#the one that gets it close (not exactly its too polished but its close) is rikicores laceys wardrobe remake

[s1ld3n4f1l]

the fact there are so many creepy 2000s fake girly flash games but I have only found ONE that comes close to the 2000s girly flash game style is depressing to me. like no one else gives a shit but how quickly have we forgotten our roots?

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

[xo-cod]

141 + reader

hc's when you five share the barracks together/just in general <3 (ooc, rushed my bad lmao, can be read platonically/romantically, reader is v close to them!!) kinda long oops 😩 might do a part 2 idk

nsfw version 🩷

there's a whole lot of testosterone and musk in the air when you're sharing living spaces with 4 men ‼️

all four men compete with each other to get your attention, even if it's unknowingly

whole lotta pouting when you're spending time with more man than the other, you're a great companion ;) and the army is lonely. they all need equal love and attention

speaking of, if you're smelling like one of them the other will immediately bundle you in his arms to put his scent on you instead and to cancel out the other (alpha behaviour 😵‍💫)

whole lotta flirting from each of them. they're all very intelligent soldiers, they know exactly what to say to get you going 😙

all of them adore the height difference with you. you get teased about it relentlessly (out of love obvi)

i don't think they're particularly messy men but ghost and gaz are the most cleanest, they like having their things in order and knowing where everything is

price is next because he's slumped with being captain so you'll see a lot of his paperwork around with coffee mugs from pulling all nighters

soap is more organised mess. it might look messy to you but he knows exactly where everything is

you, soap and gaz definitely have rap battles late at night. it starts of quiet but you'll usually hear price shouting at you three from his bedroom to stfu. ghost threatens to pull a grenade if you don't be quiet

assuming you're naturally a good cook, they'd all be so appreciative :") especially on bad days, your cooking reminds each of them of home (or lack of)

face masks! gaz would 100% be down to do them with you, soap would follow next because if gaz is doing it then he too???

ghost would roll his eyes, continuing polishing his guns with a rag "you ain't putting that muck on my face"

price would just look at you, shaking his head "got too much to do, sweetness"

but you're quite the convincer and all four men are on the floor of your bedroom, gossiping about the last mission with their preferred colour of face mask across their faces

assuming you're the only woman, they get very protective when you're hurt. soldiers get hurt from time to time but its different when it's you

"you alright, bonnie?" soap's gentle voice comes through your room as he hands you a warm mug of your fave drink

gaz had you wrapped in a big fluffy blanket, gently stroking your back

"who was it?" ghost's voice is firm, wanting to know who dared injured the youngest member of their team

"already got a handle on 'em" price follows, looking at the computer. whatever enemy dared to raise their hands on wished they'd be six feet under after all four men are done with them

you're the one each man needs when they're having a particularly bad day which are usually far in few between but sometimes it happens

gaz and soap are the types to seek you out, their faces settled in a troubled frown before they place their arms around you. no questions just yet, they just want to feel skin to skin for now. keeping them grounded before they can explain what happened. they're not looking for a fixer, just someone who'll listen

ghost and price are the type to isolate themselves for a while until it's night and then you'll find them gently knocking on your bedroom door and slipping inside, between your covers. their grip is strong, burying their faces deep into your neck whilst trying to wrap his arms as much as he can. these two won't talk much either, just looking to be held and stroked to calm down

ghost and soap are the type to show affection through lingering touches while gaz and price show affections through their words.

but speaking of hugs, each of them have their own special way they like to embrace

ghost thinks he's being slick but you realise just how touchstarved he really is, he gives hugs with his arms around your shoulders bringing you in to his chest. mostly because he's tall and broad but he likes how he can manhandle you from this position and smelling your scent <3

soap's the type to tackle you in a playful hug, maybe a spin to get a laugh out of you before he gently strokes your skin for a few seconds, a gentle kiss to your temple <3

price likes to hug from behind, resting his chin on your head while he looks at what you're doing. depending on you, his big arms are either wrapped on your waist or your shoulders <3

gaz gives side hugs because he likes linking his arm around your hips and he likes how you fit snugly into his body. and this way he can lean his head against yours and can bring you in closer with his other arm <3

all four can immediately smell you before you come in because they adore whatever perfume/spray you have

each of them would absolutely melt into pieces if you joined them/kept them company in what they were doing

and if they catch you in a towel after having a shower, best believe they're quickly walking back around to where they came from to help alleviate the growing... tent in their pants

lowkey kinda pervy 🫣 (never in a harmful way)

each of them have their strong points and would 100% train you in becoming stronger

even if you're a well established soldier, they all worry for your safety

price would teach you sniper techniques, ghost teaches you combat, gaz teaches you how to sharpen your aim and soap teaches you about explosives and how to construct/dismantle each of them

they take the training very seriously with you

a ton of cursing when their fave team loses lmaoo

if you're avid tea drinker, join the gaz/ghost/price club. if you're not, join the hater club with soap <3

ghost/gaz/soap will playfully fight with you, careful not to use their full strength and not to harm you. but it's so cute to them when you're struggling a little under them.

but when price scolds them in doing so, "i'm just helping in case there's an attack!"

if you're arguing against one of them, another will come to your defence. unless you're arguing all four then it's the silent treatment from you 🤭

all four of them melt when you call them by their real name instead of their callsign :")

ghost usually comes to you when his balaclava is broken and he'll keep you company as your fingers work their magic to the fabric, gently leaning against you as you speak to him

price will let you shape up his beard after you begging to do so and he grows to enjoy those tender moments

soap definitely calls for your help to shape up his mohawk, he trusts your hand to eye coordination above anyone elses

ghost will playfully ruffle your hair whenever you both pass each other

price gives you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder

gaz gives you a soft stroke on your arm or back whenever he's passing by

soap will gently tap his head against yours, not too hard to cause pain but just enough to know that he's there

but above all, the barracks you five share is definitely a safe space for each of them the second they come through the door <333

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pink princess

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ only!!, smut, p in v sex, female receiving oral, girly!reader, violence, blood, rafe beats someone up, kelce is the bad guy in this D:

“i just don't get it rafe.” kelce shakes his head.

“what?” rafe mumbles, barely paying attention to his friend. even topper seems barely interested, both too focused on the football game playing on the television.

“how you could date a girl like y/n.” 

your name has rafe snapping to attention, turning to glare at kelce. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” rafe has only been your boyfriend for a couple months now, but he wouldn't question beating the shit out of his friend if he insulted you.

“don't get me wrong, the girl is nice and all. i like her she's just so… girly.” kelce says like it's an insult. “she only ever wears pink, she's all sweet and innocent. she's just not your type, that's all. im surprised.”

you let out a little sound, all of the boys attention snapping to you, kelces eyes widening when he realizes you have entered the living room.

“baby.” rafe coos softly. “come here.”

you cross over to rafe, rounding the couch to plop on his lap, keeping your head down to avoid looking at kelce.

“don't listen to him, princess.” rafe says softly, his voice so sweet, in contrast to the scared look on kelces face. “you're exactly my type.”

“shit rafe, i-i-didn’t mean-i didn't know she was-”

“get the fuck out.” rafe says, voice still soft as he pets his hand over your back, hating the pout that graces your sparkly gloss painted lips.

“rafe-” kelce tries to argue.

“no. get the fuck out. you're lucky im not beating your ass into the ground for upsetting my girl. now get the fuck out.”

kelce scrambles, rushing out of tanneyhill as the game continues on the tv, topper rightly deciding to remain silent.

“baby, talk to me.” rafe says softly, seeing tears still brimming in your eyes.

“im fine.” your voice is hoarse when the words finally escape your mouth.

“darling.” rafe sighs, tugging your bodies closer together, letting your head bury in his shoulder, not caring if you leave makeup stains on his shirt.

rafe knows the best thing to do is just let you breath, not wanting to work you up more with his words as his hand strokes over your back, hoping it's bringing you some sort of comfort.

“i had no idea he felt that way.” you finally pick your head up. you weren't close to very many girls, so when you and rafe started dating, you tried to quickly assimilate into his friend group and consider his few friends yours as well.

“he's just being a dick. don't worry, alright bunny? you're absolutely my type, and i love how girly you are, mkay?” rafe waits for you to nod and agree with him before he pulls you into a kiss, topper keeping his eyes trained on the tv while you make out.

--

“you ready to go princess?” rafe calls up the stairs, tapping his foot against the wood floor, waiting for you to finish getting ready to attend the gala he promised his dad he would be at.

“coming now!” you say before rushing down the stairs, but still being careful not to trip in your heels.

“you look gorgeous, honey.” rafe admires your outfit. its a new dress, or at least one that he hasn’t seen before. rafe takes your hand in his as you finish your descent, frowning when he realizes the glittery polish that was on your fingers has been scrubbed off, replaced with a creamy white that matches your dress, the only pink thing on your body being your lipstick.

“is that what you are wearing?” rafe questions.

“why, is something wrong with it?” you frown as you look down at your body.

“no-no.” rafe shakes his head. “not at all baby its just… very formal.” he figures the wording is better than blatantly asking why you’re not covered in pink and sparkles.

“well, it’s a formal event.” you roll your eyes, heading towards the door, not wanting to give ward a bad impression, and you know you’re already running late.

“yeah, right.” rafe nods, but his mind whirls in secret, wondering if there could be more to your change in appearance than that.

--

“you're going golfing with top today right?” you ask, rubbing your fingers through rafes hair, massaging his head. 

rafe knows you said something, but he's too relaxed to actually make out your words, struggling to blink his eyes open before humming, “what?”

you giggle at his blissed out expression, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “you're going golfing with topper later today right?”

“mhm.” rafe nods, letting out a soft moan when your long acrylics gently scratch over his scalp.

“maybe you can take me. ya know, i could learn how to golf. probably start with just putting.” you shrug.

“baby-” rafe has to take your hands and move them away, knowing he won't be able to focus on the conversation. “why do you want to learn how to golf? you hate sports.”

“that's not true!” you complain. “i like um… gymnastics and figure skating.”

rafe rolls his eyes “you like them for the sparkly outfits and music.”

you pout, moving yourself from straddling rafes lap to next to him on the couch. “aren't i allowed to be interested in the things you're interested in?”

“yes, of course.” rafe sighs, moving to kneel between your knees on the floor, taking your face in his hands, not letting you look away. “and if you really want to come, id love to have you. but if you are asking because you're trying to be less girly, then baby-” rafe leans in to press a kiss to your pouty lips- “i don't want you to change. i love you for who you are.”

“promise you don't mind?” your fingers play with the collar on his shirt, distracting yourself.

“promise.” rafe nods.

“okay, thank god.” you let out a giggle. “golf is so boring.”

--

you have your laptop and phone opened up, intensely scrolling as you switch between them, brow furrowed as you do your research.

“y/n-” 

you slam shut the laptop and turn the screen off on your phone as rafe walks into the room.

“what are you doing?” rafe questions. 

“nothing.” you smile at rafe. “just some online shopping.” you hope it's believable, but you can tell by rafes hesitation that he doesn't fully trust your explanation.

“okay…” rafe slowly approaches the bed, and you quickly move your laptop and phone to the bedside table as rafe crawls up next to you.

you distract him from asking more questions as you press your lips against his, pushing him to lay back on the bed as you grind down.

“ah, fuck.” rafe moans when you pull away, pulling your shirt off over your head to reveal that you aren't wearing anything underneath.

rafes hands cup your tits, massaging them in his large palms before suddenly flipping so you're the one laying down against the bed, completely forgetting about your suspicious behavior when he entered the room.

what rafe doesn't know, as he lowers down your body and flicks your nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, is that you weren't online shopping, rather scowering through social media, trying to find all of rafes ex girlfriends or anyone he interacted with, all while you compared the girls to yourself.

you wish kelces words didn't still echo in your head, especially after rafes insistence they weren't true.

--

“gonna take a shower.” you tell rafe, setting your bags down in the foyer, knowing you'll get around to them later.

“you sure not a bath? i can run one for you.” rafe offers, following you up the stairs.

“nah, that's fine.” you shrug, frowning slightly when you see your display of lush bath bombs. you're trying to be less high maintenance, more easy going. 

“come on, what if i wanna soak with you in the bath?” rafe pouts. “please baby.”

you can't help but giggle at his doe eyes blinking at you. “okay, sure.”

“good.” rafe hums before placing a hand on your waist, pulling you in for a quick kiss before he heads towards the bath, turning the hot tap on. you watch as he looks at your bath bombs before selecting a light blue bath bomb with star embeds.

rafe sets the bath bomb down on the edge of the large tub before turning to you. “what should we do while we wait for the bath to fill?” you question, tugging your ponytail out to let your hair fall.

“mmm, i know exactly what i want to do.” rafe says.

in only a few moments he has your shorts down, perched on the edge of the bathtub while his head is buried in between your legs, tongue licking greedy stripes over your cunt.

--

“missed you.” you whine, burying your face into rafes chest as he rocks gently, holding you tight to him.

“missed you too, princess.” rafe is relieved to finally have you back in his arms. hes been away for an entire week, and you came to the airport to get him despite rafe insisting that he was fine to get himself home. you just couldn't wait any longer.

you whine when rafe pulls away slightly, making him laugh and tug you back into him.

“clingy baby.” rafe coos, but the words make your cheeks hot as you pull away. 

“hey, hey.” rafe grabs your hand, tugging you back against his chest. “i didn't mean it like that.”

“okay.” you whisper with a nod, tears brimming in your eyes. with rafe being gone, you spiraled even further, going as far as to befriend a couple of his exes to compare yourself even more to them. you also attended a party that kelce was at, and while he didn't speak at all to you, you could occasionally feel his eyes on you, disapproval in his gaze.

“love you so much bunny.” rafe says, rubbing his large hands over your shoulders. “let's get home so i can show you how much i missed you, yeah?”

you perk up as you nod, making sure your hand is clasp together with rafes as you head out of the airport and towards the parking lot, your keys hanging from your finger that isn't intertwined with rafes.

“here, baby.” rafe opens the passenger side door for you, but you frown and don't move towards it.

“you just got off a flight, rafe. i can drive.” 

“nope.” rafe snatches the keys out of your grasp. “you're my girl, and as long as im here you have no need to drive yourself. now get in, my passenger princess.”

--

“ready for the party?” you ask rafe, adjusting your skirt as rafe walks down the stairs.

“of course.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips before looking down at your outfit.

“baby… is this really what you want to wear?” rafe asks. he likes any clothes you put on, but the black skirt paired with a plain white cropped tee, not even accented by any jewelry just isn't you.

“i just…” you swallow. “i just know kelce is gonna be there. wanna show him that i don't need to be wearing sparkly pink every second.”

rafe can't speak, the anger quickly rising when he realizes that months later you still haven't let go of kelces words, still worrying that you arent the right person for rafe.

“go put on a sparkly dress.” rafe simply says, not able to keep his voice soft, despite addressing you. you hustle upstairs, changing into the outfit you really wanted to wear, adding some jewelry and colourpop super shock shadow to your lid.

you bounce down the stairs, feeling much more yourself now.

“theres my pretty girl.” rafe says, his words sweet but his face still angry as he places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out towards his truck.

he speeds to the party as you sit there silently, playing with your rings, worried about what is going to happen when you get to the party, especially knowing kelce is gonna be there.

“rafey, don’t do anythi-” you tell him as he helps you down after parking, but you can’t even finish your sentence.

rafe eyes kelce standing on the front lawn, a red solo cup in his hand. he hasn’t spotted rafe yet, but you know as soon as he does the smile is going to drop from his face.

rafe begins to stalk towards him while you trail behind, grimacing when rafe throws a punch, landing right on kelces cheek.

“fuck you!” rafe shouts, shoving him back before kelce can even realize what is happening.

“yo, man, stop!” some guy you recognize but don’t know his name yells, but doesn’t try to get in the middle as rafe punches kelce again.

you can’t help the smile on your face, watching your man defend you throughout anything, even if it involves turning one of his close friends into a bloody pulp.

“y/n… it’s gone on long enough, stop him.” topper comes up behind you, making you jump.

you turn to look at him before back at kelce, eyes glazed over as rafe shouts at him again. you rush to rafes side, grabbing at his fist. “okay, okay.” you tell him softly. “he gets it.”

rafe steps away as kelce falls to the ground, his chest heaving as his lip and nose drip blood. “let this be a lesson.” rafe turns to the crowd that has grown. “no one shit talk me or my girlfriend or this is what happens to you.” rafe points at kelce, not giving another word before stalking away, literally grabbing you and picking you up to carry you back towards his truck. you stay quiet as rafe sets you in the passenger seat.

“are your knuckles hurt?” you ask, petting your hand gently over his wrist as rafe shifts the car into gear, rushing away from the party.

“i’ll be fine, baby.” rafe says, glancing at his reddened fingers. “just need to get you home.”

“oh.” you nod, knowing that while rafe got some of his anger out on kelce, he’s certainly going to get the rest of his pent up energy out on you. 

it takes minutes from the time you get home for rafe to have your back flat on the bed, his large cock thrusting into you. 

you moan out, hands gripping at his shoulders, your nails leaving scratches against his tanned skin. 

“you’re. my. fucking. girl.” rafe says, accentuating each word by pounding his cock inside of you.

you let out a moan, kelces mean words thoroughly beat out of your head as you nod. “im yours.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

[eggyrocks]

35MM CHAPTER EIGHT: weird and also hurtful

track number eight: everybody wants to love you by japanese breakfast

masterlist

When presented with the option of sitting on Akaashi's couch or on a chair at his kitchen table, she opts in for the floor. She's sits, cross-legged, by his coffee table, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her attention switches between the screen of her laptop and the curry Akaashi sloppily plopped onto a ceramic plate from its Styrofoam container.

"Thanks for dinner," she says through a mouthful of food, and her hands are already back to typing.

Akaashi smiles. A soft, semi-reluctant one that tugs at the corner of his lips. "No problem," he replies, watching her. He likes the look she gets in her eyes when she focuses. They're heavy, strained from the weight of constantly keeping them opened to stare at the bright light of her screen. But they’re still focused, intense.

She looks nice, there, in his apartment. Like she fits. Her presence changes it. It doesn't feel too big, when she's there. The thought makes his gut twist up in guilt.

His smile drops, and he focuses his attention on his own, blank, laptop screen before him. She’s finalizing details, getting the filming schedule and completed script out to the actors and she told him not to worry about it. Just to focus on his essay for now.

But, and it’s actually sort of pathetic, he can’t really focus on anything when she’s around. He kind of just wants to listen to her talk.

If he had known he’d end up feeling like this, he’s not sure he would’ve asked for her help. He contemplates if the drastic increase in quality of his project is well and truly worth it. Because since she started helping him, he’s noticed things about her he’s never noticed before.

The diligence with which she comes at every task presented to her. Her dedication to her passions and the way her face lights up at the opportunity to speak about them. This enigmatic sort of charm she seems to have on everyone around her without even really trying. The way her laughter has an effect on his spine. How her smile fries up his thoughts.

His apartment is filled with the sound of her fingers against the keyboard, and a low hum that comes from her throat. Akaashi’s fingers twitch against the keyboard, and he very deliberately reminds himself of who exactly she is to him.

-> fun facts!

incel in the film class dropped the "you will not be a successful director because you lack the male gaze" line and even had the audacity to cite bret easton ellis and yn called him a "weird virgin loser with a vendetta against women that won't sleep with him" and left

the professor is quickly and rapidly drafting an email trying to figure out the best way to handle this situation she will absolutely be discussing this class with her colleagues

another new ground mention cause now it’s cannon in the 35mm universe

kenma has yn has on the payroll; he pays her to edit his youtube videos

noya had to borrow a telescope for the astronomy class he's taking; he enrolled to fulfill the general requirement because he thought it was astrology

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @publicbathroompanic @bedeater @rottingt1tz @rintarawr @deluluforcarlos55 @ahseyy @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @baskin-robinhoods @polish-cereal @iheartamora @ferntv @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @rinheartshyunlix @causenessus @bookworm-center @kettlepop @makkiroll @atsumou @eyes-ofhell @kawaii-angelanne @ryeyeyer @k8nicole @mydearchoso @phoenix-eclipses @lixie-phoria @suitstars @reneny @scxrcherr @ueknightbl @iluvaquaphor @sleezzsister @barricadesenthusiast @staygoldsquatchling02 @nemesii @sereniteav @crimsoncamra @gsyche @evening-latte @rrosiitas @kunimix @kitnootkat @aquariarose @iluv-ace @sparkei (taglist is closed)

[solbaby7]

*sidles up to bar*

Uh, can I have a whiskey sour, frozen, with a salt rim please? 🥃

*drops a twenty in the tip jar*

[ “i’m not the jealous type but what’s mine is mine + smut + cassian ]

and a tip too? wow this gonna be a generous pour lemme tell u 😘 *grateful smoosh*

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

It’s routine. An obligation. A means to an end.

It’s not like you actually wanted to be shmoozing up that Summer Court douchebag and yet Cassian can’t quell the uncomfortable itch under his skin at the sight of you smiling up at another male.

Sure, it doesn’t fully reach your eyes; doesn’t force those cute lines to carve their way in your cheeks or show off the pearly white teeth that have sunken their way in Cassian’s shoulder a time too many in a bout of excitement.

This is not the same—that much he knows and yet still he can’t shake off the distaste that lingers on his tongue. Reason refuses to reach that part of him that remembers flesh and blood, the sound of iron clashing against iron and the satisfaction that follows when an enemy took their last breath. “The point of this meeting is to establish peace,” Rhysand casually mentions, sauntering to Cassian’s side so silently it nearly makes him jump. “Those kinds of thoughts don’t exactly start friendships.”

He doesn’t mention Cass’ shoddy mental shields, too distracted by the way you seem to blend seamlessly into Summer Courts surroundings. From the style of your sundress to the iridescent glimmer of heels that resemble the waves in the ocean when the sun hits—gifts from Tarquin that fit entirely too well. “These friendships are becoming too friendly.”

The chime of your laugh cutting through the air has Cassian’s teeth grinding against each other, his arms crossing over his chest in favor of reaching over for the fancy battle axe anchored above the mantel and making good use of it “I don’t disagree,” Rhys grimaces at the male dragging a hand along the curve of your spine in a dangerous display of appreciation. “It’ll all be over soon. An hour tops.”

“Rhysand.”

“An hour tops,” He repeats, palms smoothing over creases in his suit jacket. “I promise.”

But not even Rhys can say no when Tarquin’s second in command all but insists on stealing you away for a quick peek of his personal gardens—bragging about its ocean view at sunset. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up and the genuine glee on the soldiers face in your presence doesn’t go unnoticed. The alliance is so close Rhysand can almost taste it but Cassian’s fingers are flexing in barely contained rage as you’re guided off down a hall separate from the others.

One minute passes and his eyes can't stop flickering towards that hallway. Five minutes go by and his stance is less sturdy, shifting the bulk of his weight from foot to foot like an antsy bull readying their hooves for a fair fight. He lasts ten whole minutes before his restraint snaps, leather boots clunking against marble floors as he all but takes off in a run towards you.

For once in Cassian’s life he gets a fraction of an understanding about how it feels to be a shapeshifter—the unbridled rage altering him from male to beast until he’s foaming at the mouth, claws protruding from blunt nails and all he thirsts for is blood. To spill crimson red and paint the walls in its luster while flaunting you as some pretty prize.

He finds you off scent alone, aureate irises latching onto you like a fish on a hook, reeling in closer and closer until you can feel the warmth of him radiating through his clothes. It’s pure luck that you’re alone, heels hanging limp in one hand as polished toes tease at sand so white it seems to sparkle under the sunlight. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Taking too long,” Cassian ignores that bewildered expression on your face, eyes darting to a set of double doors on the far left. “Had to check, needed to see you were alright for myself.” He’s touching you before you have time to fully process the panic that churns through your gut at the mere thought of Cassian being caught somewhere he didn’t belong.

It becomes all to clear that you’re the only one who cares when strong hands begin their trek around the hills and valleys of your hips. He takes the scenic route, paying a touch too much attention to the round of your ass but you don’t push him away—you wouldn’t dare. “It’s not like he was going to hurt me.”

Lips press kisses into the curve of your neck, teeth grazing along the slope of your shoulder until the flimsy little strap there falls limp along your arm. “Wasn’t worried about him hurting you, peach.” The grip on your rear tightens, spreading cheeks until you can hear the sticky separation of a needy cunt. “Wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting comfortable putting his hands places they don’t belong.”

“Cassian.” You shouldn’t be attracted to the possessive words and yet a shiver runs down your spine; anticipation awakening beneath your skin and suddenly you hope that it takes forever for Tarquins second to find that stupidly ancient tome he’d mentioned earlier. “Are you…jealous?”

“I’m not really the jealous type,” Each one of his actions contradicts that very statement. From the noticeable reddening marks he leaves along your clavicle to the harsh way your dress is wrinkled when hiked over the swell of your ass. A warm mouth crashes with yours, the groping accelerating tenfold once he’s found something sturdy enough to lean you against. “But, what’s mine is mine and it felt like I needed to get that message across.”

It’s all so rushed; movements hurried, heart thrashing against your ribcage while his leathers are unfastened and the ruddy tip of his cock is straining for a warm home to hold its release. Your ears are sharply attuned for noises, hold out for the scuffle of a shoe, the weight of a body against marble floors. Such awareness doesn’t take away from the feverish kisses with Cassian nipping at plush lips, fingers absolutely ruining the elegant curl of your hair as he tugs it back from your shoulders. “We don’t have much time.”

“Do some of my best work under pressure.” You almost find the urge to laugh but it disappears once you feel the blunt head of his prick nestling between your thighs. The sodden gusset of lacy underwear is pushed aside just enough to show off the arousal dribbling from your sex. “Hold on to me.”

The warning does you no good, the very breath knocked from your lungs as he feeds the thick length inside of you. Nails bite into the strong birth of Cassians shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you’re given a few precious moments get used to the feel of him before the Illyrian takes you as he pleases. “Cass—oh gods!” It’s not your fault, you swear; blaming the force on his thrusts for the moans that spill free.

He doesn’t even bother trying to keep you quiet, encouraging the whiny mewls and choppy groans with skilled fingers twisting along your nipples and pressing tight circles to your clit. “Not the gods peach, just me.” Wall decor tremors behind you as pleasure shoots through your bloodstream, legs curling tighter around Cassian’s waist as you push him in further—allowing him impossibly deeper. “I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this and I’ll make sure the whole godsdammed world knows it.”

[bunnyreaper]

welder!ghost au

After taking so many welding lessons from Simon and developing a crush, you decide to make him a little something to show your appreciation.

(f!reader, simon is a fucking weirdo, jealousy)

As soon as you'd set your mind to the idea, it wouldn't leave you.

Just like everything to do with Simon, it's buried its way into your brain and taken up residence there, gnawing away until you decide to do something about it.

How you're going to do it is something different, though. There's no way in hell you could get away with making something secret in Simon's workshop, right under his nose like that. That man is far too observant to let something like that slip by, and the surprise is part of the fun.

You want to show him everything you've learned from him, every moment that you've hung off of his every word and listened to everything he has to say, every time you've watched him work and absorbed his expertise.

You settle on a bracelet, braided stainless steel, each step made by your loving hands. Hopefully, he'll wear it, and hopefully, you can guess his wrist size properly--fucking massive isn't exactly a precise measurement.

It should take too long, not with everything he's taught you, and you can be back to working in his shop again instead of the one across the city with the guys he doesn't like. You wouldn't go there under any other circumstances, were the situation not desperate. And when you get there, you understand Simon's judgement completely, not that you ever doubted it to begin with. The guys are creepy, and they stare, as well as make comments that are misogynistic, flirtatious, or an outrageous mix of both.

You're on high alert almost the entire time you work, but you try to push it out of your mind in favour of making everything perfect for Simon. Each weld, each sand, each polish, has to be perfect for him because anything else would be doing his tutelage a disservice. You've seen the disappointed looks he's given some members of the classes when his mask is flipped up, but you'd never been on the receiving end--always so eager to please and impress. That won't change now. You won't allow it.

You braid the steel wire with a drill and a vice, cut the pieces you need, sand the ends and get to work on welding them together. It's delicate work, and your mind only slightly drifts to some of your lessons where Simon had lurked behind you, the heat of his body so close to yours as you worked.

You finish the edges and bend the metal to the desired shape, trying to imagine Simon's wrists as you work--which is surprisingly easy considering how much you've stared at that sleeve of his.

The second you finish, you bolt out of that horrid workshop, off in search of a nice box and some wrapping to finish off the gift. You had a session with Simon the following Monday, and it's then you'll present it to him--if you're feeling brave enough.

Monday rolls round, and the workshop is empty when you arrive, save for Simon working away in the corner. You can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he knows someone has entered, even over the noise of his work, because he's always so perceptive.

The box is in your hand, and your palms are starting to sweat as you call out to him. "Hey Si."

He finishes up what he's doing and makes his way over, setting his welding mask down and revealing his handsome features. "Just us tonight." His comment seems fairly inconsequential, but honestly, you preferred it that way, getting to be the sole focus of his attention.

You nod in response, knowing you should just get the gift giving out of the way so you can both get to work, but your stomach twists with worry. What if he hates it? What if he never wears it?

"What's that?" He asks, eyes flickering down and clocking the box and the source of your troubles immediately.

You thrust it at him, almost as if the box burns to touch. "A gift, for you, it's silly really, but I just wanted to say thank you for everything..."

For the lessons, for his attention, for never treating you as lesser.

He rips off his gloves before he gets to work on the wrapping paper, and peels open the jewellery box to see the steel band inside.

"If you hate it, it's fine. It's just a little token of my appreciation." You rush out your words--damage control.

His dark eyes flicker between you and the bracelet, his expression unreadable before he pulls it from the box and places it around his tattooed wrist. The fit is perfect, but his reaction isn't as his expression sours. "Where did you make this?"

"Huh?" You startle, as that wasn't what you expected to come from his mouth at all.

His eyes narrow, and you swear he takes a step closer. "You didn't make this in my shop. Where did you make it?"

Oh fuck, you think, realising you have to admit to stepping foot in that other shop. You avert your gaze as a sheepish expression overtakes your features. "Uh, PK's shop, I wanted to surprise you so, I went there..."

His hand grips your chin, forcing you to look him right in those stormy eyes. "You wanna make something for me? You make it in my shop, yeah? My student, my shop."

The possessive words make you shiver, make you want to fall for your knees, and beg for forgiveness for the unknowing betrayal.

"Yeah, okay, of course... I mean I hated it there, I swear, they gave me the absolute creeps." You try to laugh away the swirling guilt and discomfort you feel. "Left as soon as I was done, and even gave them a 1 star review. But, I'll never go back, I promise."

Your eyes shine up at Simon's, waiting for him to relax.

"That's my girl." Finally, his touch releases and he steps away, grabbing his gloves. "Let me finish up what I'm working on real quick, yeah?"

"Of course." You nod quietly, watching as he walks away as your stomach starts to sink. At least he didn't take it off. "Do you... like it?"

He stops still, checking out where it sits on his wrist. His expression doesn't change, but you can hear the sincerity in his words. "Love it."

And a week or two later, when Simon asks you to come by the shop one night outside of your sessions, you're not entirely sure what to expect.

He explains he's trying something new, and needs your help, and doesn't explain anything further. But it's Simon, so of course you comply, of course you trust him.

It's only when he brings out a micro welder and a small length of gold chain that you realise what's happening. The intense look in his eyes before he gets to work leaves no room for argument, and you silently accept your fate as he permanently attaches that little bracelet to your wrist--a dainty little 'S' charm hanging from the middle.

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Fem!Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1'882

Warnings: Yandere, Abuse, Abusive relationship, Choking, Degradation, Manhandling, Threats, Possessiveness, Alastor is a massive asshole and mean as shit. Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Hindsight was always 20/20.

A bit of an understatement, really. Looking back it was hard to believe just how much one decision could impact your entire afterlife, and you wanted to kick yourself.

Desperation was the excuse you gave yourself whenever you thought about why you made a deal with Alastor.

What he proposed wasn’t something you thought too much of at the time. In exchange for your soul, he offered you security - solidarity in a realm where most were keen on focusing on the weakest among them and tearing them to shreds. Not only would you be protected on a daily basis, but you had, essentially, a guarantee that you would survive extermination day whenever it inevitably rolled around.

Seemed almost too good to be true, but knowing the risks involved in refusing, you had accepted.

He never asked much of you in return, much to your surprise. Nothing that ever seemed too unreasonable, at least. If anything, the things he asked of you felt more like exchanges that would occur between friends - taking on small tasks he’d otherwise find too boring to entertain.

Sometimes you’d even go as far as to call them domestic.

Oh, but you knew better than to assume your relationship fell anywhere close to friendship. Amicable was a better word, not good nor bad, but certainly nothing to be overtly confident about - which made what you intended to ask so much worse.

The very thought of it made a shiver go through your body as you walked through the Hotel hallway. A voice in the back of your mind, your conscience perhaps, whispered that it wasn’t too late to turn back. To do a complete 180 and march right back the way you came.

You didn’t listen.

By the time you came to a stop, the hairs on your arms stood completely on end. The door in front of you looked exactly like the others that lined the hallway, deceptive in its mundane simplicity. It only made the feeling of foreboding that much worse as you held your breath and raised your hand to knock, knuckles barely grazing the polished wood at first but connecting more solidly the second time around.

A part of you prayed there wouldn’t be an answer, nails digging further into your palms as the silence extended onwards.

Please don’t answer, please don’t answer-

All hopes were dashed by the dark wood swinging open to reveal a wall of red.

Alastor bent slightly at the waist when greeting you, bringing his eye level slightly down to yours, “My, my, what a pleasant surprise this is!~”

The smile you could muster in response didn’t even come close to matching his own, and your greeting not nearly as jovial.

“Hi.” You said, pausing briefly between words. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes?”

The signature clicking of his vertebrae accompanied the tilt of his head as he stared down at you intrigued. “Whatever for?~”

You began to pick at your nail beds. “Just to talk.”

Alastor hummed, amusement dancing behind his eyes before he opened the door to his suite a little bit wider.

“Oh, I suppose I could spare a moment or two for somebody like you.~”

The way he said it made you unsure whether such a statement was a compliment or an insult, but regardless you followed him inside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you…” You began to say, looking around the space. No matter how many times you’d been inside, you’d never get used to it.

“Not at all, sweetheart!~” His arm came around your shoulders, leading you further into his suite and towards the table he had set up in the swampland that seamlessly blended in with the decor.

With a flash of green another chair appeared beside his own, and he gestured towards it with the end of his microphone staff.

“Have a seat.~”

You complied, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did so. Foolishly, you had hoped to stay standing for this conversation in order to keep it as brief as possible. The cool metal of the chair dug into the skin of your thighs despite your clothing and you found yourself staring at the tabletop rather than at Alastor himself.

“Now,” There was some rustling of paper as Alastor picked a newspaper back up off the table, half paying attention to you when he spoke. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

This was it. No going back, no cutting corners, better to rip the bandaid off than to beat around the bush.

You bit your cheek harder and you could already taste the blood on your tongue before you opened your mouth.

“I want out.”

Alastor barely looked in your direction, but the subtle twitch of his ear was hard to miss once you spoke.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow but never took his eyes off the paper in his lap as he turned the page. “Care to elaborate?”

“Our deal.” The words felt thick when you spoke them. Heavy. “I want my soul back.”

Alastor’s pause made the atmosphere feel nothing short of dreadful as he turned his head to look at you directly. His ever-present smile widened while his eyes narrowed.

“Now what makes you think you deserve that, sweetheart?~”

“It isn’t about deserving anything.” You stated, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “It’s… renegotiating.”

Alastor snickered, the sound accompanied by a pre-recorded laugh track.

“Well, aren’t you simply adorable?” He placed the newspaper off to the side and rapped his claws against the table. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not how deals work.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as he continued speaking.

“While the deal we made was a fairly simple one, the end result is the same.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. “I own your soul. There aren’t any take-backsies on the matter.”

Nails bit into your palm at the syrupy condescension in his voice. It made anger brim in your chest, but acting on emotion was not a smart move here.

You took a deep breath. “Our deal has run its course, though.” You did your best to ignore how his eyes narrowed further at that. “Now that I’m at the Hotel… it offers what you originally did, so your part of the bargain is no longer necessary.”

His eyes flashed, glowing a brighter red and illuminating the space between the two of you for a moment.

“Ah, I see. You think our deal is now void because I’ve been replaced in a sense.” His smile was anything but reassuring or kind. “And therefore you shouldn’t be expected to uphold your end of the bargain, am I correct?~”

You swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Alastor tutted. “My dear, who are you to get to decide when our deal is void in any way, shape, or form?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but you answered anyway.

“Because it’s my soul.” The firmness in your voice did little to cover how weak of an answer that truly was. “I should be able to get a say in when we’ve reached the end of our contract-”

A green flash and the cold snap of metal around your neck cut off any further words you had to say. You barely had any time to register your air getting cut off as you were yanked forward harshly into the dirt - leaving you coughing when the chain slackened enough for you to breathe once more.

“It seems to me that you are forgetting a few things, darling,” Alastor said, pulling sharply on the chain once more to force your face back up to his.

Green stitches lined the seams of his clothes and wove at the edges of his smile - antlers growing with each word he spoke, and it took every bit of courage you had to bite back a whimper.

He was pissed.

“Firstly, the Hotel,” He cooed sweetly,” is the sanctuary you rave it to be because I keep it that way.”

Alastor stood from his chair and stalked towards you, wrapping the end of the chain around his microphone as he went.

“Secondly, might I remind you that it was you who approached me.” He hissed, faux kindness mixing with the barely contained anger you could see in his eyes.

“You,” He nudged your chin with the end of his microphone, “ came to me with the proposal of offering yourself in exchange for my services, not the other way around.” His eyes scanned over your form - lingering on the way your chest moved rapidly to accommodate your breaths before returning to your face.

“I've grown... accustomed to you, my dear, and our deal stands until I say so. Since you are seemingly incapable of understanding the subtleties of that, I’ll put it in simple terms so you can understand.”

The cool metal of your collar was soon replaced with the warm, smooth texture of his glove as he kneeled in the dirt and wrapped his hand around your neck. The gesture made you gasp, reflexively drawing in as much air as possible before he could choke you, but Alastor didn’t squeeze. Instead, he let the weight of his hand do the work.

“I own you. Every breath you take, every little thought in that empty head of yours belongs completely and solely to me.”

The black of his gums peeked out as his smile - which felt more akin to a snarl - widened. “Besides, what would you even do if I gave your soul back?”

Another rhetorical question, but the humiliation and inequity of the situation caused you to answer once more despite everything inside screaming at you not to.

“That’s my business.”

The sheer volume of emotion that passed through Alastor’s eyes told you that was the wrong fucking answer to give.

He snickered and leaned closer to the point you could smell the rot of his breath. “See, you might think that, darling, but since you’re mine, it’s my business too. So here’s how this is going to go.”

The hand around your throat began to squeeze.

“My business is to keep you. You’ll keep doing each and every little thing I ask of you, and you certainly won’t voice complaint when doing so.”

You choked and sputtered again when he hauled you to your feet by your throat and pushed you back into your seat - the armrests catching you directly in the funny bone, causing you to yelp. He placed his hands on either side of you and leered over you. It was the smallest you’d ever felt in your life.

“I’m more than willing to speak to you about anything you wish, darling, I truly am.” He said, inhaling deeply before continuing, and you swore his smile dropped the most you’d ever seen it.

“But if you ever try to speak to me about this again, you’ll learn just how easy you have it with me, is that clear?”

You felt yourself nodding before your mind could even register it. “C-crystal.”

A mixture of relief and dread sunk in your stomach when his smile returned to its normal state and he reached his hand up to pat you twice on the head.

“That’s my girl.~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Would Jenny allow Danny to tinker with her? I know robotics isn’t exactly the same as aerospace engineering (and I do be headcanoning that my boy chose this as his major since he wants to be an astronaut), but with all the experience he had from handling his parents inventions I believe he can be trusted with fixing something as complex as a robot. I like to think that Danny was really impressed with how Jenny was made and secretly wanted to take a look at how she works, but was too shy to ask because he knows how it’s like to be treated like an object and not a person (with the whole “ghosts are non-sentient globs of ectoplasm with post-human consciousness” spiel he heard so many times) and didn’t want to make Jenny uncomfortable. I believe it took Jenny some time and getting to know Danny and his engineering skills before she let him fix her when she got something badly broken. It was like a show of ultimate trust from Jenny’s side and Danny was flattered, humbled and very respectful. And super careful of course, constantly asking how Jenny’s doing or feeling while he tinkered, mindful of her. I bet she was touched.

Not gonna lie, this is one of the more fascinating asks I got - if only because its incredibly interesting to read about your take/interpretation of Danny & Jenny's relationship! I hope you don't mind me saying, but it feels like you adore both characters and it's very cute!

Well, now, in HoM AU, both Danny and Jenny are close friends and indeed Danny is one of the few people who Jenny trusts with - well, herself - her mechanical self. Like you, I headcanon Danny as quite mechanicaly gifted - in HoM AU he actually graduated college/uni with engineering degree, so he got education to polish his raw skills! He is one of the first people who would help Jenny in and out of the field, if there is a minor malfunction or an injury of some sort!

But even for that to happen it took a couple of years and a few adventures together.

So to answer the original question, I would have to say that in HoM AU specifically, neither Danny would ask to 'tinker' with her, nor Jenny would probably be totally comfortable with that question if asked. 'Tinkering' would imply a degree of casual poking around, and in this case, both Danny and Jenny have certain life experiences that gave them... boundaries when it comes to their own and others' autonomy. Jenny especially.

(a bit of random background info dump here to explain the reasoning, but feel free to ignore it, since i basically answered the ask xD i just got bitten by a writing bunny, so its gotten a bit long - be warned!)

When Jenny was younger and only just acclimatizing herself with human world and amongst teenagers, she was rather blaze at times with how much access to her body she gave to her human friends and acquaintances.

After all, her mother was rather frank about it - often poking around in Jenny's mechanics and code. But it was her mother, who created her (sort of 'why are you covering yourself, i made you i already know what you have' mother attitude, which is a bit over-controlling and invasive to other's autonomy, but well, Jenny is a robot after all) and it a completely different deal from others.

So, despite her mother's warnings there are instances when Jenny was not very careful. Like when she allowed Brad, Tuck and Sheldon to literally remove and rip out her stuff in pursuit of fashion goals. Or when she dropped her guard around Todd Sweeney and got reprogrammed for her good deed.

And during the events of the last episode, she was once again controlled, by Dr Locus. While not exactly her fault, it still left a lasting impression that any mechanically gifted person could be dangerous to her.

Now, this is where we venture into my personal headcanons for MLAATR that are tied into HoM-verse:

Another aspect of Jenny's developed caution to giving access to her body - is the fact that she is not considered as a real person in the eye of the government/world. She is a thing, a weapon created by Dr. Walkman. She does not have the same rights as a human, and on paper she does not even have rights to her own body. It's all patented Nora Wakeman technology, (secretly) founded by the government.

And she has been fighting it ever since she was a teenager and refused to be called an IT - XJ-9 - and became a HER, a teenage girl Jenny, who also just happens to be a robot.

At first it started as a simple teenage rebellion and she went to school and started to hang out with other kids, but what about later after she graduates? Will she be even allowed to? Sure, maybe her school will give her a diploma, but how legal will it be to give something like that to someone who is legally not a real person? After all, its not like when other kids will turn 18 and can be their own people, not under the legal control of their parents. Jenny is her mother's property, intellectual and physical. For her to be considered a real person in the eye of government, it would require a law being passed about recognizing sentience of Artificial Intelligence.

And sure, she could probably be made an exception, being a hero robot and all, but the problem is, she is not the only human-made robot in existence! What about her sisters, who are prototypes and are not as developed as her? Her brother, who seemed to develop sentiency to the point of turning on humans?? Melody and Killgore?? And its not only in her world (cartoon), but in others (since its a crossover). So the question about AI/Robot sentience, no matter if they are good or bad or how developed they are, would not concern only her, it would be a global debate.

And we all know how the governments of the world would feel about passing laws about sentience of artificial beings that were created to serve the human race. It would be a struggle one way or another.

So, as she grows up and sees the world refusing to aknowledge her as a person, she doesnt have legal rights to finish school and go to college, to get a job, to get married, heck she cant even have a legal documentation that doesnt says 'Dr. Wakeman's creation'. The government says: your body belongs to us, because we paid for Dr. Wakeman to make you - you belong to us, we control you.

That, on top of several unpleasant experiences with other people disregarding her autonomy, will equal to Jenny trying to get some sense of that control back. So she starts to be more cautious about how much access others have to her physical self; she starts to build and reinforce boundaries with other people, starting with her family and friends.

It was one of the darkest days in Sheldon's life, when Jenny started to firmly say 'no' to whenever he asked her about her inner workings and casual access for poking around. xD Tuck was not a happy camper either, that his favorite robot friend became very stingy with all the cool stuff. But Brad got it. And after gentle (and sometimes not) reminders, others became more understanding.

It was a little harder with her mother. Dr. Wakeman truly loved her daughter, but she was a scientist first and mother second. She was so used to casual access to Jenny, in order to keep maitanance that it was hard for her to break the habits. Its still a constant struggle, but she has gotten so much better.

Now, when it came to her new friends amongst HoMies, she already has built a set of boundaries that allowed her to feel more secure as a person, despite how the world sees her, but she is much more reserved to opening herself up to others, at least compared to how she first approached people when she was younger.

It took a few missions and getting to know them better, for her to start trusting with them with her mechanical self. But now a few years later, she feels comfortable enough with most of them to give her a helping hand when needed!

Of course not everyone are capable of helping her though: Danny, Kim and Zak are three of more mechanically oriented people who can help. Though Danny is the one with actual education in that field, while Kim and Zak learned more by necessity, from Kim's various jobs and Zak to operate the Saturday's equipments.

When Rex joined them, he actually became the second best person for her to come to if she needed help. Not only because he has unprecedent skills in mechanics, but also because of his nanites. (but thats info dump for another time, lol)

Jun has some basic knowledge in mechanics, but nowhere near enough for her to feel comfortable poking in Jenny's insides. Jake is perhaps the least capable of helping, when it comes to engineering, followed by newbie Randy (tho we really aint counting him tbh xD).

Ben is a complicated situation - he has some training and knowledge in engineering and robotics because of his Plumber training, but Jenny has heard horror tales from Gwen about how he treats his stuff (the whole hacking/playing with Omnitrix settings), so she flat out refuses for Ben to touch her. However in emergency/battle situation she would allow Ben to use one of his aliens to do so (like, Grey Matter or Upgrade).

So, we talked about Jenny's experiences and why they would contribute to her feeling uncomfortable if someone asked to 'tinker' with her.

Now, let's talk about why Danny would not ask to 'tinker' with her in the first place.

Like you said, Danny is all to familiar with the struggle of being part of something tat is hardly recognized as a sentient species - he had to listen to his parents dismiss ghost sentience most of his younger life. Of course, they have gotten much better since the... 'finale' of DP, but this sort of racism? xenophobia? (im not rally sure which term to use tbh) prejudice against ghosts would have left a lasting impression on Danny.

So I dont remember if I ever implied it, but in HoM AU - events of DP finale happened very differently and the resulting consequences of it diverged a lot from Mr ButtHurtman's 'canon'.

(Also, I had ideas about it, before a Glitch In Time came out, so events from there were not taken into consideration. )

I don't want to reveal much, because it is kinda one of my planned flashback for HoM, but the events that happened reinforced Danny's ... well lets say regard of people's autonomy? It's kind of hard to put into words.

Ok, let's explain it like this: Danny would not ask Jenny if he could look at how she worked and if he could tinker with her, because it would be like if his Mom and Dad casually asked if they could perform a vivisection on him to see how different he is from a full human.

And while sure, the comparison might sound a bit extreme, since there is a difference when it comes to robots and humans about 'poking around' in their innards. But to Danny - it would be too close of a comparison - because of the whole 'recognition of sentience' thing.

After all, wasn't it just some years ago, his parents cried that ghost are nothing more than lump of malicious energy that have no feelings? They changed their mind after Danny's reveal, which allowed them to actually listen and look into evidence proving otherwise and learn. And here is Jenny, struggling to be recognized as a person, since she is considered nothing more than a lump of metal with no feelings - just a weapon to be pointed in a certain direction.

And Danny would feel like asking Jenny if he could casually poke inside her, is a bit... hypocritical? And not to mention insenstitive. After all, he knows how she feels - she is basically still living his worst imagined life in some ways.

So, I don't think he will ever ask to study how she works by casually poking inside her.

HOWEVER -

At some point, after they became friends, Danny would feel like he should know at least some basics on how Jenny works, just so he could help her in an emergency.

I imagine it happened after a particularly rough mission, and Danny had to help Jenny back home since she was unable to do so herself, so Dr. Wakeman could fix her. After some time thinking, he would sit in front of both Nora and Jenny and ask them for permission if he could learn how Jenny works - from Nora.

After all, Danny does not need to poke inside Jenny to learn how she functions, when there is her mother right there - the creator, the maintanance and doctor all in one package, with access to blueprints and all intricate knowledge, who can evaluate what Danny needs to know in accordance to his passable engineering skills. She could teach him the basics - but of course not without Jenny's permission.

So he asks her, if he could learn, because he is tired of looking how she gets hurt along with them, but unlike most of them she can not be easily fixed with bandages and some time. And Danny, since he is one of the few of them who has the skills, would like to be actually able to help her with those skills. But it is her body - it is her choice, to trust him or not.

And Jenny would be speechless. It would be the first time someone asked her like that. Not even Kim, who is one of her closest friends, asked before (but mostly because Kim was perfectly aware that she is nowhere skilled enough to even think about it).

And you would be right. It would be a show of ultimate trust from Jenny, to agree for Danny to learn. And maybe at some point, simply learning, turned into more on hands learning in some small ways. And Jenny's trust was never betrayed, and Danny always stayed humbled and aware of that.

so, i hope the answer was satisfying, or at least entertaining for you! thank you again, your ask was delightful to read and allowed me to explore some of my own backstory parts for HoM a little bit more!

[sugar-coat-it]

Body piercer! Matty

Part 2 , Part 3

May I present my pride and joy (and first AU), body piercer Matty <3, based on the 2020 NOACF mohawk era

Fem! reader

****CW! Needles, pain****

Contains: Matty piercing reader’s nipples*, lustful fantasies, praise, Matty has a tongue piercing, HELLA tension and pining, Matty being a sweetheart through the whole thing

*note, I don’t have nipple piercings lol, apologies if any of this is inaccurate.

Word count: 5313

—------------------------------------------

PART ONE- Fate lands you in Matty Healy’s capable hands when looking to get your nipples pierced. Tension ensues.

—-----------------------------------------

The thought of getting your nipples pierced had been in the back of your mind for what felt like years. It nagged at you every time you saw a pretty girl with barbells poking out under her tank top, you wanted to be her. You’d done all the research, article after article on the healing period, the pain level, and the kinds of jewelry you can get. You also knew fairly well how they enhance sexual encounters, which had a whole draw of its own. You’d done everything except actually make the appointment. That is, up until a few days ago. Fresh off of a breakup and tired of feeling sorry for yourself, you’d called your local tattoo parlor and scheduled a slot with a body piercer named Maddie, then hung up feeling rather pleased with yourself for finally getting it done. The anticipation of the leadup to the appointment had you biting your lips raw. You’d gotten other piercings before, but never in a place so intimate. Never one that required taking your top off, that’s for certain. But friends had been encouraging you nonstop, telling you what a “hot girl” move it was, and who were you to argue? 

Finally, the day comes, and you’re swinging open the parlor door a little too hard, evidently very tense. The bell that jangles when the door opens clanks against the wall, making the man behind the counter startle. Wide-eyed and wincing, you shoot him an apologetic look, embarrassed that you’d practically ripped their front door off the hinge. Great start!

Slowly, after making sure the door is safely shut, you approach the counter, absentmindedly toying with the rings that adorn your fingers, twisting them between your thumb and your forefinger. The man at the counter is exactly who you’d expect to be working at a tattoo and piercing parlor, but an even more stunning rendition if you were being honest. His slightly sleepy-looking eyes brighten a little at the sight of you, a fluffy mohawk of chocolatey waves sitting atop his head. He’s adorned with inked patterns along his skin, a patchwork of symbols across his arms that you restrict yourself to only glancing at for a moment. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he greets you with a warm smile, offering a little wave before you start to explain why you’re here, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Hi, I’ve got a 1:00 appointment?” you explain before providing your name, trying your hardest to stop fidgeting.

Your mind is in about 20 places, and it doesn’t help that your heart just fluttered at the eye contact he’s holding with you. The man nods at you, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he picks up the scheduling book, sifting through the pages with black polished nails. When he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of the single silver hoop earring that he’s sporting quite well. Curiosity creeps up like a slinking cat, making you wonder what other modifications he might have. His narrowed eyes scan the book, toffee-colored irises flicking over names until he finds yours penciled in, jabbing his nail against the page.

“Yeah I see you, you’re with me then. And, you did your paperwork and payment stuff, it looks like,” he says, snapping the schedule closed definitively.

“Oh, no I don’t think…” you start to correct, tilting your head at him with confusion until you trail off into quiet.

 That’s when it catches your eye, the nametag on his white tank top reads “Matty”. Then it clicks. Matty. Not Maddie. You’d scheduled your appointment to get your tits pierced with a guy. A very attractive guy that was now going to watch you squirm like a child. Your jaw drops slightly, a sinking feeling in your gut starting to fester as you realize your mistake.

“Everything alright there? Second thoughts, perhaps?” Matty prompts, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you. 

“No… no second thoughts. To be honest, I thought I had an appointment with a female piercer,” you answer, preemptively grimacing before you’d even finished your sentence.

“Oh, shit. Well, that’s not ideal. Listen, we can get you in here another day then, no problem. Tell me what works for you,” he says, already scrambling for a pencil to put your name elsewhere in the book. 

“Actually, I think it’s fine. I’m already here, right?” you offer, shrugging to try and appear more nonchalant about the whole thing (your palms are sweating).

“Are you sure? Seriously, I don’t want you uncomfortable on my watch. It’s not a big deal to get you a different appointment,” he frowns, absentmindedly twirling the pencil between his fingers. 

His eyes are strangely soft for someone with such an intimidating job, you can only describe the feeling they give you as melting. You can’t quite place why, but his presence alone is somehow quelling your nerves, even if it’s just a bit. Your hands start to still, dropping to rest at your sides as you decide to let him do it anyway. He looks trustworthy, right? 

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you, truly,” you say, a soft smile pulling at your lips at how keen he seems on making you comfortable. 

Matty nods slowly, rising from the chair while eyeing you like he’s not sure if you’re going to turn on your heel and run out the door if he looks away. He asks you to follow him to the back, you’re trailing close behind as he pulls his baggy camo pants further up his hips by his belt. The room he leads you to is small and fairly chilly, but only in temperature. The space itself feels homey, plastered with stickers and posters of various punk bands, it doesn’t feel like some sterile hospital room. 

“Stay standin’ for me, just need to get some things,” he instructs, turning to reach for his supplies, including the jewelry you’d selected over the phone, “and, whenever you’re ready you can take your top off, okay?” 

Without the pressure of his eyes on you, it takes a moment before you slowly ease your shirt up and over your shoulders, setting it beside you. You take a slightly uneven breath as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra, suddenly forgetting the muscle memory from doing it for so many years. The moment it’s off, the rush of cold air instantly sends a shiver licking up your spine. You lean back against the counter, trying to appear as casual as you can as you eye the piercer. Your eyebrows slope with admiration, softening your expression as you realize that he’s now aimlessly fishing through a drawer, trying to give you time to ease into undressing while he’s still turned around. He stays with his back to you until you clear your throat, signaling that you’ve finished. His expression is unphased as he turns around on the heels of his platformed lace-up boots. God, he really is beyond cool, isn’t he? 

“Right, I’m gonna put these on, and then I’ll mark the placement,” Matty explains, holding up a pair of latex gloves. 

Matty pulls the gloves over his sizeable hands, the bulging veins catching your eye as he flexes his fingers to test that they’re taught. He’s taking a few steps closer to you, now only about an arm's length away as he explains that he’s not going to touch you without the gloves, though of course, your first unfiltered thought is that you wish he would. His eyes hadn’t strayed from your face for even a second this whole time, being remarkably neutral despite the fact that you were topless. Though, you suppose that sort of thing must not phase him since he’s probably pierced tons of nipples. That doesn’t stop the odd tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even glanced at your body. You swallow the feeling like it’s bile, knowing that it’s totally unreasonable to want him to gaze at you with anything but professionalism. 

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you? Need to clean the area,” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, it’s making you slightly weak in the knees, he’s just so fucking gentle. 

You nod, rolling your shoulders back in preparation for him to touch you while he pours solvent on a cotton pad. His disciplined, gloved hands reach out, and only now does he allow his gaze to dip down to your chest. You could swear his breath hitches just a little, the quiet room allowing for the smallest sounds to be heard. Maybe he is just a man after all. The thought makes pride simmer in your chest, but you’re not dwelling on it for long, your mind going blank the moment he starts to swiftly swipe the pad along your nipples, sanitizing your skin and also effectively making them harden from the stimulation. You tense up, standing straighter than before as you bite back any semblance of a reaction. Matty throws you a glance to assess your discomfort, soft brown irises following the slopes of your features. He places the sanitizing supplies to the side, now uncapping a purple skin marker. This was going to be a long process if he kept looking at you that way.

“Nothing's happening yet, okay? Just gonna draw on where they’re gonna go,” he says, holding it up while raising his eyebrows as if to say “Look, it’s harmless”. 

Matty leans in again, his eyes narrowing with concentration, gloved knuckles brushing the side of your breast as he marks a dot on the side of your nipple. Watching Matty stare at your tits with such laser focus has your cheeks flushing just slightly, heat prickling at the bridge of your nose. He runs the tip of the marker from one side of the hardened bud to the other, marking a symmetrical dot. Tingles spread under your skin like wildfire, he’s barely touched you and yet you can feel yourself buzzing at the slightest sensations. His pretty brown eyes meet yours and he just smiles at you sympathetically, knowing how hyperfocused on his every movement you must be.

“You’re not breathing,” he whispers, playfully jabbing the capped end of the pen against your arm. 

Your eyes widen as you realize that he’s absolutely right, you’d been holding your breath this whole time. You release your bated breath, your chest heaving slightly as Matty keeps looking down at you, giving you a moment to regain your senses. You swear the eye contact while being inches away from him is making you more lightheaded than the lack of oxygen. With a satisfied nod, he resumes, repeating the same process of drawing the dots at the peak of your other breast. Then, he takes a step back, biting the cap of the marker between his canines while he evaluates his work. This allows you another moment to admire him as he eyeballs the symmetricalness of his markings. Your mind is wandering, perhaps trying to distract you from how intently this man is studying your breasts. You’re wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so gentle with you. What if he touched you instead with greed, the need to satiate himself? In your head, you imagine the warm, honey tones of his eyes darkening like tinted glass as he drinks you in not as his client, but as something to desire, to want to feel flush beneath his calloused fingertips. This version of Matty doesn’t try to limit every graze of his working hands, he’s starving; groping, and mapping every part of your skin that he can reach. You’re jumping the gun now, the image flashes through your mind like a ricocheting bullet: Matty’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands are mean as he grabs a handful of one of your tits, his thigh is hitched between your legs, keeping your thighs parted. His head dips down, his shaggy mohawk tickling at your neck as he tugs on the silver barbell through your nipple with his teeth, pain melding with pleasure till they’re impossible to separate. And, oh, fuck, does he have a tongue piercing? Your eyes flick down to his mouth now, mind reeling as you spot the silver stud on his tongue revealed by the way he’s chewing on the cap of the marker. You are losing yourself, and fast, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Alright, looks just about even. Would you go ahead and lie down there, darlin’?” he asks, cocking his head towards the reclined padded chair next to him. 

Now is where the nerves are starting to kick in, it’s all fun and fantasizing about your body piercer until you actually have to sit in the chair. You were hardly able to mentally fawn over the pet name as you took unsure strides to situate yourself in the cold, plastic parlor recliner. Matty busies himself with preparing various metal objects while you stare up at the ceiling, squinting at the fluorescent lights and wondering why you wanted your tits pierced so badly in the first place. Then, his unreasonably darling face is in your field of vision, peering down at you with a consoling smile.

“Comfy?” he prompts, a needle in one hand and a small pair of forceps in the other.

It’s not a comforting sight, no matter how lovely the man holding them is. 

“Sorta. I’m actually kind of a chicken about these things,” you admit with a wobbly smile in return.

“No… really?” he grins boyishly, clearly being sarcastic with you. 

You shoot him a look for that, but it melts away into a little laugh, you can’t seem to even fake a cold stare around him, it’s sort of pitiful. Standing over you, Matty raises the forceps close to your breasts but doesn’t touch you with them just yet. You bite your lip, lifting your head to get a better look at what’s happening, even though you’re not entirely sure you even want to watch. 

“Now, this is just going to feel like a little pinch, shouldn’t hurt,” he says, his voice lowering a little before he slips in a: “You’re doing really good.”

The praise tears your gaze away from his hands and onto his face, blinking in disbelief at the way he’d caused a fizzling pang of desire inside you so effortlessly. That feeling doesn’t get any weaker the moment you feel the cool metal clamp around your nipple, your lips parting with a soft gasp, hands tensing with the urge to hold onto something, to hold onto him. Matty’s pierced tongue darts out past his lips in concentration, soothing over his bottom lip as he lines the needle up next to the hardened bud. You jolt at the sharp tip of the object against your sensitive skin, your hand shooting out to grab onto Matty’s bicep in a moment of pure reaction. Both of you seem equally shocked that you’d suddenly clutched his arm, your nails slightly biting into his skin amongst the spattering of pretty freckles that mark him. There’s a moment of the loudest silence you’ve ever heard, his stare feels like it’s searing you. You’re about to rush into apologizing, but then he’s placing his tools back down onto his tray of supplies, tentatively reaching to rest his larger hand over yours, enveloping it in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m just lining up my shot. I’m gonna tell you when it’s time, okay? Just breathe with me for a moment,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing tenderly over the back of your hand. 

He takes an exaggerated breath, encouraging you to do the same, his chest rising beneath his white tank top. You mirror Matty, taking a deep breath in of, well… him. He smells like a dizzying combination of Marlboros and woody aftershave because of course, he does.

“That’s it, much better. It’ll be a whole fuckin’ ordeal if you pass out on me, so stay with me here. Can you do that?” he questions, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah… yeah, I can. Thank you,” you say softly, trying to disregard the sparks radiating under Matty’s palm. 

You stay like this for a few breaths longer, Matty doesn’t look away from you and you’re not so sure that it’s only because he doesn’t want you to conk out. His gloved hand gives yours an encouraging squeeze before letting go slowly. The heat still lingers as he retrieves his tools a second time, the flexing of his bicep under your grasp reminds you that you should probably let go of him now. But, the moment you start to retract your hand, he glances at you and speaks in that silky tone of his.

“You don’t have to let go, s’okay. You can use me like a stress toy, or something. I don’t really care,” he shrugs, winking at you. 

You just nod dumbly, your eyes going a little wider as you settle your hand over his bare arm again, right over the top of his Newcastle United seahorse tattoo. You’d like to use him in other ways too, but that’s not very appropriate, now is it? 

You let out a sigh as you come to the same point in the process again, Matty lining up the needle diligently while keeping your nipple clamped with the metal forceps, but this time, you get to cling to his arm. You don’t want to distract him, because it would be your loss in the end, but there is a sense of satisfaction when you feel his bicep flex slightly as you trace your thumb along the symbol inked on his skin, following the curve of the seahorses mane with your nail. 

“Okay, love. Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m going to do it on three, and when I say three, I need you to take a sharp breath in for me, like this,” he instructs, then shows you what he means with a harsh inhale through his nose. 

You breathe out a weak “okay”, already gripping his arm harder from the anticipation building up to a high. You decide it’s best not to watch, especially since you’d promised you wouldn’t pass out. You let your head rest back against the chair, your nose scrunching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Matty begins to count down, increasing the pressure of the clamp. 1. 2. 3. You inhale sharply through your nose at the same time that an unprecedented amount of burning pain reverberates through your chest, your eyes snapping open. You’re clawing at his arm, a cry ripping past your lips while tears well up and blur your vision. It’s a feeling so intense that it’s seeping through you to your stomach, crawling like the meanest sunburn. Of all the piercings you’ve gotten, you can say without a doubt that this takes first prize for the most painful.

“Oh, fuck!” you sob, the sound being embarrassingly close to a full-bodied moan. 

Matty slides the jewelry through while swiftly retracting the needle, trying to stifle the way the sound you’d made was affecting him, echoing in his skull in a way he knows it shouldn’t. He doesn’t even flinch despite the way your nails are leaving angry, red crescents marred on his skin. He quickly screws the barbell together before completely retracting his hands from you, taking one more glance at his handiwork before consoling you, his heart seemingly aching for the pretty girl in his chair.

“I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, but you’re halfway done. Doing so good, you’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching the gloved back of his hand to your face to wipe some of the stray tears on your cheeks.

You just whine, the radiating pain only now starting to subside as you keep your hold on his arm, now smoothing over the marks you’d left with your fingertips as if you’re kissing them better. His thumb grazes along your cheek for a little too long for it to be accidental. Matty’s praise while he wipes away your tears is making your mind fuzzy, it’s like he’s numbing the pain; the sweetest morphine. 

Your gasps for breath are slowing, the pain like a dull pulse, easing its grip on you. Mortification is starting to sink in now that you’re not reeling from shooting pain. One of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen just watched you in one of your most vulnerable moments, and there’s still one piercing to go, much to your dismay. 

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” you admit with a breathy laugh at your own expense. 

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed. You could’ve done much worse, probably,” he says, looking amused as he shakes his head at you.

“Like what?” “I dunno… like, socked me in the face as a fight or flight response.”

You laugh at that, a bright sound filling the room that makes Matty’s smile grow fonder as he gazes down at you with those pretty, sparkly eyes. The moment lingers on for a few beats, tension blooming between you that almost makes you forget about the throbbing ache of your left breast (almost). 

“You do know I have to do the other one right? Unless you’re a bit odd and like the one-piercing look,” he reminds cautiously over the clinking metallic sound of him picking up his tools. 

“I know,” you sigh, “can you do it fast?” 

“Erm… I’ll do it as quickly as I can without making it cockeyed, but I reckon you’ll be fine. Besides, the second one’s always easier from what I’ve seen.”

He doesn’t seem like the type that would elude you for the sake of false security, so you take his word as gospel, settling in to prepare yourself for what’s hopefully a more tolerable experience. His next words have your heart thrumming against your ribs.

“Can you handle it?” he asks, more of a challenge than a question.

You nod at him quietly, absentmindedly drawing little feather-light swirls on his bicep. The incentive of his praise is becoming all too tempting. You want to handle it, you want to show him that you can do it. There’s a new, honeyed kind of heat seeping into your bones. 

“Good girl. You’re a strong one, love,” he praises, sensing just how eager you are.

The next pulse you feel doesn’t come from your chest. Good girl? He has to be fucking with you. Jesus, does he talk to all of his customers like this? Does he wipe all of their tears too? Something in you wants to believe he doesn’t. He watches as your lips part slowly, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. You have to know.

“Do you call all your customers that?” you whisper, blinking up at him coyly.

“Not really, no. Only the pretty ones who deserve it.”

Your breath comes out as a shudder, it’s unfair how easily he leaves you stunned. He clicks his tongue casually before getting back to work, all too pleased by the look on your face. You know the routine by now, Matty makes quick work of clamping your nipple and arranging the prodding tip of the needle just so. You’re still clinging to his arm, or your personal stress toy, something you’ve grown very familiar to the feel of throughout your time here. The countdown starts, he’s not giving you as much time to prepare. 1. 2. 3. What was more like a shriek from earlier comes out as a whine this time, a high-pitched, whimpery noise spilling from you. You don’t curse or practically maul his arm this time, but it’s still painful, you can’t say you’re fond of how vividly you can feel the needle go in and out amidst the burning sting. 

“Beautiful, atta girl,” he whispers, screwing the end of the barbell on before leaning back to admire his work, his eyes unabashedly glued to how the jewelry sits prettily on your breasts.

You have no clue if he’s talking about you, your tits, or the job he’d done, but it makes your skin warm all the same. 

Finally, you allow yourself to look at your chest, gently sliding your hand off of his bicep to prop yourself up on your arms and get a good look at the two new adornments. Shit, they look good on you, better than you’d hoped, and perfectly symmetrical thanks to him. He smirks when he notices the way you’re gawking at the piercings, knowing that the pain is barely a thought in your mind now, too distracted by how newly desirable you must feel. Matty likes knowing that one, he’s good at his job, and two, that he’s just helped you feel sexier. He’s really enjoying watching you admire yourself and in turn, his work. There’s a slight stir beneath his baggy pants, which he knows should never happen while he’s with a client, but you might just be the sweetest thing that’s ever been in his chair. He’s allowing himself a pass.

“Shit, Matty, they’re really nice,” you gape, your stomach swooping when you glance up to see the smug look playing on his lips.

“Yeah, they came out mint. Suit you nicely, don’t they?” he says, daring to dance along the line of being unprofessional as he then glances down at your tits and whistles. 

What a boy.

“Thank you… for everything I mean.”

“Don’t mention it, you were great,” Matty smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves off your gushing.

Butterflies are rampaging in your stomach, god, why does he have to be so lovely? He looks like he has something he wants to say, but it goes unspoken, rattling around in his head instead. His expression is hard to read, but would you be deluding yourself to say there’s a tinge of longing? A few beats of quiet tick by, and you’re now becoming acutely aware of the fact that you no longer have a reason to be topless, awkwardly crossing your arms. Always so attentive, Matty suddenly straightens up and reaches over your body, his chain dangling in front of your face as he grabs your shirt and bra from the counter. He places them on your lap and politely turns away as if he’s never seen you undressed, clearing his throat like that will clear the thick tension in the air. 

You wince as soon as the cups of your bra meet your immensely tender breasts, sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth as you power through clasping it. The sensitivity is something you’d been warned about, and now you get to joyfully experience it firsthand for the next however many weeks. Your eyes are on Matty’s back as you slip your shirt over your head, taking note of how rigid he seems as he gathers the after-piercing care papers for you. But maybe it’s in your head. You haven’t known him very long at all, it’s a dangerous game to assume any of the tension of this afternoon was real when you were freaking out for more than half of it.

“Right, any questions for me?” he asks, striding over to hand you the pages.

Are you single?Can we go out?Should we make out right now?How are you real?

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not woozy, you can go ahead and stand up when you’re ready,” he says, clasping his hands together as if he’s wrapping up his job well done. 

With the care pamphlet in one hand, you start to slowly swing your legs over to the side, noticing the way Matty stands at attention like he’s ready to catch you if your legs give out. But they don’t, you’re able to stand with minimal wobbles, shaking out your hands to try and relax your poor, recovering body. 

The walk back to the front of the parlor is quiet, the both of you trying to grapple with the tension you couldn’t quite leave behind in the chair. There’s not much else to say, is there? You’re both standing next to the door now, and Matty retracts one of his hands from within his pockets to hold it out to you. Nothing says “I just blurred the lines of professionality while piercing your tits and now this is goodbye” like a good old handshake, does it? You try to keep your expression neutral even though this all feels quite bittersweet, grasping his hand with a firm shake. It’s the first time you’ve felt his hand without the latex glove between you, they’re soft, but you can tell he works with his hands, the callouses on his fingertips grazing your skin.

“Lovely to meet you, sorry I wasn’t a chick,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry about that, I’m glad it was you,” you reply, perhaps being a little too sincere, but it feels right to say. 

“... well, listen, get home safe, alright? Take care of yourself, call if you have any problems,” he says, once again seeming like he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something to you. 

You reach for the handle of the door, but you don’t open it. You look back at him like you’re giving him one more chance to tell you what you’re hoping to hear, but he doesn’t, he just offers a nod with an unreadable expression on his face. Heartache.

“See you, Matty,” you nod in return, opening the door and shutting it behind you.

You evaluate your situation on the walk back to your car. You’ve rid yourself of the urge to get your tits pierced, and they look fantastic, but your new problem is that you have a massive crush on your body piercer that you’re likely never going to see again unless you get another piercing. It’d be a rather expensive hobby to get a piercing just to see his face, so scratch that. Your only option is to be reminded of him every time you take your shirt off, how miserable is that?

Little do you know, the moment the shop door closed behind you, Matty groaned with his face in his hands, mentally kicking himself for not asking you out, or at least getting your number. Sure, you were a client, he had to be careful, but shit, you weren’t just any client, now were you? What was wrong with him? Something about you left the body piercer stiff and tongue-tied, replaying every moment of your encounter back in his mind. Never in his life had Matty Healy felt anything for a customer.

—---One month later—----

After a hellish month of healing, scabbing, and getting your piercings caught on things, you’ve decided that there’s no real point in having nipple piercings if no one gets to see them but you. You’d like to tell yourself that you don’t think about Matty as much anymore, but that would be laughably dishonest. Dating apps are just about one of the most aggravating wastes of time ever, and you’ve had no luck meeting people naturally, so here comes the next best thing: blind dates. Your close friend fancies herself to be somewhat of a matchmaker, she’s been talking up this guy to you for days now, telling you how funny and totally your type he is, and nothing could possibly go wrong if she set you up. You have your doubts, but still, you find yourself in a cafe waiting for your mystery man to sweep you off your feet with his supposed punchy one-liners. What you don’t expect, however, is to watch a very familiar mohawked man stride into the place, the eyes that have patronized your dreams every night scanning across the cafe until they lock onto you. 

—----------------------------------------------

Don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging with just tension, ofc there’s going to be a smutty part two <3

Thank you very much for reading, I hope it wasn’t underwhelming! And thank you to any other writers that I reached out to to consult about my ideas, ily, mwah!

[dira333]

Oh No (I think I'm in Love) - Cove Holden x Reader

It's trying something new-Hour... this is for you, @6okuto

“You were a strange person in a strange place but, in that moment, you were exactly what I needed. Somebody I could talk to freely about what was happening and how it made me feel. And you listened to me, you stayed with me.”

-

“I really like that dress on you,” Cove calls out as you step out of the house, one hand on your straw hat to keep it from flying away.

You’ve already learned that he’ll say anything on his mind, his compliments always sincere. Warmth rises to your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you press through your teeth, unable to look at him for a second. When you do though, you regret it immediately. The summer sun makes his hair look like it’s been woven out of the rarest gemstones.

“You look good too,” you tell him, an understatement if you’ve ever heard one.

He blushes a furious red.

-

“Hey, look at that!” Cove has surfaced next to you, his bright hair clinging to his face in the weirdest shapes. His eyes are alight as he shows you a seashell, its perfection.

“I want you to have it,” he insists, pressing it into your hands with flushed cheeks. You know there’s more to it than just a gift.

You take it, swallowing down feelings you can’t yet name, tucking it under the hem of your bikini top. 

“I want to give you something too,” you tell him, escaping his words by dipping back in, searching the ground for something equally as beautiful.

It takes you half the day and you’re almost ready to give up when you stumble upon a polished white stone hiding in the hot sand. It’s shaped like a heart.

“Here,” you press it into Cove’s hands, heart beating. “This is for you.”

He cries like a baby at the sight.

-

Summer will always be your favorite season.

The sun burns down on you as you lay on a beach towel, pretending to read as you watch Cove. The feeling in your chest when he drops down way too close, his cold wet skin pressing into your warmth.

When you want nothing more but to draw him closer, see if his lips taste just as salty as yours.

And you can see in his eyes that he feels and thinks the same, yet you don’t act on it, only your hands folding around each other as if keeping a secret between them.

Getting smoothies with the others, smiling into your drink when Cove shimmies in place next to you, unable to keep still with all this happiness coursing through his body.

Him cllinging to you in the evening as you all sit around the bonfire, how his body goes turns soft against yours after a sip of beer, like all the tension bleeds from his limbs and into the sand.

Those days and months and years that you spend pining and in love, knowing the other feels the same but not yet ready to take that step and the one after and the one after that… 

There is no rush to it and maybe that’s the beauty of it.

Your first kiss tastes like the ocean and when you hide your face in his hair right after, all you can smell is the sea.

-

You can smell the summer coming, even five, ten, fifteen years later.

It tastes like the Ocean, like mint and citrus and something else, like kissing after sunset, like taking your sleeping bags down to the beach just to have an excuse to stay close for longer. 

There’s sand in your bed, coarse against your legs as you stretch. 

Cove’s left arm is slung around you, his nose buried in your hair. He doesn’t move even as you kiss the scar on his arm, so you stay still a little longer, letting him sleep.

Sometimes, in the milky white of early mornings, you still cannot believe that this is real.

But Cove is here, his heart beating warm against your back, his stomach grumbling softly even as he sleeps, justs further proof that he is the way he is… in love with you.

[generalsdiary]

a tired gem

Aventurine x Dr. Ratio

warnings: description of overstimulation (not the sexual one)

word count: less than 1k

a/n: back again with another mental health + comfort oneshot about the gays lol, not beta read, we go to superhell with aventurine and castiel

description: Aventurine comes home overstimulated and tired, later comforted by Dr. Ratio

Aventurine's hands felt like they were on fire, they felt swollen, the day was too hot. he is rapidly taking the gloves off his hands, the pretty golden rings off his fingers, the expensive watch slipping from his wrist- and running them under a cold stream of water. Aventurine raises his head, meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

despite the years passing, and him getting older - it still comes back to bite him in the ass. the way his skin feels like it is burning, the overanalyzing of too many people around him – because what if he could be in danger, or even what if someone calls him a fraud, or sees through his oh-so fragile façade. there was too much noise- too many conversations surrounding him, too many unpleasant and various smells- it brings it all back. the starving scorching hot days of little Kakavasha, the slavery of "blondie"... that feeling of which he doesn't even wish the recall the memories of. he feels the repulsion of any human touch settling back in him.

he had gotten better, he knows- Aventurine repeats in his head, he knows how to deal with others and exist normally. how to keep his clothes straight, clean and his shoes polished. how to appear wealthy and smell like a perfume commercial.

Aventurine takes a deep breath. it does little to calm him down, the lukewarm air filling his lungs where a crisp cold air would feel much better to him in the moment.

after rapidly taking his clothes off, and gently folding them even in this moment when he is stressed because how could he just throw those clothes away… after all, they are his mask, his stage presence so to speak, and for Aeon’s sake the price alone could feed every person on his long gone planet. he sits on the shower floor and allows the water to cool down his body- just like the rain of Sigonia-IV did.  Aventurine got over it, he learned to accept and even relish in human contact- with chosen people, yet he cannot even imagine being perceived in this moment. the mere thought of it makes him squeeze his eyes shut in pain.

biting his bottom lip, which shakes slightly in anger and tiredness, he stands up. he has to take care of himself- create a safe environment- and then if he must, wallow in the pain which is overstimulation.

the water washes away any bump from a stranger passing by, any phantom touch that didn't actually happen, but he still had to mentally prepare himself for it just in case it did, any scent which isn't his own. the clean, rough texture of the towel feels pleasant on his skin as he dries up and puts on comfortable clothes.

with complete silence and everything in its right place, he lies on the bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. familiar steps approach the bedroom door and the figure leans against the frame. "rough day, dear gambler?"

Aventurine's eyes meet Veritas', not saying a thing. to the doctor, it speaks louder than words. the apparent smirk fading off, his body language turning a tad softer and he exhales. he is quick to deduce exactly how his counterpart feels. Veritas is well aware that any sound or even a question that requires verbal communication would be awful to Aventurine at this moment hence he, with a soft step, walks over to the bed and lies down beside him. not close to touch him accidentally- with a healthy distance, yet still there.

Aventurine appreciates it, the doctor had already learned how he can get... how rough it can be. feeling exhaustion wash over him, he moves to his side, and those breathtaking gem-like eyes close, letting the poor blond man rest under the watchful eyes of the older man.

a couple of hours later, he wakes up, his eyes opening to be met with a quiet Veritas reading a book in the same place, unmoving except for the occasional page turn. Aventurine quietly observes, obviously noticed by Veritas. the doctor surely noticed the shift in his, now awake, breathing, and the colorful eyes opening to stare at him.

he grounds himself in reality and in the moment, taking shorter breaths and shifting to stretch his body a bit, taking care of the soreness. he feels better, soothed... his head is quiet, and his body feels okay to exist in the present, to exist now. Aventurine outstretches his arm, and hand, barely noticeable, tugs on Veritas' shirt, causing him to move his gaze to Aventurine. beat. he hums quietly, giving him a nod in silent question. it feels inviting and safe, Aventurine moves his body closer, into the taller man's side. as he does, Veritas closes the book putting it away, and moves his arm so that Aventurine can rest his head on his collarbone.

the second part of grounding. comforting touch, from a safe person with a safe scent. there is a silent appreciation for the doctor’s frequent baths and cleanliness. Aventurine's eyes close with a soft sigh, it feels right, it feels comfortable. Veritas' hand, at first, very gently moves through the blond locks, after a few seconds of body language analysis, he continues caressing his hair. Ratio's other hand moves to his face, his thumb caressing for a moment Aventurine's cheekbone. "better?" he hums in a deep tone with a rumble in his chest.

those gorgeous watercolor eyes open, the softest smile forming on Aventurine's face and a small nod. "yes"

a/n: yes, the ‘watercolor eyes’ is a reference to the song Dear Arkansas Daughter

[linkemon]

Spring rolls (Senshi x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴜꜱᴜᴀʟ ʀᴇᴄɪᴘᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ ʀᴏʟʟꜱ, ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱᴇɴꜱʜɪ, ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ. ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ…

Senshi stroked his chin thoughtfully. He was separated from the team some time ago. He was so eager to pick the wild cucumbers crawling on the ground that he fell into a dark tunnel and slid down in the darkness. He landed near some unknown lake. Luckily it didn't seem too big. Senshi tried to keep his cool. He had spent a lot of time underground alone during his life but now he was filled with anxiety. He had gotten used to the company. Unfortunately, the mysterious hatch closed right behind him, so he had to find a new way back to his friends. He consoled himself that at least he had a supply of cucumbers.  

He crossed the marshy terrain, treading on a relatively dry path. Various branches floated on the surface of the water. Blue and dark green melted into the dirty brown scenery. The strange, twisted trees looked like hands, ready to pull him into deeper waters at any moment. However, he looked at their bark with satisfaction. A few swipes of the handy knife later, he managed to collect a large supply. He figured that since he was here, he could take advantage of the opportunity. Chewing slowly on the soft wood, he took one step at a time.  

In the silence broken only by the buzzing of insects and the splashing of water, a familiar melody reached his ears. The surface of the water carried the gentle sounds of a mandoline. The dwarf stopped for a moment. The water was too shallow for the pernicious mermaids to inhabit. So he was lucky. He followed the sound of the strings. A familiar bard appeared before his eyes. [Reader] looked like she wanted to rub her eyes in disbelief. But instead, she played a cheerful chord as she rose from the rotten tree trunk she was sitting on. Dressed as always in an avant-garde, colourful, velvet outfit.  

— The last person I expected to see here today! The most pleasant of surprises. What brings you here?  

Senshi raised the corners of his mouth. He hadn't seen the woman since he joined Laios and his group. They knew each other from the area around the cemetery, where trade flourished. For him it was quite close to the surface, so he preferred to avoid this place but certain products could not be found underground. Ever since something close to a tavern was built there, bards have been killing themselves to perform there. [Reader] used to sing not only there but also nearby. She rarely went down to the lower floors.  

He had already forgotten how flowery and effusive she was. He couldn't imagine her in any other profession. It fit her perfectly.  

— I lost the friends I'm traveling with — he explained laconically.  

— I'm so glad to see you! — Bard put her arm around the dwarf. — We have company at twelve — she added extremely quietly into his ear.  

Senshi's first instinct was to get flustered, surprised by the sudden closeness. But all that passed when he turned around as gently as he could. Water flowed into the lake directly from a tiny river. They actually had company. What he thought was just a branch turned out to be a turtle shell. Every few moments a piece of wrinkled monkey skin stuck out from under it. There was a kappa living in the water. It swam towards them extremely slowly. From time to time, a flat bowl adorning its head emerged from the surface. The dwarf didn't need Laios to determine what exactly threatened them. In the worst case scenario, they could be disembowelled and have all their organs removed.  

He gave the woman a knowing look. She just nodded slightly.  

Kappa swam to the shore. It tilted its head and blinked its watery eyes. Then it put her teeth into a ghastly smile. White sprouts flashed in the red mouth. Senshi silently hoped that they wouldn't soon become her meal. Especially considering where in the human body such monsters reached first...  

— We welcome you, o mighty kappa! — [Reader] nervously strummed her mandoline.  

— Ahem... yes, welcome! — Senshi joined in, a little less confident.  

— Arghulghul! — replied the creature.  

The dwarf didn't know if it was an invitation to talk but he decided there was no better option. They had little chance against the kappa.  

— We have heard of your well-known virtue and that you host a fest! And also about how wonderfully you welcome... guests! — concluded the woman uncertainly.  

Senshi had no doubt that the hybrid would have a great fest. But he suspected he wouldn't like the main meal at all.  

— Your are immensely swift…— the bard began.  

— As such we brought you a gift! — Senshi reached behind him.  

Kappa turned its head to the other side. Its eyes widened and it pulled out what could only be a flat nose from a distance. The powerful whistling inhalation was probably intended to check what the dwarf was holding in his hands. When kappa realized they were cucumbers, her mouth formed a voracious duck lip. Up until now, it had been walking at a snail's pace and now it accelerated significantly. The water splashed as it swept the water on the shore with its tail.  

— Doesn't have manners now, anyone who doesn't bow! — [Reader] struck the strings once again.  

Senshi obediently bent in half, as did his companion. This required unwavering faith in the plan. However, he knew that this was the kappa's only weakness, next to cucumbers. Only politeness could kill this monster. When he looked up, he saw the turtle-like creature just finishing its bow, emptying the contents of the bowl on its head. Water flowed down the monkey's skin. The monster gurgled angrily and fell dead in the river with a loud splash.  

— I guess that's the end of these rhymes for today, my dear — [Reader] breathed a sigh of relief.  

— Hmm...  

— You want to eat it, right? — She looked resignedly towards the river.  

— I ate kappa once. It has wonderful and tender meat rich in nutrients. It would be a shame to waste it — Senshi replied.  

Bard helped him pull the body out of the water. Immediately afterwards, he told her to start cutting cucumbers and dividing the bark. In the meantime, he skinned the monster. Then he took out his trusty pot and lit a fire. He had a hard time doing it because the wood around him was unbearably wet. Eventually, however, he managed to cook pieces of kappa.  

[Reader] played the mandoline, claiming that her role in cooking ended here. Somehow, her repertoire included songs about chefs.  

Senshi placed slice-thin pieces of soft bark and on them meat and cucumber slices. He rolled everything up carefully. Proud of himself, he decorated the work with grasses growing near the river. He placed rolls on large burdock leaves. The first and only one of its kind: Kappa Spring Rolls.  

— Dinner is served! — he announced eagerly, whittling makeshift chopsticks from pieces of wood.  

— I don't think I'll ever taste it — [Reader] said, eyeing the kappa dish with suspicion.  

This wasn't the first time she had seen Senshi cooking a monster dish. However, she usually refused to taste it, preferring something else. Moreover, they saw each other more often near the tavern in the former cemetery. There she was always able to buy something normal.  

— You'll be hungry. Regular meals are very important — he said, catching a roll between his chopsticks. — One, two, three. Open wide, there's a fairy coming — he announced, stuffing the roll into her mouth.  

— I'm not a child — the woman said, grimacing like a child but she chewed obediently.  

After a short while, she hesitantly reached for another portion. The tender meat melted in your mouth and the bitterness of the soft wood brought out the taste of cucumbers. Everything created harmony. It was as if the swamps around them had turned into a charming spring meadow full of fresh scents and new sensations.  

— You really are a fantastic cook — [Reader] said.  

— It's nothing. — Senshi stroked his beard and looked away.  

She could have sworn she saw him blush slightly but it was hard to see anything under the armor. He was always a modest person.  

— You have a crumb right here. — She looked at him critically. — I'll take it off — she added.  

She moved her hand towards his chin. Dark eyes stared at her expectantly. However, before she could do anything, an explosion occurred. Dirty clods of mud flew around the two of them. In a few seconds, everything around was covered with in them. The landscape was now a brownish-gray mess. The sound of the explosion was pierced by a loud, collective cry:  

— Senshi!  

Four dark, dirty and, judging by their voices, very happy figures were running towards them.  

— These are my friends — he told his mud-covered companion with a smile.  

[hbyrde36]

I saw an old broken down Winnebago on my way home from work today, and then this happened. Enjoy!

Pieces of Memory

Rating: G | WC: 934 | Open Ending | AO3 link

After the “earthquake" Steve made arrangements to have the RV brought back to his house for safekeeping. 

They probably should have returned it to its owners, but the trailer park had been cut down the middle by one of the fissures, and no one knew what had happened to the couple they’d stolen it from. What he didn’t say to anyone was that even if they had been able to locate the owners, Steve never planned on giving up the Winnebago. 

As silly as it sounded it was the only thing he had left of Eddie now—that, and a vest he’d never gotten the opportunity to give back. The only evidence that Eddie had existed in the same place as him for a while. That it had all been real. A tangible piece of memory. 

In the months after Vecna, while they attempted to regroup and waited with bated breath to see if Max would ever wake up, Steve spent long hours painstakingly restoring the RV to its original condition. For no other reason than as an excuse to spend more time in the vehicle than was probably healthy. 

No one but Robin understood why Steve was having so much trouble moving on. Even he himself felt a little stupid about how broken up he was about the loss, when he and Eddie had shared so little. A lingering glance here, a few casual touches there, and exactly one heated kiss in that very same RV, during a rare moment alone when the crackling something between them had, for a moment, reached a critical level.  

They should have had more.

More time, more touch, more kisses, more everything. 

But it had all been taken—stolen by Vecna and that fucking place.

When it was all done, when there wasn’t a single screw left to tighten or a surface to polish, Steve fired up the engine, having long since taught himself the fine art of hotwiring. He probably could have acquired a spare key without raising any eyebrows, even this far from the unexplained events of Spring, Hawkins was in turmoil and chaos, no dealership would have batted an eye about a replacement key, but this way felt more appropriate. 

He’d left a note on the kitchen counter for Robin, with another enclosed for her to give to Dustin in the event that he didn't make it back, knowing she would come looking for him eventually when he was no longer home to answer her calls. He didn’t dare tell her his plan ahead of time. She’d have either stopped him, or insisted on going with him and he wasn’t willing to risk anyone else. 

It was something that had been weighing on him ever since they’d been forced to leave Eddie’s body behind. In the moment it had seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing to do, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how they had left him there alone to rot. 

Until now he’d had something else to focus on, a project to keep his mind occupied and distracted, and yes there may have been some alcohol involved in his decision making but he just had this feeling that if he could bring Eddie back–or at the very least give him a proper burial in the Upside Down if he was too deteriorated to be moved–then maybe Steve could finally let him go.

He drove the RV to Forest Hills and parked as close as he dared to the big crack in the ground that extended out from Eddie’s trailer. When El brought Max back to life the fissures had halted their progress and become nothing more than holes in the ground, but the gates had remained open, as far as they knew. 

He entered the house carefully and sure enough the ceiling was adorned with a pulsing red membrane. The opening was smaller than he remembered, but not so much that he couldn’t get through. 

He took a page out of Dustin's book and poked through it with the end of a broom handle, conveniently left behind from the last time they had all been there. When he could see through to the other side he dragged the coffee table over, giving him enough of a step up that he could grab the edges of the opening and hoist himself through. 

He’d almost forgotten the way gravity flipped when passing from this dimension to the next, and he was thankful not to have an audience for his less than graceful landing. He was also grateful that the old mattress was still laid out on the other side, cushioning his fall. 

Steve ran right to the spot where he had found Dustin sitting, crying as he held on to Eddie, already gone still and cold, and found it—empty. 

Apart from the dried remnants of blood that had pooled underneath Eddie as he bled out, there was no trace of a body. Even if he had been taken, defiled by some creature there would have been evidence, right? Some flesh or bones to mark the spot where his beautiful boy’s life had ended.

Maybe he had the wrong spot. 

He was sure, he was almost sure he didn’t, but he could not go back empty handed without knowing he had searched thoroughly. 

He trudged around the area for what felt like hours, making wider and wider sweeps as he went.

He had just about given up hope, preparing himself to return home a failure when he heard a familiar voice speak up from behind him. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You really shouldn’t be here.”  

[purdledooturt]

WIP Wedneday

I got tagged again, and y'all... you may not know this but I basically bleed WIPs. I have nothing but WIPs. Sometimes they never become anything, and WIP Wednesdays are the only way they see the world at all. Thank you @cinnamontails-ff for freeing one of these boys from the jail.

In celebration of the announcement of the continuation of An Empirical Science, I would also like to contribute to the Holy Rolan Empire.

The door clicked closed – then, it clicked again. Locked.

“Drop the glamour, please,” Rolan all but growled, “before I do it for you.”

Tav gasped at the commanding tone, her heart seized by cold tendrils in confusion. Immediately, she did as he had asked, dropping the disguise with an exhale. “Rolan!” Her hand flew to her chest, trying to still her pounding heart. “It’s just me!”

“Tav!” Rolan gasped back, his expression going from dark and fierce and angry to something more akin to surprise and confusion and… suspicion? With one final once-over the expression melted into something more sheepish, as his shoulders relaxed with a sigh. “I’m sorry about that. You… you had triggered some alarms, so I…” He ran a hand through his hair, letting loose a few tendrils from his normally immaculately styled half-up ‘do. “It’s good to see you, though.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, pursing her lips together as she felt her face burn red out of embarrassment. Of course they would have security measures for disguises and seemings – she didn’t even think about it. “That was wholly my fault.”

To try and soothe the awkward air, Tav went for the first gesture she could think of: a friendly hug. Oddly, Rolan accepted – in fact, he damn near melted into it. She enjoyed his warmer body temperature, momentarily reminded of the piggy-back rides Karlach used to give her when they were racing Lae’zel. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, too.”

He pulled away from the embrace, examining her once again. “My reaction was completely unwarranted. I apologise, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just thought you… were someone else. Why were you in a disguise anyway?”

She looked down at her bag of purchases and sheepishly held them up to call his attention to them. Curiously, he peered in. “Last time I came by, Lia wouldn’t let me pay, so…”

He laughed. “You silly girl,” he said fondly, shaking his head. He gestured towards a well-lit seating area by the large floor-to-ceiling window. “Why don’t you take a seat over by the window? Let me at least get you a drink, and I’ll let Cal and Lia know you’re here so they can say hello.”

Tav marvelled at the room Rolan had claimed as his office – the walls were covered in books, from floor to ceiling, but unlike Lorroakan’s old set up it was much more organised and welcoming. Rolan had his books in shelves of polished cherry wood – she found that the desk, chairs, his drinks cabinet, and the furniture at his seating area matched, giving the room an elevated, moody, professional air. It was luxurious and neat – it was just very him.

“ I’d love a juice of some kind,” she called out over her shoulder as she settled down on the plush seat of one of the armchairs. “This place is beautiful, Rolan - you’ve outdone yourself!”

“I found the difficulty of furnishing a space is greatly made easy by having lots of money,” he said in his normal, sardonic, Rolan way, though there was markedly no bite in his tone. “I do hope this juice would do.” 

She’d turned to find him walking towards her with two glasses of wine and she laughed, leaning forward in her seat to reach for one. “That counts,” she joked, as she watched him take the other armchair across from her. She took a sip of the wine – chilled and sweet. 

Before he leaned back he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pouch which he’d tossed her way. It landed on her lap with a light jingle that betrayed its contents. “Say nothing,” he said, pre-empting her protest with a raised hand, “that should be exactly what you paid, and not a gold more.”

“One of the scrolls was on sale,” she mentioned – concern about being credited more than what actually paid oddly the first thing in her mind.

The second, she found, was amazement – the idea of Rolan just… casually calculating the cost of her purchases, just from that brief glance into her bag, just to refund her? Well, she knew he was a genius, but that was as impressive as Astarion’s one-handed lockpicking trick – it was another level entirely. “Rolan, really –”

He finally settled down in the armchair, waving her concerns away. “I’ve accounted for that, don’t worry,” he said, “just to keep the books clean for Bex.”

Ooh - why did he react so poorly? Who was he expecting? 👀

I am super excited about this idea so I am definitely motivated to keep working on it - I just want to have it all planned out before I commit (sorry). I have a prologue whipped up that explains the whole premise from the get go, but there's a whole lot of middle to work with.