ParaNoidIntruder
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- Formula 1 RPF (1)
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Lewis looks at Nico, a soft but slightly sad smile on his face. “You were my person, once.”
“Oh, darling,” Nico looks at Lewis with all the love he feels exuding out of him. He takes Lewis in his arms and holds him against the space where his beating heart can be heard. He hopes Lewis feels it, how it still beats for him, even after all these years. “I still am.”
Or, they meet again, take things slow and learn who they are once more.
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Dumped in the woods with no memory of how they got there and stripped of everything, Tim and Lucy have one goal: survive long enough to find their way home. But when weeks pass with no rescue, survival stops being the only new thing they're learning to navigate.
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- English
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Bookmarked by ParaNoidIntruder
16 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“I want to go home.”
And that nearly breaks his heart.
Tim closes his eyes and tightens his arm around her, pulling her closer even though she's already pressed against him as tightly as she can be. "I know you do.”
He wants to go home too.
Tears burn at the back of his eyes, hot and unwelcome, and he has to blink hard against them.
"We're going to die out here."
"We are not going to die," he says immediately.
She lets out a shaky breath. "You don't know that."
Tim goes still. "What are you talking about?"
"This." She squeezes his hand for emphasis. "The part of you that tries to comfort me even though we both know I screwed up. You're so much more than what you make yourself out to be. Don't you want more people to know that?"
"No. Apparently that honor only extends to you."
And—okay, wow.
He did not mean to say that out loud.
It's ridiculous that he's even checking. She's exactly where she was a second ago, exactly where she'll stay because she promised she would, and there's no logical reason for him to be standing here cataloging her position like he needs to commit it to memory.
He's not sure why he suddenly cares as much as he does.
It’s funny how the routine of it all doesn't even register anymore—finding shelter from the wind, gathering pine needles for insulation, curling around each other for warmth. It’s just another night in what's become their strange new normal.
It occurs to him then that he can't even remember the last time he's truly thought about rescue.
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“Coran, what’s happening?” Lance didn’t like how Shiro's voice shook. Was something wrong with the wormhole?
“The integrity of the wormhole has been compromised,” Coran yelled. “We’re breaking down!”
Lance sucked in a breath, eyes wide. Compromised? Breaking down? “What does that mean?!” He asked into the comms.
“It means we have no control where we’re headed!”
Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.
After narrowly escaping the Galra, a corrupted wormhole leaves Lance stranded on the other side of the galaxy. With no team, no lion, and no idea what to do, Lance must fight for survival and show the universe just who Lance McClain really is.Asterism (noun): a prominent pattern or group of stars, typically having a popular name but smaller than a constellation.
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Bookmarked by ParaNoidIntruder
17 Jul 2026
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“Concussion. My helmet-I...” Jeremy can hear the slight slur of his own words, and tries his best to carefully speak again. “I think I'm okay.”
Jean treats him to a withering glare, unimpressed, before his expression pales slightly, and Jeremy does not have to guess as to why. The backliner pulls his hand from Jeremy's skull, holding it in front of him so he can see as well.
Red.
Slick and bright, coating Jean's fingers.
Or: Jeremy is badly injured, and finds it increasingly difficult to keep his feelings for a certain former Raven under wraps as some interesting facts come to light.
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Bookmarked by ParaNoidIntruder
08 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
It is not difficult to remember what Jean once looked like when he first arrived at USC. Hollow-eyed and full of nothing but pain and despair. But he put in the work, both for the Trojans, and for himself, and now that grayscale Jean is only a ghost, and the person standing in his place is nothing short of breathtaking.
Jean was warm as hell, and comfortable, and Jeremy narrowly resisted the urge to bury his nose in his chest because of course the fucker had to smell good too. “I'm going to hug the shit out of you, all the time, you are going to regret ever letting me have permission.” He studiously ignored how perfectly they fit together, and the flush he could feel racing up the back of his neck.
He was squeezed right back, and Jean's laugh rumbled pleasantly against his cheek. “You always had permission.”
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At first glance, Neil Josten appears to be a quiet, unremarkable high school senior with distant, neglectful parents. But behind the carefully crafted facade lies a far more dangerous truth: Neil is actually Nathaniel Wesninski, the fugitive son of a notorious crime lord. After his mother’s death and his true identity was exposed, Neil made a deal with the FBI—betray his father’s empire in exchange for protection and a second chance.
Now living under a new name and raised by FBI agent Amelia Young and her wife Linda, Neil balances life as a covert operative with the illusion of a normal teenager. But everything changes when Coach David Wymack recruits him to play Exy for the Palmetto State Foxes, a college team infamous for its chaos and broken players.
Though reluctant at first, Neil joins, drawn to the game and the fleeting promise of normalcy. But fitting in is harder than it looks. His new teammates are suspicious, cold, and completely unaware of the secrets he’s hiding—his real name, his past, and the trauma etched into his body and mind.
With danger looming on all sides, Neil must decide how much of himself he’s willing to reveal and how far he’s willing to go to finish what he started.- Language:
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Bookmarked by ParaNoidIntruder
28 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Nathaniel Young would reclaim his place in the world once he was back home, but for now, Neil Josten was still who he was, even if he never quite felt like the person he was pretending to be.
He knew he had a long way to go in terms of figuring out his future. But for now, with the two people who had always been there for him by his side, everything felt right.
And that was enough.
He was so close to walking away from all of it. The team, the lies, the fake smiles.
Lately, he’d started to genuinely resent them. Not just the side-eyes or the cold shoulders, but the way they acted like they knew him. Like just because he didn’t come from the same hell they did, he didn’t belong in theirs.
Neil understood pain. He lived in it. But they looked at him like he’d been handed life on a silver platter, like he hadn’t bled just as much as them. As if their trauma gave them the right to treat him like shit.
He really thought it’d get better with time. That maybe if he kept his head down, if he proved himself on the court, they’d ease up. Let him in.
But he was wrong. So fucking wrong.
He paused, watching her carefully as she absorbed his words. “I don’t know what monsters you’ve known,” he continued, his voice firm but calm, “but I’m not one of them.”
The weight of his statement seemed to sink in, and Allison was quiet. She didn’t know what to say to that, nor did Neil expect her to. But the tension between them lightened just a little, and he knew that his words had at least made an impact.
“Goodbye, midget! You won’t be missed!” he called after him.
Andrew turned just enough to throw him a sharp glare, but Neil only grinned and flipped him off before shutting the door in his face.
"You want my trust? Earn it. You want forgiveness? Work for it. But don’t expect me to forget, and don’t expect me to fall in line just because you’re ready now."
The room held its breath.
Then, softer, but still laced with that quiet warning, he added:
"Actions speak louder than words. And I’ve heard enough words to last a lifetime."
"In the end, he killed himself. He couldn’t live after what they had done to him."
Silence.
A silence that was so loud, so crushing, that it felt like the room itself was mourning.
Neil inhaled sharply, then exhaled, letting the weight of his own words settle into the space between them.
"He couldn’t bear the pain anymore. I will never forget it."
His voice didn’t waver. Because he had already mourned that boy a long time ago. That boy was already dead.
That boy had been him. And none of them would ever know it.
The Foxes felt his pain, the unbearable weight of it, the tragedy of a child who was destroyed before he had the chance to live.
They thought he was mourning a friend.
They didn’t realize he was grieving himself.
"That’s how I know."
And with that, the story was done. But the scars it left behind were not.
Nathaniel didn’t look at him. “I know what I said.”
“No, you don’t,” Stuart bit. “You said it with the same self-important arrogance that your father used to use before he burned everything down. You start to sound just like him.”
Nathaniel’s head turned fast like a whipcrack, eyes suddenly sharp as shattered glass.
“I am not my father,” he hissed.
Stuart met his gaze without flinching. “Then why are you acting like him?”
Amelia reached over and squeezed his knee gently. “You deserve to feel happy, you know. Even if it’s just a little bit.”
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe,” he mumbled, eyes still fixed on the screen.
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trouble's always gonna find you, baby (but so will i) by messifan2006
Fandoms: Leviticus (Movie 2026)
19 Jun 2026
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Summary
“So, what now? We keep catching coaches from shithole to shithole?”
A mosquito pricks Ryan’s neck and he smacks it away. He thinks about the weight of Naim’s head on his shoulder on the bus, the tinny melodies emitted by cheap earphones filling the space between them. Remembers how settled he’d felt, how uncertain yet still oddly calm, having only the vaguest idea where he was going but being sure about who he was going with. He looks at Naim. “Maybe, yeah.”
/
Ryan and Naim keep going.
Bookmarked by ParaNoidIntruder
22 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“I’m so fucking sorry, Naim,” he manages to blurt out before choking on a sob. His eyes are hot and wet, and every time he tries to take a breath his chest tightens. Naim’s fingers send painful electric jolts down his arms. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
A flood of memories threatens to drown him, the ones he’s managed to push down until now. The thwacks of his skull against the hardwood floor as he’d seized and shrieked beside Hunter. Naim’s hand so cruel and determined around his throat in the dark photobooth. Warm, thick blood oozing down his cheek as a crowd of horrified onlookers had surrounded him.
“Ryan,” Naim murmurs helplessly. He buries a hand in Ryan’s curls. “I’m sorry, too.”
Guilt gnaws at his stomach, a disquieting nausea that whispers, “It’s your fault he’s here.” He ponders what Naim’s birthday would look like if they had followed the V/Line all the way down to Southern Cross Station, gotten those jobs, scrounged up a lease for a shitty unit with sirens and industrial bins below it.
“Naim,” Ryan murmurs, watching the silhouetted boy beside him closely for any movement. There’s none — judging by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Naim is in deep sleep.
“I love you,” he whispers, even quieter than before, the words virtually imperceptible to anyone but him. It’s a private declaration, an apology, a promise. He closes his eyes.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Somethin’,” Ryan replies. He retrieves his Swiss Army knife from the bottom of his bag and flicks it open. The vinyl skin of the goalposts’ padding cuts easy, and in less than a minute the initials R + N <3 are immortalised in sunbaked blue. He thinks of the crude RYAN WUZ HERE he carved under his desk in Year 9 maths, one of the last pieces of him that that town has left.
His gaze flicks back to Naim, who’s trying not to smile. “Anything happens to us, we’ll always be here,” Ryan says. Fat drops of rain start to baptise his head, and the boys seek shelter under the coach’s box.
Despair crushes Ryan. “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.” He can’t shake the feeling that his hands did this to Naim. And didn’t they, in a way?
“Naim, I fuckin’ love you,” Ryan admits, aloud this time. Warm tears trickle down his cheeks, joining the wet streaks of blood and water down Naim’s neck when he pulls Ryan in for a deep kiss.
“I love you so fucking much, Ryan,” Naim says when he pulls back for air. “I love you.”