her,” he requested. “Brianna.” Her name was a reverent whisper on his lips.

Claire smiled into his hair and kissed his crown—something she’d done to their daughter countless times.

“Build up the fire,” she instructed. “Then I can show her to you as well. I’ll go check on Willie.”

Jamie turned his head to smile up at her, relief and joy beaming so brightly Claire could feel it in the dark. His hands remained tight around her waist as she bent to meet his kiss, a soft brush of lips, the promise of later. Then he released her and she rose.

She moved quietly through the dark to the bedroom where Willie slept, listening to the noises of Jamie laying the wood and peat for a fresh fire. Claire hugged her arms against the chill that was more noticeable now that she didn’t have Jamie’s warmth enveloping her.

Willie had tossed and turned enough to dislodge the blankets from where Jamie had tucked them. Claire crouched to fix them so Willie wouldn’t get cold. Even once Jamie had the fire going, only a little of the heat would reach the cot.

Her finger traced the curve of Willie’s cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile and Claire felt a tug on her heart. She wondered if Jamie could see how much his son was like him, if he could recognize and appreciate it. Or perhaps she was so attuned to those small scraps of Jamie because it was all she’d had for so long with Brianna.

How often did Jamie see her when he looked at his son—the mother that had manipulated and taken advantage but also had given him the gift of his son and the hope for a future that went along with him.

“Mam?” Willie murmured, blinking blearily at Claire who had been absentmindedly brushing his hair back from his face.

“Hush now,” she whispered, bringing the blankets up to his chin once more. “I’m right here.” She swallowed hard against the word and the thrill it sent through her nerves, even as it twisted her stomach with guilt. “Go back to sleep now.”

She brought a finger up to the bridge of his nose and lightly traced it down to the tip. It was a trick she’d learned when Brianna was a baby and fought going down for a nap. Sure enough, Willie’s tired eyes tried to follow the movement of her finger and as it passed down and out of his sight, his eyelids followed too. Once closed, they resisted his efforts to lift them again. He sighed deeply as though consciously abandoning the fight.

“Good night,” Claire murmured. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

With his eyes still shut, Willie sighed. “I’mma bug?”

Claire laughed quietly and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear.

“You are,” she whispered so she wouldn’t rouse him further. “You’re my little bug.”

She stayed with him for another few moments, heat and a gentle glow slowly filling the room as the fire grew.

It wouldn’t be hard to love this boy. He was already worming his way into her heart, his affectionate “Mam” crawling under her skin and settling comfortably in her bones. Her little bug indeed.

When she heard Jamie stirring to seek her out, Claire left the boy to his dreams, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

“He’s inherited quite a bit of the Fraser charm and stubbornness,” she remarked with an amuse smile.

“He got a hefty helping of them from Geneva too,” Jamie answered with resignation.

“Well, Brianna’s is all Fraser,” Claire said, slipping the stack of photographs from her pocket and moving to sit on the floor near the hearth.

His knees cracking with the descent, Jamie chuckled as he settled on the floor beside her. “I’m sure some of that’s Beauchamp stubbornness. And charm. Ye had plenty of both yerself before ye ever wed me and became a Fraser.”

Claire grinned and passed him the first of the photos again. He tilted it toward the light of the fire. The way it caught made the dark smudge of her hair in the black-and-white image look aflame, just as it had the first time the nurse had handed her to Claire.

“It’s nearly her birthday,” Claire began, leaning into Jamie’s side so they could both look at the pictures as Claire shared the story of Brianna’s life—the story of her life, a life without him but not entirely without happiness.

He laughed knowingly when she told him of Brianna’s independent streak and how it occasionally got her into trouble, returning to a picture of Brianna standing on a chair at what Claire called a stove (though it looked like no stove he’d ever laid eyes on). Claire had told him of a time when Brianna nearly set the house on fire trying to make breakfast for Claire after a long and exhausting shift at the hospital.

“Has Willie ever done anything like that?” Claire asked. The sting of seeing Jamie relate to Brianna through his more familiar son was still sharp but not as overpowering as it had been at first.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie nodded, turning to look at Claire. “But I was thinking of you, Sassenach. Ye were always getting yerself into trouble on yer way to helping someone in need. Careless with yer own safety when ye had help to offer. Even now… coming back to me as ye have…” The yearning was dark and heavy in his eyes, even with her so close.

Claire brushed the backs of her fingers along Jamie’s cheek to his temple. He turned his head further into the caress.

“I came for more selfish reason than that,” she whispered. “I know it occurred to me that you might have moved on, that showing up like this would have been completely disruptive and destructive to whatever you’d built… But I wanted to see you again, whatever it might do to you. There was also Bree to consider. Leaving her on her own like that… She insisted I come. That you know she and I had made it. That you’d accomplished what you meant to when you sent me through.”

“D’ye see?” Jamie murmured, setting aside the photos of Brianna. “Selfless and caring, just like her mother. Seeing that ye needed to go and making sure ye didna talk yerself out of it for her sake.” He took her chin gently and turned her into his kiss before she could say anything in response.

It wasn’t as soft as their earlier kiss. The heat from the nearby fire merged with the whisky in their bellies and melted the stiff formality and lethargy that had been between them earlier in the day. Edges had begun to blur and words weren’t enough anymore.

Claire slid her hands up Jamie’s chest, tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt and pulling herself closer.

His arms engulfed her as he pressed her flush against himself, his hands splayed flat across her back. He pulled away briefly, a question in his eyes as he traced the seam of the zipper up her back.

She giggled and reached around to take hold of his wrists, bringing them forward and resting them on her hips. “Don’t worry about that just now,” she told him breathlessly. Her hands started pulling up the layers of her skirts until her slouching stockings and the pale, bare legs beneath them glowed in the firelight. “I’ll show you how that works later but for now,” she leaned back onto her elbows, grinning and wiggling her hips to position herself where she would be beneath him. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this on a floor. I might need your help remembering.” Her legs spread in invitation.

Jamie sat frozen for a few beats as though uncertain of what precisely he was looking at and whether he could trust it.

At last he blinked and shook his head to clear it. Claire laughed as Jamie struggled to keep from toppling over while shoving his breeks down and leaning forward to kiss her again.

Then he was sliding between her legs and her laughter became a gasp, a groan. His mouth covered hers and swallowed the noise. Claire closed her eyes and let her body remember—remember the rhythm that brought him as deep into her as he could go, remember the best place to grab hold of him so he’d rub himself against the right spot, remember the way to turn her head so he’d kiss her throat before moaning in her ear. Claire arched into the feeling of reckless abandon that made her feel young, like the last time they’d been with each other was the day before.

It was over too quickly. Sweat gathered at Claire’s temples and the small of her back. Jamie’s forehead pressed to the floorboards next to her head, his curls brushing her cheek.

“I haven’t… done anything like that… since…” Claire’s breathing was ragged as she threw her mind back.

“Since the last time we were in Edinburgh?” Jamie suggested, shifting his weight to the side so he wouldn’t crush Claire.

She chuckled. “If not then shortly thereafter.

Jamie pulled her skirts down to cover her legs again, then slowly moved to tidy himself, creaking and groaning in less lustful ways than moments before. Claire’s legs remained splayed as she doubted the strength left in her muscles.

“Actually,” she said, turning to look at him and reaching to trail her fingers up his thigh. “I think the last time we were in Edinburgh and did that, we made Brianna.”

Jamie bent over her to kiss her again then helped her to sit up.

“Thank ye, Claire, for being mother to my bairns,” he said quietly when they were face to face again.

She kissed his cheek.

“It’s been my pleasure and my honor,” she whispered, letting his sincerity wash through her. “Now, I need to get off this floor and into a proper bed or I’ll be too stiff to move in the morning,” she joked.

Jamie helped her to her feet, wincing himself as he straightened his knees. “I’m afraid we’re stuck with the floor for that unless ye want to risk waking Willie—and ye’re no quieter now, Sassenach, than ye were twenty years ago. Not that I’d change that.”

“Then I suppose we’ll need to make finding more suitable accommodations a top priority.” She walked in front of him toward the bedroom with her hips swaying suggestively.

[civilianlillian]

Initiate (Headcanon as Transgender - Renet Tilley)

So. This is late. And turned out to be way longer than I was planning it to be. Whoops.

This is my part for Day 5 of @lgbtmntweek! I think i’ve grown to attached to Renet being a trans girl, and I spent a lot of time writing this drabble hoping I was being respectful enough and not getting it wrong.

As a heads up, I headcanon that the timeline Renet originally comes from isn’t a very good one for LGBT individuals. I didn’t think she was just born into an order of time travellers, and since she’s pretty young as is in her show first appearance, I wanted to try and fit in a backstory that would explain that. Mean as it was on a 12yo girl, I tried to come up with more factors to Renet leaving her home behind besides “time travel is cool”.

So, hope you guys enjoy this one. If there’s anything you feel I’ve done wrong or insenitively about this drabble on Trans Renet, please tell me.

—

Renet was so nervous. She had to check herself over again before she left, again and again. She made sure her wig was in place and wouldn’t come loose. She gave her nails another blow to be sure they were dry, because who really knew if 33 minutes and 28 seconds was long enough for nails to dry. She readjusted the training bra for the millionth time because she still wasn’t sure if it fit properly with the slight padding she gave it with her socks.

She looked in the mirror and saw a 12-year-old girl with long blonde hair and painted nails and a training bra. She saw what she had wanted to see for so long in her bedroom mirror. She was just sad it would be the only time she could look like this in her own home.

Renet pulled on the new clothes she had bought without her mother knowing, clothes that weren’t too girly but would still get a barked order for her to put back if her mother had seen her looking at them in the store. (Her parents had really got hung up on that lately.) Once she was all changed, she checked her bag of belongings had everything she wanted to keep with her and that her bag of gear had everything she needed. With her father’s stolen credit chit in hand, she was out of the luxurious apartment at 1:00-A.

She thanked the creators that her parents were attending a dinner that night. Aside from the bigger risk of getting caught, she might have changed her mind about running away if she knew her parents were asleep and none the wiser.

It didn’t take long for the next tram to reach the city limits. Renet had been sitting as calmly as she could, wary of any familiar faces that might recognise the Tilley’s boy, but it never happened.

An elderly passenger sat opposite her for a while and asked if she was all right, but Renet managed to put off suspicions with the excuse that her parents were waiting for her at her stop. Sleepover gone wrong, she said. The old woman made a sympathetic tut and went on a tangent about kids these days until Renet’s stop came up and she abruptly excused herself. She paid her fare at the terminal and the doors slid open for her to hop out.

Things were going smoother than she had expected them to. Even smoother when she snuck into a lot outside a bar and hijacked a hoverbug, one modded for speed. Not so smooth breaking past a barrier, but the bug’s mods proved to outrun the sentries’ vehicles quickly enough.

Renet drove as far from the city as she could, until its lights were a dim speck on the horizon one way and the ruined monoliths of En-Wy-Cee rose from the ground ahead. Good. This was far enough.

It was 3:38-A. Renet got to work on her setup by the light of a glowball. Monitor here, generator there, check that all wires were where they needed to be and all fixtures were secured tight as they could be.

If all Renet had needed to be happy was an interest in science and tech, she thought, she would never be out here at all. She would be happy living as the Tilley her parents expected her to be. She would never have let her grades slip after dozing in class because she had spent the previous night digging so deep into conspiracy sites about time travellers and watchers hidden in the in-between. She wouldn’t have got in a fight with Roddy Flix over how time travel was fake, or over how girly her handwriting was. She wouldn’t have fantasised about the possibilities of time and space so much that it was all she really focused on instead of her schoolwork or whatever sport her father was suggesting she try. She wouldn’t be she. She would be a miserable girl who had to call herself a boy, at home living a linear life and letting opportunity pass her by.

So when the device she had put her hopes, blood, sweat, and tears into was all set up and ready to go, there was only the slightest hesitation. She checked her wig was still in place, then she took a deep breath. And flipped the switch.

The pulse shot up into the night sky and sent her tumbling back into the dirt and dust. The whole of the space around her and the machine rippled and waved and twisted and turned and bent and broke and -

And just as quickly everything was back to normal, just like Renet knew it would be. She brushed herself off and looks around, anticipating their arrival. Then she started getting anxious when nobody showed up.

“SMALL ONE.”

Renet spun around and had to look up to see the tall, broad-shouldered red humanoid that was suddenly in the middle of the desert with her. His face was flat, reptilian-like, and his eyes were pure black with only the glint of light reflecting from them to tell that, yes, he did have eyeballs. He loomed over her with a staff in hand, one that looked like… well… a hand. An ornament no bigger than her own hand and shaped to hold a glowing bauble.

The time traveller bent down to get a closer look at her, eyes narrowing, before saying, “LORD SIMULTANEOUS RECOGNISES YOUR REQUEST FOR A MEETING. HE HAS INVITED YOU TO AN INTERVIEW. DO YOU ACCEPT?”

Renet shuffled away from the alien man, not sure what she was expecting of a time traveller, but she was no less deterred by his… loud way of speech. “U-uh, yes, I accept! Totally!”

“GOOD. HE WILL BE PLEASED.” The time traveller straightened up and struck his staff to the ground. Behind him, a door of light opened out of thin air, and he stepped to the side. “YOU WILL WANT TO WATCH YOUR STEP.”

Renet stared at the door wide-eyed. Then she took a leap through.

–

20 minutes later, Renet sat in a cushy chair as she was being “interviewed”. By a giant, glowing, floating, head. This wasn’t quite what Renet had envisioned when she finally met the masters hidden in the corners of time, but it wasn’t a disappointment. If anything, Lord Simultaneous seemed much more excited to meet her than she was to meet him.

“And you’re only 12 in human years?”

“Yup.”

The floating head let out a chuckle that echoed throughout the chamber. “What made you believe that such a feat would work?”

“Well,” Renet began, taking a quick sip of the sweet water she had been offered, “all these forums talk about you guys online. Like, how you guys are guardians of time and you try to preserve it. So I figured if I wanted to meet one of you, I should make it look like there was serious trouble in my timeline, then boom! You show up to investigate!”

“Quite the impressive one, aren’t we?” There was something about his smile that was good, but at the same time Renet felt something more serious in the giant head’s expression. Her stomach felt a little uneasy, being honest. “I must say that’s a first for someone wanting to draw our attention, never mind a child.” He spun to look down at another agent, an incredibly tall being with several limbs and a long, sunken-eyed face. “There hasn’t been any record of faking such a temporal disturbance, isn’t that right Helki?”

The agent huffed as they fiddled about with some kind of holographic screen. “No, there hasn’t, thankfully. We would hate to have to deal with false alarms all the time.”

“Really?” Renet looked up at him, confused, as she took another cookie from the plate an apprentice had offered. “Nobody’s tried it?”

“No one has figured out how! Well, to fake one, at least.” Simultaneous frowned and shook his head. “We’ve had plenty of troublemakers cause the real deal. But an artificial distortion for the express purpose of getting our attention? You are definitely the first in my time.”

That made Renet all glowy and giddy, even with the disapproving glare from the alien Helki bearing down from across the chamber. She was a first for something, and it was a first in time travel. Eat your heart out, Roddy Flix.

“So, Miss Tilley.”

She sat up a little straighter when he addressed her that way. Miss Tilley. Not Master Tilley. Hearing herself being called Miss out loud just felt so much righter, and it meant that the effort she had put into her appearance was worth it.

“You had more motive for making contact with us than to have a pleasant chat.” The smile faded a little, taken over by that more serious feel to his demeanour that Renet had picked up on before. “You want to be a time traveller. One of us.”

She nodded. “More than anything.”

“And you are aware of what that would require on your part? What and who you would have to give up?”

There was that tug again. She remembered her parents, some good memories, and the familiar sights and sounds and comforts of her home city. But she also remembered crying in the bathroom because she hated how she looked one morning, a news report of a gay rights protest that ended horribly before her dad had changed the channel. Watching a stranger be spat on because she looked too masculine for someone else’s liking, hearing about the boy she had as a science partner one time getting beaten up for playing a stepsister in a historical pantomime for drama. Asking her mom if she could wear a dress and getting a stern look and being told, “Of course not. You’re my son, dear.”

She was aware of what she was leaving behind. She knew she couldn’t be who she was in the timeline she grew up in, and she knew going back would mean being miserable for the rest of her life. This was Renet’s only chance.

“I know, but I still flipped on my machine, didn’t I?”

Lord Simultaneous went back to the amused smile. “Very well then. Helki,” he said, looking down at the multi-limbed agent again, “give our new initiate a quick tour before setting her up in her new quarters.”

Renet was caught up in a flurry of thank-yous and I-won’t-let-you-downs as Helki grumbled and moved away from the floating head’s side. Their alien expression still reeked of disapproval as they moved past Renet, at which point Renet noticed they also had multiple limbs and hand-feet for walking on. “Try to keep up, youngling.”

Renet flung her bag back over her shoulder and grabbed a cookie for on-the-go. She was halfway to the doors of the chamber when she skidded to a halt and spun around. “Thank you again, Lo-” But he was suddenly gone from the room.

“Youngling! Keep up!”

She jumped and scrambled to follow Helki into the hallway. They were still grumbling about something as they gestured towards a set of doors that whisked open, and motioned for Renet to follow them inside what appeared to be an elevator. One of their arms reached up to enter a sequence on a screen and the doors closed. When the elevator began to move, it felt less like going up or down and more like going from side to side then up to down and all sorts of ways. Renet guessed this would take some getting used to.

“Well, might as well get the first facts out of the way while we’re waiting,” Helki finally spoke, their voice dry as they continued to fiddle with their datapad. “If you have any ailments or concerns regarding your health, go and see Doctor Tyl, not Doctor Tul. Tyl is the one familiar with human physiology.” They looked down at her with a stern face. “Do not let Tul try to treat you. The last thing I need is a mishap misdiagnosis for a youngling from him.”

“Doctor Tyl, not Tul, got it,” Renet repeated, trying to keep herself from bouncing out of control.

“However, if you’re in need of advice regarding your hormones and the like, Doctor Evr'i is much more knowledgeable in the matter.”

Suddenly, Renet wasn’t in the mood for bouncing. She was in the mood for running. Renet gulped and looked up at Helki. “H-hormones?”

“Mmm,” Helki hummed, all six eyes glued to the datapad. “If you would feel more comfortable by adjusting them, Evr'i is the one to go to. Helps your presentation around strong-nosed species if you would prefer to keep physical tells to yourself.”

She was panicking. And close to crying. Who had she been kidding, thinking she could just be a girl like she wanted without anyone knowing? But the casual way Helki was telling her this was so… odd. “S-so… you know I’m… a boy?”

“I can smell that you have a male body, yes.” One of Helki’s hands tapped their nostrils. “Like I said, strong-nosed species will pick these things up, and not all of them think to check any visual cues contradicting physical gender. Not that all species share the same idea of gender norms. Considering your record, I thought you would appreciate being informed as soon as possible.”

That got her attention. “My record?”

Helki’s eyes looked down at her in a confused way. “You think Lord Simultaneous just requested an interview for the one who caused the first falsified temporal distortion right on the spot? He’s not that foolhardy. Vork was sent to pick you up at a point as soon as possible after you activated your device.” Helki pointed three hands at their datapad to make a point. “Before that I spent three standard weeks working on your file. Which Earth timeline you originate from, significant events, the fact that you enjoy these ‘cookies’.” They huffed. “I still argue that recruiting a youngling is unwise, even given your living situation. Time is not a game.”

“I don’t think it’s a game!” Renet quipped. She was still quivering and panicking even through her bout of stubbornness, because she realised something. “Wait… so y-you knew I was… not a girl. And you guys still wanted me?”

That gave Helki pause. They tutted, and for the first time since Renet had met this grumpy agent of time, they softened. “You are a girl, by what I’ve gathered from putting that report together. And, yes, Lord Simultaneous had pretty much already decided to snatch you up as a potential apprentice as soon as we had more information on you. The dossier and interview might as well be formalities given the situation.” Then Helki went back to grumbling and focused on the datapad. “Because Makers know we need to keep to a paper trail on these matters.”

Renet had no idea what to make of things. She was a time traveller, or going to be, and she was allowed to be who she was while doing it. She wouldn’t have to hide it like she had thought she would. Her nerves slowly eased themselves and she felt the buzz of her excitement rising up again. But before she could let herself go absolutely giddy again, she had to check again. “So is anybody here gonna care about… well…” She gestured vaguely at herself. “…me? Besides the smell thing? Do I smell bad or anything?”

That raised Helki’s eyebrows - eyes-as-brows? - in what appeared to be amusement. “Youngling, I am an apostate from the moons of Kaltauri 7. If I am accepted here, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be welcome.” They tutted again. “This is why I don’t like dealing with human-related matters. Your species’ societies unnecessarily suffocate their younglings’ freedom to explore identity and it frustrates me to no end. No offence.”

Renet readjusted her wig again and imagined herself years later, in the garb of a time traveller, hopping throughout time and meeting historic figures and growing her hair out long enough to style it. “Nah, what you said sounds about right.”

—

Three years standard later, Renet was looking in the mirror as she carefully braided her hair around her head. She had taken Helki’s advice to see Doctor Evr’i, who had talked her through a number of things beyond masking a scent. According to Evr’i, Helki wasn’t one for tact. Renet got used to that about them after a while.

Renet had decided to start hormone therapy after getting Evr’i’s advice. She’d never thought such a thing would be possible for her, even less than the probability of becoming a time travelling. And yet here, she was. She could look in the mirror and do her makeup and nobody could scare her or stop her.

No, the only thing she couldn’t do now was hop around time as much as she wanted to. Stupid rules about meddling with time and space.

[buildercar]

New Post has been published on http://www.buildercar.com/sera-trimbles-rise-to-the-top-of-the-ranks-of-stunt-driving/

Sera Trimble’s Rise to the Top of the Ranks of Stunt-Driving

Sera Trimble isn’t trying to scare me, but she does.

By stomping a Lamborghini Huracán Spyder’s V-10 and flinging the wheel, she kicks out the tail abruptly in a plume of dust. I’m scoping her technique from the passenger seat before directing her in a video shoot, and despite the raucous, pebble-launching powerslides in a $300,000 car on a dirt road, the petite driver remains eerily calm.

Trimble, it turns out, is one of the last humans on Earth to warrant concern. As one of Hollywood’s most sought-after stunt drivers, her skill set has navigated her through a labyrinth of peculiar automotive scenarios. She’s jumped a ’72 Chevelle, drifted an Infiniti on polished concrete within inches of actors, steered, accelerated, and braked from the footwell of a Subaru while a dog “drove,” dodged explosions in a Camaro, maneuvered a Kia while wearing a hamster suit, and launched a Porsche 928 onto a dock that collapsed into a lake. The drifting-a-Lambo-on-a-dirt-road thing? Essentially a nonevent.

This particular driver embodies every automotive-obsessed personality trait you’d expect, despite the usual stereotypes associated with XX chromosomes. Case in point: She outfitted her Los Angeles home with a Gulf-liveried kitchen and a Martini Racing-themed bedroom and is more likely to chitchat about weight distribution and suspension mods than shopping or fashion. But in the grand scheme of things, the car bug took some time to mature.

Trimble must assume any number of appearances such as a hamster for Kia, a character on TV’s “The Goldbergs,” and as a stunt double for Oscar-nominated actress Ruth Negga.

She was born 80 miles north of Seattle in the tiny town of Sedro-Woolley an unspecified number of years ago. (Like many a Hollywood player, she prefers not to disclose her age.) A deep-seated automotive iconography is embedded in her psyche, including an irrational attraction to ’66 Sting Rays, a warm spot for the Jaguar E-type hearse from “Harold And Maude,” and a self-proclaimed giggle reflex triggered by big-bore muscle cars. But the serious signs didn’t manifest until later. Her first car, a Nissan Pulsar NX with seafoam green paint, was simply an escape vehicle from her parents and a way to make a few bucks in high school by delivering pizzas. After two years at art school and a job at Blockbuster, she valet parked cars at a Seattle hotel. Spoiler alert: True love, no matter how circuitous its path, eventually wins.

“I drove everything,” she recalls, “then I started having feelings about everything.” Darting between parking structure pillars revealed handling quirks, and opinions of cars were quickly polarized. That black-on-black Land Rover Discovery she coveted? Its lazy turning radius burst the bubble. The Mercedes-Benz S-Class? Surprisingly nice lumbar support. Any Dodge Neon? Don’t get her started.

“If you say, ‘I think there’s a better way we could do this,’ no matter who it offends, you live with someone being pissed off and not putting someone in the hospital.”

And then, the fate-shifting moment: Director Doug Taub, in town shooting a Lincoln commercial, happened to spot Trimble as she whipped cars around at the valet. “Have you ever thought about driving for a living?” he asked her. “What do you mean?” she answered, pointing to the valet stand. “Look at all these cars I drive for a living.”

Based on her facile maneuvering (and perhaps aided by her quick wit), Taub offered her a gig as a production assistant so she could dip her toes in the precision-driving business. Sensing an opportunity for change (and admitting to herself that her art education wasn’t doing her any good as a valet anyway), she paid a friend $40 to cover for her on a Saturday. “When I think back,” she recalls, “that $40 was the best possible career investment I’ve had to this day. I’m glad he covered that shift because it was totally life-changing.”

As with any rise, Hollywood or otherwise, success was anything but overnight. She kept in touch with the crew she worked with, and nearly a year later in summer 2007 she moved to Los Angeles and started working as a runner on commercials. Although fixed on her goal of being a driver, she methodically learned how a set worked: who was in charge, who (in her words) kissed whose ass, and how the puzzle pieces of hierarchy fit together. More crucially, she observed what made an exceptional driver, why top drivers demand respect, who hires them, how they save the production money, and why they never seem to complain. Before long she met acclaimed stunt driver Brent Fletcher, who heard she wanted to drive. “I don’t want to sleep with anyone to do it,” she announced, when asked about her aspirations. “I’ve only been in L.A. for a few months, but I’m beginning to understand that that’s an actual way people get work here. I want to get hired one day because I’m really good at what I do. I don’t want to hook up with some producer, and he gives me two jobs as a stunt driver, and everyone thinks I’m an effing joke.”

Leveling with Fletcher laid the foundation for a career-long friendship and mentorship. “When I knew that driving was all I wanted to do,” she remembers, “I never wanted to be on set and have an excuse that I couldn’t do what I was there to do.” That meant investing heavily in driver training, diverting much of her earnings into instruction over the next several years. She attended schools from virtually every major automaker—BMW, Jaguar, Mercedes-AMG—as well as every conceivable type of course—Skip Barber, Bridgestone Winter Driving, Team O’Neil, and Dirtfish rally schools.

Trimble enjoys some rare time behind the wheel of one of her own cars, a 1986 Porsche 911 Carrera with extensive suspension modifications.

The pressure of stunt driving can be immense, and the expectations — especially for a woman — are often crushingly anachronistic. For instance, the common request for Ken Block-like maneuvers must be tempered by a realistic portrait of the vehicle and conditions in question. In other words, a director who thinks a Chevy Cruze can pirouette in a cloud of smoke might need to rearrange his or her expectations. “The fact of the matter is if you seriously, seriously hurt someone, you have to live with that forever,” Trimble says. “If you say, ‘I think there’s a better way we could do this,’ no matter who it offends, you live with someone being pissed off at you and not putting someone in the hospital.” Also unsurprising is the tendency for some directors to be naturally biased against female drivers. If told a certain maneuver can’t happen, some directors “don’t want to hear it. They look at me like I’m a hack, like I’m a girl, obviously I don’t know how to drive, I can’t make it work, and I’ve wasted their whole day.”

On Preferred make of stunt car: “Any car with brakes. You really take brakes for granted, they boil over, and you almost go over the mountain or into a helicopter or camera-car crane.”

Ensuring she can deliver on her promise of automotive acrobatics requires vigilant attention to detail and exhaustive spatial awareness, often without the luxury of advanced preparation or in-depth rehearsal. Drifting the Infiniti around those actors on polished concrete was particularly stressful. Grip levels changed constantly because fresh rubber was laid down with each take, which could dramatically alter the car’s handling characteristics. Upping the X factor was the repositioning of actors and lights between takes, requiring on-the-fly recalibrations of turn-in and apex points. Some 17 takes later, the director was eventually satisfied and called, “Wrap!” Trimble recalls the aftermath: “I was so mentally exhausted, when I got home I couldn’t even feed myself. My brain just turned off because I had to focus so hard and couldn’t change anything.”

Maintaining a routine is essential when it comes to prolonged concentration. If Trimble takes a bathroom break and someone has reset her seating position because the car had to be moved, her whole world has changed. One of her favorite examples concerns a stuntman who’s about to leap through a plate-glass window and fall 20 stories. The stunt involves a detonating charge to break the window, but the stuntman senses that something isn’t quite right. There’s a small chance the charge will detonate at his head, so he asks for it to be repositioned by a foot. Stunt coordinator Andy Armstrong, aware of the importance of the stuntman’s opinion, stops everything. The helicopter lands, the crew resets, and they start over. The stunt then goes off without a hitch. “Every human has things they like to focus on, and sometimes they’re super crucial in moments like that,” Trimble explains. “I love the idea, and I will always think of that moment where this big thing is about to happen, and it’s like, ‘How does this feel? Does everything feel good? Are you comfortable with this?’ Because that stuntman’s ability to move something one foot completely changed his energy.”

Once that sense of rightness is established, there are countless degrees of subtlety involved with precision driving. Although she once rated her brake-pedal effort on a scale of 1 to 10, trading notes with fellow stunt driver and racer Tanner Foust inspired her to increase the resolution of her stopping effort, expanding it to a scale from 1 to 100. That exacting level of control can make it difficult to stomach rogue external forces, like ham-fisted Uber drivers. Even though she essentially operates as an aerobatic pilot in two dimensions, her fortitude flies out the window when she’s a passenger. “I’ve gotten ill in taxicabs more than probably anyone who exists,” she confesses. “During one trip to Thailand I puked on every moving form of conveyance.”

When the stakes can be life or death, Trimble’s preferences for stunt cars get improbably binary. When asked what carmaker makes her stunt-driver heart go pitter-patter, her response is simple: “Any car with brakes. You really take brakes for granted until driving on a mountainside, they boil over, and you almost go over the mountain or into a helicopter or camera-car crane.” She adds, “Any day I’m on the set and my car stops when I want it to stop, it’s a good day.”

Trimble’s personal 1968 Dodge Charger took two years to source and was discovered in Indiana by her so-called Mopar mentor, Mike Musto.

As for her personal automotive tastes, her garage reveals some rather varied proclivities. Her fleet includes a Porsche Macan S, an air-cooled 911 Carrera, a Ford Focus ST, and a meticulously restored ’68 Dodge Charger that speaks volumes to her eye for detail. After enlisting fellow ’68 Charger enthusiast and owner Mike Musto (host of “The House of Muscle” on Motor Trend on Demand), the two embarked on a two-year quest to find her ideal black-on-red steed. Although she started searching for a 440 (the inspiration behind her Instagram handle, @Trims440), her so-called Mopar mentor led her through a journey that involved a seemingly Sisyphean process of sharing listings of prospective cars, to which he invariably responded, “Sera, this one’s a big sack of shit.” When your prepurchase inspection involves a list of 36 detailed questions (and your undercarriage viewing process is “like, a 3,500-point inspection”), the wheat separates from the chaff fairly quickly. The search eventually led her to a 572-cubic-inch-powered Charger in Indiana. “I was like, ‘700 lb-ft of torque? Of course I need 700 lb-ft of torque. And 768 horsepower? Of course I need 768 horsepower.’ It’s like an Indy cylinder head with these crazy headers I can fit my calves into. Holy headers, Batman.”

Based on her car collection alone, Hollywood appears to have been very good to Trimble. But she plays down the lavish array with the fact that she lacks overhead such as kids, adding that her specialized focus on driving makes her a rare breed in an industry where most stunt people are well-rounded in the fields of weaponry, martial arts, and all manner of physical badassery. “Since I’m technically more ‘useless overall,’” she says, “I would be less likely to be brought along on movies for that reason. The fact I survive on a living wage at all baffles me, especially considering the amount of amazing talent out there.”

Follow Sera on Instagram @trims440

For someone who drives for a living, Trimble has little affinity for nonprofessional motoring, save the occasional jaunt up Angeles Crest Highway with friends or the Robin’s Rally, an annual on- and off-road shred she does with a small group of air-cooled Porsche driving buds. As for real racing, she is surprisingly nonplussed by the lure of competition. “I have no personal need to take corners away from people,” she explains. “I have more fun at slow speeds being super technical than I do going as fast as I can.”

As for my Lamborghini video shoot, after my initial ride-along I climb out and shoot car to car with a cameraman, calling instructions through a walkie-talkie for Trimble to execute. She tells me when things don’t feel right, and I adjust the shot as required. But when she’s on, she’s on, coaxing the Lambo with precise authority, driving with balletlike grace as the gray machine cuts an elegant arc through the desert.

I know she has reached that “just right” state when she executes a perfect high-speed drift in the dirt, nailing a satisfying yaw angle while staying completely in control. It is at that moment that Trimble once again proves her mettle, allowing me to finally let go and enjoy her performance.

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