#for averting that particular apocalypse

[marlynnofmany]

You know how in stories where the heroes save the world from some magical apocalypse, a lot of the time the general public has no idea? They just go about their lives afterward, not even realizing how close they came to disaster, much less that there's someone to thank for that?

Picture how those heroes feel.

That's how the programmers who stopped the Y2K bug most likely feel.

Thanks for saving us, folks. I just heard the song "Party Like It's 1999", and thought of you.

[tossawary]

I mentioned before that I think DA2 is perhaps the most appealing to me for a Time Travel AU. This is in part because Hawke as a protagonist doesn't have to worry about an impending apocalypse in the same way that the Warden and the Inquisitor do, so there's arguably more space for slow-moving character work, and I think it would be fun to explore Hawke's relationship to Kirkwall.

You can take Inquisition-era Hawke, sacrifice them in the Fade, and then handwavy magic happens there that sends Hawke back for a Time Travel Redo. (If it's irrelevant to the rest of the story, let's skip going into depth on the time travel method! It does not matter!) If you want to avoid time paradox concerns, given that time magic actually exists in this series, this can actually be a Dimension Travel AU as well, sending a Garrett Hawke back in time to another dimension where there's a Marian Hawke instead or something. Two Hawkes!

I prefer sending a mage Garrett Hawke "back" into this alternate dimension because he is absolutely going to look like his own father, Malcolm, to the young Hawke family trying to escape Lothering. And that's some delicious angst.

Another reason that I think Hawke in particular would be interesting is that I think it would be interesting to have a time-traveler (dimension-traveler) be upfront about what had happened to them. A tired Garrett Hawke reveals at least the basics of the "future" to his friends and family (all of whom are strangers to him and it hurts) because he wants to keep them safe, and then the butterfly effects of canon divergence ripple out from there.

There are so many time travel fics where the protagonist confides in no one or only does so very late in the story. There are often reasons for this. 1) They will not be believed. 2) They are surrounded by enemies. 3) They are focused on changing a very specific event and do not want things to change before that. 3.5) They are unwilling to share their knowledge and give up some measure of control over the future. (These control issues are often in-character!)

Sometimes, I am persuaded by these reasons and find them compelling and sympathetic. Sometimes, I find the protagonist's insistence on doing everything alone frustrating and even cruel.

I think that if Hawke had the chance to do a Time Travel Redo, it would be incredibly cruel if they did not at least TRY to share some of their knowledge with their companions. I don't think Hawke's companions would believe them immediately, of course, but they live in a world with strange magic. If Hawke was willing to be calm and vulnerable, they could at least give their future friends some potential leads in their individual quests (being open about the fact that this world may be different to their own).

Like, let's look at Fenris. Fenris would not trust some strange mage talking about fucking time magic, of course. But after knowing each other for a month or so, Hawke might be able to approach Fenris and say, "Hey, I have a really weird story to tell you." And then Hawke could share what they know about Fenris' past according to their own world, so that Fenris can maybe look into that and prepare himself. Because keeping that information away from Fenris is a dick move! Fenris deserves to be able to decide what to believe, what to investigate, and what to do for himself.

I also don't think I could suspend my disbelief if Hawke let Anders and Justice just... play out again over the course of years. I think most Hawkes wouldn't be able to resist confronting Anders in some way! Even Hawkes who end up saying, "I'm going to personally murder Meredith this time." Is a mage-friendly Hawke just going to let characters like Karl Thekla be made Tranquil and be killed again?

Do Merrill and Isabella and Varric and Aveline not deserve to try and avert some of the tragedies in their own lives?

Like, it is totally reasonable for Hawke to be focused purely on their own family or the companions they like, rather than try to save every person in the city. I think it's more than fine if there are tragedies a protagonist just doesn't care about averting. Hawke is not even going to remember everything.

And it is VERY normal for people not to want to give up some measure of control over their lives, especially someone as traumatized as Hawke. I do often find it realistic that a lot of time traveling characters in fanfiction are kind of "control freaks" who don't want to be vulnerable, even if it's "safe" to be. I'm imagining that this future-sharing from Hawke would stem in large part from 1) exhaustion, 2) loneliness, and 3) Hawke being used to celebrity, due to the "Tale of the Champion", and somewhat blasé by this point about all the fucking shit they've been through.

And I think that spilling everything (or even just the basics) would not necessarily go well for a Hawke. I think Varric would take even limited information about Bartrand's future very badly. As strangers to Hawke, I think all of the companions would be upset and disbelieving. (I'm currently imagining a mage Garrett Hawke who previously romanced Merrill, so that he and Past!Fenris were barely friends, because Fenris didn't like this mage Hawke hanging out with a blood mage and Hawke kind of thought Fenris might turn him in to the Templars someday. Past!Fenris was more Isabella's and Varric's friend.) I think these new companions might go on to make some BIG mistakes trying to avoid the future that Hawke has described, as much as they might avert tragedy.

I also imagine that Hawke's relationship with this new Hawke family might be very strange and awkward, even if both Carver and Bethany live. Garrett looks like Malcolm and everyone thinks it's weird; Leandra is probably the happiest and most practical about it, but Garrett can't forget how his own mother died horribly and also blamed him for his own Bethany's death. Neither Garrett nor Marian know what to do about each other; Marian doesn't like some new person waltzing in and taking control of situations. Garrett unconsciously treats this Carver as older and Carver loves it, but Marian doesn't like it. Bethany likes having a mage sibling, but Garrett is awkward because he's used to Bethany being the Hawke family's perfect dead sister. And Leandra's shitty brother is not fucking helping any of this!!! And what's that about Leandra maybe getting murdered by a serial killer in the future???

By saying all of this, I mean to make clear that I really don't think "communicating" would immediately fix every problem for a perfect "Time Travel Fix-It". I do think it would fix SOME problems. Emotional conversations and immediate canon divergence also appeals to me because I like reading those things.

What I mean to make clear is that I think it would be fun to write something that explores autonomy, authority, agency, and control. There are many issues in the world that stem from people unwilling to give up control of a situation for a variety of reasons, and other issues that stem from people believing they have the authority to dictate other people's lives.

What right would a new Garrett Hawke have to withhold information and try to manipulate all of their strangers' lives? Especially from people like Anders and Fenris, whose stories are so deeply concerned with freedom of choice? To conceal backstory information from someone with amnesia, like Fenris, is a choice, and I think it's a cruel one, even if Fenris might not like what he hears and might react badly. Can Garrett Hawke really claim that he "knows best"? What if he doesn't know what's going on with this version of the world? What do you do when freedom means standing back and allowing some of the people you like and love to make "bad" choices?

Some time travel fics seem to me to be incredibly lonely. The protagonist trusts in no one. The other characters can be written as predictably following a timeline to the point of being shallow caricatures of people. It's just not to my taste.

It could be nice to explore Hawke finding new sides of companions that they missed in their previous "run" (which was very much not perfect and full of strife). It could be nice to explore an exhausted Champion learning to trust in other people and have them step up to help solve these shifting problems. DA games are so much about making choices for everyone around you: on behalf of your companions, on behalf of entire kingdoms, on behalf of the entire world. It might be fun to explore an exhausted older Hawke giving up some control and being pleasantly surprised on some fronts as paths diverge.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello dears, thank you for this service you provide for the fandom. It really makes finding fics so much easier!

I am not in search of a particular fic, but I do have a theme.

See, I love Good Omens fics that explore more so the mentality and personal intricacies of Crowley and Aziraphale as they fall in love. Physical attraction in a relationship is important, yes, but it seems that all I can find is smut with a bit of story. I want to read something that shows they falling in love with the others mind.

If you have anything of the sort, please do tell me. I hope you have a lovely day!

Hi! General tags on AO3 or this blog you will want to check out for fics like this are #demisexual aziraphale, #demisexual crowley, and #falling in love (you can also exclude explicit fics from the AO3 search if you want to avoid smut completely). Here are some to start you off...

Sudden and Surprising Moments of Overwhelming Affection by darcylindbergh (G)

Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.

Dearest Diary (The History of an Angel an a Demon) by MadisonAvenue (G)

Entries from Aziraphale's personal diary that recounts his relationship with the Demon Crowley and how it's changed overtime.

heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I by stellarpoint (T)

While Crowley set about getting drunk, Aziraphale’s eyes drifted over to the newly-engaged couple, now embracing. The woman dabbed at her tears with a napkin and the man watched her, utterly smitten despite her smudged eyeliner. Crowley followed Aziraphale’s line of sight just in time to see the man kiss the woman. Crowley wrinkled his nose. “‘s a weird custom, isn’t it?” “Hm?” “The whole—” Crowley gestured at the couple, “—kissing business. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t know about that.” Crowley was feeling a little tipsy and a lot philosophical—narrowly averting the apocalypse will do that to a demon—and decided to press the point. “Like, what is it about mouths that makes it so nice? Mouths are weird. Humans don’t even have forked tongues. They can’t even do anything fun.” He looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked back, his cheeks faintly pink. Or: Five times Crowley thinks about kissing, and one time he thinks about kissing Aziraphale.

As Time Goes By by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

As their feelings for each other grow, Crowley and Aziraphale both want to kiss. Unfortunately, all their attempts at kissing are thwarted by inconvenient things like stab wounds. Will they finally get what they want? Or: Five time Crowley or Aziraphale tried to kiss the other, and one time they did.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins by HolRose (T)

At the Tadfield air base, as the threatened End of Days looms over them, the Principality Aziraphale considers his relationship with touch. Or how an angel left on Earth for over six millennia copes with an increasingly human-like need for sensory stimulation, and alongside this, his growing attachment to his hereditary enemy.

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another. Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

- Mod D

[tblsomedoodles]

I

C R A V E

more Donnie VS The World content. It makes me vibrate and scream and wiggle like I'm off my meds. I would love anything, even a solid block of text, but your doodles/full artworks/comics are my favorite.

Please? All I've found so far is what we see in the donnieverse comic and the MVA/AMV (music video animatic/animatic music video). So many questions, like - is Casey (Sr) involved in any way, whethercas a fellow captive or rescue mission teammate? Is this the True Apocalypse or Averted Apocalypse timeline? If the latter, where is Casey (Jr)? How is Splinter handling it? (Is he even still alive to be Having Emotions About It?)

(Please feed me.

B L E A S E)

(If you don't mind, could you show/tell how Donnie escapes, one of his first Big Leads that gives him so much hope he cries, and/or the Big Reunion? One would be nice, two would be great, and all three would be amazing. If they aren't planned/are too spoilery, that's okay. Anything you can/are willing to give would be lovely.)

Thank you!! I'm glad you like it : ) I don't think I've answered many asked about this particular au, so i'm more than willing to talk about it! : )

I don't really have much up for it, mostly b/c it deals with a lot of angsty material that i can be a little uneasy about posting. I have a bit of old concept art, and an unposted fic i'm editing/rewriting (b/c it's the first fic i wrote for Rise and i did not have those character voices down lol.) I can probably post the first bits of it later this week. I did say at one point that i would once 'proud family tradition' was over, and it now is.

but yeah, here's the concept art, i'll put the explanation under the break b/c i'm going to be rambling lol.

So Donnie vs. takes place after the thwarted apocalypse (not-apocalypse future). They get taken by Bishop a few months afterwards, and it isn't until about a year after that, that Donnie gets free.

He's the last one still with Bishop at that point, and had been told/convinced through various means that his brothers were dead.

Bishop did a lot of experiments on him, leaving a lot of scaring. One of which was injecting him with Krang DNA to see what would happen. (the eye and veins thing. I think he has some side effects from that but i'm not entirely certain what they are atm)

The fic itself starts after his rescue, b/c i'm focusing on Donnie's search for his brothers (and his own recovery) Rather than the traumatic event itself.

The rescue itself, was certainly a rescue. April, Casey, and CJ worked together to get him out of there as well as gain whatever information they could before they were found out. (Casey went undercover and was able to get some incomplete files and help get donnie out before she was discovered and had to leave.)

donnies in...pretty bad shape at that point, mentally and physically. Physically, he's malnurished, injured, scared, the works. Bishop did a number on him in the year he had him.

Mentally, he's pretty much shut down. He's completely non-verbal, unresponsive most of the time, when he does respond it's very slow and seemingly difficult for him to do so. He describes it that it feels like he's behind several plates of thick glass. He can see and hear what's happening, interacting (or even just feeling anything about it) is very hard to get past the glass.

How he goes from that state to hunting down his brothers is fairly simple. One of the broken, encripted files Casey acquired was Leo's file. None of the three could open it, but they managed to get Donnie to try to do so. He manages it, sees the file, and for the first time in about a year, has hope. He doesn't even wait to show the other three, he just takes off while no one was looking, with April's laptop and CJ's coat (he steals a backpack along the way.)

I don't really want to say much past that. A lot of the rescues/reunions are pretty spoiler heavy, and i don't want to ruin some of the mystery of what's going on in the fic. But know this, he does get all his brothers (and family in general) back. Also, splinter is alive and is part of this, but again, that's spoilers for some things i don't want to ruin.

Again, i'll probably start posting this sometime this week. It's an interesting fic that i've put quite a bit of time into at this point, so i'll be excited to see what is thought of it.

Thank you!

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

hello! I love all of your short drabbles :D I was wondering if you could do hyunho x reader! List 2, prompt 7, List 4, prompt 37 and prompt 38, and List 3, prompt 19, if that's alright! (if it's too much please feel free to just select the ones you like the most <3 thank you and have a good day/night!!)

SKZ Prompt Game

Prompts: "I'll just go ahead and go fuck myself."

"You're n-not, um, wearing anything under that, are you...?"

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?"

"We're not all savages here, sweetheart."

Members: Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Minho

Relationship: Post Apocalyptic!FemReader x HyunHo

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: It's the apocalypse. So. Some blood and gore, zombies, injuries, fighting to stay alive, violence, guns, weapons, etc. People aren't very nice. 🤷🏼‍♀️

The first time you'd met Lee Minho, you'd been in an abandoned convenience store looking for anything salvageable.

Apparently, you'd also missed the walker looking in said convenience store for a quick meal.

Que Lee Minho and his trusty golf club.

He'd showed up like some sort of twisted hero in all his bloody glory, and taken the walker's head clean off it's shoulders in one easy swing.

Hot, right?

He'd given you a "watch your back, dumbass" look, and turned on his heel and strode out the broken glass of the front door.

"Well, I'll just go ahead and go fuck myself." You'd muttered beneath your breath as you'd watched him go.

You'd picked yourself up off the floor, grabbed your gun, and followed him at a distance.

What can you say? You have a thing for hot, aloof guys who don't give a fuck and can take down a zombie in one clean hit.

Hey. It's the apocalypse.

Beggars can't be choosers.

********************************************************************************

The first time you'd met Hwang Hyunjin, he'd been naked.

Well, mostly.

You'd only been part of the safety compound community for a couple of weeks and apparently someone had neglected to tell you that the public showers were exactly that-public.

You'd nearly run smack into him, white towel that was now gray from too much use slung low around his narrow hips, and you'd stared, shocked, until he'd finally arched a brow and given you a small smirk.

"Like what you see?"

"You're n-not, um, wearing anything under that, are you...?" You'd stuttered out, like a complete fool, and not a savvy, independent woman who'd survived the end of the world completely on her own.

Hyunjin had glanced down the lean lines of his body and smirked some more.

"I mean. That's kinda the point when you shower, toots."

You had averted your eyes and ducked into the shower before you could embarrass yourself further, and Hyunjin had laughed before leaving.

Hot, lethal guys remember?

********************************************************************************

Cue the present.

You're still head over heels for dangerous men who can hold their own against a horde of zombies, but seriously, your options are limited here.

Let's just ignore the fact that it's two specific men in particular, shall we?

"(Y/N). Are you listening to me?"

You glance up from your seat at the table, playing with the trigger of your gun, and meet Minho's narrowed gaze.

You give him an innocent smile. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"No."

You shrug. "Then no."

Minho sighs and leans onto his hands on the table, pointing to the crudely drawn map of the buildings outside the safety of the compound.

"We're going to hit up first and third today. See if we can find some medical supplies."

You hum under your breath in acknowledgement, and Hyunjin takes the opportunity to lean forward and kick your legs down off the table.

"Hey, watch it, shithead!" You glare in his direction as your boots hit the floor and you steady yourself.

Hyunjin smirks and arches a brow at you. "What're you gonna do about it?"

You lean in and murmur threateningly beneath your breath, snapping your teeth at him, "Feed you to the walkers myself."

"I'd love to see you try, toots." Hyunjin counters back, leaning forward so your lips are almost brushing, before he mimics a kiss and you pull back abruptly as he laughs.

"Children." Minho grumbles, leaving the table and your squabble to grab his bag and sling his trusty golf club across his back. "I'm surrounded by children."

"I wouldn't be opposed to calling you daddy." Hyunjin says cheekily as he stands, stretching, before he grabs his own gear and his gun.

"Me either." You reply instantly with a wiggle of your brows in Minho's direction, even as he glares at both of you and flips you off.

"Can we just focus long enough to get our shit and get out?"

You grab your own weapon and salute Minho dramatically. "Yes, sir, daddy sir."

Hyunjin cackles from beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You try to ignore how warm his skin is against the back of your neck.

Minho sighs, resignation clear in his features as he heads for the door.

"I'm going to leave you two for the fucking walkers, mark my words."

********************************************************************************

"Hey toots, catch!"

Hyunjin tosses a water damaged packet of gauze over to you from the next aisle and you catch it easily, stuffing it into your pack as you continue to peruse the picked over shelves of the pharmacy.

There's not much left, but if there's anything worth while here, trust that the three of you will find it.

You snort as you find an intact box of condoms, calling over to Hyunjin, "Hey, you wanna have apocalypse sex?"

"Who's asking?" He appears at your side in a moment, snatching the box of condoms from your hand and inspecting it with a sly smirk on his face.

"Well I'll be."

"It'll even be safe sex." You point out with amusement, returning to shuffle through the leftover items on the shelves.

Hyunjin leans up against the shelf next to you, tossing the box easily from hand to hand as he continues to stare at you.

You arch a brow and give him a pointed look. "What?"

His smirk widens. "Are you asking me to have sex with you, toots?"

You make a face of mock revulsion and shove him away from you, even as you heart does a weird beat against the wall of your chest at his words.

"Fuck no."

"Suit yourself. Your loss." Hyunjin shrugs and stuffs the condoms into his own pack before ambling away.

Minho appears at the opposite end of the aisle, palming a box of what looks like water logged aspirin. He zips it into the pocket of his own pack as he approaches you, expression serious.

"Everyone good to go? We need to move."

"Yeah." You nod, zipping up your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. You glance around, peering through the bare shelves. "Where's Hyunjin-?"

"Shit. Fuck."

You're cut off by Hyunjin dashing around the end of the aisle where you and Minho currently stand, expression grim as he slides to a stop beside the two of you and pulls out his large gun.

He tosses his head in the direction of the front doors, blowing long, dirty blonde hair out of his eyes as he does so.

"There's a shit ton of walkers in the parking lot. I dunno if they somehow smelled us or heard us or if they're just gathered here for some fucking freak zombie reason, but we're gonna have a hell of a time getting out of here."

Minho swears underneath his breath, scanning the shelves for anything useful as a weapon or distraction.

You load your gun silently, muscles already tense and ready for a fight.

"Fuck it." Minho finally says, tugging his golf club out of his pack and smacking it into the palm of his free hand with a murderous expression on his features. "Let's go. We can't waste anymore time."

The chains you had used to secure the doors of the pharmacy when you first entered rattle loudly, and the sound of palms slamming against the glass echoes down the aisle toward the three of you.

Beside you, Hyunjin readies up, his lips pulled down into a serious, firm line.

"Yo, (Y/N)."

You glance sidelong at him as you all creep silently toward the front doors and the waiting horde of zombies.

He gives you the hint of a grim smile as he cocks his gun.

"If we survive this, think you'll reconsider sleeping with me?"

You snort out a strained chuckle as the door comes into view, and the faces of dozens of bloody, rotting zombies fill the frosted, cracked glass.

"Maybe."

A hand comes through the crack in the door, rattling the chains even more violently, leaving bloody smears on the door handle.

Hyunjin nods, looking determined.

"Good enough for me."

Minho stalks forward and slams his golf club down hard on the walker's hand, breaking it with a sharp crack. The walker shrieks and retreats and Minho glances back at the two of you as he reaches for the heavy padlock you had secured earlier.

Hyunjin arches a brow, staring at Minho hungrily. "Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?"

Minho rolls his eyes and you can practically hear him sigh.

Hey, what can you say? He looks hot as fuck covered in blood and smashing walkers hands off like they're made of nothing more than paper.

You and Hyunjin obviously have the same type.

"Our best bet is to funnel them in here where we can take them on in smaller numbers." His expression goes dangerous and determined as he turns back to the door. "Ready?"

You and Hyunjin both nod, immediately back into business mode, and Minho undoes the lock, letting the chains that hold the door closed against the horde slink to the floor at his feet.

The old, cracked doors crack under the pressure of the walkers without the chains to hold them up, and Minho leaps out of the way as they crash inward, and shuffling, rotting corpses begin to lurch into the pharmacy.

Without a second thought, you begin to take them down with bullets to the head, Hyunjin firing beside you in steady succession.

Minho jumps over the fallen corpses, and starts to take out the side stragglers swing by swing, his golf club knocking heads off easily, as if they were nothing more than stray balls waiting for his putt.

Your gun clicks, the chamber empty, and the walkers are still pouring steadily in, stumbling over their fallen comrades, mouths open, hands reaching for you.

"Fuck." You swear and sling off your backpack, searching for the ammo you had stored there before you left.

Hyunjin slides in front of you, calling over his shoulder as he continues to take shot after shot, "I'll cover you!"

You nod back gratefully, and your fingers finally close around the box of extra ammo.

You've just gotten the first bullet in the chamber, when Minho yells out over the groans of the incoming walkers and the sound of gunfire, "Look out!"

You glance up in time to see a walker swiping its gnarled hands at you through the bare shelves of the next aisle, teeth gnashing, eyes hanging out of their sockets.

You scramble backward, dropping your gun in the process, and Hyunjin whirls, taking the walker out with a bullet between the hanging eyes.

Its body falls heavily-right into the empty shelving unit, sending it crashing down-right on top of you and Hyunjin

"Move!" You shout, shoving Hyunjin away as you lunge to get out of the way of the toppling metal.

There's a sharp piercing pain in your side as you crash into Hyunjin on the safety of the floor a few feet away, both of you breathing hard, the fallen shelving unit at your feet.

"Shit." Hyunjin laughs breathlessly, glancing to you with wide eyes. "That was close."

There's black blood spatter on his face, and a gash on his forehead is leaking fresh red blood down his temple and across his lips.

"Are you two okay?" Minho appears, looming over the two of you, his chest heaving, forehead glistening with sweat and blood that matches Hyunjin's.

He lets the bloody golf club rest on the floor at his feet, the head covered in gore, and looks the two of you over with a sharp gaze.

Worry creases his forehead, and he crouches, reaching out to touch your side, and instantly, you hiss at the contact.

Something starts to burn.

"Fuck." Hyunjin mutters beneath his breath, and you follow his gaze to where Minho's hand covers your side.

Between his fingers, blood is starting to drip onto the floor beneath you, a large, sharp piece of shrapnel embedded just above your hip.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, it hurts like a bitch.

You can't worry about that right now though.

You glance to the doorway, almost piled completely shut with fallen walkers, and jut your chin toward the opening.

"We cleared them, but more will be coming, drawn in by the sounds and the blood. We need to leave. Now."

Minho's expression shutters, turning to business, and he picks up his club, standing, before he offers you his bloody hand to pull you to your feet.

You wince and hiss a breath between your teeth as you move, but get to your feet anyway.

Hyunjin gets up as well, kicking aside walker bodies to clear a path to the door as Minho slings one of your arms over his shoulders, taking most of your body weight as he helps you hobble toward the exit.

"Goddamn motherfucking bastards." Hyunjin mutters sourly beneath his breath, as he crushes a dead walker's head beneath the heel of his heavy boot.

He shoves open one of the doors with effort, the door wedging several times on the fallen zombies piled around it, and squints against the fast sinking sun, glancing back to you and Minho as you step out into the parking lot with him.

"Fuck." Minho swears, adjusting your hold on him, making you cringe and bite your lip to stop from whimpering. "It's later than I thought."

Hyunjin hefts his gun, motioning with his head to the alley you'd taken to get here.

"Come on. Follow me. I'll clear our path."

Minho nods as Hyunjin cocks the gun and steps out into the open, scanning the area warily.

When he motions you both forward, Minho turns to you, saying quietly beneath his breath, his expression softening slightly at the pain that's probably written all over your face, "We're gonna get out of this."

"We better." You reply back through gritted teeth, kicking out at a dead walker at your feet, smearing the toe of your shoe with blood. You give him a smile that's more like a grimace. "I haven't lived this long just to get taken out by one of these fucking ugly bastards."

Minho's lips twitch into the start of a smile as he helps you move forward to follow Hyunjin.

"That's my girl."

********************************************************************************

"This is gonna hurt."

You grimace, tightening your knuckles until they whiten around the edge of the cot, and give the doctor a slight glare.

"It already fucking hurts, Ally, just pull the damn thing out."

Ally sighs, reaching for a pair of gloves and a small bottle of alcohol. "Fine. But don't tell me I didn't warn you."

"Hey." Minho's voice is soft where he stands by your head, and you crane your head to glance up at him, grateful for the distraction as Ally starts to disinfect her hands.

He holds up a bottle of whiskey, expression serious, eyes dark. "You're gonna want to take a drink of this first."

You stare up at him. "I don't-"

"Trust me." He commands in a low tone, and you give in, nodding, as he raises the bottle of alcohol to your lips.

You take a short swig, and it burns on the way down your throat, but he's right, it numbs the searing pain in your side to a dull throb.

Ally grabs a pair of old forceps from the tray beside the cot and looks to you seriously.

"Ready?"

You take in a deep breath, holding it momentarily, before you readjust your death grip on the edge of the cot and give her one short, terse nod.

"Do it."

You take in another breath as you feel her touch the shrapnel in your side, the pain instantly flaring.

You force your body still, tense and trembling, as she takes a good hold.

She glances at you once more for confirmation and then up to Minho, standing beside your head.

"Give her the stick, Minho."

Minho leans over you, hands on either side of your head, staring down at you with an unreadable expression, before he gently, silently slides the hard piece of wood between your teeth, his fingers lingering feather soft on your jaw.

"Bite down." He admonishes softly beneath his breath, eyes never leaving your own. "And breathe out slowly."

You do as he says, holding his gaze-you wonder how many times he's been in your same position-and then, without warning, Ally tugs the large piece of metal out of your side in one harsh, smooth motion.

You feel it-the tearing of your muscle, of your skin, the hot blood immediately gushing down your side, pooling on the cot beneath you-and you bite down harder on the stick between your teeth to keep from audibly crying out, even as you squeeze your eyes shut against the sudden hot barrage of tears.

"It's out." Ally announces, and you hear something clatter onto her tray, before she moves to prod the edges of the jagged wound with her gloved fingers.

You hiss out a curse between your teeth at the contact, but don't open your eyes.

You don't dare move, the pain is still too much, your fingers are clenched so tightly along the edges of the cot that they're staring to ache.

You might pass out.

Your whole body is shaking violently now from the pain and shock as Ally cleans out the rest of the wound and moves to stitching you up.

It hurts, but not nearly as bad as the first initial agony.

There's a dull throbbing as Ally finishes pulling the stitches closed, and then she shoves back from the cot, standing up and snapping off her gloves.

It's only then that you finally open your eyes.

"We're all done." She remarks, patting you on the shoulder with a sympathetic look on her face. "You did well. Don't overdo it. Those stitches will rip if you try anything too strenuous the next couple of days."

She turns a commanding look and a finger on Minho. "I expect you to keep her responsible for her healing, Minho."

You hear him chuckle, but the sound doesn't feel like it normally does.

Or maybe that's just the pain talking.

"Yes, ma'am."

Ally nods sternly, seemingly satisfied, and heads back to her office, leaving the large run down auditorium that had been made into the compound's medical unit on silent feet.

You let out a shuddering breath, and finally glance at Minho.

"Is Hyunjin okay?" You ask, because it's the only thing you can think to say into the silence.

You don't want to focus too long on the worry that still creases his pretty features.

Minho nods with a slight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Ally looked at him when we got back. He just needed a few stitches. He's furious it's gonna scar though."

You laugh, but it cuts off into a wince, because the action immediately pulls at the tenderness of your side.

You sense Minho shift toward you, as if he wants to help, but doesn't quite know how.

You let out a long, shuddering sigh, and stare up at the crackled paint of the ceiling above your heads.

"He's worried about you, you know."

You glance back to Minho in surprise at his soft words, and he gives you the hint of another smile.

"Hyunjin, I mean. He wanted to come with me to make sure you were okay, but he's not huge on blood."

You arch a brow in disbelief. "The man lives in the zombie apocalypse."

Minho laughs, amusement trickling into his gaze. "Yeah, well, walker blood is different than blood from people you know intimately."

Your mind snags on the last word and won't let it go. Not until you ask, "We-know each other intimately?"

Minho cocks his head, regarding you seriously. "I mean-kind of. I don't usually take people I don't trust out with me on expeditions."

Something about his words makes your chest warm, and the pain dull.

"And Hyunjin-" You start to say, trailing off, not really sure where you're going with this.

Minho sighs. "Hyunjin likes you. He's just a dumbass sometimes who doesn't know how to show it."

You stare at him, nibbling anxiously on your bottom lip, and Minho reaches out and frees the skin from between your teeth with his thumb.

"We're not all savages here, sweetheart. We care about you." He admits softly, holding your gaze, and your heart does that weird thing in your chest again. "And seeing you get hurt-"

Pain washes across his face, and without thinking, you slide your fingers between his and squeeze.

He jumps slightly, shock flickering in his dark eyes, and then he glances down at your joined hands.

You squeeze again, until he looks back up to you.

"I care about you guys too." You whisper back, a slight smile pulling at your lips.

You glance down to your clothes, bloody and torn, and the newly stitched jagged wound marking your side, stained with alcohol and dried blood.

"Do you care enough about me to help me shower?" You ask teasingly, and Minho rolls his eyes, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sure Hyunjin would be more than happy to volunteer."

********************************************************************************

3 Months Later

"Toots, c'mon-" Hyunjin follows you into the low building, whining and putting on his best pouting face, even though you're clearly ignoring the little show he's trying to put on.

"Babe." You counter back, not looking at him, as Minho glances up from where he's standing at the table, packing supplies into backpacks. "There is no fucking way I'm letting you use a sex toy on me that you found in the middle of the zombie apocalypse."

Minho's expression immediately turns to something between disgust and exasperation at your words.

"But I'll wash it first!" Hyunjin argues back, as you cross the room to slip in beside Minho, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as you take over packing your backpack.

You stare down Hyunjin across the table blankly. "You would literally have to run that thing through a sterilizer seven times before I would even let you come near me with it."

Something determined flashes across Hyunjin's dark gaze at your words. "I'll ask Ally if I can borrow hers."

"No."

"Oh, c'mon!" Hyunjin cries out, reaching across the table to snag his backpack angrily, stuffing his supplies into it with harsh, pouty movements. "Neither of you are any fun."

Beside you, Minho sighs. "Fun gets you killed."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes so hard that you laugh a little and he turns his glare to you.

"God, I really can't believe I'm shacking up with two of the most boring people to ever exist."

You shrug, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as you do so. "It's the end of the world. Beggars can't be choosers."

Minho nods in agreement, putting on his own gear as he moves around the table to flick Hyunjin across the cheekbone.

"Yep. She's right."

Hyunjin rubs at his cheek, scowling, even as you lean over to press a kiss to his plump lips.

"God, I really hate you."

You laugh, as Minho smirks, leaning over to swipe a kiss across his offended cheekbone.

"We love you too. Now let's get moving."

[writeriguess]

The apocalypse was averted—again—but that didn’t mean everything was fine. The Hargreeves mansion was quieter than it had been in days, the silence broken only by the distant ticking of an old clock somewhere in the depths of the house. The siblings were scattered, each processing their latest brush with the end of the world in their own way. You, however, found yourself sitting on the grand staircase, staring at nothing in particular, lost in thought.

It had been a long, exhausting battle, and the weight of it all was beginning to sink in. The chaos, the fear, the uncertainty—it was enough to wear down even the strongest of souls. But somehow, through it all, Five had been the rock that held everything together. He always was. No matter how much the world demanded of him, no matter how much it took, he always found a way to push forward.

You admired him for that. But you also worried. Five was carrying the weight of multiple lifetimes on his shoulders, and it was starting to show. His sharp wit and biting sarcasm were still there, but there was a tiredness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a weariness that you couldn’t ignore.

As if summoned by your thoughts, you heard the familiar creak of floorboards behind you. You turned your head to see Five standing at the top of the staircase, his hands in his pockets, that same tired look in his eyes. He was watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter than usual.

You shook your head, shifting to make room for him on the step beside you. “Not at all.”

Five descended the stairs with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before—because he had. Time was a fluid concept for him, a fact that both fascinated and unnerved you. He sat down next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched, but not quite.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was the kind of silence that spoke of understanding, of shared experiences that didn’t need to be put into words.

“I always hated this house,” Five finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “So many memories… most of them not good.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. The mansion was grand, imposing, filled with the echoes of the past. For the Hargreeves siblings, it was a place of pain as much as it was home. But there was something about it that also tied them together, something that made it impossible to leave behind completely.

“It’s hard to shake the memories,” you agreed softly. “They’re always there, lurking in the corners.”

Five glanced at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You seem… off. What’s going on?”

You shrugged, letting out a sigh. “Just thinking. It’s been a lot, you know? Saving the world, nearly dying, dealing with… everything.”

“Yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in the faintest hint of a smile. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

The two of you shared a brief, tired laugh, the sound more an acknowledgment of the absurdity of your situation than anything else. After all, how many times had the world nearly ended on your watch? It was becoming a routine.

But then, the laughter faded, and the weight of reality settled in again. You looked over at Five, your gaze searching his face. The lines of exhaustion were more pronounced now, the weariness in his eyes deeper. It was clear that even someone as strong as him had limits.

“You know you don’t have to do this alone, right?” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “We’re all in this together. You can lean on us—on me—if you need to.”

Five’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the mask he always wore slipped. You could see the vulnerability, the fear, the doubt that he kept hidden from everyone. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual stoic expression.

“Leaning on people isn’t really my thing,” he said, though there was no bite to his words. “But… I appreciate the offer.”

You reached out, placing your hand on his. His fingers were cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked down at your hand, his expression softening again.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Five,” you said quietly. “It’s okay to let people in. It’s okay to let yourself feel… human.”

“Human,” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. Maybe, in some ways, it was. Five had seen so much, done so much—been through so much more than anyone should ever have to. It was easy to forget that beneath the sharp mind and the jaded exterior, he was still just a person.

A person who had been alone for far too long.

“I spent decades alone,” Five admitted, his voice barely audible. “Decades where all I had was my own mind to keep me company. It changes you, makes you… hard.”

“But you’re not alone anymore,” you reminded him gently. “You have your family. You have me.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the mask dropped completely. You saw the pain, the longing, the fear. You saw the boy he used to be, the man he had become, and everything in between.

And then, before you could say anything more, he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative, as if he was afraid to fully give in to it. But it was also full of all the things he couldn’t say—the gratitude, the affection, the need for something real in a world that was anything but.

You kissed him back, your hand slipping up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently against his skin. You wanted to convey everything in that kiss—the understanding, the support, the promise that you were here, and you weren’t going anywhere.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little harder, your foreheads resting against each other. Five’s eyes were still closed, his hand still resting on yours.

“I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his voice raw. “This… vulnerability thing.”

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered back. “You just have to be yourself.”

He opened his eyes then, meeting your gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For being here. For… understanding.”

“Always,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently. “You don’t have to face everything alone, Five. Not anymore.”

He nodded, the tension in his body slowly easing. For a while, the two of you just sat there, side by side, the warmth of each other’s presence chasing away the coldness of the mansion.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe, just maybe, time was finally on your side.

[kiaxet]

Gimme BTS for both Siblingquest and Lethal Measures, scene of your choice!

Lethal Measures first, because that one's been around for a bit and we have fun here:

If the government wants to get to Donnie or his brothers, all it would take would be one particularly morally bankrupt decision maker to make the call to go after April- And they’d never know, until she failed to check in. Or they’d force her to open her phone and keep checking in in her stead - it’s not like those messages are particularly long or detailed - and they’d never know at all- He pushes away from the screen, letting the chair roll as his mind scrambles. They’d never know- April’s in danger- they’re all in danger- he should’ve known- he’s the tech guy, the genius of the family, the only one with any cybersecurity savvy- he should’ve known- this is his fault- they’re all in danger and it’s his fault- they- he- he- He pulls his legs up against his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying his head in his knees and gasping for breath as his heart pounds in his ears and his brain spins out of control, caught in a cycle of guilt and the looming unknown, and he- He loses time. Slowly, his breathing evens out. His heart quiets down. The world gradually slides back into focus. This is his fault, and he will fix it. Later. After the Krang issue is taken care of. Under observation for the time being means that they aren’t planning on making a move, and he can set up another monitor program to notify him if that ever changes, as well as any other changes they make to the dossiers. Forewarned is forearmed, and he’ll be armed enough to make sure they regret ever thinking about coming after his family- But they aren’t yet. Priorities. He’s okay - he’s fine - he just needs to focus.

It's inaccurate to say I've never seen an episode of TMNT 03 in my life - I'm sure I have; it was just 20 years ago, and all I remember is the opening theme. I sure as hell did not remember Bishop, so he wasn't a factor when this particular scene (read: Donnie realizing a government black site specializing in xenobiology knows about him and his family) - the Government Agency in question was a blank slate for me, and I figured I was already in AU territory and could just keep digging. I wound up with Site 39, who are far more observation-focused and prefer to prevent trouble than cause it, meaning Donnie's fears about the government coming after his family are currently unfounded.

It's not like Donnie knows that.

This poor kid has helped avert an apocalypse, nearly lost his family in the process, made the entirety of his family's recovery his responsibility, is absolutely traumatized and absolutely refusing to acknowledge that (let alone take steps to assuage it), and has decided that a Krang hunt is a good use of his time, because he wants to get rid of the last Real Threat to his family. Finding what he believes is a second Real Threat is a goddamn hammer blow to his psyche. So he immediately puts it on his To Fix list, along with literally everything else, because sometimes Donnie doesn't learn unless someone else hammers it into his head.

I do have fun writing panic attacks - there's something about the mechanics of breaking up sentences and the very- abrupt- nature- of the hyphen as punctuation that really works to paint the picture of a thought process spiraling out of control.

I have had exactly one person who didn't know about it beforehand pick up on the repetition of I'm fine and he's fine and what it means to the story, and I fucking love them.

Siblingquest time! I'm pulling from the little that's published, so as to avoid doing a DVD commentary on something that would currently count as spoilers.

“Anything on the scanner, Donnie?” Leo asks for what feels like the millionth time. “Negative. Even New York’s Finest are having a boring evening.” Donnie sighs and slumps as much as the lightweight battle shell will let him. “You know, Spider-Man never has these problems.” “Nah, Spider-Man has other problems,” Mikey says evenly, finishing a wrist stretch and sliding his brace back on. “Like, all the time. It’s definitely a good thing we aren’t Spider-Man.” “Yeah, and I don’t think Spider-Man could handle being us.” Leo smirks and offers Mikey a fistbump, which Mikey reciprocates and explodes, fingers waggling gleefully. “You know,” Raph says, leaning in, then pauses. “Well, one, Spider-Man ain’t got nothing on the Mad Dogs. An’ two, if nothing’s happening, we could just go home for the night. Raph can’t vouch for Donnie, but Raph hasn’t used his screen time today, and we could go play Smash-” Which is when the sound of glass shattering echoes through the street as a window smashes outwards, a barely-disguised ram yokai barreling through it, something small clutched to its chest. It stops, shaking glass out of its horns and fur, and then hoofs it up the street. There’s a beat of silence, and then- “That was not the kind of Smash Raph meant.”

Most of the writing that exists for Siblingquest right now was written in a NaNoWriMo word sprint haze and cleaned up in post, as it were. This means that a lot of the non-load-bearing prose - conversations, jokes, small interstitial scenes that aren't super plot heavy - was written as quickly as possible and pulls directly from whatever happened to be on my mind at the time.

My roommate and I also spent much of November playing Spider-Man 2 on a borrowed PS5, so it was on my mind at the time. Modern Spider-Man problems, generally speaking, tend to end with messy upheaval and at least one person Emotionally Important to the Spider-Man in question dying a painful but meaningful death. The Hamatos do not want Spider-Man problems, and Spider-Man could not handle the Krang.

("But they handled the Symbiote-" The Symbiote in Spider-Man 2 and the Krang as presented in Rise aren't anywhere near the same weight class. The Krang would body Venom. Being voiced by Tony Todd would not save him.)

(...someone give me a fucked up Krang/Symbiote amalgamate now, please.)

Also, comedy is hard and I am very proud of that last joke.

...also fuck it, have a preview of coming attractions in Siblingquest:

“Oh, nah, I’m thinking Run of the Mill.” Leonardo looks up at Cissy. She probably ought to hop down and join them - she hadn’t been thinking. “You ever been?” Context says it’s a place, likely one that serves pizza, but aside from that, nothing. Cissy shakes her head. “Then we definitely need to go. C’mon, guys, Cissy’s first Run of the Mill visit!” “Don’t gotta twist my arm,” Raphael says easily. “Donnie?” “Far be it from me to turn down the offer of pizza.” A beat. “Though if Nardo puts his Hawaiian on my plate again, I’m taking his arm off.” “Donnie, he needs that-” The arm conversation continues, and Leonardo gestures at Cissy to join them as he and Michelangelo start heading out the door. Cissy finally steps off the rafters and lands on the ground, swiftly catching up to Donatello and leaning in. “It’ll come off easier at the shoulder,” she says, voice low to avoid catching Raphael’s ear, “but you’ll need to pop it out of the socket first.” She puts on speed to catch up to Michelangelo, and only hears Donatello’s incredulous, “How do you know that?” behind her after she heads out the door.

[bbgem329]

Where’s My Love—Chapter Six

Pairings—Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary

Two years ago, you and your husband built a life for your growing family at a safe camp during a world wide apocalypse. Everything is good until Bucky catches wind that a rival group is out to dominate the rest for their own gain.

What happens when, one day, the most capable men and your husband are out on a hunt when the camp is attacked? Will you be able to get your children and your heavily pregnant self to safety? Will Bucky find you before it’s too late?

Warnings

MINORS DNI! 18++. Violence. Language. Apocalyptic world. Childbirth. Protective!Bucky. Little dark. Little gore? We love feral, protective men. Did I miss anything?

Note

This is my birthday present to myself. So sorry for the delay! Work and school and life tend to get in the way! I will finish this and in about a month my schedule will open up for summer break so expect more soon!! Thanks for the support and love! Always!

Series Masterlist

—————

Run. Run. Run.

Just keep running.

Don’t think.

Just run.

Bucky didn’t let his mind wander too far. He couldn’t afford to. If he let his thoughts run rampant–his worries, it just might tear him apart and twist him up from inside out.

What good would he be then?

No. He needed to be calm and collected. He needed to keep his head.

You were fine. You had to be.

You were smart.

You were resourceful.

You could handle your own, he’d made sure of that with all the training he’d forced upon you in the past few years. You wouldn’t, in a million years, let anything happen to his babies. You would fight.

But what if…

No.

Bucky shook his head, letting out a frustrated growl as he picked up the pace. Arms pumping harder, stride longer, steps lighter, and his head held high.

JUST RUN.

Don’t. Think.

He couldn’t remember the last time he worked up such a sweat. Or got his heart pumping this hard. Or his lungs burning this much.

Has he ever run this fast before?

He doesn’t think so.

Not as the Winter Soldier as far as he remembered.

No, when he was the Winter Soldier he would stalk, not run, after his targets–his missions.

Like a hunter after his prey.

That’s exactly what he would do if–

No.

How long had he been running?

Bucky stole a glance up at the sky. The sun was at its highest position, meaning it had to be somewhere around noon. And if he had left just around sunrise, he’d had been gone for over six hours by now.

Bucky’s stomach rolled and he could nearly taste the bile clawing its way up his throat.

A lot can happen in six hours.

He swallowed thickly, shaking the thought from his head. There was absolutely no need to go there. You would always tell him how silly it was to worry. Remind him that whatever he was in his head about was out of his control.

Whatever happened, happened.

Worrying was nothing but a waste of time and energy that could be put to good use.

It’s almost as if he can hear your voice in his head–clear as day, telling him the exact thing or something along those lines.

You’d spoken those exact words more than a few times in the years you’d been together but there was one time in particular that came to the forefront of his mind.

“You better knock it off.”

Bucky’s gaze lifted to meet your eyes in the mirror, the pressure of his hands on either side of your hips lessening for just a moment. He tried to hide his surprise over the bite in your tone but he clearly didn’t mask his deer-caught-in-a-headlights reaction quick enough.

“What?” He asked, sounding a little offended. “I’m not doing anything, baby. Just trying to help relieve the pressure…”

He was quick to avert his eyes, instead focusing on his hands on either side of your waist, making sure he was adding just the right amount of pressure to ease the pain of the contractions.

He damn well knew you were onto him–knew you knew him better than he knew himself by now.

You’d probably gauged his mood long before he did. There really was no point in trying to hide it anymore.

You’d get it out of him eventually.

But that didn’t stop him from trying to distract you from his little slip up by laying a little trail of kisses along your exposed spine, thumbs kneading the soft skin along your hip.

And he thought it might work, that he might’ve actually gotten away with it.

Then you let out a long, frustrated huff.

The jig was up.

You went to move, trying to shift back and sit up but his hands on your waist stopped you.

“Bucky.” You protested.

“Just stay there, woman.” He groaned, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t make me feel dumb.” You wiggled in his hold, trying to brush him off. “You should never lie to a pregnant woman, let alone one in labor-”

You let out a long moan, fingers digging into the sheets as you burrowed your face in the pillow to not wake Jamie on the other side of the tent. Your body shook and trembled through the pain as the contraction continued. Bucky did his best to help you through it, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement in your ears, rubbing your back and hips, wiping a cool, wet rag along the back of your neck and over your shoulders.

Your contractions were closer together and longer now.

And just to be sure, he used your current position to his advantage to check how dilated you were now.

“I feel like I need to push.”

Bucky’s stomach rolled, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he bent down to examine you. His eye nearly bulged out of his head when his fingers came in contact with something soft but firm at the edge of your cervix.

Holy fuck.

Was that…?

He shifted to get a better look between your legs.

Yup.

Definitely a head.

“Fuck.”

He regretted that word the moment it left his lips.

“What?” You lifted your head from the sheets to look over your shoulder at him, face unnaturally flushed and a new flash of worry in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky needed to keep his head. He couldn’t get worked up because then you would get worked up and everyone knew that a worked up woman in labor never led to anything good.

No, he needed to keep you calm to make this process as smooth and easy as possible.

“Nothings wrong, baby.” He assured you, working hard to keep his voice soft and steady. “You’re doing so great. I can see baby's head, that’s all.” He pressed a soft kiss to the base of your spine, his left hand brushing gently over your hip. “You’re fully dilated so whenever you feel the need to push go ahead.”

He was a little proud of himself for remaining so cool and collected on the outside because the turmoil blazing through him on the inside was bound to be catastrophic.

“I know you’re worried.” Your voice startled him out of his thoughts and he lifted his head to meet your gaze in the mirror across the tent again. “But you can do this. You’re ready. No point in worrying, Buck. Whatever happens, happens. It’s out of your control.” You took a deep breath, offering him a soft smile, “So worrying is a waste of time and energy.”

His expression softened as his heart clenched in his chest, nearly beating out of control. You would never cease to amaze him.

Your strength, your resilience, your selflessness.

Here you were, on your hands and knees, in one of the most vulnerable moments of your life, trying to comfort him.

He wasn’t the one about to push an actual human out of their body.

He wasn’t the one who’s life was at risk.

Though it might as well be his life too because there wasn’t a chance Bucky could go on without you.

“Pretty girl.” He whispered, fighting a smile as he shook his head in disbelief. “I should be the one comforting you. You’re the one in labor.”

You tried to smile but it came across as more of a grimace. Despite it all, the pained smile, the sweat gleamed skin, the cherry red cheeks, and the wild, snarled hair, you still looked as beautiful to him as ever.

“I know that but I’ve birthed a baby before, you have never delivered one.”

It was moments like these that made him wonder what he did to deserve you.

Sometimes he wondered if you were really real. If you were really his.

“Those are two very different things-”

He was cut off but your strained cry.

“Okay.” He mumbled to you or himself, he wasn’t sure. “Okay, you got this.”

Bucky positioned himself back between your spread thighs, rubbing reassuringly along the back of your legs and hips coaching and encouraging you through it as best as he could.

A few good pushes and the head was out–this was called crowning, he’d remembered from one of the many books he’d read and you weren’t allowed to push, only breathe so as to not risk tearing. Before the apocalypse a tear was an easy fix but here and now, it could mean life or death. As far as you were both aware, you were the only medical professional that could even remotely handle that sort of situation and you couldn’t very well stitch up yourself if you found yourself in that position.

“Just breathe, baby.” He pleaded, rubbing his metal hand reassuringly along your waist and back, trying to distract you from the pain. “Follow my lead.”

Finally the contraction ended, and he was able to guide and carefully maneuver the shoulders out.

One more determined push and the baby–his baby girl was sliding out and into his eagerly awaiting hands.

And you both let out a matching sigh of relief when she immediately let loose with a piercing wail.

That had worked out.

This would too.

Whatever God or higher power existed wouldn’t dare take you or his babies from him. Not after everything he was put through and faced.

You, Jamie, Becca, and the baby were his redemption.

His light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

The world wouldn’t be able to handle James Buchanan Barnes without you.

So you would survive. You had to, if not for his sake.

Bucky couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when finally the ‘Brookstown’ sign came into view. He always hated that sign, thought it attracted too much attention and would only bring trouble into their little town, and maybe he was right but he’d never been happier to see it than he is now.

It served, somewhat, as a beacon of hope.

He was close.

His chest tightened as he turned down the familiar path, leading into the woods. Just on the other side of this mini forest, was the truth and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.

He didn’t hear gunshots, in fact, he didn’t hear anything at all.

It was dead silent.

And that was enough to alert him that something was off.

No.

Something was wrong.

Normally, he could hear the life that lay beyond as he approached the front fence–giggles of children, people talking as they washed clothes in the river, and the clanking of tools because they were always fixing up and improving things around camp.

There was always something going on, even in the dead of the night.

He steeled himself, steps deliberate yet reluctant as he pushed through the bush and came out on the other side.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect but it wasn’t this.

The fence had been knocked down on two sides, a good amount of the dead had already rounded up, wandering around the completely lifeless camp, feasting on the bodies that were left behind.

Bucky didn’t let himself think, body numb as he took off in a sprint towards your shared tent on the other side of camp. His mind was on one thing and one thing only, completely oblivious and unaware as he screamed your name at the top of his lungs.

It didn’t matter that it attracted a lot of unwanted attention, the rage bubbling up inside him was no match for the infected that wandered his way.

They were nothing more than an outlet and he took whatever came his way out without batting an eye–a knife to the eye, a stab to the top of the head, a cut clean across the neck that sent a still growling head rolling across the flattened grass.

He intentionally didn’t look at the bodies littering the ground, kept his gaze up and his head held high as he moved closer and closer to his tent. If he stole a glance and connected each body to a face and name in his head..

It would only slow him down.

He couldn’t afford to feel or think about anything else right now.

Once the coast was clear, Bucky barged through the door of his tent, relief hitting him square in the chest as he took in the familiar space.

The backpack–gone.

All the coats–gone.

The chest at the end of the bed–open and rifled through.

You were in a rush, that much was obvious.

He pressed a hand to his head, letting himself have a moment of relief.

His girl.

His girl was strong. Resilient.

If you made it back here and had enough time to gather some stuff, there was no doubt you made it out.

Your next move would’ve been towards the fence–the back fence specifically and seeing as they attacked from the front, you most likely had a smooth escape.

You were okay. You were out there.

And he was coming after you.

Bucky snatched up his own backpack, quickly stuffing a few more smaller guns and knives in the pockets before racing into Becca and Jamie’s space to collect his worn blue blankie and her stained stuffed rabbit.

Once he had everything packed, he slung the bag over his shoulder and grabbed his old M249 Paratrooper off the bed.

“I’m coming.”

He couldn’t imagine how scared you must be, didn’t even want to think about what you went through. But he knew you trusted that he would come after you and that he would find you.

With one last deep breath, he positioned his gun in his right arm and carefully pulled back the flap of the tent with his left.

But never in his wildest dreams, could he have prepared for the next moment.

Barely a step out of the tent and he was frozen in shock as his gaze locked on a familiar pair of warm chocolate eyes. The breath was nearly knocked from his lungs as he subconsciously jolted back, one hand over his frantically beating heart.

“You… You” He stuttered out. “What..”

“Hey, Buck.” Followed by a chuckle. “ Good to see you too.”

“Sam?”

—————

Taglist

@here4thespice @ameerakane20

@netflixxgodess @animegirlgeeky @futur3corps3 @toldyouitwasamelodrama

@ginger-swag-rapunzel @buckystevelove @snugglingbucky @slamminmine

[sharkiegorath]

aziraphale is very much like, an idealistic liberal christian who wants to be in the world, be openly flawed, and ignore self-righteous jerks……and who also wants god's love, security, and assurance of underlying goodness in the end. he's the archetypal 'real good christian'. the 'real good christian' will inevitably have to excuse or ignore questionable-to-terrible things when confronted with topics like the problem of evil. aziraphale repeatedly lets go of heaven to various extents, but he never lets go of god or wanting to Be Good, and these things can reel him back to heaven.

leading up to S2, i reread the book. you know what struck me in crowley and aziraphale's final scene? crowley was maniacally predicting the future and dissecting the universe. he was curious and incisive and passionate. aziraphale was uncomfortable, dismissive, and a bit judgemental. pretty much the same as he was in the first scene, besides being crowley's friend. crowley loses his thread of thought, possibly because he's come close to the truth…and aziraphale shrugs it off as probably "nothing very important". then they go to lunch at the ritz and the nightingale sings and that's all sweet and earthshattering in some ways, but that sheer ideological tension between them is never resolved. and it's made more striking by how closely crowley's voice and thoughts align with the book's narration, while aziraphale's largely don't.

in S1, that conversation doesn't happen. the park scene gets interrupted by the switcheroo. the season ends on an unambiguously happy note. they're closer than they were in the book, yet we don't see crowley and aziraphale talking about aziraphale's betrayal and change of heart. maybe they never did. maybe crowley had aziraphale apology-dance and they forgot it. who knows.

during the not-pocalypse, aziraphale didn't really learn anything besides realizing that crowley is his most important person and he values earth far more than heaven. in both the book and series, he already knew heaven is shit, but he was in denial until the last minute; averting the apocalypse just meant he didn't have to deal with them anymore. the nature of 'ineffability' means that the thwarted apocalypse was part of god's plan, somehow. he could live with that. he even technically thwarted hell because the antichrist was a hell plot. he never fully confronted his deeply held beliefs about goodness and purpose.

with liberal christian theology, i see things like: god loves you. god accepts you as you are. god is good and made you and loves you so you're good. god is love so how can love be wrong. god never said that stuff and anyway it's probably a mistranslation and anyway he can cross it out.

good omens is starting to ask: what if you do have to choose between god and the people you love? are you brave enough to say god is wrong? are you willing to be wrong, on a metaphysical level, to the point of eternal punishment or annihilation? a lot of questioning/skeptical christians want to be that brave. i want to be. but when you've been raised that way, when you've always been told that a good god is your main purpose and greatest love, it's really fucking hard to undo the programming. what if the most important person in your life is invited to enter heaven, no repentance or devotion necessary - and they say no? all the love between crowley and aziraphale is not enough in the face of god's power and indifference.

(ftr i say 'god' but i don't actually think the good omens god is malicious - i think they're an emotionally distant cloudcuckoolander who would rather talk to themselves about pinhead dancing or ostriches than do anything. but heaven and archangels act on 'god''s behalf to a much greater extent than hell acts for satan. the metatron in particular is shaping up to be analogous to churches, as a 'spokesperson'. god's 'voice' is insidious even when it acts nice and reasonable, while god themself isn't a good influence or higher accountability, but a total non-entity.)

series!aziracrow was much sweeter and more intimate than the book's. i loved the S1 version but sometimes i missed the book's bite and discordance. right now i'm very appreciative that the series is actually making it more complicated and messy and painful than the original.

[essektheylyss]

It is very tiring trying to be like "shadowgast cute and soft, make brain go brrr" while simultaneously feeling still that, even a year and a half later, to a loud portion of the fandom, their relationship through the last ten-ish episodes of the campaign didn't "count" because there was not a (mouth-to-mouth) kiss involved, even though their interactions throughout that last arc were absolutely crucial to Caleb's storyline, and gave the impression of prioritizing each other even while focused on averting an apocalypse.

And in particular, the moments they had at the Blooming Grove were very sweet and spoke of the importance they placed on each other and the grace they were willing to extend to themselves in settling what they both still needed to settle before another step could be taken. But evidently that doesn't actually matter because it didn't result in a traditional domestic relationship (ignoring that, clearly, that isn't even really a possibility regardless of their interest, per the two-shot).

If the feeling had not persisted so insidiously among the fandom, I really would not be so persnickety about it, but it has never felt like that subsided and it is simply rearing its head in a far more noticeable way now that those folks can claim there's actually something to "celebrate" to their standards, as though a relationship cannot possibly be real unless you've watched two people stick their tongues down each other's throats.

Like, do people not realize how exclusionary (and, frankly, pretty invasive) that sounds, or do they simply not give a fuck?

[dracox-serdriel]

Faith in Good Omens

I think it's pretty obvious that Aziraphale's faith is a major factor in his world view. Even though the angels have beaten him and tried to destroy him with hellfire, even though in Season 1 he saw that the powers of Heaven would not heed his call and would not prevent the Apocalypse, he still clearly believes that God is in charge and setting things in motion, working behind the scenes to make things right.

And, in due fairness, we have three decent examples that support his faith: the trials of Job, the averted apocalypse, and the whole Gabriel situation.

And yet, there is only one person in all of Good Omens (the show) that we witness praying. And I don't mean dialing up Heaven and expecting to actually get God on the line (and winding up stuck with the Metatron instead). I mean praying in the manner that people - humans - pray. You know, where you think or talk outloud to God with no real proof that God can hear you, let alone any indication that God is actually listening.

And who is the person performing that particular act of faith? Crowley.

Crowley is also the one who, at the end of Season 1, asks if God might've always planned for The Great Plan to end like it did.

For the most part, Crowley behaves and speaks as if the reason he and Aziraphale are able to have "the agreement" and their many adventrues is simply because nobody at their respective Head Offices bothers to check up on their reports. They get away with the Job situation because the other angels are too dense to cotton on, Hell isn't even watching, and neither he nor Aziraphale would ever tell anybody what they did. In short, Season 2 makes it pretty clear that Crowley believed for a very long time that the reason he and Aziraphale managed it all was simply because they got away with it without anybody noticing what they did.

But in Season 1, we see him praying to God, and we see him consider the possibility that God was on "their side" the entire time.

Does Crowley still have faith in God? It's not clear from what we see in Season 2, but I think he does.

The difference between the two is not that Aziraphale has faith where Crowley does not; instead, it's that Aziraphale's faith in God extends to faith in Heaven - that it, as an institution, can truly be good - while Crowley's faith doesn't go that far. It's more an issue of scope than anything else.

[clanofjones]

The (Un) Secret Garden: Chapter One

Finally posting this!

My first ROTTMNT fic, I hope you all like it!

EDIT: The entirety of this fic is posted on my writing blog, @jaywritesturtles! Subsequent sequels will be posted there too.

Next Chapter

Ao3: complete!

Summary: The thing with an impromptu apocalypse is that it forces people - even those who hated each other prior - to join forces for the sake of survival. However, when the aforementioned apocalypse is averted - and by proxy, no stressed bonds are forced - then enemies are liable to remain enemies. Casey Jones never got that particular memo. Or: Big Mama manipulates Casey and the Disaster Twins gotta help him out.

Chapter One: Don't Crash Cars, it's Bad for the Economy

April's POV

"Go topside, they said. It'll be fun, they said!" April O'Neil grumbled as she, Cassandra Jones, and her son from the future, Casey Jones, sat in police custody.

A more accurate statement might be that April and Casey sat in government custody. Cassandra was hitting and kicking the bars as a policeman confiscated her bent naginata, Casey's tech-saw, and April's bat, shouting at levels previously thought not to be possible by human(?) lungs. 

The only good thing about it was that the policeman couldn't hear a single word from the other two. 

Or, rather, he wouldn't have been able to. Casey hadn't said a single word since being pulled over.

April nudged the future boy. 

"You doing okay, Jones?"

"I think all the police were dead by the time I was born."

It was a very good thing Cassandra was making so much noise. Unless they had much more open minds since April had last been pulled over, then it would have been a very interesting conversation.

On April's last bout to the police station, it hadn't been her fault.

It had been Donnie and Sunita's fault.

April made a mental note to check if her friends could pass for humans as well as drive in a non-apocalyptic fashion that happened to spare any and all adjacent fire hydrants.

The policeman walked up to the temporary cell they had been placed in, apparently unperturbed by Cassandra's incessant screeching until she decided to spare her lungs. April looked at the officer 

"Can we have our phone call?"

April tugged on the cord gently as the phone rang. Cassandra glowered at a man who was clearly actually incarcerated, and Casey's leg twitched as he shifted anxiously on a cold, hard bench.

"Chello~?"

April could make out Mikey's voice through the receiver and frowned slightly. She had called Donnie, right? But a garbled voice on the other end confirmed her suspicions.

"Mikey! Stop 'Chello~'ing a possible enemy!" That was (probably) Raph.

"And stop stealing my things!" Definitely Donnie...

"Hey, Donnie's stuff is fair game!" Leo.

"When did we decide that?" Donnie again. April sighed on her end and closed her eyes for a moment.

"Guys!" she said in a tone just below a shout.

"April!" Mikey exclaimed over the other end.

"Why are you calling from a station phone? I gifted you a Genius Built tech - trademarked, obviously - phone for a reason, April."

April cleared her throat and rolled on the balls of her feet. "Welp," she began, drawing out the 'e' in 'welp' before deciding to just bite the bullet and do it. "Remember when I said I'd take Casey and Casey topside to teach 'em driving?"

"Yes, we have the you-know-what all ready for them upon your return..." Donnie said skeptically.

"Well... We might've gotten into the smallest little crash ever," April could feel the crushing, expecting silence as her voice trailed off as someone dropped something. "And Casey jumped out of the window of the driver's seat, so Cass grabbed the wheel so we wouldn't crash into a pet store, and we crashed into a fire hydrant."

Silence on the other end. April chanced a glance at Cassandra and Casey and saw that Casey seemed to be expecting the electric chair. Cassandra, on the other hand, wasn't paying attention at all and was about five seconds from turning a staring-contest-turned-battle-of-wits into an actual fistfight with a definitely actually incarcerated prisoner.

"Is Casey okay?"

April nodded before she realized that they couldn't see her.

"Yeah, he's good. This lady shouted at him for a bit for jumping out of a car window and in front of her car, but he's fine now."

After a moment in which her friends on the other end seems to be taking the information in, April continued: "In any case, we still have a car with a busted hood, one grand to pay for the fire hydrant, and another three hundred apiece to Cass and Casey for driving without licenses. Mine's been revoked for a couple of weeks. If we can pay the fines now, then maybe we can get off without either of them serving any time," April explained.

"If Michael would give me my phone, then you'll be out before Pizza Week." April knew full well Donnie didn't need his phone to pay their fines, but there was no use bargaining with Donnie once you stole his phone. "Nay, within the hour!" Donnie amended, and April bet the first slice that he was posing dramatically if Leo's snickers were anything to go by.

"Thanks, Donnie. See ya in a few," April said as she placed the phone on its base.

Casey looked up at her with mild interest and pulled his jacket around himself slightly. 

"Everything's fine. Knowing Dee, we'll be out in about an hour. We'll just have to stay off the roads for now, and maybe we can practice your and Cass's driving in Repo Mantis' junkyard if Mikey can convince him."

That seemed to placate him enough, although he still looked plenty guilty as his feet shifted awkwardly.

"Sorry about the car." If April hadn't seen his lips move, then she likely wouldn't have heard him.

"Pssh, it's fine. I'm sure Donnie would have lost his mind with all his genius energy and nothing to do with it if nobody ever broke anything. Think of it as us three keeping him sane." 

Casey allowed himself to smile as April eased Cassandra out of her confrontation (fight?) by covering the ex-foot general's eyes and dragging her back by her hoodie, smiling awkwardly at the convict.

"Unhand me, O'Neil!"

April sighed as Cassandra allowed her to guide her to their holding cell.

"Good news is we're out in an hour or so. Donnie's taking care of the fees."

Cassandra pried April's hand from her eyes so that she could cast the convict one last glare, and pointed at her own eyes with two fingers, then flicking them to the convict, in an 'I'm watching you' gesture. However, even as her feet dragged on the cold floor, she allowed April to move her, which April supposed was a good sign.

As the lock clicked behind Casey, and April relinquished Cassandra, the latter sat with her legs crossed. April lay on her back with her legs propped up against the stone wall. She was suddenly exceptionally glad that they all had jackets on them, even if Casey's 'just in-case' hand warmers had been confiscated, along with everything else in their pockets and hands.

April supposed there were worst times to have been arrested, not even counting if any of them had been caught from the pictures taken during what Mikey had abbreviated to the 'Krangvasion' because boy would that have been a loaded conversation. At least by now, her human friends had learned to dress like humans, even if they couldn't drive like them.

Casey had situated himself in a corner, every few seconds his eyes would make repetitive rounds around the cell as if he were waiting for Krang to slither through the barred windows or the vents in the ceiling and floor. April sighed to herself -- the future boy hadn't given up his paranoid behaviors for anything since the invasion, barring pizza dinners and whenever the future boy played Mario Kart.

It was almost curious - Casey seemed to be trying to look for every conceivable problem known to humans, turtles, rats, or yokai whilst looking out for all of the aforementioned.

Looking back to Cassandra, April saw that the former seemed to have given up on demanding that their weapons be returned, as retrieval was imminent. Cassandra had situated herself nearest the bars in a perch-like stance.

An embarrassingly small amount of things followed in the stretching silence, especially since these were the two oddest, funniest humans she knew.

April supposed it was to be expected, especially considering that she hadn't exactly given the turtles the full story. The crash hadn't been strictly Casey's fault, and even so, he had reacted as April would have expected.

What had shocked Casey happened to be a relatively small portion - only about a foot or two in length, no more than half a foot tall - of Krang slime had emerged from a manhole.

If the phone call was anything to go by, none of the turtles were aware of it. Leo was the only one remotely capable of lying, and when it came to the Krang, the most popular reaction was to either break something or end up in a turtle pile - sometimes both, sometimes with the latter including their human friends. Either way, the turtles didn't know about the Krang's small return, and April intended to keep it like that unless Casey deemed it important enough to share.

Of the three of them, it was more his grounds for revelatory truths than April or Cassandra's.

However, after a numbing silence that stretched itself out, leaving recent events to linger with the three of them for who knows how long, April heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, girl!"

She sat up and saw Sunita - her slime yokai friend who so happened to be a cute fantastic friend and fighter - with her cloaking brooch on securely this time around, walk up to the holding cell as the hatch popped up, and she swung the door open by proxy.

"Sunita!" April cheered, and the Joneses' looked up as well. "Cass, you remember Sunita, you fought her when Leo and Donnie were dressed like old ladies and we were playing Lazer tag, remember?"

"I do recall. Lazer Tag is sacred." April and Sunita nodded.

"What's Lazer Tag?" Casey asked in a small voice, and Sunita's gaze flicked to him.

"Oh, you poor soul! I'm taking you to Lazer Tag. Saturday good?" Sunita asked instantly, and Casey blinked.

"Is it?" he responded in a tone of slight hysteria, like he wasn't sure if Saturday was cursed or not.

"Yes, you need to get out more," Cassandra said before turning to Sunita. "You were a worthy opponent, friend of April O'Neil," Cassandra said and extended a hand for Sunita to shake. "I am Cassandra Jones. You may call me Cassandra, Cass, or Casey."

"Nice to meetcha on the same side, Cassandra! I'm Sunita," the yokai said with a dashing smile that caused April to feel a little warm around the general region of her face, even if it wasn't directed at her. "Maybe you wanna come with me and your friend to Lazer Tag?"

"I shall attend!" Cassandra announced and pumped her fist into the air.

"And you've already met the other Casey," April continued, drawing Sunita's attention to her as she gestured to Casey, who was standing up as he watched Sunita carefully. Not unkindly, April made sure to note as she spoke. "Bit of a long story, so we'll tell you on the ride back."

Sunita waved to Casey, who waved back after a moment, as if realizing that was the appropriate thing to do, before offering a slightly belated smile of his own.

"Nice to meet you, Casey. Leo and Donnie are waiting for us with their ride, so we just gotta grab your stuff before heading out!"

Upon doing so, all three of them were significantly disenchanted upon the realization most of their weapons and tools had all been tampered with.

Cassandra's naginata had been visibly bent back into its original shape, although she re-bent it almost immediately.

Casey's hockey stick's chainsaw function had been removed, the small blades on their track removed separately, and he gathered them in a bag for reassembly.

Casey also managed to keep several weapons on his person, the same as his mother. Upon determining from fingerprinting that neither of them had committed any war crimes, Casey's grappling hook and Cassandra's blades were all returned, although promptly thrown out by the two, both claiming that any sort of tracer was dangerous. Besides, as Casey was quick to point out, they had a surplus back at the lair.

April's bat, it appeared, had remained untouched. She counted herself lucky Casey had used up his stash of the herbicide chemical that April had taken from one of Eastlaird's biochemistry labs that turned out to be lethal against the Krang, and the very same that Donnie had been replicating for such an occasion as today. If he hadn't, then there surely would have been questions, none of which any of them could safely answer.

But, one part of April's brain reminded her, Donnie would notice that Casey, the one whom you could count on to use resources sparingly, if nothing else, was out of the chemical, and he was the only one who had left the lair with any.

April had only just realized it as they stepped over the threshold, and saw the turtle tank within walking distance from the parking lot.

"Casey," she whispered to the future boy, and he leaned over to hear her properly. "I think we're going to have to tell Dee about the you-know-what. You're out of the chemical from my school that kills it, and you know how he gets about using it for anything short of another apocalypse."

Casey seemed to be slowing down as he took it in. "So, it's either we tell them or Donatello finds out."

April nodded. Cassandra had also slowed down, and April supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that her former enemy had been listening to the entire exchange.

"Do you want to tell them, or should Cass and I?" April whispered back, and Casey shrugged subconsciously before delivering his answer.

"I'll tell them. I crashed the car, after all."

April shared a small glance with Cassandra before Sunita turned around to look at them.

"Are you three doing good?"

"You betcha, Sunita!" April hurried to supply as the other two rushed to confirm it and picked up the pace. April could see the tank more clearly now, next to a car dealership. The large doors opened, and the four of them all checked a rough 360 degrees before entering, Cassandra pulling up the rear, and walking backward.

Casey's POV

Casey was currently regretting absolutely everything. The only good news he could gleam was that inventory wasn't ever taken until Donatello could spare more than ten minutes, back at the lair.

"Hey, could you drop me off at the Met? I've got a project I should get started on over there," Sunita - Commander O'Neil April's friend asked Donatello. Casey couldn't recall a Sunita from the apocalypse, so he figured she was either frequently gone, or had been one of the first to be killed or lost abroad.

Donnie must have nodded or something of the like because Sunita started heading towards a seat with a smile. As April and Mom Cassandra started towards the area where he assumed Sensei Leo was, he figured that was likely a better option than standing by the doorway. The retrieval was done, and he wasn't even the one retrieving, he was the one to be retrieved.

"Well, Case, good job," Casey turned abruptly and saw Leo standing there with an expression portraying vague pride, smugness, and utmost correctness. "You crashed your first car!" He held a three-fingered fist up but didn't follow through on what Casey had been sure would be a soft hit to his shoulder.

"What are you-"

"It's a fist bump, Case." Leo was looking at him like... Well, Casey wasn't sure how  Leonardo was looking at him. It wasn't a face he'd ever seen the ninja make before, closer to a soft grimace than anything else.

"You make a fist," Leo waited for Casey to follow through, "and bump it against mine!" 

Tentatively, Casey brought his fist against Leonardo's, and the latter grinned smugly, like always.

"Good job. Sometimes people do an explosion with a fist bump -" As he saw Casey's expression move in time with his rampant confusion (why would anyone have a bomb for a fist bump) he moved to explain: "Not an actual explosion! Like this, watch."

Casey did so as he lowered his fist, and Leo brought his own two fists together in a soft bump before drawing them away from each other, expanding his fists into open-palmed hands and making an exaggerated explosion sound.

Casey raised his fist again, and they brought their fists together, making that exaggerated explosion noise again.

"Nice," Leo said. Casey smiled to himself with the knowledge that he had done it right.

"Sincerest apologies for the interruption, but crashing a car is not an achievement, Nardo!" Donnie called from the driver's seat, spinning in it so that for about half a second, you could see a glaring softshell from any given angle.

"Hey, we've all done it, hermano.  That makes it an achievement."

"Since when have I ever crashed a car, dearest brother?"

"Since you tried the auto-drive program on this very tank that you came up with, as I do recall!"

With a huff, Donnie spun his chair back to the windshield. "Well, I didn't give that elderly woman a heart attack, who is, might I remind you, the same woman whose 95th birthday our dear, dear brother Raphael ruined."

"Oh yeah, how's she doing?"

"Dead! Very, very, dead, Leo! Deader than the deadliest death that has ever been accosted by you dum-dums!"

The tank came to an abrupt stop, and Casey could see from his limited view of the windshield that they were in front of a grand building, the paint job on the upper-east region looking like it had been scrubbed with a giant piece of sandpaper, due to the Krang that had, until recently, been doomed to reside on it, and very nearly did so for more than a few hours.

"Your stop," Donnie said, spinning slightly to look at Sunita, who chirped out a 'thank you' to Donnie and a 'goodbye' to the rest of them before disappearing into the crowd.

"So... How was prison?" Leonardo asked, leaning back so he had Casey, Cassandra, and April all in his line of sight.

"It wasn't prison, blue one. We were briefly contained," Cassandra spat back, with a sour look on his face.

"In a jail cell. That goes on the record, you know."

"Whatever you call it, it was boring," April said, leaning even further back and landing on her back. Casey took the moment to pull her up, and they caught each other's eye, exchanging a glance with anxious overtones.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked without hardly moving her lips.

After a small pause, Casey nodded, equally inconspicuous.

"What's everyone whispering about?"

Apparently not as inconspicuous as they had both apparently thought, as Leonardo leaned over to better hear their conversation.

"Uh- Nothing! Just something Casey's gotta talk to you guys about!"

Casey swallowed nervously. Now there really isn't a way out of this, he thought to himself. He sent April a small glare, to which she gave him a look reminiscent of one he recalled Commander O'Neil using several times whenever anyone was being particularly dense.

"Alright. Don-Tron! Casey's got something he wants to tell us."

Donnie spun around, raised an eyebrow, held a soda can, and offered it to Leo.

"Spittake," he explained. Well, there was definitely going to be a use for that, Casey thought as his internal struggle increased. "Just don't get it remotely near the controls or I will dropkick you out of this tank."

Ignoring the threat (if it was even a threat anymore), Leo just nodded before responding: "Good thinking, hermano. Watcha got for us, Case?"

Casey took a deep breath as he chanced a glance out the window - the tank was maybe two minutes out from the lair. At least that was good.

"Well... It's about the crash. It-"

Leo cut over him before Casey could deliver the blow.

"It's fine, I don't know a single person who hasn't crashed a car. If they can drive a car, they've crashed it."

"It's not the fact that we crashed a car, it's..." Casey paused and tried to think if there was any way to sugarcoat what he was about to say, dress it up and soften the blow. He decided that there was not any sort of way to do so and that the only way was to bite the bullet and spit it out. "It's the 'why.' The car crashed because we came in contact with a small portion of Krang--"

If anyone ever cared to check the Turtle Tank's camera footage, they would be able to time it down to the exact second that everything spiraled out of control.

Casey paused mid-sentence to gauge the two turtles' reactions as to whether or not he should continue. As it happened, he discovered that he should not, thank you very much, as of about two seconds later, and the tank descended into the lair. Donnie inhaled as Leo continued to stare at Casey as if he had been Krangified.

"I'm sorry, for a second there I thought you said that the Krang are back?" Donnie asked, and his voice shook at the name.

"Only a little bit," April helpfully interjected from a few feet behind Casey.

"What car did you use, I will find it and scour it until I can find how it got in there, it will be gone in a matter of-"

"It wasn't in the car," Cassandra said slowly, cutting Donnie off, and the soft-shelled turtle tapped his hand on Leonardo's shoulder a few times before Leo blinked and took a breath, leaning against the wall of the tank.

"I saw it in the road and kind of freaked out," Casey continued. "Then I grabbed the chemical that Donatello replicated and used it all on the Krang. So, sorry for wasting-"

"Sorry for..." Leo repeated Casey in a low, soft voice before trailing off, and letting out a huff of air. "Casey, we have so much of that stuff, right, Don?" Donnie nodded, looking just as stricken as Leo looked and Casey felt. "Right. So that is the least of our concerns,  mi amigo.  Right now we have to figure out how the Krang got there and found you."

"Right, right," Donnie said distantly, but Casey noted that his death grip on the chair was tightening with each moment. Leo's own gaze was banging off the walls, ceiling, and floor as if expecting the Krang to jump out from nowhere. Casey would be lying if he wasn't paranoid at the moment either, and he cursed the policemen for dismantling his own weapon.

"Well, it came out of a manh-" April cut herself off, and Casey whirled around to look at her, and his mind was firing on all cylinders again, hoping upon hope that he wouldn't see the Krang spreading across her, eyes where eyes shouldn't ever be materializing-

But there was no pink slime, no off-colored or extra eyes, no scalene tentacles or spikes protruding from the wrong places. Just the April O'Neil of twenty-two years ago (or the present, time travel was still so confusing) with a fist closed over her mouth in an expression of deep thinking.

Then her eyes widened, and as Casey reflected on his ex-Commander's words, his own followed suit.

"What? Where'd they come from?" Leo asked, a nervous laugh teetered on the edge of his tone.

Casey cleared his throat of the bile gathering there and prayed that his tone would remain steady.

"Um," Great, one word -- no, not even a word, an onomatopoeia -- in and he'd failed at that. "The Krang are in the sewers."

Chapter Two ->

[fandoms-of-erlik]

The Way Home

• a.k.a how Aziraphale and Crowley realised the bookshop had been restored •

The bus ride back to London was quiet. Besides a particular angel and his demon, there were only a few humans and the bus driver. Everything was quiet. Quiet passengers of a quiet world. Apocalypse averted and crisis quieted down, not the end though, never the end, not now. The demon clutched his companion's hand, not daring to let go. He looked at the unsuspecting people. Every one of them carried the weight of something they didn't witness. Even the air seemed sinister at this moment. In a few moments, they would pass the burned remains of the bookshop. He hoped Aziraphale wouldn't see it. He had already endured too much today.

A tiny voice in the back of his head whispered. "You too." Crowley shook his head. It was not a thought for today. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand a little more. It should have been painful considering how tight his hold was. He didn't say anything. The bus was navigating through the streets of London now. Five stops until his flat. Two until he had to see the remnants of the bookshop. At least Aziraphale was alive.

He lowered his eyes to his lap. He wasn't ready to relive his early terror. One more stop. Despite all his efforts, he looked out of the window. The bookshop. It was- untouched? His breath got caught in his throat.

"Aziraphale" He didn't respond. The bus stopped. "Angel" He tried again. "The bookshop." Aziraphale winced. He responded without meeting his gaze. "I know my dear. I know."

"No!" He yelled, not quite managing to control his volume. "Aziraphale. Angel. Look." He finally raised his eyes, looking out the window. Before he could grasp what he was seeing, they were already up. "Pardon! Sorry, sorry. Yes, stop the bus, will you? Thanks or whatever."

He was getting dragged out of the bus. "Angel c'mon!" And just like that, they were standing outside of the shop. Aziraphale looked at the building in front of him, still confused.

"But-" he stammered "it didn't burn?"

"It did."

"Then how-"

"I don't know."

"You think-?"

Crowley inhaled sharply. He knew how. "Adam." He whispered.

They were quiet for a while. The night was respectful. It didn't say anything, accompanying their silence instead. Aziraphale broke the silence first.

"Well then, if that's settled. Care for a drink?" He asked, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. But it was something. It was a start.

"Yeah- yes. I would like that." And they entered, still not letting each other go. Some things could wait. The door closed behind them. The night was on their side.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you for the countless times you've recommended my works, I appreciate it 🥹 I wondered if you have any short, fluffy oneshots with domestic husbands kissing. There can be smut, I'm indifferent. I just really want some domestic husbands kissing and being cute and adorable

Hi! We have lots of fics on our #fluff, #domestic fluff, and #kissing tags. Here are some short fics to add to the collections...

Home is just another word for you by Onomatopoetikon (G)

Crowley has never understood the human obsession with the concept of home. For millennia he has heard humans tell stories and sing songs of home – leaving it, finding it, building and returning to it – but he has never understood it. Not until he almost lost it.

The Quiet Moments by My_Dialect (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley spend a quiet afternoon together, enjoying each other's company and reflecting on their long history together.

Drunk (and not so drunk) Shenanigans by Fire_Traveller (T)

Since it's a rainy day, Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves stuck in the bookshop with nothing better to do than to get thoroughly sloshed and ramble on about nothing in particular. They will eventually sober up, though...and Aziraphale might just have another idea what to do to pass the time with each other... Things turn rather suggestive at the end, but there is no on-screen smut here - we'll leave that to the privacy of a certain angel and demon...

Baby, You Can Drive My Car by CopperBeech (T)

Avert the Apocalypse? Check. Move to the South Downs like respectable retirees? Check. Break a six-thousand-year habit of careful distancing? Not so fast. But Aziraphale does have one thing he'd like to check off. “Crowley, are you going to let me try this or not? You said you had nothing on today. We don’t live in London any more, the omnibus only runs three times a day and twice on Sundays, it’s completely unfair to expect you to ferry me everywhere. I just need to learn the basics. Once I’ve mastered them I’ll choose an automobile of my own. I wouldn’t presume to take the Bentley out any old time."

Just an ordinary day at last by 5ftjewishcactus (G)

Books, Food, and Crowley. Aziraphale's most favorite things. And he gets to spend an entire day enjoying all three. Just a normal day in a post-apocalypse world for an angel and his favorite demon.

to us, fortuni by enbymegumi (G)

Aziraphale feels himself start to sweat. He looks down at his rippling, steaming tea. “Crowley and I… we’re not actually married. We’re just friends… I think. Best friends. Partners.” There’s a long silence. It’s been a while since Aziraphale had sat through something so awkward. The last time had been when he’d dragged Crowley to see the film Sausage Party (2016) in theatres, only to find out that it was not, in fact, a deeply moving children’s cartoon about food. “Now, that can’t be true.” Madame Tracy’s voice is quiet. --- or: everything's always been so easy and comfortable between aziraphale and crowley. until aziraphale begins feeling the pressures of human standards and definitions of love... help comes from an unexpected quarter!

- Mod D

[aiiidoneus]

tooth for tooth, eye for eye, fracture for fracture

summary:

After escaping to Daisy’s safehouse, Jon fields off statement hunger by minimizing his use of the Eye’s abilities. However, the Eye is just as eager for the world to end as Jonah Magnus, so with Jon and Martin doing everything in their power to prevent the former's influence, it takes a bit of tag-teaming from the Fears to bring about the apocalypse.

rated mature for language and (eventual) violence

archive warnings for (eventual) graphic depictions of violence

|| link ||

excerpt:

Jon hadn't been entirely comfortable with the idea of stealing a car at first. It was ironic really: that he could tear someone's trauma from their lips but flinch away from the prospect of theft. 

Basira had thought so, too. She hadn't said it, and he hadn't Known. But a look must have passed over his face then because the instructions that hadn't ceased since Jon had pulled Martin from the Lonely and into the Institute's tunnels came to an abrupt halt. She had pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in an apparent attempt to gauge whether or not whatever damning expression Jon had made was worth addressing. Jon had averted his gaze then and become jarringly aware that Martin's hand—which felt concerningly less than substantial—was still held in his own. He had realized, guiltily, then that he had forgotten the other man was there entirely. Before Jon could chase the nagging—yet still very real—possibility of Martin's presence bleeding back into the dimension they had so recently escaped from due to Jon's careless, belated realization of his presence, Basira's instructions barreled on. 

They had left shortly after, briefly stopping by Martin and Jon's offices to retrieve what few clothes they had left in the archives. Both had relinquished their flats, it seemed, and had been living out of their respective offices. Martin still hadn't spoken; the knowledge had come to Jon unbidden. Nonetheless, an ache had bloomed beneath Jon's sternum upon the realization that the same person who would bully him into leaving the Archives before it became too terribly late had been resigned to the same fate.

They had boarded the tube afterward, their meager belongings tucked easily into a decrepit duffel bag Jon nicked from lost and found, taking a train toward Scotland—or rather, getting as close as they dared. There were too many eyes on a train. Too many people who—willingly or not—could betray their whereabouts to Elias—Jonah. 

Then came the stealing bit. It had been fairly easy, with the Eye supplying Jon with enough helpful input about the exact angles of security cameras and such that he wondered if an avatar of the Eye had ever been a professional thief. It wasn't a fancy vehicle by any means, and the owner had not only left the doors unlocked but kept the keys into the console. Jon had felt bad for the poor idiot before the Eye had informed him that the rich, pompous asshole it belonged to wouldn't be coming home for several months at the very least and even then likely wouldn't consider the theft worthy of pursuing. He decided to take solstice in that particular knowledge as he slid into the driver's seat. 

The drive, like Martin's eventual detachment from Jon's hand and settling into the passenger side, was wordless. Jon had turned the radio on to fill the silence but grew tired of fiddling with the channels once they lapsed into static—an unwelcome reminder of the tape recorders he had decidedly left behind—and resolved to exist in the prickling silence. Other than frantic glances in Jon's periphery, he didn't try to engage Martin. He seemed content—not content, but rather something carefully blank and possibly (hopefully?) thoughtful, or perhaps reflective—to stare out at the endless fields unfurling past the tinted windows. Several hundred miles had been spent like that. Then the car had been ditched off the road a little ways, obscured enough by foliage that no one would unwittingly stumble across it. 

Which brought them to the present: crunching wordlessly along a gravel road that cut through the pale, mist covered fields like a river.

(read the rest on ao3.)

[castielmacleod]

Having inarticulate thoughts about the culture of violence Cas was exposed to in constantly being around hunters in general and the Winchesters in particular. Especially after season 7 when he stated he didn’t want to fight anymore. Understandable after everything that had happened—a barely averted apocalypse, a civil war against his older sibling, a power trip rampage against his own family (the aftermath of which would leave him suicidal and terrified of that suicidality by 8x08). He was tired of fighting, scared of hurting people. He didn’t want to be a soldier anymore, he didn’t want to be an instrument of death and violence. Put simply, he wanted to watch the bees. Yet he would go on to spend the next 8 years after that marching under Dean’s command, more or less, and taking part in hunts to fit in, keep Dean’s favour, remain “useful”, etc. No one ever took his desire for pacifism seriously, not least of all the writers, who portrayed it as not only ridiculous but also something *just* shy of emasculating. Anyway do you think Cas ever actually got over his desire to not fight? Saving the world and protecting those he loves is one thing, but all the hunts he was implied to take part in offscreen, between episodes? Put on your coat, get in the car, kill multiple human-looking monsters who may or may not have been minding their own business, get back in the car, wash the blood off your coat, ensure the Winchesters found you useful, rinse and repeat. Do you think he ever got tired of the constant blood and killing? Because I do.