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[heliosunny]

Hihi....I'm really in love with your Yandere Phainon fanfics, so I wanted more....I don't really care whatever it is as long as it's in high school au🙏🙏

CTRL U

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The school tech lab was always quiet during lunch break. While others filled the courtyard and cafeteria with chatter and energy, you found solace in the rhythmic clack of your keyboard and the soft humming of a monitor. You had taken over the corner desk near the window, your own little bubble away from the chaotic social jungle of high school.

Your fingers flew over the keys, eyes darting across lines of code. The pixelated spaceship on your screen moved up, paused, then exploded with a dramatic “BOOM!” animation. You smiled a little, it was just a simple 2D space shooter, but you were proud of it. Debugging the collision algorithm had taken two days.

Outside the lab, you heard distant voices echoing down the hall.

“Dude, Phainon! You coming to the court or what?” “Later, maybe! I need to drop by the lab first.”

Phainon. Popular, charming, and surrounded by friends like gravity pulling planets. You’d only ever interacted with him during that one disastrous group project in sophomore year. You didn’t speak much. He did all the talking.

The door creaked open. Your screen still glowed with the tiny spaceship hovering in space.

“Yo, is someone in?”

You whipped your head up and saw him. He had one headphone in, his school tie loosened, hair a little messy.

He looked around, then spotted you.

“Hey, didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

“...Hi.”

He tilted his head toward your screen. “Wait, is that a game?”

You quickly moved the mouse to close the window, but not fast enough.

“Whoa, don’t shut it down!”

“It’s still buggy.” you mumbled, minimizing the program and locking your screen.

He leaned in, eyes lighting up.

“Wait, you made that? That’s sick.” He turned to look at you. “You’re seriously talented.”

You avoided his gaze, focusing instead on unplugging your USB drive.

“It’s just a hobby…”

Phainon chuckled. “‘Just a hobby’? You’ve got a whole game running. That’s way cooler than anything I’ve done today.”

This wasn’t how your quiet lunch break was supposed to go.

You stood up quickly, slinging your backpack over your shoulder, trying to gather your things.

“I need to go.”

“Oh. Wait, did I say something wrong?”

“No!” you said too fast, stepping back toward the door. “I just... have other stuff.”

He watched you retreat, a confused expression softening his features. Then he smiled again, tilting his head slightly.

“Hey, what’s your game called?” he called out as you reached the door.

“…It doesn’t have a name yet.”

He grinned.

“Let me know when it does.”

You tried to return to normal after that day in the lab.

No more coding during lunch breaks.

No more late stays in the tech room.

But Phainon didn’t understand and keep showing up everywhere you go.

“Hey! Game Dev!” he called out from across the school courtyard one afternoon, jogging to catch up with you.

You pretended not to hear him and quickened your pace.

He caught up anyway, effortlessly matching your stride. “You never told me more about the game.”

“I’m busy.”

“That’s cool. I can wait.”

You stopped in front of your classroom. “Don’t you have a fan club or a game to get back to?”

Phainon just gave you that stupid, easy grin. “Maybe. But I kinda want to see what happens next in your game.”

You didn’t respond. Just walked in, ignoring the snickers from a nearby group of girls.

It wasn’t just one or two people talking. You’d heard whispers in the hallways.

“Why’s he talking to them?” “They probably faked the whole ‘coding’ thing just to get attention.” “Didn’t they get rejected by Phainon or something?” “Creepy how they’re always alone, right?”

At first, it didn’t bother you. You were used to being left out.

But that changed when you stayed late one afternoon to grab your notebook and accidentally overheard something.

“Okay, but what if we just hire some expert to.. idk, download a virus on their computer or something?” “Ooh, or leak their browsing history or whatever. Even if it’s fake, no one’ll care.” “Right? Who’s gonna believe someone like that anyway?”

You backed away slowly.

You’d had enough.

That night, you didn’t sleep. Instead, you slipped on your headphones, pulled up a few proxies, and found the backdoor in their school Wi-Fi habits.

In two hours, you’d broken into their cloud storage and group chat backups. In four, you’d carefully rearranged screenshots, spliced audio files, and created just enough drama to make it seem like they were all talking behind each other’s backs.

You didn’t even upload them yourself. Just scheduled a timed drop via a burner account.

By Monday, the group was in ruins.

And you, finally, had silence.

Until Phainon found you again. This time, at the bike racks after school.

“Hey.”

You glanced up. “What.”

He held up a hand in surrender. “Not here to bug you about the game.”

You turned away. “Then leave.”

He didn’t.

“They deserved it, huh?”

He took a step closer. “You’re good. Real good. That’s not amateur stuff.”

You looked at him sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t deserve what they were doing. But...” He hesitated. “Just... don’t lose yourself in it, alright?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

“Next time someone comes after you… maybe let me know first.”

He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

You never felt safe after the drop. Sure, no one came at you again, not publicly. But silence didn’t mean safety. Silence could be a trap.

And Phainon, despite everything, made you uneasy.

Why? Why was he so calm? Why did he know what you’d done?

That night, your fingers hovered over the keys. Your curiosity itched too loud to ignore.

You slipped past a few weak firewalls and into his cloud activity.

“...wait.”

The path you followed suddenly folded in on itself.

And you’d taken it.

You burned the scripts, cleaned the logs, wiped the trace tools—anything that might be tied to you. Anything he could use against you.

And when it was over, you sat in the dark for a long time. Cold sweat down your back.

The next day, he said nothing.

You watched him across the quad, laughing with his friends, sleeves rolled up, the same lopsided smile like he hadn’t laid a trap for you.

Maybe you were overthinking it.

So you did something stupid.

You pulled an old CD-R out of your drawer, labeled it in your tight, scratchy handwriting: [ TEST BUILD v2.6 — SPACEWAR ]

And the next morning, you caught him by the lockers.

“…Here,” you muttered, holding it out. “The game. Just a standalone version. I just thought you might want to test it.”

“You’re giving me the first build?”

“It’s just a test. You don’t—”

“I’m gonna play it tonight” he said. “I’m finishing it. No way I’m sleeping until I beat it.”

“It’s literally half-coded and full of bugs.”

“So am I,” he smirked. “Perfect match.”

You didn’t expect him to go that far.

Next morning, he walked into class with dark shadows under his eyes, hair messier than usual, hoodie half-zipped over his uniform.

“Hey,” he grinned. “I beat it. Twice.”

“Wait... You stayed up?”

“You said test it. I tested the hell out of it.” He nudged your arm. “Seriously, it’s awesome.”

You stared at him. Then laughed. You couldn’t help it. “You idiot. You could’ve just given me a bug report.”

“Nah. That’d be boring.”

You shook your head and turned away to hide your smile.

Later that night, at home, you sat down at your desk. Curiosity beat out caution.

You slid the same disc into your computer. It whirred softly.

[ SPACEWAR ] — Test Build v2.6

You clicked Start Game.

The opening sequence played—then flickered.

The background glitched. The pixels warped, briefly forming words in a distorted typeface:

"Hello, Player One."

Then the game resumed normally.

You yanked the disc out. Looked at the underside.

A low beep from your laptop made you jump.

You flipped the screen—the camera light was on.

For half a second. Then it shut off.

You stared at the reflection of yourself in the screen. And realized:

He gave you his disk.

You didn’t sleep that night.

The glowing reflection of “Hello, Player One” burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. You’d covered the webcam, shut the laptop, and unplugged everything. But it wasn’t just paranoia this time—Phainon had done something, and you needed to find out why.

So the next morning, you waited outside the gym, watching him laugh with his usual crowd. He noticed you immediately, his smile slipped, and he walked over.

“You okay?”

“We need to talk. Alone.”

Phainon blinked. But he nodded.

You sat in the empty room, across from him at a table where morning light filtered through the blinds.

He leaned forward slightly. “So...?”

You looked him dead in the eye. “Why did you do it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

You pulled the disc from your bag and placed it on the table. “Why?”

Phainon leaned back, quiet for a moment. Then:

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

You frowned. “What?”

“Two years ago. National Coding Competition. You made that AI that learned player patterns in real time. I was in the same bracket—you crushed everyone.”

“You were there?”

He nodded. “You were the best person in the room. I admired you. Then you disappeared. I always wondered why.” He paused. “When I saw you here, I thought—maybe I could get to know you.”

“So you thought breaking into my computer was your idea of caring?”

He flinched slightly, guilt flickering behind his eyes.

“You invaded my privacy. You used something I made against me.” Your voice shook. “Don’t twist this into something noble.”

He sighed. “I just wanted to understand you. You’re brilliant, but you shut everyone out. I thought maybe if I got closer—”

“—by spying on me?”

There was a long silence.

“Didn’t you do the same? To those girls?”

You were speechless.

“I’m not saying they didn’t deserve it. But you didn’t talk to anyone. You handled it alone.”

That stung.

Your hands clenched under the table. “So now you’re saying we’re the same?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m saying we both did things we regret. Doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.” He looked at you. “I’m sorry. For crossing the line.”

“Stay out of my stuff.”

And you walked out.

The rest of the day, you ignored him. He didn’t try to talk to you. Not even once.

But the silence wasn't peace. It was pressure, thick and heavy. You couldn’t focus.

By lunch, you'd pulled up three transfer applications on your phone, but none of them felt like the right move. Running didn’t solve the problem, it just meant you’d keep running.

So instead, you started thinking differently.

If Phainon wanted to get close to you? Fine.

You’d make him hate it.

You listed ridiculous stuff maybe you could use against him:

Step 1: Code like a cryptid. Talk only in binary. Step 2: Constantly mention obscure operating systems and laugh when he doesn’t get it. Step 3: Bring spreadsheets of cat behavior patterns and pretend they’re “emotional simulations.” Step 4: Add him to a fake group project and send 3am emails titled “urgent patch notes.”

Your plan was almost working.

The constant 3 a.m. “patch note” emails. The random references to deprecated programming languages.

It should’ve been enough.

But he always came back.

You were exhausted.

So you went back to Plan Move Away. You re-opened the school transfer forms, actually filled out your personal statement, and left the tab open just in case.

And then, out of nowhere, Kaito happened.

You met him during a school lab module. He wore round glasses, always had cat-hair on his hoodie, and genuinely laughed at your dry jokes. Even better? He knew how to debug. You both ended up fixing an old RPGMaker horror build for fun and spent lunch breaks balancing variables and laughing over cursed enemy sprites.

He wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t hack your life. He was just... easy.

Which was why Phainon noticed right away.

He cornered you by the vending machines after school.

“So... That new guy.”

“His name is Kaito.”

“Cool... But I thought we were working on your game.”

You crossed your arms. “We were. Then you installed spyware on my hard drive.”

“I apologized for that.”

You didn’t budge.

“So you replaced me?”

“I didn’t replace anyone. Kaito’s just someone I can work with without needing to run background checks.”

He scowled. “So you don’t trust me.”

“Can you blame me?”

Phainon looked at you, searching for something. Then he took a step closer.

“Okay. Fine. Maybe I messed up. Maybe I made it weird. But I thought we were building something—together. I didn’t realize you’d hand the controller to some new guy and bench me.”

“Everyone deserves to code.”

That struck a nerve.

“Right.” His voice dropped. “But not everyone gets you.”

This was personal.

Which made it more complicated when, the next day, you came home, turned on your PC and noticed a new folder on your desktop.

“GAME_PATCHED_FINAL_no_KAITO”

And a note:

“If you're gonna replace me, you better fix the recursion loop. Or let me help.”

You stared at the screen, heat crawling up your neck.

You didn’t know if you were furious or impressed.

You had your code. You had your own project. You had Kaito now.

You went on without him.

You stripped your old game build clean, rewrote the framework, even changed the name. Burned all the folders that had anything labeled “v2.6” or “player_one.” You started fresh.

And Phainon? He kept his distance. At least physically.

Then came the mailbox.

It was a regular Thursday when you got home. You were stepping out of your shoes when your mom called from the kitchen:

“There’s something in the mailbox for you.”

You blinked. “Mail? As in—physical?”

“Yeah. Like the old days.” She chuckled. “Looks like a CD.”

You grabbed it, peeling back the envelope carefully.

Plain. No return address. Just one thing written in black marker on the CD’s surface:

“BOOT ME :)”

You rolled your eyes. “Really?”

Of course it was from him. The handwriting was unmistakably chaotic.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t going to test this thing on your personal machine. Not after last time.

So you waited.

The next day during free lab hour, you sat down at one of the school’s clunky public PCs. You slipped on the headphones just in case it played audio.

The CD slid in.

[ Loading... Welcome Back, Player One ]

A single line of code glowing on a black screen:

function whyYouLeft { return “?”; }

Then the screen glitched again—and a video window opened.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a shaky webcam video of Phainon in his messy room, sitting on the floor cross-legged.

“Okay. So, if you’re watching this… then I guess I broke like, ten privacy boundaries again. But I swear—this time, no access to your camera. Just... this.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“I don’t know why you pulled away. But I want to understand.” He looked at the disc. “I know I messed up. And maybe that scares you. Maybe you think people only get close to you because of your talent. Maybe you hate how I made it all messy.”

He looked up at the camera, eyes sincere.

“But it wasn’t about your code. Or the game. I wanted to know you. The person behind all that.”

He paused, then added quietly: “I miss being your Player Two.”

The screen turned black again.

You stared at the screen. The headphones still buzzed faintly in your ears with the silence that followed.

You didn’t eject the CD.

You just… sat there.

----

The hallway echoed with the soft shuffle of bags and the clatter of desks being dragged back into place. Students were peeling off one by one, some still laughing, some too tired to care. The bell had rung fifteen minutes ago, school was out, but you stayed.

Until it was just two people left in the room: You and Phainon.

He was halfway through zipping up his bag when he noticed you approaching.

He blinked, clearly surprised. “…Hey.”

“I watched the CD.”

Phainon straightened, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“It was unnecessary.” you said dryly. Then paused. “But… I get it.”

He opened his mouth, maybe to defend himself, maybe to apologize again, but you raised a hand before he could.

“I’m not starting over with you. I’m continuing, with conditions.”

“You can join the project again,” you said firmly, “if you promise to stop doing stuff behind my back. Everything stays aboveboard.”

You added “Also, if we’re working together, you have to be civil with Kaito.”

“Kaito?” he repeated.

You nodded. “He’s part of this now. Whether you like it or not. I’m not removing him just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You want me to team up with someone who’s clearly trying to be me?”

“He’s not trying to be you.”

Phainon didn’t say anything for a moment. His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag.

“So that’s the deal?” he asked quietly. “Let you keep your new friend, and I get supervised access to your game like it’s a daycare pass?”

You shrugged. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to join.”

There was a tense silence between you.

“Fine,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “If that’s what it takes.”

You both left the room.

But the minute he walked into the golden hour light outside the school building, Phainon’s smile twisted into something else.

He had no intention of sharing.

Kaito was an obstacle. And Phainon knew exactly how to handle obstacles.

He didn’t need to hack anyone this time. Not when he had reputation.

He was a magnet in the school ecosystem - student rep, the guy everyone knew, the guy everyone liked. Popularity was a language, and Phainon was fluent.

He spoke to people in Kaito’s other classes. Casually dropped things like:

“You know that Kaito guy? Little… intense, right?”

Or:

“Hey, just a heads-up. He’s been engaging with some guys out of school these days. Kinda weird, don’t you think?”

Rumors ran faster than servers during a DDOS attack.

You didn’t notice it right away.

But the others started acting cold toward him. Like he was radioactive.

“Hey… did I do something? People’ve been acting weird.”

You frowned. “Weird how?”

Kaito hesitated. “I dunno. Just… off. Like they know something I don’t.”

Phainon acted perfectly normal the next day.

He brought snacks. He complimented your new UI layout. He laughed at your deadpan jokes.

Phainon never played fair.

It started with a casual invite. One that looked harmless on the surface.

Phainon leaned over your desk during your group’s usual project hour. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a match this weekend—finals. I’m playing.” Then he added, “You and Kaito should come. Y’know. Team bonding. Off-screen chemistry.”

Kaito, surprisingly, looked excited. “I’ve never been to one of your matches. Might be fun.”

For once, Phainon was asking.

So you said yes.

But plans changed.

Your part-time shift at the local computer shop ran long, someone brought in a corrupted hard drive and left in tears, and by the time you were done running diagnostics and fixing their system, the sun had already dipped behind the horizon.

You texted Kai.

[Sorry. Can’t make it. Tell me how it goes later.]

No reply.

You didn’t hear from him until the next morning.

Your phone buzzed with a single message:

From unknown number: “Your friend’s at City Medical. You should come.”

You nearly dropped your phone.

Kaito lay in the bed, right arm in a sling, a thin cut on his brow, bruises trailing the side of his cheek. His glasses sat on the tray next to him, bent out of shape. He was asleep when you walked in.

Phainon was sitting beside the bed.

He glanced up when you entered.

“Hey.” He stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “Didn’t expect you so early.”

“What happened?”

“It was an accident. During the second half, he tripped—took a bad fall.”

You stared at him. “He doesn’t even run. Why was he even on the field?”

“He got a little too excited. Honestly, I tried to wave him back.” He looked at the bed again. “Poor guy. Probably got caught up in the moment.”

But… the whispers had already started at school. You heard them in the hallways, snippets like:

“I heard that nerd wasn’t watching the game rules.” “Why was he even on the field?” “Guess he wanted attention.”

It was already being spun. And no one could prove it otherwise.

You sat quietly in the chair by Kaito’s side once Phainon left. Your eyes didn’t leave the steady rise and fall of his chest.

With Kaito out of the picture, it was just you and Phainon again. He was standing behind your chair, one hand resting on the backrest while he leaned over to comment on your code.

He would speak low near your ear like the two of you shared something secret. Sometimes his hand would linger on your shoulder, a little longer than it should.

And you just kept coding.

You didn’t want to say it out loud, but ever since the hospital visit, your guard hadn’t dropped once.

Every time Phainon brought snacks, or coffee, or even just his charming laugh, there was something clawing at the back of your head.

The others in school weren’t subtle either. You noticed the sideways glances. The hushed tones in the hallway. Students whispering by the lockers, pretending not to look your way.

Some even snickered outright when you walked into the lab with Phainon beside you, your laptops under your arms like a pair of matching uniforms.

“Guess if you can’t compete, just date the star instead.”

Phainon noticed. Of course he did.

He smirked as he leaned in and whispered: “Let them talk. We’re the ones doing something real.”

You didn’t reply. You just sat down and turned on your machine.

And when you got focused, really focused, you forgot everything else. You skipped lunch. You skipped breaks.

That’s when Phainon would step in again.

You hadn’t even noticed him peel open a rice ball wrapper until he tapped your chin gently with it.

“Eat.” he said simply.

“What?”

“You haven’t touched a single thing since third period. Just chew.”

He held it closer to your lips—half a challenge, half a joke.

You frowned slightly, but opened your mouth. He fed it to you.

---

"Why are they always together now? It’s getting annoying."

"Seriously. Ever since that freak started hanging out with Phainon, he’s been acting weird. Ignoring us."

"They practically live in the lab. It’s pathetic. Clingy."

"Didn’t Kai or whatever his name is end up in the hospital too? You think it’s a coincidence?"

"Well… maybe we should remind them where their place is."

Your bag was heavy on your shoulder. You were heading to the lab as usual, maybe Phainon would be there already, or maybe not. You didn’t text him today.

You were halfway down the stairs when it happened.

A slight nudge.

There was a moment—a single heartbeat—when your brain recognized the danger.

Then everything went black.

[Hospital Room – Present]

You woke to pain pressing behind your eyes and an icy pressure on your wrist.

“Hey.. hey. You’re awake?”

You blinked through the blurriness. Phainon’s face came into view, shadowed by worry and sleeplessness.

“Don’t move too fast. You hit your head—really hard.”

Your throat felt dry. You tried to speak but failed. He immediately reached for the straw in a plastic cup and held it to your lips.

You let the water coat your throat. Your mom entered then, her voice choked with relief as she kissed your forehead and muttered prayers under her breath. Behind her, your sibling waved awkwardly with puffy eyes.

Your body still ached. But in your stillness, your mind drifted.

[Seven Years Ago]

You stood outside the regional coding challenge arena, holding your little cardboard certificate for First Prize in your hand. The others from your school were celebrating inside, but you stepped out for air.

That’s when you heard it.

Sniffling. The sound of someone trying really hard not to cry.

You followed the noise and found him, curled behind the bushes next to the school’s HVAC system, arms wrapped around his knees. He was kicking at a tangle of wires and muttering under his breath.

His screen had crashed halfway through the demo. His mom, who was in the audience, had made that face. Not angry—disappointed.

“Leave me alone” he snapped when he noticed you.

You stood there silently and pulled out a juice box from your bag. Pushed it toward him.

He glared at it, then you. “I lost.”

You shrugged. “Your code was complex, though. That’s impressive for our age.”

He finally took the juice box. Sipped it quietly.

You sat beside him, ignoring the grass stains and bugs. “I could help. If you want. You’ll get better.”

He stared at you, like trying to see through your intentions.

“…Why?”

“Because you were good. And no one helped me when I started either. So I guess I just want to promise it won’t always suck.”

You smiled. “Wanna be friends?”

He nodded.

You forgot that moment. Years passed. But Phainon never did.

Because in that moment, you were the first person who saw value in him.

And he kept that memory like a loaded save file.

Waiting to be opened again.

[Hospital Room – Present]

You stirred awake.

Night had fallen.

Phainon hadn’t left. His hand was still holding yours, as if letting go would make you disappear.

You stared at the ceiling. “Did you know?”

He looked up.

“About the stairwell?” you clarified.

His jaw tensed. “…Yes.”

You didn’t respond.

He continued: “I told them to back off. I thought that was enough.”

You turned to face him.

“I was too late. And I’m sorry.”

You didn’t want his apology.

You wanted to go back and undo all of it. All the memories with him.

[One Month Later]

It was as if you had never existed.

Even your home, he passed by once, late at night, still in his hoodie and uniform, was locked up, the windows sealed, the gate chained. A "FOR RENT" sign swayed faintly in the wind.

You had moved.

Without goodbye.

“…Didn’t they get, like, pushed or something?”

“Maybe their parents freaked out.”

“Phainon’s been acting insane ever since. You think he—”

The boy they were whispering about passed them without a glance.

He just sat in the old lab sometimes—your chair cold and silent across from him—staring at the unfinished game you both used to work on. His fingers would hover over the keyboard, only to fall away.

He didn’t talk to Kaito anymore. He didn’t talk to anyone, really.

One week later, Phainon stared at the wall of post-its he'd started building.

A map of digital footprints.

The last IP address you logged in with.

An email you once mentioned.

A string of code only you would write—he knew because he still had a CD of your logic framework.

An old blog post under a different name, dated three years ago.

He had learned from you. Studied you. Watched you work, memorized the way you built firewalls, nested loops, hid access points like digital breadcrumbs only someone obsessed would find.

And he was obsessed.

At school, Phainon finally started speaking again.

To the computer science teacher.

To the club advisor.

To anyone who might know where the school sent your records. What your “transfer” details included.

But they all said the same thing.

"We don’t know." "It was a private transfer." "We were told not to disclose further."

He sat by his screen again. The glow cast his face in cold blues.

On it was a pixelated image—the game you had coded.

Only this time, it had been modified.

There was a new character. One that looked an awful lot like you. Standing at the end of a path surrounded by glitchy trees.

He pressed enter.

And the character vanished.

Phainon leaned back in his chair.

Where did you go? He didn’t get an answer.

Not yet.

But he would.

----

The screen glowed in the pitch-black room.

Phainon hadn’t slept. Not properly.

There it was.

Phainon’s lips parted. His eyes lit up like a mad scientist finding the last missing variable.

“…Got you.”

----

You sat in the back of the new lab, a new place, everything is new to you, headphones in, hoodie up. You'd been making slow friends here.

Safe. Or so you thought.

Until you saw a notification blink on your laptop.

“System Resource Conflict – Unknown Peripheral Access Attempted.”

You immediately yanked the USB port out.

"Dammit."

----

[Night – Back in Your Apartment]

You watched the camera LED on your laptop blink once, then stop.

You covered it. Disconnected from all networks.

And still, you found phantom code—commands embedded in weird spots.

He was inside.

“What do you want, Phainon?”

The screen lit up again.

Just a simple text file opened itself.

I want what’s mine.

[Elsewhere – Phainon’s POV]

He sat in a cheap hotel near your neighborhood, his laptop surrounded by energy drink cans and open notebooks filled with your old quotes, half-written function names, sketches of you in the margins.

This wasn’t about revenge.

This was about fixing the error that happened the day you left.

[The Next Day – At Your School]

You felt someone watching.

Students still walked the hall like normal. But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And when you reached your locker, you found a CD. Labeled in black marker:

“Final Build – OUR Game.”

You dropped it immediately. You didn’t pick it up.

But someone else did. Your cousin.

“…Hey, isn’t this yours?”

“No. Leave it.”

That night, when you checked online, your cousin’s PC pinged offline.

“Ugh.. I warned him already.”

Then his phone. Then his socials.

Gone.

You wanted to end this. So you did what you must.

“Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

“We’re going to finish what we started.”

“Together.”

The lights in your room dimmed.

You agreed to meet him.

“Let’s end this.”

Rooftop. 5:00 PM.

You knew this was dangerous.

But you were exhausted.

Of hiding. Of losing friends.

You needed closure—even if it meant facing him again.

----

Phainon stood at the edge of the roof, back to you.

He hadn’t changed much.

You approached slowly.

Phainon turned.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, stepping forward. “I just… wanted to be with you. Always.”

“You hacked my laptop.”

“You left first.”

“You stalked me. Threatened people. My cousin.”

“He shouldn’t have touched our game.”

“It wasn’t ‘our’ anything!” you snapped. “It stopped being ours the moment you tried to control me.”

“...I see”

That was it. You said what you had to say. You turned toward the door.

You should’ve kept your guard up.

CRACK

Blinding white. Then black.

-----

You stirred.

Phainon sat nearby, typing.

“Hey,” he said softly, as if he hadn’t just abducted you. “You were out for a while. I was worried.”

“Let me go.”

He tilted his head. “But I just got you back.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“I can. And I will. We have work to finish.”

“…You're insane.”

“No,” he said with unnerving calm. “I'm in love.”

He stood, walking toward you, crouching beside your chair.

“Look, I added your old AI logic into the game. It talks like you now.”

You stared at him in horror.

“Phainon… you can't replace me with code.”

He smiled.

“Then stay.”

Then, like he was explaining code to a beginner:

“If I lose you again… I’ll transfer you.”

“What?”

“If your body dies… I can keep you. Upload your consciousness into the framework. You’re brilliant, after all. Your patterns, your memory depth... already trained into the AI from our game.” He reached up and gently touched your temple. “You won’t even notice the difference.”

You went completely still.

He was serious. Fully convinced. He would do it.

“…Phainon” you said quietly, doing everything you could to keep your voice steady. “That’s… sweet. But I’m not ready for that.”

“I just think,” you continued, “maybe I can help improve the code more if I’m still—” you laughed nervously—“you know, in this form.”

Then… he sighed. “You’re so logical,” he murmured. “So calm.... That’s why I love you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours.

“I knew you’d understand eventually.”

[stellaspectral]

Hi! Any headcanons for dating rise donnie?

A/N: Sure! 😊

Dating Rise Donnie (SFW)

💜 ROTTMNT Donatello/Gender Neutral Reader 💜

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Donnie’s initial attempts at flirting might just sound like his usual sarcastic commentary, leaving you wondering if he’s insulting you or hitting on you.

But when he does decide to ask you out, expect something needlessly complex. Maybe a holographic presentation detailing the benefits of a romantic partnership, or a custom-built gadget meant to deliver the message that backfires spectacularly.

His hyper-focus, occasional arrogance (masking insecurity), and social awkwardness require understanding. You’ll need to learn to read between the lines of his sarcasm.

Since direct emotional expression isn’t his forte, you’ll become an expert at reading his micro-expressions, the specific type of sarcastic comment he uses when he’s secretly pleased, or the way he fidgets with his goggles when nervous.

Over time, you might notice moments where a genuine, non-sarcastic compliment slips out before he can catch it. He’ll likely blush, stammer, and immediately try to cover it with more sarcasm, but you heard it.

If you’re upset, his instinct isn’t always a hug (though he might learn). It’s to solve the problem. You’ll need to gently explain that sometimes you just need empathy.

Donnie’s love language is acts of service. He’ll build you custom gadgets to solve your problems, upgrade your tech, etc. Need something specific? He can probably build it.

Verbal affection, on the other hand, is … awkward. Compliments might come out sounding like technical assessments. Genuine, heartfelt words are rare. He might stutter or get flustered trying to express them.

Donnie isn’t always the most physically demonstrative of affection, partly due to his focus and often his touch aversion. Initiating small gestures and seeing how he reacts is best. Once comfortable, he might surprise you with possessive hand-holding or leaning into your space.

He doesn’t display overt PDA. But maybe him resting his hand possessively on the back of your chair, angling himself between you and perceived ‘threats’ (like overly friendly strangers), or using custom tech (like a paired communication device) that subtly marks you as connected to him.

After a huge success (a battle won, an invention perfected, etc.), he might be so overcome with adrenaline and relief that he actually initiates a brief, possibly clumsy hug or leans against you. Don’t make a big deal out of it; just accept the rare physical vulnerability.

When he seems extra arrogant or dismissive, it sometimes masks insecurity. He might fish for compliments by presenting an invention and asking for your ‘objective analysis,’ secretly hoping you’ll just say it’s amazing.

Praise is his kryptonite. He thrives on validation, especially regarding his intellect and inventions. Genuinely praising his work or intelligence will make him puff up with pride.

When he excitedly explains the intricacies of quantum physics or the schematics for his latest battle shell upgrade for twenty minutes straight, he’s sharing his passion with you. A big sign of trust and affection on his part.

If you’re passionate about something, he might suddenly become an expert on it overnight after intense research. He might not share the passion, but he’ll understand its mechanics and history, which is his way of connecting.

Prepare for dates involving beta-testing his latest invention, competitive video game marathons (he will gloat), trips to the junkyard for components, or maybe even falling down rabbit holes on weird corners of the internet together.

Though a significant portion of your quality time together will likely be spent in his lab. Sometimes you’ll be helping (handing him tools, being a sounding board, etc.). Other times you’ll just be chilling amidst the controlled chaos while he hyper-focuses. Oh—and bring snacks. He forgets to eat.

Eventually, you’ll get your own lab space. It might just be a small, meticulously organized corner of his lab initially, but he’ll later designate a space for your stuff or for you to comfortably hang out.

Once you’re his person, he’s incredibly protective. He’ll use his tech and intellect to keep you safe, even if his methods are … unconventional.

If you’re ever in genuine danger, the sarcastic, dramatic Donnie vanishes. He becomes ruthlessly efficient, calculating, and terrifyingly focused on neutralizing the threat and getting you to safety. His tech becomes lethal, his plans precise.

One of the best signs he’s truly comfortable is when he can just exist in the same space as you, both doing your own things (him tinkering, you reading/scrolling/etc.), without needing constant interaction.

He secretly loves being taken care of. When he’s truly exhausted or sick (which he’ll deny until he collapses), having you bring him soup, enforce rest, or just quietly sit with him means more than he’ll admit.

It takes immense trust for him to let you see his experiments blow up (literally or figuratively) without him getting overly defensive or dramatic. If he can sigh, complain about the variables, and start cleaning up with you there, you’re truly integrated into his process.

For Donnie, acknowledging the validity and soundness of your reasoning, especially during a discussion or debate, is one of the highest forms of respect and affection he can offer. It means he sees you as an intellectual equal.

[thespianinthebackcorner]

You know, there seems to be this accepted status quo that Shadow was just... abused aboard the ARK or in the research labs. That the scientists treated him as nothing but a tool to be used. That Maria and Gerald were the only ones that loved him, and that they were the only things he loved in return.

And yet I can't find any... evidence to support that, I suppose. So I raise you. The seemingly obvious, yet never brought up.

What if he was loved?

They're scientists and researchers at heart- biologists. People in those fields- especially experts- will name bacteria if they like it enough. To insinuate they never loved him... It doesn't sit right. What if they loved him? What if they didn't mind when Maria stole him away to play? What if, just what if, they took the name she gave him and addressed him with it, they taught him in the same classroom as the other kids, they treated him like a child when they could. Sure, the official records have him referenced without bias. They're reports. Of course they do, they're scientific papers, you have to do that. That says nothing about the love poured into him outside the margins of the paper. It says nothing about the countless people he must have met, must have seen smile, must have learnt from.

Think about it. The space colony Ark is massive, and the underground base from the movies likely wasn't much smaller. How many times did scientists sneak him snacks after experiments, give him his tests back with a smile, give him a hug and carry him back to bed after a long day? How many times did he witness them smile at him, smile at each other, smile to themselves? Those scientists were a tight-knit community. How many friendships and romances and rivalries did he get caught up in between, hear the gossip about during examinations?

What if, just maybe- the way Shadow is wasn't just because of Maria's death. Yes, it was the one he saw. Yes, it was what had the biggest impact. Yes, she was his big sister, and she was more to him than anyone else.

But what if it wasn't just that? What if the true reason for Shadow's descent into rage and near-madness was the guilt? The knowledge that Maria had died, Gerald had died, everyone else would have been arrested or killed or both?

What if they were his family, his life, his everything too?

What if the scientists loved him back?

[avelera]

I feel like I don't have the spoons for this, nor the understanding of real-life PTSD enough to explore it, but I feel like it's worth examining Jayce's arc for signs of PTSD. Much has been made of the canonical mental illnesses and PTSD of characters like Jinx, and I've mentioned that I think Jayce might have generalized clinical anxiety, but I think it's worth looking at how much of his behavior might be PTSD related even before he goes to the Anomaly future.

Some possible places I'd look:

Jayce has been getting fed paranoia by Marcus and by the tension that is being deliberately ratcheted up by Silco and Jinx. Yes, he says awful, bigoted things to Viktor on the bridge, but it is worth pointing out that he's not saying this in a vacuum, there are people in proximity to him deliberately stoking his paranoia and that of the city for their own ends, literally Marcus is gaslighting him actively by telling him the Firelights are responsible and the best way to keep people safe is shut down the bridge.

The fight in the Shimmer Factory gets more wild to me every time I watch. Jayce should not be there for so many reasons but one of them is Jayce is not a fighter. I think his video game counterpart sort of obscures this, but unlike Vi who has spent her whole life fighting AND in prison for years, Jayce has never, ever wielded that hammer before. He didn't even have it until the day before! And suddenly he's up against the Shimmer-infused berserkers who are some of the toughest fighters in the whole show. He almost gets his head cut off, if not for features he built into the hammer like weightlessness and the shield, he'd be dead, and then he makes what I call the, "Jayce is Making Bad Decisions" Face (I need to make a gifset of this face btw, he makes it a couple times, also while resurrecting Viktor).

Ok I might make fun of the Jayce is Making Bad Decisions face, BUT on a serious note, it's clear the Fortiche animators are doing a superb job showing someone who has gone into "Adrenaline Mode". REAL fighters do not want adrenaline. Adrenaline fucks up your reaction times and makes you shaky and turns off your higher brain functions. I've been in a fight when fear adrenaline kicks in and you just start wildly swinging to get people away from you and that is exactly what happened when Jayce's face got scrunched up and he started shooting wildly, he just wanted to stop the threat because he's never fought before, unlike Vi. And then he kills a kid and the triumph of his first fight against an uncomplicated enemy just dies and btw, never returns except in that moment fighting more Shimmer berserkers and Renni but those are clear self defense and there's no triumph in it.

BRO gets HIT BY A ROCKET, has a pure panic response leaving living people who need his help in the chamber to save Viktor, and he doesn't go back as far as we know.

Ok so the things that me, as not an expert would be curious to note as possible PTSD responses would be:

Jayce not leaving the lab after the attack except 1) to go to the funeral (where he's attacked AGAIN) 2) to comfort Caitlyn after Mel basically tells him to, 3) to make weapons for Caitlyn's team specifically to keep a small group of people safe, not arm an entire army. Besides that, it looks like he spends all his time holed up in the lab, even after Viktor is gone, because that's his safe space and I think I read once that PTSD has a way of shrinking your world down to just the people and places you trust.

Dragging that hammer around with him in the Anomaly future. Look, Jayce is a city boy, he has no survival instincts, but it wasn't just a bad idea because it broke his leg, it was actively detrimental to his chances of survival because lugging an anvil around drained him of water and calories. Bro had a lot less chance of survival with it, but he thought he was surrounded by zombies (he wasn't, they're all dead and they're all controlled by Viktor, we learn he was never in danger, though I don't blame him for that). But that could also be a PTSD response, his actual emotional support hammer.

Clamming up and not talking to Mel about what happened because she's not in his circle of trust anymore, it's more or less shrunk down to just Viktor (once he can save him) and Cait, maybe.

Ok as usual this got longer than I intended by just... some things that are in my mind right now.

[ctrlhope]

I need a Spider Jimin in my life. I have a fear of them and had a giant one in my room, I couldn't kill it or move it, so I just stared at it, hyperventilating and crying. Couldn't look away because if I did, where would it have gone! In the end, my roommate got it after I called for them.

I need Jimin to tell them to leave my space alone or for me not to see them 😔

NOOOOO!!! I used to be so scared of spiders too <//3 like once there was a spider in my room and i stg i looked like i was working in a meth lab with the gear i put on to grab it and take it outside AJHBJSB like had a hoodie tied tight around my head, my old lab safety goggles on, gloves, and a face mask armed with cup and paper in hand. I don't know what i thought it was gonna do to me bro 😭😭 now they don't scare me (i'm now the designated spider-taker-outsider lol) but it must've not been fun at all for you :(((( i'm glad your roomate was there to help you out!! Little spider jimin blurb under the cut to help you cope with the trauma 😔😔

— Dangerous Predator

wc: 1.7k

genre: fluff, hybrid au, soft yandere

content: soft yandere!jimin, hybrid!jimin, spider!jimin, fem!reader, manipulation, kisses, jimin is a good actor, and he’s really sweet <\\3 -> the pitfalls of silk drabble

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

Oh god. Oh god what is that– that thing?! 

If your eyes were a second slower, they would’ve missed it. If your reaction speed was just a feather more hesitant you would’ve never noticed the massive creeping brown arachnid skittering across your floor. Legs longer than you’ve ever seen, a massive thorax sticking high in the air making it look all the more menacing, as if it was actually threatening you. As if it had its sights set on you.

The yelp that tears through your throat makes its way out faster than you can stop it, your body jumping high as it tries to scramble on the kitchen counter– plant itself high off the ground, away from where the predator lurks. Ready to do… do whatever it was thinking of doing… yeah. 

Okay, maybe you don’t exactly know what its plans were, but they can’t be any good! Not when it was moving towards your foot like, like that! When your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen, hiding away, sulking in the basement, pretending the food you're cooking doesn’t smell as amazing as it does. 

Sure, you can handle the small spiders– the little ones that appear as no more than dark spots in the corners you can’t see. The ones that cohabitate peacefully, giving you your space and keeping theirs. Two lives nearby yet never crossing paths. But the big ones, the big ones are a struggle no matter how hard you try to adapt. Especially when they move so close to you, disrupting the peaceful environment you’ve created. 

Jimin normally handles this, is normally the expert on dealing with 8-legged creatures you’d rather not share your domain with. But right now, he’s nowhere to be found. A disagreement only a few hours ago putting a halt on all communication with him. Rather feeling the urge to  stew in your own feelings.

But now, right this very second, you could not give less of a shit about the petty argument. Can’t even remember the cause of it in the first place. The only thing you do know is the rush of adrenaline through your veins, the way your eyes lock onto the predators on the floor. The way it takes slow steps in your direction, moving ever so slowly to where you sit pressed on the kitchen counter, lettuce in hand– the perfect defence. 

If you truly believed what Jimin told you about his ability to talk to spiders, if you thought any deeper about them then you do right now– you would think that it’s actually mocking you in the way it steps. Each slow, careful movement as it keeps its eyes locked on yours deliberate and teasing. 

Fucking prick. 

“Jimin!” Your voice calls before you can stop it, another yelp leaving your lips as you helplessly toss your leaf of lettuce at the mighty beast, completely and utterly missing. It’s almost ironic, really, that the biggest spider of all is the only one that can save you at this moment. 

No more than a second passes before you hear his legs bounding up the stairs, scurrying as fast as he can to meet you. To see what the problem may be. Faux nerves taking over his being as he hears the fear in your tone, calling for him. Wanting him above anybody else. 

He wants to laugh once the scene in the kitchen comes into frame. He really does. He almost feels bad for it, honestly, but you just look so cute as you try to struggle away, eyes not leaving the arachnid below. 

But he’s supposed to be your knight in shining armour. He can coo over how adorable his mate is later. 

“Pretty? What happened?” He asks in a hurry, concern buried deep in his tone as he quickly approaches your shaking form. Arm reaching out, gently taking one of your hands in his own. He brings it to his face, using your palm to cup his cheek as he presses a gentle kiss into the surface, gaze burning with worry over your tied expressions. 

You wish you could say you were soothed, that his presence alone brought peace to your quivering heart but it couldn't. Now that the predator was out of your vision, blocked by the very man you called for, you couldn’t be more alarmed. Your body twisting against him, head trying to poke past him to see the beast still lingering nearby. 

“Min! Min there’s a spider! You have, it’s going to eat me!” You shout, pointing over his shoulder with the other hand. How could he not see how urgent this is! This is a matter between life and death!

The gentle annoyance that finds its way into his veins is quickly washed away, discarded into his brain for later. The only mention of it being the quiet narrow of his eyes, ever so slight that no one would notice it. How could you still be concerned over a little spider when he is right in front of you, saving you? 

Did you forget that he is a predator, too? He can’t believe he’s jealous of a spider right now. 

Mmm, but he knows how humans can be. When they get all scared like this they can’t help themselves but to clamp up, frozen out in fear. One of the reasons he never wanted to be the cause of it. The misfortune that bespoke your mind every waking minute. No, he wanted to be the sunshine on a beautiful day, a field of flowers to dance in. Maybe even a handsome prince on a horse, ready to carry you away. 

So that is exactly what he’ll be. 

Soft eyes looking up into your own, half lidded and dangerous with affection, “Well that just won’t do, will it?” He pouts, lower lip jutted out in a cute expression that can’t help but take your breath away. Mince your mind in half, one side still focusing on the obvious threat while the other causes your heart to pound. Causes a fluttering to erupt from deep within. 

Your pretty boyfriend spins on his heels, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest in a manner that can only be described as the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. His cheeks blown out in much the same way, forcing your brain to think about nothing else other than kissing him.

“Now listen here!” He tuts, admonishing the spider. Somehow, he even seems to make glaring cute. “You better leave my pretty mate alone! This is my territory so unless you wanna mess with me, I suggest you leave.” He huffs, yet can’t hide the playful undertone in his words, only half serious. 

You know he probably isn’t taking you seriously. Can never truly understand your fear of the same arthropod you're dating. And you know the spider probably doesn’t even understand a single thing going on– but at the same time you can’t help the battering of butterflies in your stomach at his words. That he’s going these lengths to make you feel protected and safe. 

“She doesn’t like you around here, and she’s the most important in the world to me. So, if you don’t leave right now and tell all of your friends you're not welcome around here, I'll have no choice but to do it for you.” The spider takes a hesitant step back, suddenly lowering its body closer to the floor, almost as if…

Shit. Maybe he really can talk to spiders. 

“Get out.” And with those final words, the spider quickly turns around and scurries out of the kitchen and into the yard, practically waving a white flag all the way. Your eyes widen in shock, mouth hanging open as your legs drop against the counter walls. Fanning either side of Jimin in his embrace. 

A cute smile is on his lips as he turns around– the cocky, proud kind that you normally roll your eyes at. But this time you can’t help but stare at him in shock, blush dusting your cheeks. Even as he leans closer, planting a gentle kiss against your lips as a reward for himself.

“There.” He smiles, hands coming to rest against your thighs. Any thoughts of dinner completely abandoned. He’ll just order take out once he has you in the nest. “All better.” 

“How– you, you!” You hesitate against the sound of his adorable giggle, his hands pulling you closer to his body. Legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. 

“Mhmm, they won’t come around here anymore. I promise, baby.” He hums, lifting you as if you were nothing more than a stuffed animal clinging against his body. “What do we say when your handsome mate helps you out?” 

Your eyes narrow into a glare at his teasing, but you can’t help wrapping further around him. Pulling him close as he ensnares you further into utter devotion. Becoming your safety net against all things scary in the world. 

“Thank you.” You grumble quietly, a gentle peck against his too-soft lips given as a token of your appreciation in that moment. Stopping yourself before you melt into the feeling of his fangs pressed against your lips. “I appreciate it Min…” 

As you’re finally able to hide your face away in his neck– snuggling against his skin and blocking your vision from any other scary things that might exist in the world, you completely miss the way Jimin tosses a small pile of bugs near the window. The same window that was left open just a crack too wide. The same window that he allowed a spider to crawl inside.

The same spider he may have made a deal with.

He hates when you’re mad at him. Hates it more than anything else when you take away the single thing he craves most– you. So could you really, really blame him for hatching a little plan? One he knew would send you into his arms. Make up for your whole little argument in a second. 

Never, ever wants to be the cause for your fear. But every once and awhile it can serve a purpose, he supposes. Especially when it gets him out of the dog house. Gets you nestled into his web, watching movies for the night. Curled in his embrace, gentle words and soothing hands warming you. 

[clareguilty]

Ghost/Soap/Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink

This fic was written for Kinktober 2024! Let me know what you think <3

Ghost/Soap/F!Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink, strength kink, dacryphilia Rating: Explicit | WARNINGS: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: ~3400

The last thing you expected when you answered the knock on your office door was the sight of two uniformed soldiers, both broad enough to fill the entire doorway each, expressions grave. You ushered them inside your small, cluttered office tucked away in the biochemistry wing of the university building. Being the head of the pharmacology department did not come with a sprawling mahogany desk and glorious window views. You were lucky to have a desk and a window at all.

Still, you were the best in your field, and that had granted you tenure and funding to continue your research as well as a small team of graduate students and postdocs to boss around as you pleased.

One of the soldiers introduced himself as Captain Price, the other a corporal under his command. You cleared off space on your desk as the corporal opened a locked case and pulled out a laptop.

“Anything you are about to see is highly classified information,” the captain warned you. “Our intel pertains to ongoing operations to stop a dangerous organized terrorist group.”

You nodded along, but your focus was on the footage being played on the laptop. The drone shots and shaky handheld cameras, clips of lab workers handling samples while suited head to toe in protective equipment. There was footage of soldiers experiencing a variety of symptoms: aggression, paralysis, psychosis.

The corporal opened a file for you to scroll through. Pages and pages of reports.

“Biochemical weapons,” you murmured to yourself. “Inhalants?”

“Gas,” the captain confirmed. “Your security clearance is still in the system from your field work on that operation in Andorra. Our people are using your research as the blueprint.”

You were the leading expert on biochemical weaponry, much of your research was centered around synthesizing field antidotes. It had been a few years since you were last out in the field, taking samples from warzones and the sites of attacks.

“You need me out there?” You asked. But you already knew the answer. They wouldn’t be here in your office otherwise.

“You’ll be working with our top tactical operations team. The best men we’ve got. Whatever they’re making in these labs, we need to put a stop to it, and then we need to figure out how they’re doing it.”

You looked at the footage again - civilians this time - and felt your stomach turn at the sight.

“When’s the earliest we can leave?” You asked, closing the laptop to hide the horrifying images.

-

The body armor on your last field operation had been simple: a bullet proof vest with a mask and helmet. You had worn your civilian clothes and brought along everything else yourself.

“Alright, Dove, arms up,” the special forces sergeant, Soap, grinned as he dropped a heavy vest over your head. You dutifully raised your arms so he could fasten the tangle of buckles until you were secured.

“Thanks,” you glanced down at the overwhelming amount of gear that was now covering your front.

“You’ve got your radio,” he tapped the top left pocket, “Compass, shears, three mags of extra ammunition, scopes, batteries, and torch.” You watched him point out each item. “On your belt here you’ve got your pistol, knife, and canteen.”

Soap put his own gear on much faster than it had taken to kit you out. He carried even more equipment, but he somehow made it look easier.

You had been staying at the temporary base with Captain Price’s 141 task force for days now. Without access to quality lab equipment, you were working tirelessly to find answers about the biochemical weaponry using whatever was available. As impressive as your makeshift setup was, it wasn’t near precise or thorough enough to save lives.

It felt a little ridiculous. A researcher surrounded by a bunch of special forces giants. They were welcoming and friendly - except for the terrifying lieutenant with the skull mask, but you knew you were out of your depth surrounded by cases full of rifles and grenades. Sleeping on a cot and eating rations cooked off a gas burner.

Captain Price had done whatever he could to make you more comfortable. The encampment was a few secured buildings and several large tents. And while you were accustomed to the conditions after your previous field research, they had afforded you as much privacy as possible. 

Underneath the teasing and jokes, Soap was kind and friendly. He’d nicknamed you their ‘peace dove’ on the first day, and you hadn’t been able to shake the moniker since.

Even Lieutenant Ghost had been considerate as you tried to keep up with the heavy military jargon and unfamiliar protocols. He slipped you candy bars that were definitely against regulations and sat with you after the countless briefings to explain all of the commands that had flown over your head rapid-fire. He was still scary.

The last military squadron you had worked alongside had mostly ignored you, frustrated with your inexperience and occasionally downright cruel. They hadn’t respected your expertise or your research despite your attempts to explain how vital it was to their safety.

There was none of that here.

After several days of monitoring intel and surveillance, Price had finally made the call to infiltrate the terrorist labs. The only way to stop these weapons would be to secure the materials themselves.

Soap and Ghost were assigned to clear out any hostiles, and your mission was to gather anything in the labs that would help to stop production of the weapons and synthesize antidotes.

It was difficult to keep up with them as they closed in on the lab. You had been instructed to hang back a ways while they engaged, but even then you were struggling to match their pace.

You had never known anyone who could make an assault rifle look small until these men. Like they were holding a toy. Despite their size, both the sergeant and the lieutenant were exceptionally fast even with all their gear.

As you approached the location of the terrorists’ labs, Ghost signaled for all of you to halt. He grabbed you by the shoulders and pressed you into a crouch inside a copse of brush where you would be able to keep cover.

“Stay here. We’ll engage the hostiles and bring you in as soon as the site is secure,” he ordered.

Both he and Soap immediately made to move in, but you managed to catch Soap by the hand. “Be careful,” you warned. “We have no clue what kind of shit they’re cooking up in there.”

“Don’t worry, Dove. We’ll do just fine,” Soap promised with a grin.

And then they were gone.

The silence that filled in after their retreating boot steps was excruciating. The sharp cracks of gunfire that rang out in short bursts were somehow even worse. You couldn’t radio in without risking the operation - the noise could give away their position - so you were left waiting until Ghost signaled the all clear. As the minutes dragged on since the last round of shots, you prayed you wouldn’t have to fall back on your contingency extraction: if you didn’t hear from either Soap or Ghost after two hours, you were to make your way to a designated pickup spot.

Your radio crackled.

“You there, Dovie?” Soap’s voice came through. He sounded uninjured.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” That was Ghost this time. “We’ve eliminated all hostiles. Give us ten more minutes to secure the site, and then I’ll send Soap to come get you.”

“Copy that.” An unbelievable amount of tension seemed to melt out of you at that, and you let out a heavy sigh.

Not even a minute later you heard a distant bang. Not gunfire. A small explosion.

“Lieutenant?” You immediately called over the radio. “What was that?”

“Fucking hell!” Soap shouted. “The lab was rigged!”

“Lieutenant?” You were already pushing to your feet, rushing out of the safety of your cover and towards the labs.

“We tripped something,” Ghost finally responded. “They had canisters set to burst if the lab was tampered with.”

“You mean you got dosed?” Your fingers were numb with fear as you fumbled with your radio. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? I’m on my way now!”

The radio was silent for a few moments, but you were sprinting as fast as you could toward the site. If you could get there quick enough, maybe you could find an antidote somewhere in the labs. They wouldn’t know what to look for, but if you could find out what was in those canisters, surely you could fix this.

“Wait, Dovie,” Soap’s voice was rough, breathy. “Stay where you are. Don’t come near here.”

“I’m the only chance you have at finding an antidote,” you shouted into the radio.

“Hold your position. Do not approach. That is an order,” Ghost snarled, but you were already at the entrance, flying through the path of carnage Soap and Ghost had left. The satellite images in the briefing had given you a rough idea of where you needed to go, and the trail of bodies confirmed you were on the right track.

As you came up on the entrance to the labs, someone tackled you into the wall, pinning you in place. You screamed, but a gloved hand covered your mouth.

“It’s just me,” Soap assured you. “But you shouldn’t have run in here without your weapon drawn. Shouldn’t have come in here at all.” He pulled his hand away so you could gulp down a breath.

“Whatever you were hit with, they might have an antidote. If I can get to it before it’s too late-“

Soap cut you off. “You’re worse than me at following orders.”

”Let me go.” You tried to squirm out of his hold.

Soap made a choked off sound in your ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s the gas. I swear. We didn’t know the lab was rigged.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Jesus, Dove, you have to forgive me. Promise? I can’t fight it.”

“Whatever it is, you’ll be okay. Just let me go, Soap.”

He was pinning you in place with his entire body weight, panting against the back of your neck as he easily kept you still despite your attempts to break free.

Thankfully, you heard the sound of heavy boots approaching. That had to be Ghost.

He rounded the corner and you cried out. “Lieutenant! Please, sir!”

Ghost snarled when he saw you trapped beneath Soap. He crossed the room in three easy strides and ripped the sergeant off of you. Soap hit the floor with a groan, and you tried to back away.

Except the Ghost was closing in on you, knife drawn. He cornered you easily, and the fear had you freezing in place. You weren't a trained soldier. You weren't equipped to handle these kinds of situations.

You flinched as Ghost grabbed for you, squeezing your eyes shut and preparing for the worst, but there wasn't any pain - just the sound of tearing fabric and the sensation of your body armor falling away to a heap on the floor.

“Gotta get these off you,” he growled, crowding even closer against you. His voice wasn’t nearly as rough or as breathless as Soap’s. When you finally worked up the courage to open your eyes, Ghost was leant over you with his face in your neck taking deep inhales. Was he… smelling you?

They’d both been dosed. You had never seen symptoms like these before, but it wasn’t a typical toxin. Surely you could find an antidote if they just let you go.

And then Soap was back, pawing at the space between your bodies. “Please, Ghost,” he was begging, “feels like I’m about to die. Fuck. Need it so bad.”

Ghost pulled away from your neck, reached out to grab Soap by the jaw, holding him still. There was a moment of quiet save for both yours and Soap’s panicked breathing. “Alright, Johnny.” He finally assented. “You gotta go easy, you hear? Don’t wanna break her.”

You didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but struggling was absolutely useless when Ghost was holding a knife. You knew what he was capable of.

It was too quick for you to even register. Soap was fast. He snatched the knife from Ghost and cut your clothes away, taking you down to the ground with some sort of wrestling maneuver you were never going to escape from.

“I’m so sorry, Dove,” Soap was apologizing again. “Can’t fucking help it.”

He shoved his own gloves and gear away, fumbling to open his trousers before freeing his cock. He was achingly hard, and dripping. He was also fucking huge. His eyes fluttered shut in relief as he wrapped his hands around the length and gave a few lazy strokes, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that would be all it took.

“Please,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Don’t fuss,” Soap placed a finger over your lips to quiet you, then he shoved it inside your mouth. You weren’t sure if biting him would end well for you. He grabbed your legs by the knees, raising your hips until your pussy was on display for him. “That’s a good girl.” He spit on his fingertips and began rubbing at your entrance, as if that would be enough lube.

He pressed two fingers inside of you, but you were so terrified that it didn’t feel right at all. It hurt. You screamed, and suddenly Ghost was there.

“This is the only way to help,” he said, and you noticed he had a silver canister in his hands. “I promise this will make it easier.”

You didn’t have enough time to react before he crushed the canister with just his gloved hands. A deafening hiss drowned out the sounds of your own sobs and your vision went white as the contents of the canister filled the air. You couldn’t hold your breath at all, not when you were sobbing with gasps of pain. The gas settled over your skin, inside your mouth and nose. You instinctively swiped your tongue against your teeth and cheeks. It tasted powdery and sour.

“Give her a second, Johnny,” Ghost ordered.

You were almost glad they had cut your clothes away because your skin was suddenly too warm. Too clammy. Your mouth went from bitter and dry to watering with saliva in a matter of seconds. Every sensation felt sharper, and the pain disappeared. Soap was just as warm where you were pressed against him, and his fingers inside you were now drenched in slick wetness.

How were they even able to think like this? They’d been dealing with these symptoms for longer than you and somehow still had control of themselves. You had been exposed to the gas for less than a minute and all rational thought had left you.

“That’s a good girl,” Ghost’s voice reached you through the drunken haze and you whined. “Spread yourself nice and open on Johnny’s fingers.”

Oh. You were fucking your hips against Soaps’ hand. He was watching the sight with his pupils blown wide as he pressed a third finger inside of you. The stretch felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” you begged. “More. Please.”

Soap curled his fingers inside you and you cried out. He held your hips still with his free hand so he could fuck you harder on his fingers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had you gushing over his wrist in a matter of seconds.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He settled between your thighs. All you could do was beg because his finger hadn’t been enough. “Gonna breed you full, alright, Dove?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” you panted.

You would never have been able to take his cock if Ghost hadn’t dosed you with the gas. Even after the rough fingerfucking you still cried out at the stretch. But it didn’t hurt this time. You loved the way he filled you, the sensation of him sinking deeper inside.

He was too impatient at this point. Had been holding himself back for too long. The moment his cock bottomed out inside you it was like his final thread of control snapped. You were long past him, having never once stood a chance after Ghost crushed that canister.

“Jesus, Dove, you’re so tight. Feel so good on my cock,” Soap was panting against your skin as he fucked you. You were much less coherent beneath him, just a stream of sobbing and begging. You understood what Soap had said earlier: you felt like you were going to die if they didn’t fuck you. If they didn’t ruin you on their cocks. 

“I’m already close.”

You were surprised Soap had lasted this long, considering how quickly you had come on his fingers. It was definitely the toxins in your system, but you needed him to claim you. Needed to be bred full. You must have begged for it, because Soap was soothing you as he picked up the pace.

“You’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Just take it like a good girl, right Dovie?”

He forced his cock as deep as he could when he came, rocking against your hips to make sure it would take. You could feel it, so hot and sticky inside you, dripping out around his cock as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before a huge shadow filled your vision. Ghost. He shoved Soap aside, taking in the sight of you beneath him.

“Johnny made a mess of you didn’t he?” A gloved hand trailed over your tear stained cheeks, through the string of drool hanging from your lips. He forced your thighs apart to see Soap’s come dripping out of your used pussy. “Look at you, pretty girl,” he teased.

“Please,” you whined. The strange panic was taking hold of you again. You were scared what would happen if Ghost didn’t fuck you. “Please, sir. I need it.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Ghost swore under his breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to fight it off. Poor thing.”

He tossed his gloves aside, running warm, calloused hands over your sticky, sweaty skin. “I’m bigger than Johnny,” he warned. “But something tells me you’ll like that.”

All you could do was beg. How did Ghost have so much control? It was almost like he wasn’t affected at all.

He took mercy on you, dragging his cock against your pussy to slick the length of it before pressing inside. He was slower than Soap, more careful. And even under the effects of the gas, you needed it. Fuck. He was huge.

“You’re fucking noisy,” Ghost grumbled. And then there were two fingers pushing past your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits to chase the salt and the sweat, and the relative quiet seemed to appease the lieutenant as he finally bottomed out inside you.

You had never been so full in your life, split open on the lieutenant’s cock like this. He groaned beneath the mask as he fucked you, rhythm faltering as you squeezed tight around his cock.

Even with his fingers in your mouth, you must have picked up your whining again because he leaned in to shush you. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up again. Breed you just like you need. We won’t let you go until you’re full of us.”

It should have sounded threatening, but all you could focus on was the promise that they would take care of you. That they would leave you dripping with their come.

The initial rush of the toxins had given way to a sort of timeless haze. You couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of Ghost fucking you and his fingers in your mouth. It could have been hours. You just needed to be full.

“Here it comes, Little Dove,” Ghost warned you. “Better take every last drop.”

He pulled you so far onto his cock that a glance of pain managed to reach you in the haze, but it only left you craving more. You could feel his cock twitching inside you as he came, filling you even more than Soap had.

“Such a good girl.” He only pulled out after he was sure he had fucked his come into you as deep as possible. And when a few drops began to spill out, he swiped them up with the fingers he had just pulled from your mouth and forced them back inside your pussy again.

“Hey, LT,” Soap grinned where he was slowly stroking his cock. “Does this mean it’s my turn again?”

[kenyatta]

Marie Curie worked here from 1914 until 1934, the year of her death, handling radioactive elements including radium, which she and her husband Pierre Curie had discovered in 1898. For most of her life, she did this with bare, increasingly radium-scarred hands. She then transferred traces of these elements onto other things she touched. Tracking the handprints through her work spaces, one can imagine how she might have gone "from the lab to the office, opened the door and pulled out the office chair to sit down", says Renaud Huynh, the director of the Curie Museum, as he guides me from trace to trace. Some radioactive traces, for example in the Curies' lab notes and notebooks, have long been known about: one analysis in the 1950s made some of them visible by using a photographic plate. The contamination showed up as dots and splodges, suggesting radioactive lab dust settling on the page, or droplets from boiling solutions of radium salts spraying onto it.  Other traces have been revealed in more depth by further tests in recent years: they have been found on the doors of a cupboard from her home, on drawers, on the pages of books, on lecturing notes, and even on an extendable dining table from the Curies' family home. For every item, experts face the agonising question of whether to save it as heritage – or, in cases where the contamination is considered a public safety risk, put into a nuclear waste facility. The cupboard, for example, ended up being destroyed.

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 3

Part 2

Tim reached up to rub at his temples and groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Normally he enjoyed going down the research rabbit-hole but this was ridiculous! Paranormal sciences were a bad joke. Most of it was conjecture, hearsay and unprovable theories with just enough scientific sounding jargon peppered in to confuse a layperson. Peer-review was practically non-existent, not to mention a proper scientific method. Francis Bacon would be rolling in his grave!

The slight hiss of the elevator doors opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Replacement, you missed dinner!” Jason called, sauntering over with a loaded plate in hand. He set down a sandwich next to Tim’s elbow. “Alfie says he’s cutting off your coffee supply until you get some damn sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna start prepping the knock-out gas soon!” he quipped, leaning his hip against the Batcomputer’s console. “Research on the League giving you trouble?”

“I wish.” Tim sighed, reaching for the sandwich, “The Assassins have actually been pretty quiet recently. I found some leads on suspicious political donations in Italy, but nothing I can tie to them directly. Talia’s in Paris as far as I can tell, working at an investment firm for God knows what reason. Probably money laundering related. And the ones holed up in Nanda Parbat have been quiet as murderous little church mice.”

“Ra’s isn’t up to anything? Colour me shocked.” Jason drawled sardonically, “You sure he’s not cooking up a new batch of demon spawn in that mountain of his?”

Tim shook his head. “You know Bruce destroyed his cloning labs after the last… incident. And I’ve found no records of the League procuring the necessary materials or equipment to restart production.” he wrinkled his nose, “Of course it’s possible that they used a shell company we haven’t come across yet, but I believe the odds are pretty low.”

“So what’s got your panties in a bunch then?”

Tim’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Ghosts.”

“Ah.”

Jason stared off into space and Tim took a bite of his sandwich. Egg-salad, score! The Cave was silent for a while, only disturbed by the noise of the actual bats heading out for their nightly hunt.

“I can’t tell you for sure if ghosts are real or not. I don’t remember anything from when I was… dead.” Jason said haltingly, and Tim stilled. “But we’ve seen people come back under pretty weird circumstances. So why not ghosts?” Jason shrugged.

Tim chewed and swallowed before replying. “Because it’s one thing for the physical body to be restored, but some kind of nebulous ‘spirit’ lingering? Why don’t we see ghosts all the time then? Why don’t people come back? Why not…” Tim broke off.

“Your Dad?”

Tim nodded and dropped the remains of the sandwich back on the plate. It suddenly looked as appetising as cardboard.

“I don’t know, birdie. We still don’t know why I came back.” Jason snorted “Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour.”

Tim’s lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “Maybe the universe missed your terrible puns. Some of those still haunt me.”

Jason barked out a surprised laugh. “That was terrible!”

“The universe clearly made a grave mistake.”

“Stop it, I can feel my brain cells dying!” Jason groaned and gave Tim a light punch to the shoulder.

“Well we can’t have that, you have so few already!” Tim snarked, then quickly leaned to the side to evade Jason’s attempted noogie. Jason huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“All right mister teenage genius. What have you dug up about ghosts then?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There’s obviously tons of folklore from all over the world. Pretty much every mythology has stories about the spirits or souls of the dead returning to haunt the living. But if there’s a scientific basis to all this then it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even the supposed leaders in the field are hopelessly biased.” He pulled up some documents on the screen. “Take these for example. The Doctors Fenton are supposed experts in the field of ‘Ecto-Biology’ as they call it, but their research papers would never fly with a proper scientific journal. A lot of it comes across as blatantly xenophobic towards the entities they are supposedly studying and their research methods seem geared towards confirming what they view as foregone conclusions. And most of their peers operate on the same track.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed one of the articles in question. “Do you think there’s anything to this, or is it all just a hoax?”

Tim snorted. “If there is, they haven’t offered any conclusive proof. Though they certainly seem to have made it work for them. The Fentons have a series of patents for weapons and defenses against these supposed ‘ecto-entities’ and it looks like there’s plenty of people gullible enough to buy them. I haven’t taken a closer look at their products yet, but a lot of it looks like something out of a pulp sci-fi movie.” He pulled up the image of what looked like a bazooka with green glowing parts. Jason whistled.

“So, con artists or mad scientists?”

“Could be both. Their financial records are all over the place and they’ve had some large transactions with what I’m pretty sure are shell companies in recent years. They live and operate out of a small city in Illinois.” Tim said, pulling up the relevant documents on screen.

“Amity Park?” Jason read aloud.

“Supposedly it’s ‘The Most Haunted City in America’. Seems on brand, doesn’t it?”

“It probably helps them stay in business. It looks like they have kids?” Jason pointed at the tax returns. Tim typed some search queries into the system.

“Two. One in high school, one just started her first semester at Metropolis University. With a full scholarship to boot.” He spent a few more minutes hacking into the university’s systems. “Here we go, Jasmine Fenton. Looks like she’s going for a psychology degree. And… hm…” Tim trailed off. Jason quickly realised what had caught his attention.

“‘The Damaging Effects of Envy Towards Metahumans? That’s a hell of a topic for a freshman-year essay.” Jason remarked.

“Yes. I wonder…” Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “She might have some insight into her parents’ research.”

“And at a cursory glance, she didn’t drink whatever Kool-Aid her parents were serving.” Jason finished for him. “You wanna go pump her for information?”

“I might as well. If nothing else, maybe we can shut down a couple of mad scientists before they become a problem.” Tim stood up and stretched. “Time for a field trip!”

Part 4

[trans-axolotl]

"Just as 'most prisoners walk into prison because they know they will be dragged or beaten into prison if they do not walk,' we can say that most of the psychiatrically committed walk into hospitals because they know they will be restrained or dragged in if they don't walk. Often, this power has not required the psychiatrist to know the exact source of the ailment they treat nor exactly how their methods act upon the mind; what matters is that the machine is running. A whole system, a tightly interwoven mesh of relays and discourses is in place to transform the psychiatrist's judgment into effective action: a working theory and classificatory system to organize the clientele and separate them from other objects of care or punishment (taxonomy or nosology); institutional spaces (the asylum is historically the most pervasive, but also clinics, group homes, psychiatric wards, etc.); judicial codes defining the status of the mad (generally analogized to animals or children); prescribed roles for legal actors (police, judges, forensic experts); a chain of bureaucrats to sort out matters of insurance, finance, and property in cases of institutionalization or guardianship; and approved mechanisms or surveillance and reporting to translate individual complaints into the state's administrative codes. There are as many points of contact as there are spaces of encounter and discourses of legitimation in the social world. One or more of these elements can be revolutionized without fundamentally changing the connection between the parts. For example, at various points throughout its existence, as we've already seen, a theory of 'social causation' prevailed over a biological one without changing the matrix that defines modern psychiatry, and the same can be said for some of the legal alterations to the patient's status throughout the twentieth century.

There is no psychiatrist-patient encounter set apart from a broader circuit of relations: patient-apartment-work-family-cop-partner-school-neighbor-psychologist-state-guardian-probate-judge-psychiatrist-hospital. And to be clear: our biology itself is shared and leaks throughout this chain at every step. Our bodies are permeable, open, they leak, bleed, consume, excrete; our bodies flow out into a common world, and are open to outside influence, as the COVID-19 pandemic has made so excruciatingly clear. A patient of the Utica Asylum put it beautifully in The Opal in 1852: 'Like fermentation in the chemical world, [humanity's] atomic adhesions are in constant enlargement and in silent operation, seeking out relations, and forming relations of unsurpassed beauty and comfort, because in conformity with nature and adapted to its condition, means and end.' Attempts to neutralize this network by relegating every actor and space in the chain external to the domain of the psychiatrist onto the order of natural history ('we're just responding to the demands of the family...' or 'that's a matter for the police...I just deal with the patient once they arrive here') expose this posture as a naively religious one. In denial of the profane world and its complications extrinsic to the holy circuitry of neural or endocrine highways of the One in isolation, they declare a monastic fealty to an object of study over and above the matrix that makes its study possible or their conclusions efficacious in any real encounter...

...If psychiatry still takes refuge in the desert of scientism--speaking in tongues of prolix jargon--it's because a paradise of healing did materialize, but not as a Promethean forge of liberated humans, nor even as solemn resting place of broken souls, but sank so low as to appear as nothing more than a mundane prison. Burdened by the unbearable weight of their failure, the next generation abandoned their project and ran away to the labs, relinquishing responsibility for the armies of the living dead. At least they hung a sign at the door of the asylum on their way out. It read: 'abandon every hope, who enter here.'"

-Storming Bedlam: Madness, Utopia, and Revolt by Sasha Warren, pg 32-34

[phoenixblaze1412]

Could i ask for fem!reader and dottore having a smoking 🚬 session and a few kissing if that's alright I can't get this scenario out of my head😭😭 ty!! love all your works🫶🫶

Very well anon!

Little warning: smoking, I do not condone minors to the habit of smoking, this is only a fanfiction, not reality.

The lab was unusually quiet, the hum of machines and the soft shuffle of papers the only sounds breaking the stillness. Dottore sat behind his desk, his gaze intent on the research in front of him but there was an unspoken tension in the air. He had been working nonstop for hours and you had come to check on him, mostly because you knew he would never take a break unless someone made him.

The lab smelled faintly of chemicals, but tonight, there was something else in the air: the sharp, alluring scent of tobacco. You had slipped a pack of cigarettes into your bag earlier, knowing exactly what would coax him out of his perpetual work frenzy. The idea of a quiet, shared moment between the two of you, away from the madness of experiments, had seemed perfect.

You walked over to his desk, setting the pack down in front of him. Dottore glanced up, his sharp gaze scanning your face as if trying to figure out your intentions. There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“You’ve been smoking again?” he asked, his tone a mixture of teasing and intrigue.

You shrugged, leaning against the desk with a sly grin. “Just thought we could share a moment. A break from the madness. You’ve been working nonstop.”

Dottore exhaled sharply, obviously aware of how deep in his work he had been, but also not one to back down from a challenge or a bit of relaxation. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk, contemplating for a moment before reaching for the pack. “Fine. I’ll indulge you. But don’t think this means I’ll make a habit of it.”

You handed him a lighter, your fingers brushing against his as he took it from your hand. There was something about those small touches that always sent a strange flutter through your chest, though you’d never admit it aloud. He lit the cigarette with expert ease, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp planes of his face before he took a long drag.

The smoke curled upward, thick and heavy, and you followed suit, lighting your own cigarette. The two of you sat there in a comfortable silence for a while, the smoke swirling between you, mingling in the dimly lit room. Dottore’s usually cold demeanor softened just a little in these moments, and you enjoyed the quiet companionship more than you let on.

After a while, Dottore looked over at you, his lips curling slightly as he observed the way you exhaled, your eyes momentarily closed in contentment. “You enjoy this more than I expected.”

You smirked, taking another drag. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes, it’s nice to step back, to just breathe for once.”

His eyes darkened with something unreadable, and for a brief moment, the weight of his gaze seemed to linger just a little longer than usual. You weren’t sure if it was the smoke, the dim light, or just the shared silence, but something between you felt different now.. more intimate, more present.

You leaned closer to him, the space between you shrinking, and caught his gaze. “You should relax more often, Dottore,” you murmured, your voice quiet but steady.

Dottore’s eyes flickered down to your lips, a flash of something deeper crossing his expression, something that felt a little like longing, though he quickly masked it with a smirk. “I don’t need your advice on relaxation, (Y/N).”

But there was no bite in his words. In fact, there was a softness to his tone that you hadn’t heard before.

“Then what do you need?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper, your eyes never leaving his.

Before he could respond, you closed the small distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a soft, teasing kiss. The moment was fleeting, almost as if testing the waters. His lips were warm, and the slight taste of tobacco lingered between you as you pulled away just enough to look at him.

Dottore was silent for a beat, and then, with a small, almost amused chuckle, he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a deeper kiss. This one was not tentative, but full of purpose, as if he had been waiting for just the right moment to finally give in. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his breath mingling with yours as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that surprised you.

The cigarette in your hand was long forgotten, the smoke curling aimlessly in the air as your senses were consumed by him. You melted into the kiss, his warmth and the quiet pressure of his hands on your body igniting something within you. For a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathing a little heavier, the taste of each other lingering on your lips. Dottore pulled back just enough to look at you, his usual cold exterior momentarily slipping away, leaving only a softness you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re reckless,” he murmured, his voice rough, but there was an undeniable warmth to it now. “You always manage to make things more complicated than they need to be.”

You smiled, your eyes still locked on his. “Maybe. But isn’t that part of the fun?”

Dottore smirked, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, taking one more drag from his cigarette before flicking it into the ashtray. “But I suppose… that’s what I find most interesting about you.”

You leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just beside the scar that ran down his face. “I like to think I keep you on your toes,” you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

Dottore’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. “Indeed. It’s almost like you’re trying to make me lose my mind.”

“Maybe,” you teased, leaning against him a little more comfortably now. “But you seem to like it, don’t you?”

His fingers brushed against your hand, his usual stoic demeanor slipping back into place, though now with a quiet affection in his gaze. “I suppose I do.”

And in that moment, the world outside the lab faded away, leaving only the two of you, sharing a quiet moment of tenderness amidst the chaos. The smoke hung thick in the air, but it was the warmth between you that truly lingered.

[gnomey22]

Stellar the Hedgehog Analysis

Just got home from watching the third Sonic movie, and since it focuses so much on Sonic and Shadow's relationship, I thought it'd be the best time to do something I've wanted to do for a while - drop an incredibly long post about my thoughts on @emthimofnight's Sonadow fankid, Stellar the Hedgehog.

And before I say anything more, here's a link to her ref sheet: https://www.tumblr.com/emthimofnight/747427162447118336/name-stellar-the-hedgehog-age-varies-based-on?source=share

A lot of the time, Sonic OCs have been passed off as "cringe", due to the unfortunately well-known ones, but the actual community is full of some of the most dedicated lore-makers and designers I've ever seen, and I'm not even someone who knows Sonic that well! I've done a fair bit of research on the series, but I've never played the main games for myself. I just stumbled onto Stellar while I was mindlessly scrolling, and as I checked out all the posts regarding her, I realised I'd found one of the most intricate, passionate fan creations I'd ever seen, and she's been living rent-free in my head ever since.

Now, for the meat of this post: My analytical thoughts on her. Let's break it down into categories:

Design and Personality:

I'm no expert on character design, I've barely even tried to do it myself (outside of my over-designed Miitopia OCs), but Stellar is absolutely striking. Her fur colour is a clever blend of Sonic's blue and Shadow's black, a dark blue resembling space, with a splash of red thrown in to add to the Shadow of it all. She has stripes as well, but as opposed to Shadow's slashing shapes, hers are more bendy, twisting into the form of a star. Inhibitor rings are strapped to her sneakers, a very poetic combination of her dads' getups, but she's also got her knee and elbow guards, a little touch of her own that links in with her fighting style, and also represents the constant protection around her which I'll get to later.

She's extremely star-coded, from the name to the space colour to the fur markings, and I think that was the perfect direction to go. Stars feel ethereal, but entirely grounded at the same time, a cosmic entity we can look towards at any point. Stellar is much the same, she contains an absolutely incredible power, taking after two previous incredible powers, but her personality is so warm and cheerful, and her very existence is what brings Sonic and Shadow together.

And that's the other point I want to make in this category. Stellar actually has three older siblings who died before they were born (I'll get to that), and they're essentially a sliding scale of Shadow's genes to Sonic's genes. Void is almost entirely Shadow, Andromeda has a bit more Sonic, Polarity is more Sonic than Shadow, and Stellar herself is the only true balance. That's a good word to describe what she represents, balance. Sonic's kindness combined with Shadow's anger, Sonic's showboating combined with Shadow's self-confidence, with her own bubbliness and grace added on top. Everything about her design, just like her role in the "SonDADow AU", simply clicks together.

Background Lore:

As someone unfamiliar with the history of the Sonic fandom, I'm not sure how common the "Sonadow fankid made in a lab" trope is. I know Stellar was not the first, and it'd be unreasonable to assume she was - but I'm willing to bet that Emthim has the very best exploration of the concept.

The failed siblings, for a start. That's a dark turn to take off the bat, the idea that Project: STELLAR has been attempted so many times, and still hasn't been shut down because these people are so desperate to put more insane power out into the world, but it really does set the tone for what's going on here. Stellar, just like Shadow, isn't being viewed as a genuine lifeform despite her title, she and all her siblings were a piece in the puzzle for a bunch of self-absorbed scientists trying to recreate a project that was inhumane from the start. Shadow is frequently pictured as struggling to cope with the knowledge of this project, and of the failed siblings, as it'd very obviously strike a lot of nerves. Sonic reminds him to move forward, though. Just like he always has.

That's another incredible aspect of all of this - Sonic and Shadow being forced to parent together despite being not-very-close-friends before this point. The little interactions displaying their bickering about how much influence each of them have had on their daughter, and constantly fumbling on taking care of her because all three of them have overpowering abilities that completely change how they go about their lives, give so much life to the relationship depicted between them all. Stellar is never outright told about her origin, because Sonic and Shadow want to keep her out of that life, and that level of protection being shown both warms the heart, and fills it with a sense of dread for when she'll find out, because it's (realistically) not a perfect strategy. This all adds so much to the idea that they were haphazardly thrown together by the circumstances of Stellar's very existence, and the duo of hedgehogs are just trying to make do.

Stellar as a sort of "dark star", in her ultimate form or Villain AU, is a concept that really ties it all together. She originated from an evil cause, something that only exists to cause unparalleled destruction, and yet her good will and sense of justice shines through no matter what. You can tie aspects of the same theme to both of her parents, but it's wholly concentrated in her story.

Powers and Abilities:

She's a figure-skater. That's pretty much the whole reason this category exists, I really want to break that down for a second.

The duality of ice skating is one-to-one with the duality of Stellar, in my eyes. It's a graceful, beautiful, typically feminine activity, but it's incredibly easy to cause damage with those blades, and strike the sickest poses on your foes. Stellar has a clearly-defined soft side to her, she's very sweet to the people she cares about, and has that all-encompassing energy only a child of Sonic could possess, but just as much as that, she will rip and tear through someone at a moment's notice if they piss her off, she's got that impulsiveness to her, and we all know she's got the power to back it up. She can be either of these things at any moment, the artistic blade always has an edge to it, and the contrast is no contradiction - She simply is all of her.

On top of that, I want to talk more about the dark/collapsing star form. The idea that she possesses such capacity for destruction, which could take her over from the inside out, that would leave her loved ones desperately reaching out to find that shining star - it has not left my mind since I first saw it. It's one of the most compelling narrative devices anywhere in this AU, there's so much potential in a character like Stellar, making an impact wherever she moves, becoming shrouded in the colossal darkness that still plagues her life no matter what she does. As for the specific piece that drew me into this form so much? I'll link it in the final category.

Camellar:

https://www.tumblr.com/emthimofnight/742720101897437184/some-sketches-illustrating-the-relationship?source=share

The first image in the set is the one I was just referencing, but I'd be retreading ground by talking about it, so I'll focus more on their relationship in general.

I love how it's so "mutual pining childhood friends"-coded, while also straying a decent bit away from the common tropes. Only Camellia has the feelings bouncing around her head like a DVD logo every moment of her life, because Stellar doesn't actually comprehend it at all, despite feeling much the same. True to her nature, she's so focused on building positive relationships with people that she doesn't recognise some of the intricacies of what the relationship is truly like, or what she truly feels herself. She's at her softest around Camellia, due to their long-lasting affection, but she's also at her fiercest when she gets protective. Camellia brings out every aspect of her personality in a way no-one else does... and certainly not a dishonest rival.

Rocket is my absolute favourite addition to the Camellar dynamic because he throws such a gigantic wrench in everything. His relationship with Stellar has none of the safety that Camellia's does, he's all about the thrill of it, feeding into the inexplicable attraction without thought of whether it'll hurt in the end or not. Initially, this is all one-sided on Stellar's side, eventually becoming one-sided on Rocket's, and either way, it brings about a vindictiveness in Camellia she usually isn't prone to, because just as much as Stellar is looking out for her, she's looking out for Stellar - in a variety of ways. She wants what's best for her, but she's also throughly convinced that it won't be anyone other than herself, and she's also right, especially since Rocket's such a prick at the end of the day.

The truth is, the reason Sonic and Shadow work is that they can keep up with each other. Both of their life stories are about becoming as free of a spirit as they can be, tossing aside everything thrown in their path to become confident in themselves and what they stand for. Stellar and Camellia are much the same. From an aesthetics and basic dynamic standpoint, there's more comparisons to draw between them and Sonamy, but in that case, it's entire game's worth of miscommunication and problem avoidance. In the case of Camellar, they're significantly more head-on with everything, they're both incredibly blunt about their affection, it's just that the romance aspect is lost in translation on Stellar's side. Not like that's the part that really matters, it's the mere unbreakable bond. The one that gets a princess desperately reaching out through a collapsing star for its heart. The one that gets a shining star to settle down for a moment.

Closing Thoughts:

This post definitely didn't cover everything. So much about Stellar is whirring around my brain at any given moment, I have no idea how I'd manage to jot it all down in a comprehensible and complete format, but this is what I've got. A post that hopefully shows just how deep my appreciation for Emthim's work goes, and how talented of a creator I believe her to be. Thank you for reading.

[justaweirdo1-blog]

Can you pass it?

Platonic? Tim drake x reader

Summary: an encounter with robin leads to you offering a hit from your joint?

Warnings:stoner reader and stoner time drake, use of drugs, slight assault, curse words

This is my first ever fanfic and I’m not an expert on Tim drake I just know he is stoner coded fs, as am I and honestly the strain names are real and I have tried them. And I basically wrote this as if it were me smoking with Tim. Wrote this high too and did not proof read either so Hope you enjoy!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★ ・・・・

Being robin was a tough enough job but to also have to juggle school and Wayne enterprises was more than what Tim asked for in life. But when you have a brain that functions the way Tim’s does you just kind of get used to the non stop thoughts and constant need to solve cases. Not to say he doesn’t desire a break every once in a while it’s just that he can never feel relaxed enough to take a breather.

That was until about 2 hours ago before his world changed.

He was out on patrol doing his usual rounds in his assigned quadrant when he spotted you, you were heading into a dark alley looking uneasy and suspicious and it was pretty obvious he needed to follow you to make sure you weren’t in any danger. When he got close enough he was able to recognize you, having been assigned partners for a science class. He didn’t know you that well since he had just transferred to Gotham high 2 months ago. He was already growing tired of it since he barely even attended school, truthfully he was ready to drop out .(Ik it’s canon in some comics that Tim drake drops out but correct me if I am wrong pls!)

But back to them, why would his lab partner be walking down an alley in a dangerous part of Gotham? He’s running over roofs to get to the one that leads to that alley and when he spots you he leans over the ledge to listen in on your conversation.

Honestly what were you thinking it’s almost 1am and you’re alone walking the streets of Gotham defenseless. You knew you should have invested in that taser your friend told you to get but at least you had some pepper spray left maybe about 2 sprays left. Pretty disappointing that you’re almost done with it considering all the bad encounters you’ve had before with goons or robbers who would do anything for money.

You always hated this part of being a stoner yes it’s fun to get high and all but the anxiety you get from having to buy from shady guys was definitely not worth it but you usual source wasn’t in town right now and you just had the worst shift of your life. So safe to say you really needed this right now.

As you walk deeper into the darkness just a faint light flickering in the corner of a building, you approach the man who you assume is the one selling? Honestly your not to sure but you had your heart set on this new strain it was something about bee jizz? And a Bugatti flavor. You could never get behind the crazy and yet unique names they came up with but it is exciting to pick flavors and see which one taste best.

Your heart is basically beating out of your chest and you could probably pass out from the anxiety you’re feeling right now. But you suck it up because you have been looking forward to this all day and you already placed an order at your favorite taco spot and made sure your iPad was fully charged so you were set for the night.

Deep breaths…. And you break the silence.

“Are you Jake?” The guy just nodded his head while looking you up and down. Oh no you thought to yourself please don’t try anything. He pushes him off the wall he was leaning on and asks what you wanted to buy while trying to close the space between y’all. “Please back up I’m just here to buy bud sir.” You made sure to sound serious and brave even though you were shaking inside.

Tim listening to you from above was ready to step in but stopped when he heard you were buying weed. It’s not uncommon for teenagers to try drugs even most of his hero friends had tried it at least once. He always turned it down because Bruce has a strict no drugs policy, plus he just never really wanted to try it since he had his coffee and tea as his source of getting through the day

“Yeah I’ll give you what you ordered but uh how about you give me your number first beautiful.” The dealer said as he took another step forward and tried to grab your waist. You stumbled back on some trash on the floor and almost fell before regaining your balance. “You can’t just grab someone like that it’s gross honestly!” You stated while giving him a look of disgust, he didn’t take that very well..

“Listen here bitch I sell to plenty of addicts and i know most are willing to do anything for what they want so stop being a brat and give in”

Geez could this guy be any more of an asshole? But having had the shittiest day already you were fed up with this jerk so you took matters into your own hands.

“Listen dickhead just give me the weed and I’ll give you the money and leave me the fuck alone.” You handed over the money just wanting to be done with this. But once again maybe this guy is just an idiot and genuinely has like only 2 brain cells and he tries to take a swing on you. “What did you say bitch?!”

Tim drops down into the alley ready to help you when you move sideways and hold out your foot and let him stumble to the floor as he loses his balance. Which surprised Tim, he didn’t expect you to act quick. You proceed to hold him down and rummage through his backpack to take what you came to get feeling so over this interaction. And you become even more upset when he didn’t even bring what you wanted.

“You didn’t even bring the right bud dumbass ugh. And I’m taking extra for the inconvenience.” You chuckle as you put the weed away in your bag. Feeling successful for the night .

“Woah you handled that pretty well.” You spin around so fast to see who just said that, when you lock eyes with robin. “It’s not my drugs I swear!” You say quickly knowing damn well you’re lying. “Oh really because that’s not what I heard” robin said getting closer and tying the dealers hands up before he could run away. “Well I uh- it’s helps me sleep okay” you say while trying to walk away. “Please don’t snitch on me like don’t tell Batman? I’ll even let you take a hit.” The sentence just leaves your mouth without a second thought and once you realize what you have said you immediately take it back.

“Omg did I just offer drugs to robin?” You say out loud and Tim just chuckles to himself. You just stare at him did you just make robin laugh?

“Ive never tried it “ he states looking a bit hesitant.

“Oh really like not even once?” You ask in a sort of curious tone. Tim paused he never felt the need to get high and has been offered hits from his friends many times before, so why did it sound so tempting when she asked if he wanted some?

He was thinking so hard he forgot he was having a whole conversation with his lab partner. “So is that a yes? You seem like you deciding on whether to say yes or no which I take as a yes!” He stares at you and sees how you’re a little excited he can’t help but smile at you.

He remains silent unsure of how to answer he doesn’t want to say yes for the image of robin but Tim drake doesn’t want to say no. “I won’t tell anybody if it matters I can keep this as our secret okii!” He keeps eye contact with you and knows you aren’t lying and it eases him maybe he should agree.

As you felt like he was about to turn down your offer he blurts out “I’ll agree but you really can’t tell anyone alright I’m trusting you with that.” He spoke in such a calm yet serious voice. “I promise robin” you said in a reassuring tone.

As you are heading out the alley ready to roll up as you make your way to the taco place you feel robin grab your waist and next thing you know your standing on the a random rooftop. “What are you doing?” Tim asked a bit confused.

“I’m headed to pick up some tacos I ordered I was gonna roll as we walked” you said so casually.

“Yeah there might be a problem with that “ he said gesturing to his robin suit.

“Ohhhh right right I forgot” you stood for a sec to think.

“Okay I can walk to the taco place to pick up my order while you get there with your grapple thing, and then we will meet on the roof right across the taco spot and we smoke before eating. Alright?”

He nodded his head in agreement “ okay but I could get us both there with my grapple if you want so you don’t have to walk and it’ll be faster?” He asked.

You nodded eagerly you got excited again the sooner you get there the sooner you can eat your food. And it was way faster you were there in 5 min, it freaked you out at first but then you got used to the swinging.

“Okay I’m gonna go grab my order I’ll be back and then we can light up”

He nodded his head as he watched you walk towards the taco place. When you return he can smell the tacos and his stomach growls loud then silence fills the air . You start laughing a little and you just see robin get a little embarrassed at the sudden noise that came from his stomach.

“Good to hear you are hungry because I got you some food too. You are probably gonna get the munchies after we finish .” You pull out the weed you just got and your grinder, you place the little nuggets in the container then placing the cover you begin to twist the circular object . Tim watching so intently at you methods and each step you take to make this. Then you pull out your rolling paper and start forming a cone carefully packing the grinded flower into the paper as you lick along the paper to seal the joint twisting the end.

You hold the joint between your lips softly while you pull out you lighter and use your other hand to cover the gustily wind. once you got it lit you take a deep inhale and hold it for a few seconds before releasing a cloud of smoke as you exhale.

“Here” you hold over the lit up substance to robin. He’s not sure exactly how to hold it and it’s obvious he’s never even held a cigarette. “Do you know how to do it?”

“No I don’t, I don’t know the first thing about any of this stuff.”

“That’s fine I’ll teach you, so put it between your lips and you are going to take a small inhale since it’s your first time I don’t want you coughing. Then when it’s in your mouth make sure to inhale it into your lungs so that it can take affect, then exhale slowly and you will see the smoke come out.” You watch as he does exactly as you said and notice how he reacts to seeing the smoke leave his mouth.

He coughs regardless but it wasn’t too bad. “Why can’t I stop coughing? Did I do it right?” You can’t help but giggle as you say “ I coughed my first time too but you get used to it and soon you won’t cough.”

“how do I know if I’m high? Will I feel it?” You nod at him and explain the euphoric feeling it gives you and the way you feel the world go silent.

“You will start to feel a bit of a rush in your head and then notice that time seems to be going slow but then you will be overcome with a wave of calmness. At least that’s how it feels for me, so relax and you will soon feel it kick in.” You smile at robin hoping he will help him ease his stiff posture.

And soon enough after a couple more passes between the vigilante and you, you see him slowly start to sway himself while letting out a giggle here and there. “I think I can feel it now” he turns towards you and he can’t stop his giggles which turn into pure laughter. “I don’t even know what I’m laughing for but this just feels funny I like it” he says.

“That’s good and I hope you’re hungry now because we have some of Gotham’s best tacos right here.” You begin to open the food and glance at robin practically drooling over the food. “Here’s your food! hope you like it!” And he absolutely fucks those tacos up and you have to say there were amazing as always. Y’all somehow end up watching a Disney nature documentary about bears which you were both so invested in.

Once you felt your high coming down you knew his would be coming to an end too, so you start packing up your stuff and look at the time on your phone and notice it’s 4am.

“Oh shit I need to get home like right now!” You had school in the morning and a very important lab test that you couldn’t afford to fail if you wanted to pass this class. “Are you coming down from the high because I was hoping you could take me home please!” You pleaded him.

“I can feel it going away did something happen? What time is it?” He checks the time and sees the time and also begins tot freak out because his patrol was now over and he forgot he turned off his comms so he hopes Batman didn’t check in on him which he knows is impossible knowing Bruce.

“Oh wow it is late I need to report back to Batman, but yes I will take you home first!” And after you tell him where you live and why you need to go home he couldn’t help but wonder why he never spoke to you sooner. You were funny and nice to be high with, he wondered if he should ask if y’all could hang out again.

You both land in front of your home it’s a lower class house a little outside the city. “I know you have to go but I wanted to say, I enjoyed your company tonight and if you ever want to get high again or not up to you we can meet up and I hope we can be even friends maybe?” You hoped he would say yes

“I had a good time tonight too it was my first time getting high and the tacos were so good it was like my tastebuds were enhanced and I could taste every ingredient. Oh and that documentary was amazing I can’t remember the last time I was relaxed enough to watch a whole movie in once sitting and I was so focused but the colors I liked the feeling.” He could keep going but he really needed to leave.

“So I take that as a yes to another sesh? “ he nods as you pull out your phone to exchange contacts, you tell him to text you whenever he wants to smoke and you’ll be there.

“Well bye robin see ya later?” “Bye”You wave to him before walking inside and as soon as you close your door robin is off to the bat cave and if hoping Bruce already turned in for the night. He knows this is impossible but he’s manifesting right now. Once he gets to the cave he sees Bruce in front of the bat computer like where else would he be.

So he tries to sneak behind and head up the stairs and as soon as he thought he was in the clear Bruce clears his throat and Tim freezes.

“Where did you go tonight? You didn’t answer your comms and you’re late. So what were you doing?” Getting questioned from Bruce whether or not he did something wrong always made him feel like the end of the world.

“Oh I was helping out someone and just got caught up I turned off my comms because I didn’t want to get distracted you know.” Bullshit he knows it Bruce knows it, there’s no way Bruce was buying this excuse and he had cameras all over Gotham he had to have caught him doing drugs. Tim starts to feel a bit weak in his knees how could he be so reckless what would be punishment no more robin? He was thinking of the ending possibilities of the worst outcomes.

“Ok just let me know when you’re turning off your comms so i know you’re fine.” No fucking way. No way Bruce believes him “oh okay I’m off to bed I’m tired i will write my report tomorrow. Goodnight” Tim slowly turned away hesitant as he headed up the stairs before Bruce spoke once more. “Oh and I would love to meet her when you are ready Tim.” B gave Tim a smile.

Then it clicked all. He stayed composed and shook his head as he continued to walk upstairs. He can’t believe it Bruce did see him with you but obviously didn’t watch long enough to see him get high. This is great for him although now Bruce thinks he has a girlfriend but he was fine with that as long as he got to smoke again and have an excuse to cover up this time.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★ ・・・・・

Part 2?

**Pls lmk if you like it my intention was platonic Tim x reader but if anyone wants them together I can totally make that happen. Pls know this is my first post and I love feedback but be nice pls!! **

[redvelvetcoffeeandkisses]

Unpopular opinion…

I actually really enjoyed tonight’s episode. I think everyone needs to take a step back and recognise that even if you aren’t happy with the writing, it was an objectively good episode.

The pacing was great, and I thought it wasn’t the biggest thing on my mind while I was watching, the actual technical aspects were just as on point as they always are.

The cast did a wonderful job, but they always do so it’s not really much of a surprise.

I understand why people are upset, and would have loved even a hint that Bobby was still with us just hidden in a lab somewhere. But I really didn’t go into the episode expecting it, and maybe managing my expectations has helped with my opinion.

Nothing that happened was that unexpected to be honest though. Eddie was never going to stay in Texas permanently (and Buck never intended to stay in the house permanently), once Hen made it clear that she didn’t want to be Captain the next choice was always going to be Chim, Madney naming the new baby after Bobby was the predictable outcome (even if I don’t personally like it). Hell, even Athena selling the house isn’t at all surprising - Bobby and Athena made it clear they were downsizing in 8x14, and without Bobby there to fill the space with her there really isn’t much sense in having a house that big, not to mention the emotional implications of living in the house they built together without him.

Despite all the press this week (and I’ll discuss that in a bit), Buck and Eddie really aren’t yet in a place where Buddie makes sense. They’re both still dealing with their grief over Bobby being gone, and at this point in time Eddie is still straight. I still believe that it will happen eventually, but it’s going to take time. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying if it happened now without getting to see Eddie come to terms with his sexuality and what that means, without Buck recognising that actually he does love Eddie, he just didn’t think he was allowed. Give us a chance to see them build a solid relationship together and make the conscious, intentional choice to move in together, rather than Buck just not moving out because it’s convenient (and they were roommates works in fanfic, less so in a network TV show).

Ok, now my thoughts about the press this week… I’m not claiming to be an expert on the in’s and out’s of marketing a network TV show, nor do I claim to have any idea what the motivation behind all the press was.

Yes, it was a lot. But I think it’s important to remember that while this is the show’s 8th season overall, it is only the 2nd season at ABC/Disney, and if the intention is to drive new viewers to the show, this is seems like a great way to do it. The network has already renewed for season 9, and I remember reading somewhere that the network has no plans to cancel anytime soon. Surely ensuring they are not only retaining the current audience, but also picking up new viewers, is top priority.

I also think it’s too early to call queerbaiting on the Buddie front for all of the reasons I mentioned above - it’s just too early to tell. If there has still been no progress by the end of next season, we can reevaluate.

If you’ve stuck out my probably incoherent rambling this far, thanks 🥰. I would love to hear people’s thoughts, but please keep it respectful.

[catscidr]

Could I request head canons with reader who likes to cook and clean and is basically like a house wife. Dottore and Childe please ☺️

(oﾟ◇ﾟ)ﾉ perhaps you can............. i did my best to try to make these not too redundant , so forgive me if they're a little repetitive sometimes. the tldr is just that they love their cute wife (you) shgjngfns ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: fluff! domestic fluff!! talks of food, mentions of having a family, childe's part gets a teensy bit suggestive includes: fem!reader, dottore and his clones, tartaglia wc: 1,2k

-ˋˏ It’s a popular headcanon that Dottore has a sweet tooth and I’m here to contribute to it bc I’m a firm believer in the Man Bad But Secretly Soft trope.......

-ˋˏ You often find yourself baking desserts for him to eat when he gets home from work and, on the rare occasions that he’s home while you’re baking, you make him taste-test the dessert you’re currently making 

-ˋˏ He’s actually decent at baking (it’s just food science and he’s The Science Guy), however he doesn’t particularly enjoy doing it. But you do! You love doing acts of service for him, which is why you got promoted from housewife to personal-pastry-and-dessert-expert housewife (said endearingly) 

-ˋˏ Good ol’ chocolate chip cookies, maple pudding, red velvet cake, lemon meringue pie, tiramisu, mille-feuille; you'd make so many desserts that he had to buy a chef-grade refrigerator on top of your regular fridge to store them. Not that he minded of course, but sometimes he’d lightly scold you for making so many unhealthy foods (all the while being a hypocrite himself because he’s the one enabling you) 

-ˋˏ Has a mini fridge in his office full of desserts (and the occasional homemade sandwich, for variety). He always has to restock it because his segments always get into it and eat his sweets that you made for him 

-ˋˏ When he tells you about it you end up giving him two extra tupperware containers full of sweets that you insist he gives to his segments, especially the younger ones. If he doesn’t, you’ll just show up to his lab and give your freshly baked desserts to them yourself 

-ˋˏ Sometimes Dottore tries to bake with you, but you always get frustrated that he never makes the desserts look nice. He just takes up space in your shared kitchen when he tries to help; which you tell him that by staying out of your way he’s helping 

-ˋˏ You’re also the designated cook since he doesn’t really have any skills in the kitchen outside of knowing the technical stuff. The man is too busy fiddling with machines and organs to know about how to properly sear a steak 

-ˋˏ His favorite meal of yours is a simple steak paired with a good, dry Malbec. You’re always setting up the table when he gets back from work, to which he always hugs you from the back to greet you. One time you didn’t hear him come in and you accidentally dropped the plate you were holding (you made him eat it as punishment. five second rule) 

-ˋˏ On the rare times he works from home you insist that he doesn’t need to help you with chores, no matter how much he offers (which wasn’t that often to begin with, but at least he offered. like..... once). Instead, he’d get settled on the kitchen table while you wash the dishes, vacuum, etc 

-ˋˏ Some days you’d be in comfortable silence, while on other days you’d listen to him ranting about how irritating his coworkers are, or about how much he wants to fire some of his underlings because they’re “so incompetent”. Thankfully you can calm him down before he,, makes an angry phone call 

-ˋˏ You don’t get the chance to visit him at work that often, so you revel in the times where he’s able to work from home. But since you can’t go see him that often, it means you don’t see his clones either 

 -ˋˏ The older segments would refrain from asking about you (because you’re Prime’s wife, not theirs. he’s yelled at them multiple times about it. bro’s possessive) while the younger ones would consistently bother him about your whereabouts. He insists that he hates it when they ask, but inwardly he imagines how you’d take care of them. (is it to heal his inner child or to imagine how good of a mother you could be? maybe both, but he wouldn’t admit to the former) 

✧✧✧ 

-ˋˏ Childe would have been your housewife if he wasn’t a Harbinger. point blank 

-ˋˏ Buuuut, since he isn’t, he makes sure to take care of you. You’re always cleaning after him, cleaning him sometimes, and overall taking up more tasks than he thought you could (should) chew. Of course, you did it all out of love and didn’t expect him to owe you anything, but he’d feel bad if he didn’t help at least a little bit 

-ˋˏ So once or twice a week (depending on when his schedule allows it) you’ll both be cleaning the house and doing chores together 

-ˋˏ You’re both listening to music while sweeping the floor, reorganizing the pantry, wiping down the counters..... getting as much done as you can before Childe decides he’d rather have you sat up on a counter while he nestles himself closer to you 

-ˋˏ He always buys the best appliances for your sake since you’re the one that’s home most of the time. That one really expensive, cordless vacuum cleaner you saw at the store? He bought it. A duster with a retractable handle that can help you reach the top of shelves without you needing to stand on a chair to clean? Childe bought it before you could even ask. That really cute cherry-shaped deep dish with matching baking utensils you saw at the store together? He’s carrying it to your car right now 

-ˋˏ Though while he does buy really useful things, he balances it out by getting you unnecessary items. Like a frilly pink apron with Kiss the cook embroidered in cursive on it, or a soup ladle that looks like the Loch Ness monster but I digress 

-ˋˏ Childe is 100% a family man- so, as a result, he's thought about having his own family with you. After seeing you indulging Teucer and his siblings’ shenanigans, he absolutely wants to have kids with you and have you do things like read books to them, make them lunch to bring to school, etcetc 

-ˋˏ Loves to come back home from work to you, smelling the fresh aroma of dinner wafting in the air 

-ˋˏ He loves your cooking!! Can’t get enough of it, especially when he comes back from training and he’s all spent. Whether it be your homemade soup, a hearty meaty meal, or a pasta dish he’ll always devour whatever you make 

-ˋˏ You make extra portions of chicken, steak, whatever protein-filled meal when he’s bulking so he can bring leftovers to work to eat them after sparring sessions. It makes everyone else jealous (which is partly his intention lol) 

-ˋˏ Boasts about you to his coworkers and agents below him, always saying “my wife” with a lovesick smile on his face 

-ˋˏ Has a whole bunch of photos of you in his office, ranging from cute candid pictures to professional, framed photos on his desk, and a tasteful polaroid of you in his wallet. Adores showing you off to others (except the photo he has in his wallet, of course. that’s for his eyes only), so much so that sometimes his underlings try to come up with excuses to leave because he goes on and on and on........ what can he say, he loves his cute housewife !!

[rohvee]

WIP Wednesday, the meet-nerd 🖤

—

Jayce had nearly forgotten about the exchange—until a few days later, when he stepped into his lab and found a stranger standing in the middle of the room. 

A sharp pang of irritation flared in his chest. 

“Hey, this area is off-limits. How the hell did you even get in—”��

“Your calculations on chiral entanglement are incomplete.” 

The voice was smooth, thickly accented, matter-of-fact. Jayce froze mid-step, his words catching in his throat. 

“Excuse me?” 

The man turned slightly. “You are accounting for time distortion within the Beach, yes, but your equations assume a constant gravitational influence. Chiral space is not bound by such constraints.” He gestured lazily toward the scrawled equations on the large holo screen of the far wall. “You need a variable to account for the fluctuations. Otherwise, your model collapses at high densities.” 

Jayce blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. He followed the man’s gaze to his own notes, scanning the numbers.  

Finally, he shut his mouth and took in the stranger properly. 

He was shorter than Jayce, as most people were, his frame rail thin. He leaned heavily on a cane, kept the weight off his right leg. His cheekbones were razor sharp, his complexion pale. A mole sat below his eye, another just above his lip. Waves of chestnut-brown hair cascaded halfway to his shoulders, a shock of light blond peeking out from underneath.  

But what struck him most were his eyes. 

They were chiral gold. 

“You must be Viktor,” Jayce muttered. He wandered deeper into the room, the door hissing shut behind him. He stepped up to the holo board and ran his gaze over the calculations, rubbing his chin as he rearranged the numbers in his mind to account for Viktor’s correction. 

And—damn it. He was right. 

How had he not seen it before? 

He felt a rush of heat—startled, flustered. He had spent his life studying chiralium, was regarded as Runeterra’s foremost expert on the subject, and yet this stranger had waltzed in and pointed out a flaw he hadn’t even considered. Embarrassing. 

And yet… exhilarating. 

Jayce exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright. That could improve data transfer stability. But it still doesn’t solve the real problem—how to move physical materials through the Beach.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Viktor conceded, tilting his head slightly. “Tell me, what do you know about tar?” 

Jayce frowned. “It manifests in BT-dense areas,” he said slowly. “And in places where voidouts have occurred.” 

“Indeed—regions where the boundary between our world and the Beach is thin.” Viktor tapped his cane idly against the floor. “Do you know what happens when an object falls into a pool of tar?” 

Jayce gave him a look. “You don’t get it back.” 

“Correct. Even after the tar recedes, the object is gone.” Viktor’s gaze was sharp, pinning Jayce in place like butterfly wings. “It has been speculated that the tar acts as a buffer of sorts—a conduit between worlds. It is where BTs come through, yes, but it is a two-way gate. Anything swallowed by it here is transported to the Beach.” 

Jayce’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I’ve never heard that theory.” 

“It is not widely accepted,” Viktor admitted with a wry smile. “But reports from Jumpers would appear to support it. Buildings appearing on their Beaches. Objects from our world.” 

A thrum of excitement shot through Jayce, the gears in his mind turning at full speed. “If we could track travel through the tar...” 

“Then we could quantify the relationship between entry and exit points,” Viktor mused. “And then, perhaps, we could learn how to direct it.” 

Jayce's hands were already moving, clearing a space on his cluttered desk to pull up a holographic interface. Equations, schematics, old reports—his thoughts racing ahead of his fingers. “We’d need controlled experiments. Objects with tracking devices, maybe something embedded with chiralium to send the data back—” 

Their conversation tumbled forward in a rush of mutual excitement. Jayce had never encountered someone who could not only keep pace with him but push him to rethink his assumptions, recontextualize his own expertise. He had spent years dissecting the properties of chiralium, convinced it held the key to bridging the gap between cities, between worlds, but Viktor was opening an entirely new avenue of thought. 

Jayce had always regarded the black, viscous liquid as a byproduct, an environmental hazard. That tar was a phenomenon to be avoided or mitigated. But Viktor approached it differently. He spoke of its composition, the presence of d-amino acids—a biological anomaly in a world built from l-amino structures—suggesting that the tar was not simply an inert remnant of the Beach, but an active medium. A birthing pool for new forms of life. 

The implications sent a thrill down Jayce’s spine. 

The more they spoke, the clearer the picture became. Jayce had spent years staring at one half of the equation, never realizing he had been missing the other. Tar and chiralium—two sides of the same coin, inextricably bound.  

Jayce had already forgotten why he was angry at Mel for bringing Viktor here. For the first time in months, he felt something other than frustration. He felt the edge of a breakthrough.  

It wasn’t until he caught Viktor struggling to keep his eyes open that he realized how much time had slipped away. He glanced at the clock, startled to find it was already late, their enthralling discussion having consumed the hours without notice. 

“You must be tired from the trip,” Jayce noted, studying Viktor more closely. The man looked haggard, exhausted. “When did you get to Piltover?” 

Viktor stifled a yawn, setting the tablet down on the desk he had been leaning against. “A little after noon.” 

Not long before Jayce had discovered him here. “And you haven’t slept?” 

Viktor shrugged, gave a noncommittal hum. 

Jayce stared. A multi-day trek through unstable terrain, past BT-infested zones, and he hadn’t even stopped to rest. Most people would have collapsed into bed the moment they arrived. He was impressed, but he supposed he should have expected as much. The kind of mind that could keep up with him like this—of course it belonged to someone just as obsessive. Just as willing to push past human limits, no matter the toll. 

He understood, but concern still nagged at him. There was something here—something gravitational, pulling him in with a force he’d never quite experienced before. He felt himself drawn in, his focus shifting toward Viktor like a satellite dish locking onto a signal of interest. The last thing he wanted was for him to keel over before they’d even begun. 

"Well, I think we’ve done more than enough for one day,” he said, stepping forward, his hand landing on Viktor’s narrow shoulder. Viktor glanced down at the contact in a sort of detached curiosity before flicking his gaze up to meet Jayce’s. 

For the tenth time that day, those golden eyes startled him. 

“Let’s go figure out where they’ve put you up and get you settled.” 

For a moment, Viktor hesitated. Then, with a slight nod, he fell into step beside Jayce, cane clicking as they headed out the door.