#very small therefore very angry at everything ever

[mutable-manifestation]

Part 2 of The Gotham Puddle Boy: Danny Fenton

Danny wasn't too concerned about getting in a car with a stranger in what may well be the crime capital of the world. 

If he got weirdo - or Dash-like - vibes he could just slip out of sight and vanish into the wind. Being half ghost made a lot of human dangers less so.

Plus, perks of being a Fenton: riding in the car with a stranger wouldn't make him nervous about their driving. No one in the world was worse at it than his dad.

So a few minutes of trading jokes and a promise of video games was all it really took to get Danny to say "sure" to going back to Tim's house. 

The car was nice, at least, and they bantered over music even as they left city limits, which Danny chose to ignore for the time being.

Around 10 minutes later they turned to approach the gates of a veritable mansion that unfortunately brought forth the memory of his first time approaching Vlad's house. 

He was silent as Tim buzzed them in, and as they crawled slowly up the driveway he took the opportunity to ask.

"You live here?”

“Yep! Bruce Wayne is my adoptive father. Welcome to Wayne Manor!"

Not long after the building’s front door was opening before they could touch the handle, with an older man in a suit greeting them. "Master Tim, welcome home. I see you've brought a guest."

A hand clapped down on his shoulder as he was introduced, "Danny this is Alfred, Alfred this is Danny. We'll be in my room playing Damned."

"It is a pleasure to meet a friend of Tim, Mister Danny."

"Ah, you too. And just Danny is fine, Mister Alfred."

Alfred smiled and secured a promise that they'd be down to at least stretch their legs and eat something after an hour had passed before Tim was ushering them through the building to his room.

Sam was a good person, but also openly hated rich people despite technically being one. Her parents, however, were a nightmare hidden behind a thin facade of civility when in public. Vlad was also a nightmare. Axion labs had been run by some tycoon and they killed their innocent dogs. Lex Luthor openly hated Superman - which would be totally understandable if it were because he never so much as glanced at Amity Park’s issues instead of because of his incredibly Xenophobic stance on any and all non-humans. All told, Danny didn’t have a good track record with -illionaires - not the adults, at least.

'...Okay, maybe I should just avoid Bruce,' he thought, settling on the floor at the foot of the bed in the enormous room they'd entered to face the gloriously massive TV while Tim booted it up.

An hour later, Alfred was knocking on the door to herd them to the dining room where he'd prepared "refreshments." It was nice to enjoy homemade food that didn't fight back for once - he hadn't eaten at Sam or Tucker's house in a while and takeout wasn't quite the same. Even if they were unfortunately healthy snacks - the strange slices he'd learned were apricot were surprisingly good.

Alfred had them stretch their legs again two hours later - this time snackless - and Tim decided to give him a tour. The house was immaculate and the kitchen would have made the Lunch Lady greener than normal with envy.

It was also empty.

"Don't you have a bunch of siblings?" he asked on the way back to the room.

"Yeah, but they're all out doing their own things until lunch." He stopped just after closing the door behind him to grin at him. "Speaking of which. Can you stay for lunch?"

Danny blinked at the sudden manic energy starkly contrasting with the incredibly normal question. 

"Uh, I don't have to be back at the hotel until like 5, so, sure?"

"How do you feel about playing a little prank?"

Danny grinned, "What did you have in mind?"

---------------------------------

POV Jason

Jason’s patience was running incredibly thin. He had been looking at tubes of water for hours while Bruce kept asking variations of the same question. His only consolation was that Duke took up half of the attention or he might have punched him by now.

The only reason he even showed up was that he’d been told there was potential Lazarus water in Gotham - or something similar. But after hours upon hours of tests by the computer and him and Duke staring at it he was certain; that was water. Bruce had lost it.

Just as he braced himself to try and knock some sense into Bruce, Alfred came to fetch them to lunch. 

‘Finally,’ he thought, power-walking to the exit.

“I’ll be up in a minute, I want to set up one more scan to run while we’re eating,” Bruce threw after them.

“It had better only be a minute.” He paused to glower ominously over his shoulder, simmering with rage at all of the wasted time - and using that to smother the concern trying to bubble up.

“Finally,” Duke said once they were out of the batcave. “I thought we were going to be in there forever!”

Jason ignored him as he fished out his phone.

“Oh hey, group text from Tim; he has a guest that fits the family theme so he’s going to try and prank Bruce to see if he’s actually ‘lost the plot.’”

Jason grimaced, “Great, so instead of a productive lunch we’ll be playing house plus ‘guest that definitely isn’t the former Jason Todd, just a very similarly looking friend of the family’ for an hour.” He ran a hand down his face, sighing in frustration. “Count me ou-”

He froze in place, every muscle flinching to a stop. 

“Uh, Jason?”

“Quiet.” He hissed, eyes darting to the stairs as voices began to drift their way. 

Every hair stood on end as he stood there, something in his blood echoing dissonant signals of danger-run-hide-flee-don’t move-stay still-stop-stop-stop even as his conscious mind demanded he confront the problem head-on. But he couldn’t move - frozen as surely as if he’d been hit by one of Freeze’s ice rays.

As the stranger came into view his mind gave up on the danger signals, finally settling on don’t move don’t move don’t move even as near-unbearable levels of anxiety bubbled up in his gut. He barely registered Tim standing next to the guy as his head turned to stare him down, Jason’s eyes widening and shoulders hunching now that this… person’s full attention was on him.

The person hesitated a moment at the top of the stairs before smiling.

“Hi! I’m Danny, you must be Tim’s brothers?” he chirped, voice friendly enough that the anxiety uncurled just a bit. Just enough for Jason to register Tim staring at him oddly and Duke looking between the two of them.

Tim descended the stairs, done waiting for “Danny” to take the initiative, perhaps, while Duke took his silence as a cue to give the guy his cover story.

“Just me, actually,” he said. “The name’s Duke. J here is a friend of the family.” 

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you both anyway. Sorry for crashing you guys’ lunch,” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly before following Tim down to their level, still smiling calmly. “My parents are in town for some engineering convention and Tim kind of rescued me from dying of boredom.”

Abruptly, Jason found himself completely calm - relaxed, even. Suspiciously so; all of the rage and frustration he’d felt ever since emerging from the Lazarus Pit was suddenly swapped out for a level of relaxation he could nearly call “Zen.” 

He would nearly suspect a meta had broken Bruce’s rules, but he was the only one to react. Tim and Duke were clearly unaffected and the guy was either one hell of an actor or had genuinely only noticed him when he saw him. 

Meaning this was potentially Lazarus related - and even that thought could not cut through the sheer tranquility he was feeling to cause panic. His thoughts, at least, were unaffected.

Also, he kind of just wanted to enjoy not being angry for the first time in ages. Sue him.

So he plastered on a Wayne-family PR smile and ended the second awkward silence of the day. 

“Don’t worry about it; any friend of Tim’s is a friend of ours, at any rate. We have maybe two more minutes before Alfred actually manages to wrangle Bruce out of his study, why don’t you fill me in on this prank.”

[chainelunaire]

hands hands hands

gojo satoru

light easy touches, almost innocent (sometimes not). very touchy, you probably know his hands better than your own. feeling everything with the tips of his fingers. pats on your head and making a mess of your hair, then tying it up nicely. hand around your shoulder, when he says something directly in your ear. playing with a pen while pretending to listen. hands big and warm everywhere but his fingertips. hands of a man who has a lot of love to give but doesn't know how to show it properly.

geto suguru

long slender hands, slightly cold but not much. surprisingly rough skin, but the gentlest touch of all. deadly, deadly hands, capable of ending someone's life bare. playing piano or with a knife with the same ease. the beauty of just touching someone without saying a word. folding hands in prayer, worshipping a cruel god, made by people themselves. tender palm caressing your head, touch as warm as it is motherly. hands so loved by the kids, because they never ever let anyone hurt them again. relatively long nails, always perfectly manicured. hands of a man who knows how to love, but chose otherwise.

nanami kento

very moderate, very predictable, right in the middle. not so warm, not so cold, skin not rough not soft. hands smell like rich black tea, because of how often he made it for you. the feeling you get when someone writes something by hand in front of you for quite some time. knuckle cracking, even though he himself despises to do it, he does it out of habit. hand that always guides you throw the crowd. fingers trembling when he's too tired. hands of a man who always wanted to love, but never had the chance to.

fushiguro toji

confident hands of a dangerous man. you can never recall the feeling of the skin, because of how rarely he touches you. hands closing before his face on autopilot, because of how severely he was beaten in his own household. calloused fingers, clecnhing fists out of sudden bursts of anger. grip firm, it's impossible to get out. careful playing with dangling toys above small bed, laugher of a child filling the room. sound of cracking bones and the smell of blood everywhere. hands of a man who once knew love, but it was so long ago, the feeling long forgotten.

ryomen sukuna

hands covered in blood, brutal hands of a violent, non-human creature. they hold no love, no joy, not anything. touch not warm, but insted hot, painful. skillful hands, which know how to turn anything into a weapon by the touch. a big talent for craftmanship. short but strong squeeze on your shoulder, commanding you to continue the battle. big cruel hands holding a small ancient poetry book with so much care and respect. so many scars, yet only so much still do hurt. hands of a man who knew no love and therefore chose to love no one but himself.

itadori yuji

warm hands, strong hold. always dry and rough, to the point they bleed sometimes. he blushes when you put bandages on them. clean short nails. playing basketball with ease. olive-toned veins, warm toned skin, smells like something sweet and almost sunny. clenching fists when he's angry. hands oh so tender when they hold something or someone dear to him. palms kindly cupping your cheeks when he says you with a smile that everything will be okay. hold so strong, he's able to catch you, no matter how fast you fall. hands of a friend who does not love himself enough, but instead loves you more than you deserve.

fushiguro megumi

long slim fingers, gentle touches. always so cautious, as if he's not allowed to touch anything or anyone. detailed handwork with magic sealing, so precise and smooth. putting a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips cold, but soft. strong yet careful hold on your shoulder, comforting touches to soothe you and bring you some relief. hands that every dog and any other animal loves, because of how gentle and caring they are. hands of someone who was loved, despite everything that happened to him, and who wants to give that love back.

yuta okkotsu

cold cold cold hands of a man with a dead soul behind his back. boney and slim, they look fragile and weak, and you could not be more wrong. pale skin, borderline bluish, lots of bruises. hands more of a musician, not a swordsman. hold so strong, it almost scares you, and he didn't even try. sweet tight hugs, feeling safe with every muscle and bone. fears of his own strength, the hold of a man who earns for love and fears to break it with his own hands.

[petrichorium]

it’s hardly subtle.

satoru doesn’t ease you into it; he isn’t coy. he all but storms into your chambers, after dark but before you’ve snuffed the candles keeping the room light enough for your reading.

he doesn’t bother to tell you why, but you know—instinctively, because you know him and you know his advisors and you’re well used to his moods when they’ve been particularly nagging about his duties as king—what’s set him off. the indication that it’s worse than typical is that he keeps that odd eye jewelry perched upon his nose, chain gleaming yellow in the light of the flames as he stalks over to your lounging form upon the bed.

his arm finds your legs over the nightclothes you wear, wraps around them firmly to move them just enough for him to perch on the edge of your mattress. they don’t leave, even as you set aside your book—you expect him to lay his head on it, anticipating the typical song and dance of his pouting and whining as you push him away only to relent and let him hold you as you both drift off into slumber.

instead he hovers. even sitting he looms over you, hand tightening on your thigh and thumb rubbing soft, meaningless patterns through the fabric of your dressing gown that soothe the nerves set on edge by your inability to see the look in his eyes.

a beat passes. you wonder if he’s calmed.

but when he speaks it’s terse, low, with the kind of simmering rage he keeps close to his chest for only those pitiable few he despises utterly, and he dips his head to look over the frames of those onyx lenses and regard you with irises dark with something terrible.

“i will not give you a child.”

the statement bowls you over. your breath hitches, if only because of the way he stares—deadly serious, royal blue eyes glowing in the candlelight.

“wh—what?”

“i will not allow you to bear my children. i might be amenable to a ward, if you so desire. but i will not seed you,” his grip tightens on your thigh, “and it should go without saying that once we marry neither will any other.”

you haven’t a clue how to respond to such a thing.

he speaks as if it’s a confession; as if he’s betrayed you somehow. he holds you like you’ll disappear, or flee—and perhaps, had he told you this months ago when you’d been flighty and diffident with his affections, your rigidity might have led you to. but it is now, and you haven’t fled yet, and your beloved is nothing if not unconventional and shameless in his eccentricity.

you ponder on that too long.

“say something,” he demands, sounding almost small.

“why?” spills from your lips without thought; not petulant, or angry, but confused. not just by him—by you. you ought to be devastated, no? you ought to be angry. you assuredly are not.

“my bloodline is a scourge,” he tells you readily. “i will do everything within my power to wipe it out. therefore, i cannot have an heir. not even one.”

not even one. not a single child. the thought washes over you like the temperate water of the lake on your grounds back home, the very one you’d once played in regularly as a child. the very one your mother had once mentioned taking your own children to, someday; children who you never fantasized about, children who never had faces or names, children for whom you never set aside letters or dresses or trinkets.

not even in those teenage years spent with your current betrothed, the only man you’d ever thought of kissing and caressing you, had you once envisioned a life with children. they’d only appeared once you’d been brutally introduced to reality, and had to accept the promise of a life with a rich man who doesn’t love you.

a life which your king has gallantly shattered, and replaced with something far brighter.

“i will bear the burden of prevention,” he tells you soothingly, as if your silence has been about the effort of this request. “you needn’t worry that pretty mind over it. over any of this, my queen—“

“i am not yet your queen,” you interrupt, instinct bidding you to speak where your mind remains miles away.

“my bride,” he amends, ”look at me.”

you do.

“i want you,” he says, as if it’s some known truth of the universe, written in the stars. “i want you fervently, ardently. i won’t have another. but i will not give you my children. if you cannot take that slight, then so be it.”

the emotion that has been welling within you since the first words he'd spoken has become so intense it’s impossible to listen properly. you cannot name it without ruminating; you lay beneath him, eyes widening, not quite seeing—or hearing the words he continues to say—as you let it all sink in.

but when his hands fly to cradle your face, you’re snapped from the daze, attention suddenly brought back to the man before you.

“oh, oh, precious girl, don’t cry.” cry? his thumbs wipe away tears from your cheeks. you hadn’t even realized they’d been falling. “don’t cry”—he almost laughs, yet his voice breaks—“you’ll break my heart.“

“no,” you gasp, “no, my king, i’m hardly sad, i’m… relieved.”

that’s it. you’re relieved. he’s removed a heavy weight from your chest and you hadn’t even known of it. you will not have to bear him children. the assurance floods through your veins like liquid joy. not ten, not five, nor two nor even one; none whatsoever.

“relieved?” he repeats, blinking in surprise.

you’d never even considered the possibility. from the moment you’d known of your place in this world you’d resigned yourself to the role of childbearing. only now do you realize how much you had been dreading such a thing. only now do you understand the fear, and the relief.

“i… don’t believe i want children either.” the statement feels so final it ought to be terrifying, but it settles into your bones with a tangible rightness.

your betrothed regards you in shock. his hands fall from your face—and then they latch to your body, one on your thigh again and the other behind your neck, pulling you up and flush against him as he kisses you harshly.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes into your mouth, unreactive yet pliant against him. “made for me, just for me, i swear—“

you kiss back, making his rambling cut off in a strangled growl as he only tugs you in closer and deepens the embrace. he’s still speaking, but it’s unintelligible; praise, certainly, muffled compliments and manic devotion. he’s relieved too, you realize. foolish to think him confident in this declaration. foolish, you’re coming to understand, to think him sane in any circumstance which might take you from him.

(if you are made for him then he is made for you, surely. this relief would be impossible for any other to give you.)

he pulls away when he realizes you’re still crying. you catch your breath, blink back the tears, let him fuss over you until your voice is solid enough to speak.

despite the relief, there is lingering hesitance; lingering fear. “you say you will bear the burden of prevention, but what of the burden of blame? they will talk, as the months go by. they will call me barren, unfit to be by your side; they will demand you take on a mistress—“

“i won’t,” your betrothed snarls, grip on your thigh almost painful with how fiercely his fingers tighten, “i would never, and i’ll cut down all those who speak ill of you.”

your laughter is disbelieving, wet with the traces of saltwater. “hardly a sound plan to run a court, my king. unless its intent is for running it to the ground.”

“for you, my heart? anything. i would raze this kingdom if it spoke your name without awe.”

that shouldn’t be comforting. it ought to be terrifying. instead you reach up to hold his cheek, and his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“kiss me again,” you command.

usurper!gojo masterlist

[onyourhyuck]

Dirty Laundry. | H.RJ

— Prologue: “Did you put your dirty laundry into my laundry pile by any chance?”

— Summary: Where your germaphobic clean freak roommate Renjun finds your panties in his laundry pile one day.

— Genre: Smut smut smut. Sex on top of the washing machine(?) dormitory roommates. Sex in like almost public setting. Exhibitism. Dom!renjun. Rough sex (kinda). Back scratching. Cum-play. Bigdick!Renjun agenda. Angry sex. Renjun’s a neat freak. Clit overstimulation. Unprotected sex but pulls out to cum on Y/n’s face.

— Notes: Feeding the injeolmis today.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The dormitory you have been staying in for the past year and a half was a sharing compound building between other university students. Therefore everything was being shared other than your own bedroom. The kitchen was a large open space with a tv too so it was almost like an open space between two rooms. The bathroom was a shared area, it’s rather small and private. If anyone wants the toilet they have to fight for it to get in first if you want to use it so it’s a bit of a hazard war out there.

Moreover one more thing you and your roommates share and have to do was your own laundry in the downstairs room. It was out of your dormitory almost. In a way this room was very secular and just hollow. It has a bunch of washing machines and a long table in the middle to separate your clothes from the basket. Bunch of hanging pegs and a long string hung across a wall to the other where you can hang your clothes to dry too.

The dorm wasn’t so bad. At least you thought it wasn’t until you started to see the revealing signs of your roommates and their flaws that you start to notice about them after living for so long together. It’s natural to get nitpicky and annoyed with them. You try to mostly be civil.

But you know someone who doesn’t try to be civil at all even if it was a small or big deal. That someone is one of your many roommates.

Huang Renjun. He was a transfer student from China who got accepted into your university. You didn’t speak to him much for the next three years until he put up a sign that he needs roommates so they can split the bill together. He said he doesn’t care how many there are. As long as they split the bill and make it more affordable for him and the others. You were the first one to reach out.

That is how you and Renjun met. You like to think you’re not so different but that’s a little bit of a lie considering he is quite the opposite from you. You’re laid back and you prefer to not confront anyone even if it was a huge problem that should be spoke about. Renjun on the other hand is slightly less bothered about how the other person feels. He can come off as a bit nagging. He’s also a massive clean freak which makes everyone in the house a bit tense.

He doesn’t like how his roommates aren’t as clean as he thought they were going to be originally. Especially you.

Oh how wrong he was about you. You’re probably the messiest girl he’s ever encountered and Renjun was slightly shocked at first. When the beginning started you tried to hide how disoriented and disorganised you are and can be. So he didn’t quite catch on until later on few months have passed now and he came back to your room completely trashed. It genuinely looks like you haven’t cleaned it in like a century; it sounds exaggerated and dramatic but it is not. That’s how Renjun envisioned a room to be so dirty it wasn’t cleaned out in a century. When he saw your room you thought he would faint or something.

But that was months ago. Renjun managed to convince you to let him clean your room out and it took a few desperate ‘please’ tries to get you to say yes to him.

He cannot stand dirtiness. He cannot stand anyone’s life being that way so he would rather clean it out for them just so he could sleep peacefully tonight.

The boy even made out certainly laundry schedules for the roommates. He said only two people each day can wash their clothes on a certain day because then the clothes would get messy together and it would be a hectic week of organising clothes on which one is theirs. They agreed because it sounds like a smart plan actually. Renjun’s always a great thinker when it comes to chores and house work.

Today was yours and Renjun’s day to wash your clothes. You’re not surprised because when you came down you saw Renjun already putting the dark clothes on one side and the light clothes on the other side now. You wish you could say he did surprise you at all but it didn’t.

“Good you’re here.” Renjun said now as he noticed you coming inside the downstairs washing area. You let out a soft hum. “I didn’t forget this time.” You smirk sheepishly and tease him now a little. Last week you missed your washing day and Renjun had to lecture you now.

He said your clothes would smell out the entire house and honestly it lead to a slight mishapping argument with him. Although you quickly made up and said you’re going to do it on his day with him to make Renjun feel better.

Renjun rolls his eyes as he noticed you’re talking about last week incident and so he just didn’t say anything and continues to do his laundry by separating them. You start to run your hands through your clothes doing the same thing; putting the dark to one side and the lighter clothes to the other side. There was a momentarily silence as you both did this and you’re clearly focused on doing this before you can start doing another thing.

As you’re too busy with your own clothes, Renjun lifts his large white tee shirt putting it to the other side with the light clothes similar to the colour white too. He then scrunched his eyebrows when he saw a silky and lace fabric between his clothes. Renjun couldn’t tell what this was at first. He doesn’t own anything laced. His first expression went through all the grief stages. Renjun lifts it up with the prickle of his fingertips in the air. It was white lace panties and they are definitely yours because you’re the only girl in the dorm house.

Renjun’s eyebrows fell flat as he looks with slight discomfort. He wasn’t even sure if they’re clean or not clean. It didn’t even matter if they were clean because Renjun never touched another one’s underwear before and he didn’t once felt so embarrassed and confused until he is now.

How did they even get there?

He felt slightly perverted too. It’s not like he wanted to look at them. They happened to be in his pile of laundry and now he has to get your attention and give you your panties back.

He’s going to make you think the wrong idea too. He hates this. Renjun swears he’s going to have a word with you.

He walks over to you now with the panties in his hands. You turn around back so you could face Renjun. You wondered what he wanted from you and that is when he saw your round eyes resemble a ball of fire now when you were met with your panties.

Renjun clears his throat as he saw your cheeks heat up and he hates to admit it. You being embarrassed over this was making him even more uncomfortable and his heart was racing because of you.

You point at them. “What are you doing with my panties?” You exclaim now shocked.

“Did you put your dirty laundry into my laundry pile by any chance?” Renjun snaps slightly as he pushed the panties back into your hand. He feels very much embarrassed as much as you are right now.

You look at the panties he dives into your hand, your head turns back to Renjun. “I don’t remember mixing our laundry together, ever.” You now said back crossing your arms against your chest suspiciously at Renjun.

You’re now assuming he stole them. But Renjun would never ever do such a thing essentially because it involved touching another person’s clothes they wear. He’s too much of a neat freak to be able to do that. So now you’re just thinking he’s either playing it cooly off now or you probably were clumsy enough to drop your panties in his laundry pile last week.

Renjun scowls at your interrogation right now. What is this? Police detective that you’re playing at? It’s obviously clear you’re the problem here right now.

He slants his empty laundry basket now away on the side and put on the black clothes pile into the first washing machine while he puts the lighter clothes in the second washing machine to start washing them. “So you’re now saying it’s me who would steal your panties? Please Y/n who do you think I am.” Renjun said clearly offended you’d think of him such a way. You roll your eyes. “I seen you checking up my shorts before, don’t act so innocent.”

Your sudden words calling him out on his behaviour that he was so sure you weren’t in knowledge about made him stunned in front of you. He turns to you with his eyes slightly avoiding eye contact now and he cleared his voice.

It’s clear he tries to be as calm and composed. Renjun puts on an unbothered look on his face. “You must’ve imagined that, Y/n. Not everyone wants to fuck you just because you’re good looking.”

He mocks you slightly so he can make this a little more believable but you didn’t seem to fall for it especially after how he’s avoiding your gaze. You scoff now putting in your laundry in the other free two washing machines. The dark and light separate. You close the washing machine door and put in the time to start it.

“I didn’t say you wanted to fuck me though?” You smirk out now catching him say that.

“Renjun you’re a very bad liar.” You said with slight sarcasm now. You can’t believe he’s trying to just slide past this now.

Renjun frowns coming up behind your back now his hands on the sides of your body and when you turn around you’re very close to him. Still there’s slight distance between the both of you. But now his hands are on the sides of your washing machine. You look up at him raising your eyebrows in surprise. You weren’t expecting him to come forward like this but he did to make a proven point.

He wants to prove to you that he really didn’t stare at your ass that time and checked it out. When he did actually but he was never going to admit that to you or anyone else. It was a mistake as well. Renjun couldn’t help himself. It’s like his eyes were forced to look at you in that moment.

He swore he would never do something like that again however, it’s kind of ironic now, Renjun was gazing you down on your face. “If I’m such a bad liar then look me in the eyes and listen to me.” He said to you and you look at his eyes. They were beautiful. They remind you of a crescent moon.

You’re staring at his eyes now and he repeats firmly as if he was now saying it to convince himself too. “I did not check your ass out that time.”

Your face leans closer and your breath and voice became lower and deeper now which makes Renjun’s skin cover with goosebumps. He hates that you’re very much an attractive young woman. It’s so much more unfair because Renjun can’t seem to handle the closeness between you and now that you only leaned more close towards him — it makes Renjun unsteady and his voice felt like a hitching spike in his throat that couldn’t even be moved.

Your eyes tell him to not lie to you. It’s like you’re telling him to just admit it and move on knowing you were not buying it. No matter how much he tried to convince you it’s not going to work on you and what you saw. You’re pretty much convinced already by your own belief.

“Did you take my panties?” You now ask him trying to see if he actually did or not.

Renjun groans as you now asked him again. He told you that it couldn’t be him and that it’s probably your silly fault because you’re the most non-organised roommate he has. And that says a lot knowing he has Mark Lee living with him too. “I didn’t take your damn panties Y/n.”

You scoff. “Well what did they do in your pile then?” Renjun told you with his eyes, like a warning threat that if you keep on trying to leer him into your interrogations he would do something to shut you up.

Renjun has enough when you were about to speak again and say something that could really set him off the edge and so he grabs your face. The hands on the side of your face pushed you forward where your lips crash against his own mouth now. He kissed you a bit harshly, to make a proven point to shut you up. It did work very much because this has shocked you as much as you hate to admit it too; your roommate was a great kisser. You let out a soft groan against the kiss when Renjun switched your positions pushing your body up against the washing machine now that you are using. He didn’t break the kiss at all and so your lips were now in a fiery state of making out on top of a washing machine. He pushed and deepens the kiss when he told his head to go in a tilting motion. It made you sighing in a deep grasp.

You looked irresistible so he couldn’t help himself at all. Renjun dislikes it when he cannot control himself around you. You made everything so difficult. Maybe because you are a very difficult person to be around with, to live with all this time, but without you Renjun’s life would be very dull that’s for sure. You felt your body go into a frenzy lockdown now. Your hands were on the sides of the machine until you attach them on Renjun’s neck pulling him slightly closer so he was pressed between your legs now. Your tongue pushed out of Renjun’s mouth causing a long string of saliva connecting your two red mouths. It was a hot sight to see Renjun so riled up and breathing heavily too.

You lean your head on the side when Renjun’s eyes couldn’t leave your shirt that you’re wearing. He felt annoyed that you’re fully clothed for once. He wished you were slightly more revealing right now. So his hands made it obvious now that he stripped your shirt off and you could feel the cold air coming from the room hitting your warm body.

Renjun groans against your neck as his rough grazing mouth explodes around your soft skin. It felt like an explosion when he’s kissing you so harshly like he was almost punishing you for pushing him off the edge by not believing him.

You squirm in the position he has you in. The way his weight was pressing down on your body it very much leaves you anticipating what’s to happen next. Renjun saw you whining and squirming now because of his mouth attacking your neck like it was nothing. He didn’t say anything to you but let’s a cruel smirk shown.

Your evidence was proven right. Renjun was here to simply pushing you a little now. You couldn’t do anything about it and you didn’t want to. You enjoyed seeing Renjun look so pissed off. All this built up anger in Renjun it was a rare sight but somehow you managed to get it out of him. You love it. You get to see his eyebrows arch down at you there was not a single happiness in those eyebrows he’s doing with them. You didn’t care if he’s going to tear you apart as much as he can. You didn’t care as long as you get to see that burning rage behind his eyes that you caused him to have.

It’s like you’re asking for it.

The fingers brush along your zipper to your jeans and he slips it down along with your jeans off your ankles it leaves you with your panties now. Renjun’s hand cups your sex now and this ring finger brushed to your clit clothed behind your soft fabric panties. You let out a pleasant smile and a groan now that he touched you somewhere you could react to in a good moment.

He scowls when you’re looking like you enjoy this situation. You’re not meant to be enjoying this but he cannot help but get annoyed even more that you’re practically begging for him to give you what you want now. “You’re not meant to be enjoying this, Y/n,” You heard him say to you.

He pulls his hands away from your area between the legs and now you’re left stranded. You let out a whine. “Do you have to be upset at me?” You groan. “Did you or did you not steal my panties…” You now ask with a little smirk behind your frustration on the face.

Renjun raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re asking me again?” He lets out a scoff now that your asking him again with your suspicions and so the hands at his belt unbuckled it taking off the trousers down the waist. He lets his jeans fall to the ground now and he looks at you with a dark warning gaze that said you shouldn’t ask him such a question again. “I told you three times already that I didn’t. So why bother repeating it?” He now said clearly unbothered by replying to you once more.

You feel your panties taken off and you couldn’t help but position your hands behind as he now slams himself in very subtle. Your mouth drops shaped in a little wide open posture as you creep in your moans. You swallow the harsh air and you feel his length taking a good place in your womb making it it’s home. You hate to think about your roommate this way but you always wondered how big he was and now your answer was given.

“God I can’t believe I’m about to fuck you without a condom…” Renjun closed his eyes reassuring himself that you must be clean. At least he hopes so. You furrow your eyebrows now at him, reassuring him slowly.

“I’m clean Renjun. God. You and your neat obsession—“ Your voice was cut off.

“Just shut up and take it.” He vows now telling you to be quiet. He doesn’t want to hear another word of complaint from you.

He was freaking huge and thick. You couldn’t really imagine him being inside you now but he was very slowly earning a spot and living inside your walls. Each stroke was meant with the anger inside him and that made you fall deeper in the pleasure. The depths of his rage and annoyance you put him through not just today.

No. It wasn’t just today’s anger you’re giving him. It’ was all the anger you made him feel all these months living with you for so long. The pettiness you give. The messiness you make wherever you go. Renjun just feels his head remembering all the things he holds against you that you weren’t even aware that he held against.

The time you left your dirty dinner plate lying somewhere. You didn’t even bother to clean it? It pissed off Renjun. That was a month ago. He didn’t mention anything because he cleaned it for you. Obviously you wouldn’t clean it because if he told you to do it you’d reply with ‘Okay!’ And then forget again. He sometimes wonders if he’s your servant or if you’re just trying to get out of doing your chores.

He groans now that he slams himself even deeper. The thrusts became cruel and aggressive. You hung your desperate expression against your palm. Your one arm was positioned behind on the washing machine so when you move your hips against the cruel countering and dangerous thrusts you can’t help but bury your moan in your palm hoping it doesn’t explode out like a combustion. Your droopy eyes were like a comet to Renjun.

They fell down on earth for him when he was deeply thrusting and pushing in and out of your direction to your pussy. His dick made you feel a lot more than just pleasure. They made you associate yourself with how much you trouble Renjun and you can’t help but feel like your pressure was going haywire.

He angrily leans forward now capturing your mouth with his. He kissed you hungrily while he keeps thrusting in and out of you way more quicker now than before and it caused you to break the kiss with your panting voice.

“F-fuck… Renjun…” You weren’t supposed to be enjoying this but your insides were squeezing so tight you feel your stomach sucking in. He was kneading inside you like you’re a folding bread that he was making from the compounds.

You’re like a toy that was broken up into pieces by Renjun and then fixed up brand new. It felt like this with his enlarge hands on your hips pushing you forward now even more as you’re on top of the washing machine spread like a statue just for him, just for Renjun.

It was a public setting too which was completely out of your idea until now. Renjun didn’t seem to care too much. He was too focused on your beautiful face looking so fucked out when he’s ramming inside you non-stop in your insides and with each squeeze you’re milking him to his climax.

He wasn’t being the kindest to you. As much as this was very intimate with him and he held your body close so he could devour your insides like the next Hanging Babylon. When Renjun wanted to torture you some more he rushed his free hand over your clit and rubbed it in a flicking motion with all his fingers as he keeps thrusting into you at the same time; Renjun’s multitasking to have you coming undone. It’s like punishment for you.

You moan helplessly out now. Your moans were coming off as a desperate wail.

Punishment for being a nightmare to live with. But as much as you’re a nightmare and a complete health hazard to share a home with. He was thankful for you in some ways. You’re not thoughtful for other’s space. You’re clingy when you’re bored. You break things. You’re clumsy. You are the messiest person on earth. Yet he wouldn’t swap you for someone else even if it meant the world was ending.

Maybe he grew attached to you. Maybe he was feeling something for you nowadays.

Your hands were scratching underneath his shirt that he has on, running down the smooth soft and olive-like back he has. Renjun let’s out sweet groans close to your ears as you did this action. He seem to be in heaven when your fingers crossed his skin. It felt like magic you’re doing to him.

“I’m so close.” You bite your bottom lip as your head pressed against his chest when Renjun came closer now and starts to look you in the eyes as you’re standing on the very tip of the cliff now.

He stood with you there because he, himself, was very close now to his own climax and Renjun frowns when each thrust brought him closer. “I’m going to pull out.” He warns and when he did suddenly pull out Renjun made sure to get you your orgasm. He can be nice you see?

He brushed his fingers inside your pulsing walls and he managed to finger you to your nearest orgasm. He loves seeing you squirm against his hands now because it shows how good he’s making you feel. Renjun feels almost proud when he saw your orgasm and he feels it reaching his fingers.

It was a bit messy for his liking but maybe he likes seeing you become a mess when it’s him doing it to you. Only a little.

You slowly regain your concentration and you slide off the washing machine as you go on your knees now. You suddenly wrap your hands around his hard twitching cock that’s begging to have its own climax now and you’re here to delivery that.

Renjun’s eyes darken as he saw you on your knees looking so pretty with your trembling legs because you just had a massive orgasm; however it’s not fair that you’re the one orgasming and he couldn’t. You should return the favour. Your hands stroke his cock up and down and it didn’t take long to have Renjun groaning.

You feel his member twitch in your hand and then the liquid came out all over your mouth and face. You let it drip down a little and you didn’t mind it. You prefer it messy anyways. You feel the warmth emitting on your skin and you take a lick and wipe yourself once he was done with a silent groan as you pushed him to his orgasm.

To you he looks like the most dreamy guy. He shut his eyes for a little before regaining his sight back and he pulls away to take a deep breath.

You move your sinewy back to the nearest wall and slowly start to pull your panties up and your jeans. You seen Renjun doing the same as he pulls his trousers up to his waist now and you can’t help but have a smirk.

“I remembered now.” You exclaim with your mischievous eyes. He looks at you raising an eyebrow wondering what did you remember?

“What is it?” Renjun said with a confused expression.

You smirk. “I dropped my panties in your laundry pile when I was walking back to my room after laundry.” You announced with a little laugh.

You guess you really are a messy roommate. And Renjun was right.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! Reblog this Fic and Follow me for more updates it helps a girl out. <3

[adelrambles]

Tips on Writing Bishop

I've been asked a couple times for advice on how to write a good (03-style) Bishop, and I'm well-aware he can be a bit tough to get a grasp on. As someone who's studied him specifically to learn how to write him as accurately as possible, I figured I'd compile some thoughts in case it'd be helpful to anyone else. I know a lot of Rise takes on him are basing off the 03 version, so maybe this could help generate ideas, too. SO!

Big Overall Points!

At the core of EVERYTHING Bishop does are two primary motivations. The first: the protection of the earth. What this means to him can get tricky, because it doesn't necessarily mean protecting the people, at least not all of them. But it will be better understood alongside the other:

The second: The protection of his sense of safety. Bishop has been deeply traumatized, and everything he does is born of a want to avoid that pain ever again. In his mind, earth is a safe area, a controllable factor, and anything outside it is a danger that must be eliminated. This is why he will still be willing to put himself and other people on the line in service of this; any sacrifice is worth the greater goal. (It's worth noting, Bishop will claim the first as his motivation freely, but is likely not consciously aware of the second.)

Bishop deals in Big Picture ONLY. Another reason Bishop will willingly throw away anything, including the lives of the people he claims to protect, is that he seems incapable of understanding things on a small, individual basis.

Bishop is a cold personality. He does not have strong displays of emotion. He does emote, but for the most part it's muted, so I recommend using emotional bursts very sparingly. (In my own writing, as an example, I try to limit my use of exclamation marks in his dialogue as much as possible.)

At his core, Bishop is afraid, and his response to fear is aggression. This also makes it particularly difficult to talk him down, if he's put in an emotional state. His response to not being in control is often violent retaliation.

With those basic tenants understood, let's move next to some major personality traits:

Bishop is a controlling personality. This is a direct result of his trauma response. Things that can be controlled are safe, therefore he must control everything. If something cannot be controlled, it's a threat that must be eliminated. If he doesn't know why something happened, he becomes angry (including even when it benefits him.)

Bishop is very low-empathy. When writing him, I try to keep in mind that he cannot put himself in the perspective of others. (Or if he can, he doesn't care to.)

Bishop is a sadist. He gets personal enjoyment from hurting others.

Bishop likes fighting, but only when he's winning. He will quickly leave if he can't see a guaranteed victory.

Bishop is paranoid. This is probably self-evident, but it's the reason he's often so well-prepared even when things don't go to plan.

Bishop genuinely seems to enjoy science. He's shown to be far more lenient with scientist characters than anyone else, and he seems to involve himself in his scientists' projects to a degree. Enough to, at the very least, understand their work. (Given he was the one set to dissect the turtles, it might also be argued he has some medical or biology background, himself.)

Bishop is an opportunist and scavenger. He can roll with failures as long as he can find something to get out of it. If he's presented with an opportunity to stab someone in the back, and he has something to gain? He'll take it without a second thought.

Bishop is deeply self-blind. For all his perceptiveness and strategic prowess, Bishop is not very self-aware in the slightest. He is completely blind to his own hypocrisies, and thoroughly confident in his own righteousness.

Bishop adapts fast. He accepts situations for what they are and acts (Though he may still be angry about them, or what have you.) This is likely a skill developed via longevity; the world around him has changed rapidly, but he doesn't feel out of place at all.

Bishop will take extreme risks and thinks wildly outside the box. Also self-evident, if you're familiar with the plans he enacts throughout the show. He'll put a lot on the line if he thinks the reward is worth enough, and he's willing to go to extreme lengths to get what he wants, even if his plans would be considered crazy by normal standards.

Bishop is persistent. If he wants something, he won't stop until he gets it. If he fails, he'll retreat, make a new plan, and try again. It is very difficult to convince him to back down (and certainly not on moral grounds.)

Habits and triggers I've noted:

Being restrained of any sort puts Bishop in a panic. He is more likely to have an emotional response in these scenarios, and seems to have (an albeit muted) desperation to escape. (See: Leatherhead restraining him in the first encounter; His reaction to being trapped on the surgical table in Head of State.)

When being duplicitous or suppressing a reaction, Bishop will go to adjust his tie. This could possibly be considered his tell.

Bishop seems to have a particular fear of aliens blending in as humans. His slayer project was built around the assumption that this is a common threat. (Worth noting: This makes The Shredder the model of the exact threat Bishop is afraid of. Technically, Bishop himself may also fit the description of a threat shaped like a human.)

Writing considerations:

In 03's narrative, Bishop is EPF and EPF is Bishop. Narratively speaking, any organization Bishop is head of acts as if it is an extension of his will and character.

Bishop is shown to strike fear and/or discomfort into most characters he interacts with. Anything beyond this is an outlier, and will draw a reader's attention.

Dialogue-wise, Bishop is generally succinct and blunt. He does dabble in gloating, though, and especially likes to upset others. If he's given a chance to be mean, he'll usually take it. It can help to consider he has a Mission Mode and a Normal Mode. When it comes to Mission Mode, he gets straight to the point and hates unnecessary talking. Otherwise, he's still not very talkative, but will take the time to make pointed jabs or talk through a plan. A lot of his sense of humor seems to be rooted in how He's Better Than You (And You're Going To Die Painfully.)

It's a common pitfall that Bishop is depicted as seeking out the turtles. In 03, once he gets their DNA, he's done with them. Any encounters after that are incidental. Bishop does not care about anything that won't effect his greater goal. If he's targeting another character, it should have to do with a greater plan.

Bishop is an extremely competent combatant, shown to be able to handle up to 7 opponents at once. For a breakdown on his fighting style check out my other post on that!

Bishop is hard to kill, and oftentimes he accidentally contributes to his own defeat. (The hook from Bishop's Gambit is an example I get a LOT of mileage out of, as a perfect symbol of his self-defeating prophecies.)

We almost only ever see Bishop in the context of his work. While it could be construed that he depersonalizes himself, it's much more clear that the narrative depersonalizes him. As far as we, the audience know, Bishop's work is all that he is.

It's unclear if Bishop was released from his abduction or escaped. Depending on which you ascribe to, this can have ramifications for his mindset on how to deal with the alien threat. (Personally, because so much of his inability to cope hinges on a feeling of helplessness, I believe he was released. If he escaped on his own power, that undercuts it, somewhat.)

Thematically-speaking, Bishop parallels both his own torturers and his own victims at the same time. He has perpetuated the cycle that traumatized him in the first place by trying to fight fire with fire. (In that vein, I don't think he's capable of understanding that, not seeing aliens as people in the first place, just dangers. Considering how deeply ingrained his trauma is in his worldview and actions, it would probably ruin him, if he were ever able to actually grasp it.)

Bishop and EPF are likely a commentary on the military of the time 03 was coming out. This can be something worth keeping in mind, when figuring out his greater themes in your story, though it can just as well be discarded if it doesn't fit.

Adding to that, Bishop has an extensive american military background. His skills and knowledge will reflect that.

Bishop also plays on and references a number of real-life alien conspiracies. It can be worth digging through conspiracy history to drum up ideas and themes, too.

The ethical and philosophical quandaries of Bishop's body-hopping and humanity tend to not hold too much weight, because Bishop, himself, doesn't seem to care.

If I think of more I'll certainly be adding on to the reblogs of this post! Or, if you have more thoughts, please feel free to add! If you're in the mood for more Bishop ramblings, that's practically most of this blog atm, but this post is a particular favorite. If you're interested in Fast Forward!Bishop, specifically, consider this post! (also read Taking Pawns. slipped in that self-promo, nice.)

[goldenfigtree]

Worst Day Ever

Summary: You have the worst day ever and Leon comforts you

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: fluff

A/N: An idea I wrote instead of sleeping. Been noticing some headcanons saying Leon isn’t good with his words. Which I can somewhat see since he’s very much a man of very few words. But when he does say something he is very well spoken. And you see in RE4R and Infinite Darkness that he’s more than willing to comfort and encourage those around him. That one scene with Ashley was so sweet, I could talk about that one scene for hours like CMON HES A SWEETYPEA. So this is just a personal headcanon I wanted to write out. Also I couldn’t find any cutesy couple cuddling pictures, they all looked like something from 2013 and I hated them so just enjoy this picture of these cats cuddling idk. Okay rant over, hope you enjoy!

It was just one of those days where it felt like everything was against you. To start off the day, you woke up to red blood spotting your favorite pajama pants. Then, had to muscle through driving to work with the intense stabbing feeling in your uterus. And even better, you had to deal with an unsatisfied customer. An irrational, unsatisfied customer at that. It took everything within you not to find something to chuck at their head. Luckily the workday came to the end, however life decided to remind you that the day itself was yet to be over. Once you got home to prepare dinner, the one major ingredient you needed to make it was not in the pantry. Starving, exhausted, and still in pain. A groan that sounded similar to the growling of a bear escaped you. Your hands began sliding down against the skin of your face harshly. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this much rage all at once. Hot tears began to leak from your eyelids as you leaned against the island counter in the kitchen, trying to breathe in for four seconds and out. A tip you happened to find online on your lunch break. However, your thoughts flicked and swished around in your mind like a flame as you did this calming exercise,

Inhale. 1 2 3 4

I hate it. I hate it all.

Exhale. 1 2 3 4

I hate myself for being this angry.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4

I hate him for not being here.

Exhale. 1 2 3 4

I hate his job.

Blinking open your eyes you still feel this ball of fire set in your chest. Sitting upon your chest, it burned like heartburn as your thoughts wondered to your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who knew exactly how to calm you on days like this. Your boyfriend who worked so well with under pressure situations given his work. Your boyfriend who was off saving the world when you needed saving right now. You hated it. You hated sharing him with the world.

A partner isn’t for sharing, that’s literally the whole point of it isn’t it?

With a sharp exhale, your anger begins to simmer from the sudden sadness that began to drench it, taking over. Tears still streaming down your face, you give up on dinner and leave the mess for when you were feeling up to it. Walking over to the bed, you effortlessly lean over and let yourself fall on the mattress, face met with the plush material, your feet dangling off the edge. The sniffling now transcending to soft, quiet sobs. This was quite possibly the worst day ever. Maybe it was the hormones talking but you didn’t care, it felt like the worst day ever therefore it was the worst day ever. Eventually, your crying tires you out enough to rest your eyes. By the time you opened them it was already night. Slowly propping yourself up, you drowsily look around and swore you were dreaming when a familiar silhouette was laying next to you, a small smile on his lips,

“Hey” he says quietly. He didn’t know how much your presence alone meant to you especially on a day like this. Your bottom lip began to tremble and your eyes leaked tears down your face, which alarmed Leon greatly. Sitting up he creases his eyebrows and grabs your hand to guide you closer to him,

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, his blue eyes fixated on your face. You say nothing, laying beside him, you hide your face into his chest and sniffle. All that was wrong about this day came rushing through your mind by him asking that question alone. The tears pooled into the fabric of his navy blue t shirt. The sight of you so upset was beginning to upset him. He hated seeing you cry. Wrapping his arms around you, he feels you hold him tighter. Placing a long, meaningful peck on your forehead, he then rests his head atop your head.

“Bad day?” he presses. You only nod into his shirt, hiccuping now, making your body jolt slightly. He sighs, pulling slightly away to look at your red-rimmed eyes, “Do you want to talk about it now or later?” He asks carefully.

“Later” you whisper, scrunching your nose with a sniffle. Leon purses his lips, his mind racing with ideas of how to cheer you up.

“Anything I can do?” He can’t help but ask. He’s so used to having solutions for things, it was taking him a while to realize that sometimes solutions aren’t as comforting as validation. With a sputtering chuckle you tuck your face into the crook of his neck,

“Just be here, please”

“I’m right here, always” closing his eyes, he pulls you closer and tighter into his embrace, his thumbs caressing your back and shoulder. You missed his scent, his warmth, his voice. Him being there right now was the perfect antidote for this hellish day. This time, with warmth surrounding you, you drift off to sleep almost immediately, peacefully.

Once you had woken up, you noticed that those strong arms that held you before were absent.

Was it all a dream?

The clatter of dishes in the far distance told you otherwise. Unless, given your luck, you were being robbed in broad daylight. Stretching your limbs and cracking your back, as you often did every morning, you head to the kitchen where you find Leon is cleaning up the mess of last nights -supposed to be- dinner. Being a secret agent, he sensed your presence immediately and turned his head to the side to look at you as he placed the ingredients in the pantry,

“You’re awake” with your hand on your chest, you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

“You’re real” he chuckles and closes the pantry door and turns to face you,

“Feeling better?”

“Now that you’re here” you say genuinely, scratching your bed head while walking toward him.

“Miss me?” You let out a tired noise as you wrap your arms around him,

“More than you know” you croak, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him, “Miss me?”

“Like crazy” he says swaying the both of you, his hands clasped together on your back, “ready to talk now?”

You grimace and suddenly the lines along the fabric of his shirt looked very interesting. Clearing his throat he teasingly raises an eyebrow, pointing a finger up to his eyes,

“My eyes are up here” he retorts making your snort and roll your eyes,

“Whatever” you scoff, pulling away with a smirk along your lips as you walk off to start brewing your morning coffee.

“No witty remark?” He acknowledges, his once cheesy proud smile now a frown as his eyebrows crease in concern,

“Buffering”

“Still upset?” he watches your shoulders lift and drop as you sigh and glance back at him,

“I just want to forget yesterday” you mutter. Looking over you notice Leon leaning against the counter next to you to get in your vision,

“You don’t have to tough it out for me, you know” he says, his voice suddenly much softer, “I can take it”

You couldn’t deny that sweet and comforting softness in his voice. Much less the puppy-eyed look he was giving you.

“I know, I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me just get my dose of caffeine in” you assure,

“Yes ma’am” he replies, his tone much more satisfied and proud. Once you made yours and his cup of coffee, the two of you sat at your coffee table, the sun now hung high in the sky. You start from the morning to the night, explaining every infuriating detail about yesterday. But as you explained it to him you started to feel almost irrational for getting so upset over it all and chuckled afterward,

“This all must seem so small compared to what you have to deal with. I’m sorry” Squeezing your hand, he immediately shakes his head,

“Don’t be sorry. Just because I deal with extreme situations doesn’t make yours less important” he calmly explains, “I’m the one who’s sorry, I wish I could have gotten here sooner”

Intertwining your fingers, you shake your head, a content smile on your lips,

“Don’t be, you came just in time” returning your smile he squeezes your hand again,

“Better?”

“Better”

[aew-kun-age-regression]

GUESS WHO FINALLY WROTE THESE 💀 Sorry it took a hot minute to finish these- I got distracted, on another note there's gonna be some small Ghost Headcannons soon lmao. AAA it's nearly half 1 in the morning- I need to go to sleeppp

Regressor!Phillip Graves Headcannons

He's just small kiddo bless him, 0-4 age range.

He denies that he needs to regress/that he does. "I'm a man I don't need stupid stuff like that to cope." (Yes. Yes he does.)

So emotional. Anything and everything can and will set him off.

^ Gets so emotional when alone. He needs a Caregiver to help ground him because he's just too small, he needs cuddles and to be held and told that he isn't bad.

He's a biter. This goes for clothes, toys, and even people. Clothes and toys are normally just because of his young age however people tend to be when he's upset about everything. He doesn't want to hurt anyone or be bad he just gets overwhelmed quickly and if someone is there it normally make that worse, his default reaction is to do something that will get them to leave. (Chances are no he doesn't actually want them to leave, he just needs support.) It's made so much worse by Graves knowing that he shouldn't, it's instinct. He doesn't know why he bites the hand that feeds him. He is in constant need of reassurance that he shouldn't have done it but no one is angry at him for it, no one hates him for a reaction that he couldn't control at the moment. He can't tell the difference between the hand that wants to help him and the hand that wants to hurt him..

He has a duffle bag that he keeps his little gear in. He also stores an oversized hoodie, the hoodie is large and makes him feel small, it's plain black and very comfortable, therefore it's very discreet. It's only real purpose is to initially hide his regression gear if the bag is opened.

Graves is terrified that people won't want to be around him anymore. He gets these thoughts at random and it will completely consume his thoughts until he's reassured otherwise.

Punishments really just can't be done, it triggers him. He needs someone to talk through whatever he's 'in trouble' for and explain.

He cannot be put into timeout he will hyperventilate and has got to the point of passing out before.

On a bit of a happier note he is the utter cutest just curiously toddling around, taking in his surroundings like it's the first time he's ever seen it. (Even if he's seen it a million times before)

When he's deep in his headspace he finds himself scared of Ghost. (It's the mask.)

He had a freakout once and the others (Soap, Gaz and Ghost) were in the room. They were all regressed and no-one knew what to do without a Caregiver there to help out, helping Graves was always hard but Gaz wanted to try and do something. Gaz gets hit a few times in the process of getting close to him but he is eventually able to calm Graves down, running his hands in the younger boys hair.

When it comes to hanging out with other Regressors Gaz is definitely his favourite to be around, he just knows how to calm him down.

Colouring in >>>

If Price or Ghost cradle and/or rock him like a baby it's game over. He's asleep within 10 minutes. ❤️

[pluviophile-imagines]

i can't help but wonder about the "i'm gonna marry you but i don't want kids" with gojo. because he probably would be the one to bring it up

omg im sorry this took so long but,,,,, here we are 👀 as always linking the usurper!gojo tag and the masterlist for this au warnings: the no kids talk!

it’s hardly subtle.

he doesn’t ease you into it; he isn’t coy. he all but storms into your chambers, after dark but before you’ve snuffed the candles keeping the room light enough for your reading.

he doesn’t bother to tell you why, but you know—instinctively, because you know him and you know his advisors and you’re well used to his moods when they’ve been particularly nagging about his duties as king—what’s set him off. the indication that it’s worse than typical is that he keeps that odd eye jewelry perched upon his nose, chain gleaming yellow in the light of the flames as he stalks over to your lounging form upon the bed.

his arm finds your legs over the nightclothes you wear, wraps around them firmly to move them just enough for him to perch on the edge of your mattress. they don’t leave, even as you set aside your book—you expect him to lay his head on it, anticipating the typical song and dance of his pouting and whining as you push him away only to relent and let him hold you as you both drift off into slumber.

instead he hovers. even sitting he looms over you, hand tightening on your thigh and thumb rubbing soft, meaningless patterns through the fabric of your dressing gown that soothe the nerves set on edge by your inability to see the look in his eyes.

a beat passes. you wonder if he’s calmed.

but when he speaks it’s terse, low, with the kind of simmering rage he keeps close to his chest for only those pitiable few he despises utterly, and he dips his head to look over the frames of those onyx lenses and regard you with irises dark with something terrible.

“i will not give you a child.”

the statement bowls you over. your breath hitches, if only because of the way he stares—deadly serious,

“wh—what?”

“i will not allow you to bear my children. i might be amenable to a ward, if you so desire. but i will not seed you,” his grip tightens on your thigh, “and it should go without saying that once we marry neither will any other.”

you haven’t a clue how to respond to such a thing.

he speaks as if it’s a confession; as if he’s betrayed you somehow. he holds you like you’ll disappear, or flee—and perhaps, had he told you this months ago when you’d been flighty and diffident with his affections, your rigidity might have led you to. but it is now, and you haven’t fled yet, and your beloved is nothing if not unconventional and shameless in his eccentricity.

you ponder on that too long.

“say something,” he demands, sounding almost small.

“why?” spills from your lips without thought; not petulant, or angry, but confused. not just by him—by you. you ought to be devastated, no? you ought to be angry. you assuredly are not.

“my bloodline as it has been for generations is a scourge,” he tells you readily. “i will do everything within my power to wipe it out. therefore, i cannot have an heir. not even one.”

not even one. not a single child. the thought washes over you like the temperate water of the lake on your grounds back home, the very one you’d once played in regularly as a child. the very one your mother had once mentioned taking your own children to, someday; children who you never fantasized about, children who never had faces or names, children who you never set aside letters or dresses or trinkets for to gift on birthdays.

not even in those teenage years spent with your current betrothed, the only man you’d ever thought of kissing and caressing you, had you once envisioned a life with children. they’d only appeared once you’d been brutally introduced to reality, and had to accept the promise of a life with a rich man who doesn’t love you.

a life which your king has gallantly shattered, and replaced with something far brighter.

“i will bear the burden of prevention,” he tells you soothingly, as if your silence has been about the effort of this request. “you needn’t worry that pretty mind over it. over any of this, my queen—“

“i am not yet your queen,” you interrupt, instinct bidding you to speak where your mind remains miles away.

“my bride,” he amends, ”look at me.”

you do.

“i want you,” he says, as if it’s some known truth of the universe, written in the stars. “i want you fervently, ardently. i won’t have another. but i will not give you my children. if you cannot take that slight, then so be it.”

the emotion that has been welling within you since the first words he'd spoken has become so intense it’s impossible to listen properly. you cannot name it without ruminating; you lay beneath him, eyes widening, not quite seeing—or hearing the words he continues to say—as you let it all sink in.

but when his hands fly to cradle your face, you’re snapped from the daze, attention suddenly brought back to the man before you.

“oh, oh, precious girl, don’t cry.” cry? his thumbs wipe away tears from your cheeks. you hadn’t even realized they’d been falling. “don’t cry”—he almost laughs, yet his voice breaks—“you’ll break my heart.“

“no,” you gasp, “no, my king, i’m hardly sad, i’m… relieved.”

that’s it. you’re relieved. he’s removed a heavy weight from your chest and you hadn’t even known of it. you will not have to bear him children. the assurance floods through your veins like liquid joy. not ten, not five, nor two nor even one; none whatsoever.

“relieved?” he repeats, blinking in surprise.

you’d never even considered the possibility. from the moment you’d known of your place in this world you’d resigned yourself to the role of childbearing. only now do you realize how much you had been dreading such a thing. only now do you understand the fear, and the relief.

“i… don’t believe i want children either.” the statement feels so final it ought to be terrifying, but it settles into your bones with a tangible rightness.

your betrothed regards you in shock. his hands fall from your face—and then they latch to your body, one on your thigh again and the other behind your neck, pulling you up and flush against him as he kisses you harshly.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes into your mouth, unreactive yet pliant against him. “made for me, just for me, i swear—“

you kiss back, making his rambling cut off in a strangled growl as he only tugs you in closer and deepens the embrace. he’s still speaking, but it’s unintelligible; praise, certainly, muffled compliments and manic devotion. he’s relieved too, you realize. foolish to think him confident in this declaration. foolish, you’re coming to understand, to think him sane in any circumstance which might take you from him.

(if you are made for him then he is made for you, surely. this relief would be impossible for any other to give you.)

he pulls away when he realizes you’re still crying. you catch your breath, blink back the tears, let him fuss over you until your voice is solid enough to speak.

despite the relief, there is lingering hesitance; lingering fear. “you say you will bear the burden of prevention, but what of the burden of blame? they will talk, as the months go by. they will call me barren, unfit to be by your side; they will demand you take on a mistress—“

“i won’t,” your betrothed snarls, grip on your thigh almost painful with how fiercely his fingers tighten, “i would never, and i’ll cut down all those who speak ill of you.”

your laughter is disbelieving, wet with the traces of saltwater. “hardly a sound plan to run a court, my king. unless its intent is for running it to the ground.”

“for you, my heart? anything. i would raze this kingdom if it spoke your name without awe.”

that shouldn’t be comforting. it ought to be terrifying. instead you reach up to hold his cheek, and his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“kiss me again,” you command.

[eternalfics]

Hello! How are you? I wanted to make a request if it dosent bothers you,about headcanons of genya,sanemi and yorichi with a s/o that has a personality like maxi from the novel under the oak tree,like,reader is a person with a speech disability, which has manifested in early childhood,reader stutters and has a difficult time communicating,due this has a very shy personality, partially due to the fact that has been abused by their father since childhood. Reader believes themself to be inferior to others, especially to beautyfull and smart people. Reader is left with the trauma that their father gave them and they flinches every time anyone raises their voice.

Reader was reinforced with the idea that was worthless and useless all their life, and has therefore carried this notion within even into adulthood and deeply resents for not being able to be as strong as wants to be, as thinks that nobody will ever want them and would they understand why.Reader is easily scared and rattled, is often anxious on how she will act and how others will perceive them, as is worried that people will see them as nothing but a lazy and useless stutterer. Reader is a very private person who rarely tells anyone about their past, and sees themselves and their abuse as shameful and they despises the thought of people seeing them as even more pitiful and weak.

reader also gets flustered easily, even discussing intimate moments with their partner when they are alone can cause them to blush uncontrollably.When someone manages to get their trust reader is a timid and kind person, is soft-spoken and polite to everyone who is kind to them and treat their partner with kindness and respect.

Im really sorry for writting a whole bible 😭 😭 😭

with a shy, abused reader !!

(gn! reader, reader is sanemi’s tsugoku in genya and sanemis)

warning: mentions of food, raising voice, fighting, weird pet names?

a/n: KYAAAABEUSBDI!! thank you for the request! I’ll do my best to serve your creative ideas 🫡 btw I’m good and if this took long sorry 😰 this is in second person!

characters: genya, sanemi

summary: how will they create a relationship? slowly? quickly? lets see :)

GENYA

He kinda learned the tough way when he learned you were were sensitive. 😨

Genya just gets it. You remind him of his siblings when he first got to know you, he likes it when you make effort to accompany him 🙃

But at the same time, he feels angry how could someone do this to a beautiful face like yours?

No one will hurt you again, and Genya will make sure he’ll be with you every step of the way of your life. (yandere? 😰)

Genya’s overprotective of you, he’s scared something or someone will hurt you. Even a small hello with Tanjiro, what if you slip? He can’t have that :(

Genya started slowly with affection such as love notes, holding hands (kinda) and headpats ohh how he loves headpats 🤭

He believes that you need ✨princess treatment✨ and those will be headpats and compliment

Headpats are a must for everything, they’re like his way of saying “Well done! I love you 🫶” so he pats you everytime you do anything right or cute

COMPLIMENTS MY GOSHH

He won’t hesitate to give anyone a big, fat slap on the face if they hurt his darling 😡

He did raise his voice at you one time for getting to curious, and asking about his childhood. This left you insecure and Genya actually comforted you and didn’t leave you to sulk in the corner like others did 🥺

One time he actually spoke his mind and asked you how many kids you want. 💀Which ended up in him having a tomato coloured s/o 🤕

“Maybe, they’ll have your hair colour :)”

Sanemi

Two words, Not. Good.

At first, he thought you were just a shy weirdo who didn’t know how to socialise 🤨

But then he got to know you slowly! Kinda like Genya but worse. 😀 Anyway, your first training session together was straightforward but awkward.

Your second was better, he soon understood your body language better than you. One time, he looked at your face just one time maybe he’ll get to see that face around more.. I MEAN!-

He thinks your as comforting as his mother, and underneath all that insecurity and fake happiness is a whole lot of fun like his siblings 😋 Not like he’ll ever tell you that.

Sanemi actually can cook really well! He just asks you to teach him, as he finds this as an act of intimacy. When you see his food is surprisingly good, you give him a questioning look and he shrugs it off and says “Your a good teacher” and he offers you some food. 🥙

The way you communicate to him is head tilting, looks, shrugs and all of that other stuff after finding out that he understands you. ❤️ So when you quietly stutter out to him that you love his scars, it means a lot to him and he quietly responds with a “Love you too, Dummy”

When you open up to him about your childhood, or how they beated you, he just nods and asks if you want to train.

he DOES NOT tolerate ANY disrespect, or any playful scaring. If he ends up with a tear - stained cheek s/o you bet there’s gonna be a white-haired person barking outside your window 😶

“If anyone disrespects you, you come straight to me or you kick them in the balls. Got it?”

Overall, they both love you ❤️ (Sorryy there’s no Yorichii!

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part II)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, drug use, grinding, brief mention of masturbation and sex. Reader is shy and full of doubt. Eddie is kind.

Word count | ~6,700

A/N | I am…very late with this. But my excuse is all of a sudden I had a social life I hadn’t planned for. That’s gone now so I should be more regular in updating from now on. It’s likely to be long, I’m at 20 chapters in the plan currently so I’m not looking to spread that out for ages. Thank you for waiting patiently.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Lying in bed last night, you felt something like the childish bliss of the night of your Birthday. Presents opened and enjoyed, full and satisfied by your favourite dinner and a cake made special by your Mom. The joy in the knowledge that, tomorrow, everything that had made you so happy would still be there. 

Tomorrow, you thought. Tomorrow, Eddie will still be there. 

But now you’re wondering if that’s true at all. 

You were caught between feeling stupid, like you must be overreacting, getting yourself worried like you always do, and feeling, with certainty, that Eddie had realised he’d made a mistake. It was only a moment, a small thing, or it would be to anyone else, but you’ve been thinking about it all day.

You’d caught his eyes as you walked past Eddie in the hall, your hand coming up to give him a shy little wave. He did see it. His eyes were on you, but they’d only blinked. You might have said it was shock on his face, but he turned away so quickly you couldn’t get a proper read of his expression. Whatever it was, he ended up acting as if you didn’t exist. 

“Once we have the posters up, we can get started on the banner,” Heather says, handing you a pile of yellow paper with her smiling picture. Running for Class President has been her main activity since the beginning of the year, and therefore your main activity, too. You look at the pile of paper in your hands. You helped design it, the pretty blue Vote for Heather! written under her picture is in your handwriting. 

“Heather, does Patrick ever ignore you?” 

“Since he went to college? All the time. But that’s just another guy thing. You got your blue tack?” 

You nod and hold it up, accepting that she’s not in the headspace to be your resident boy expert today.

Being with Andy certainly hadn’t given you any experience of this feeling. He would disappear on you for days, weeks even. Then he’d be there, standing at your locker one morning, all apologies and hands clamouring for touches. He’d say he just got so busy the last week, he couldn’t really see you. You would tell him, smiling, that you understood, because that was the easiest way to end the discussion before he was asking to sneak away into a closet and make it up to you. On the weeks he was angry, after another failed attempt at caresses under your skirt, you only felt relief. It was a break from having to explain yourself, something you’ve never been good at, even at instances where you understand your own reasons. At the end, when Andy had laid out all the ways you had disappointed him, the tears had sprung from humiliation and hurt, but exhaustion, too. 

But now, one missed moment, one turned head from Eddie. You’re terrified. 

You’re still thinking about it after school, wishing you didn’t have to babysit, even if spending time as chief advisor to Princess Grace was often the great joy of your week. She’ll no doubt clock your mood the second you pick her up, and then it’ll be questions you can’t answer for the rest of the night. 

If you weren’t so in your head with worry, you would have heard the engine of an approaching van, wailing electric guitar increasing in volume. It’s the sudden screeching halt of it that makes you jump, looking up to find Eddie grinning at you, arm moving in the effort to crank the window down. “You lost, Princess? Pretty sure this is not the way to your castle.”

Here he is, talking to you exactly as he was. Eddie brand kindness, complete with pet names that make your heart flutter even as it calls out, but why?

“I’m babysitting today.” 

“Ah! That explains it. You want a ride?”

You curl your fingers in your sleeves, thumbs wrapped in soft cotton, wondering if he means it, deciding he surely can’t. “No, it’s okay.”

Eddie’s face displays his surprise. “Where you headed?”

“The church.”

“Well, can’t say I love it there, but for you-” Eddie jumps out of his van, hand pressed to his chest. “I’ll go wherever I’m needed. C’mon,” he says, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and taking your hand, helping you into the van. Just like yesterday, like there wasn’t a moment this morning where he pretended you didn’t exist. “So,” he says, letting out a little sigh when he’s back in the driver's seat, van speeding away from the curb fast enough that your body is pushed back into the seat. “This a preacher’s kid, or what?”

You blink at him.

“Babysitting at the church.”

“Oh. She’s at the after school club.”

“You like babysitting this one, or is she a little monster like most kids?” 

“I like her.”

You see Eddie nod awkwardly in your periphery. “I’m just heading home to pick up an amp,” he tries. “I’m in a band, don’t know if you knew that. We play at the Hideout every Tuesday. You should come see us play, sometime.”

“I babysit on Tuesdays.”

“Right. Shit. Obviously. Of course you do.” He glances at you, his brown eyes searching. “Hey, are you okay? Did something happen today?”

You clench your eyes shut, rubbing the fabric of your sleeves, feeling stupid and confused and overwhelmed with the need not to cry in front of him. 

“Baby?” His gaze moves to you, the road, and back again. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? I’ll try and fix whatever it is, I promise.” 

His hand finds yours over your sleeve. Slowly, you free your fingers from the fabric, letting him clasp them gently. You swallow. “You didn’t-” God, it sounds so childish now. “I waved at you today, and you didn’t even- I thought-”

Eddie’s hand twitches. Obviously, he remembers the moment as well as you do. You move to let it go but his fingers tighten, linking around yours. “You thought I’d changed my mind?” You nod, sniffling. “No, sweetheart, Jesus. I was just…so fucking surprised, you know? I kinda assumed you wouldn’t want me to talk to you at school. I didn’t know what to do.”

“What?” You ask, voice watery. 

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m not exactly well liked by the popular crowd. Being seen with me is not gonna do wonders for your reputation.”

“I don’t care.” 

“You’re not worried about how all your cheerleader friends will react?”

“May’s my only cheerleader friend.”

“It’s seriously not a problem,” Eddie says with conviction, as if your last sentence had only convinced him he was right. “If you wanna keep it between us, I’ll get it. Here we are.” He parks opposite the church, and you spy Grace in the distance, skipping rope behind the fence. “Look, the last thing I want is to be, y’know, something that adds to your worries. It’s…so fucking sweet that it didn’t occur to you, but you should think about it, kay?”

The shame is overwhelming. All the times you didn’t defend him, this boy who would let you hide him away if it kept you happy. All the jokes you laughed along with, at the expense of a boy who was surprised you acknowledged his existence after he treated you with gentle adoration. All the people you sit with every day, who hate a boy who already sees what worry does to you, and would hate to cause any more. He hadn’t ignored you because he doesn’t like you, he’d done it because of how much he does.

“I don’t need to think about it.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Eddie, I think you’re so-” Amazing? Wonderful? Perfect? “I’ve never-” Felt this way before? Let anyone get so close so fast? Wanted someone this much? 

You swallow, sigh, find an easier way to say it. “I won’t pretend I don’t like you. I can’t.”

There’s a pause while Eddie blinks slowly. Then he grins. “Well, shit.” Eddie leans in close, his hair falling over his shoulders towards you. “You actually have it bad for me, don’t you?” 

You squirm, that pleasant embarrassment filling you up again, your cheeks burning with it. Eddie’s hand finds your face and you lean into it, covering his fingers with your own. His lips are smiling when they meet yours, and his grin is catching. 

“Okay. It’s noted,” he says, breath warm on your face. His tongue peeks out once to lick his lips. “Always wave back. Otherwise, hell to pay.” 

“Exactly.” You giggle, giving him one more quick peck before climbing out. You stand on your toes and curl your fingers over the edge of the open window. “Thank you for the ride, Eddie.” 

“Absolutely any time, Princess,” 

“Good luck with your gig.” 

“Good luck with the munchkin.” 

You bite the inside of your lip. When you don’t leave, Eddie just smiles, letting you take your time in finding the right words. 

“I feel silly.”

“Yeah?”

You kick the ground, bouncing the rubber toe of your sneakers off the concrete. “Sometimes I…get in my head; convince myself that something is a disaster when it’s not.” 

“Like me not waving at you?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise with the question, and he nods with understanding at the affirmative movement of your head. “Don’t worry.” He taps his temple. “That’s noted, too.”

“Okay,” you say through a sigh, giving one last little rock on your toes. “Bye, Eddie.”

“Later, sweetheart.” He watches you approach the church gates, stopping to talk to an older woman standing by the door. Further in, a girl in a sky blue dress entirely abandons a skipping rope in favour of running towards you, crashing into you with as much force as a girl her size can muster, legs swinging happily when she finds herself held up in your arms.

The next day, as you sort through your locker, you hear him across the hallway. “Hey, Princess!” Turning, you find Eddie with his dimples on full display. He waggles his fingers at you while you tense in joyful embarrassment, smiling at the playful glare he puts on until you wave back. 

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“You look nice,” your Mom says, face appearing behind you in your mirror. You smile, feeling content with the glittery shadow that covers your eyelids, the shiny pinkness of your glossed lips. “What’s the occasion?”

“Going on a date.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she says, playing with your hair a little until you tilt your head away, whining in protest. “Does he have a name?”

“Eddie.”

“Is Eddie gonna come in for a while before you go?”

“Mom.”

“I’m only asking. I didn’t meet Andy the whole time and then all of a sudden I hear he’s a disgusting little- well,” she clears her throat. “He was disgusting.”

“Eddie’s not like Andy,” 

She hums, unconvinced, still doubtful of your ability to pick the right boys since Andy left you sobbing on the doorstep after your final trip to his house. 

The doorbell rings, and you blink, glancing at the clock on your desk in a panic. “Oh, he’s early is he?”

“Mom-”

But she’s gone, flying out of the room like a shot and you groan, searching quickly for your shoes. You hear the door open downstairs as you’re tugging them on, hear your mother’s surprised greeting, the low hum of Eddie’s voice in return. Too late now. You glance in the mirror, smooth your dress down and sigh. 

You hear your Mom’s laughter as you walk down the stairs. She turns at the sound of you approaching, grasping a bunch of daisies. “Look what Eddie brought you, honey!” Eddie stands in the open doorway, missing his patched vest over the zipped up leather jacket. His rings, too, are curiously gone. He’s wearing cologne that, from a distance, masks any hint of his habits. 

Eddie’s gaze on you is entirely too intense for standing in the hallway with your mother, but she’s distracted enough by the flowers. When she goes in search of a vase, you grab his hand, enjoying how soft his face gets every time you touch him first. You swing your hands and look up from under your eyelashes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dimples again, eyes crinkling at the sides. 

“Now, I want her home by midnight,” your Mom says, placing the daisies on a table in the hall. “Don’t think I won’t be up waiting for her.”

“Of course, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it.” He only moves when you tug his hand, pulling him towards his van. “Very nice meeting you!”

“You, too, Eddie!” 

Eddie pulls away from your house with a care you’re sure he hasn’t shown to driving since his test. His expression is all self satisfaction while he unzips his jacket, revealing the W.A.S.P. t-shirt, printed with the full band and a stretched out skeleton, and speeds up the second you turn the corner of your street. 

Eddie is in his full metal regalia by the time you reach the diner. His hair, even, has regained its frizziness from the demonstration of his ability to headbang while driving. He looks just as you like him when he goes through his gentleman routine, holding the door of the restaurant open and allowing you to choose your side of the booth first. 

You are unused to the comfort you feel in the silence while you read the menu, normally on edge when other people are quiet, wondering if they’re waiting for you to be the one to say something. In the limited time you’ve spoken to Eddie, it feels like he’s already learned exactly how to talk to you, what to expect. If he’s silent, it’s because he’s happy to be. 

When you’ve decided, you play with the corner of the menu, watching him shyly. His plush lips, set in a content smile. His long, dark eyelashes on display from his tilted head. His big hands stretched on the table, thumbs tapping a rhythm. The back of his hands, lithe and pale, flex with the movement. His rings are back, of course, displaying the length of his fingers that such chunky jewellery barely covers them to the first bend. 

That one there, the middle finger of his right hand, has been inside of you already. You felt the width and length of it stretch and play with you. Your toes curl, and when you glance up, Eddie’s watching you intently, expression playful. Your face heats, and you pull your own hands from the table to play with your fingers under it. 

“I’m thinkin’ a burger.”

“Me, too.” 

“What you getting to drink?”

“Just water.” 

“What? Sweet girl doesn’t want a milkshake or nothing? You don’t like ‘em?”

“No, I do.”

“Yeah?” He smiles conspiratorially. “What’s your favourite?”

“Strawberry.”

“They got that right there!” Eddie says, pointing to the page in front of you. 

“Sometimes they just make it with syrup.”

“Ahh, and you don’t like that.” He nods in understanding, smiling when the waitress approaches. “Hi there, we are gonna have two burgers,” he glances at you to get a confirming nod. “A Dr Pepper, and hey, do you guys make your strawberry milkshakes with syrup?” 

You watch his polite smile, heart a little sore. 

The waitress, name tag reading Dawn, is chipper, shaking her head. “No, we make ‘em with fresh strawberries and ice cream!” 

“Great! In that case, we’d like a strawberry milkshake, too. Thank you so much.” 

When she’s taken your menus, you find Eddie’s pretty eyes. “Thank you.” 

He waves his hand like it doesn’t mean anything. “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart. I got you.”

You think he really does. 

Eddie is good at talking. You like listening to him chat easily about his club and his band while you sip your milkshake. He clearly likes Dustin, one of the younger ones, who he talks about with the frustrated fondness of an older brother. He’s proud of the club, how it's grown, but says with charming humility that he’s aware it lacks feminine presence. Not his plan, he assures, though he’s not entirely sure how to fix it now. 

Eddie is good at telling stories. You’re listening intently through each bite of your meal while he describes with impressive memory his first time DMing, overconfident and underprepared, something he’s clearly learned a lesson from. 

Eddie is also good at prompting you, giving you space to speak as much or as little as you want.

“I don’t know if you remember, but uh, I played a middle school talent show with the band.”

“I remember,”

“You do?”

You nod, playing with your straw and smiling. “Thought you were brave.”

“Oh, Jesus, that fucking hurts.” You giggle as he clasps his heart only to return to full health a second later to eat seven fries together in a pile. “That bad, huh?”

“I meant that you were doing something different.”

“Different is one word for it. Kinder than most people, though, so I appreciate that.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Letting people judge something you care about?”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s metal to just do it anyway. Especially here, where they’re bound to hate it, no matter how good we get. What’s the alternative? Playing in a garage for the rest of my life, hoping we’re good enough but not taking the risk that we might not be? Nope. Nah, man. Not me.” He shakes his head in earnest, bringing his hand up to point at himself. “I know I might not ever be successful, or even make enough from music to live, but I am for sure gonna fucking try.” He eats a couple more fries, has another thought while chewing and continues with them shoved to the side of his mouth. “Same reason I haven’t dropped out, y’know?” Eddie swallows, looking intense and sure of himself. “Nobody is ever gonna be able to say I gave up, that I didn’t try.”

You are wide eyed in admiration of him. 

“Besides,” he grins, leaning into you. “I am really fucking good.”

As if heated, Eddie shakes his hair out a little, and removes his jacket, sighing. His bare arms are pale and inked. A flock of bats by his elbow, a demonic puppeteer on the inside of his forearm. When he brings his right arm across his torso to stretch, you spy a third and blink in recognition.

“You like my tats?” He asks, mischief in his tone.

“Is that a wyvern?” 

He blinks, surprise evident. “Uh, yeah- yes. It is. How did you know that?”

You chew a fry. “Two legs.” 

“Oh, yeah of course, how stupid of me. I forgot everybody knows that,” he laughs, shaking his head a little incredulously. 

You hum. “They pop up in old Celtic stories and poems.” You tap your feet a little, gearing yourself up, that feeling of knowing you have something to say and wondering if you really want to say it. “The word has a cool origin, too.”

Eddie gestures for you to elaborate, then rests his head on his open hand.

“Well, it’s- some people think it comes from, um, wivre, which is Old French for snake, essentially. And then other people think it’s Old English. Cause that language has, um, wiver, which is snake, and guivre, which means a javelin? So, a javelin snake, like a flying snake. A wyvern.” You sip your milkshake almost violently to shut yourself up, still tapping your feet under the table while Eddie stares at you. You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not useful information. I just like stuff like that. I don’t know.”

“Things don’t have to be useful, if you like them.” Eddie leans forward. “Thank you for sharing something you care about, baby. Very metal.”

You twirl your straw in your milkshake, grinning at the table. “So, they’re used in your campaigns sometimes?”

“Of course,” he grins, starting to tell you about their powers, the way they can be used by somebody like him, a Dungeon Master, to add stakes to the worlds he creates. It’s like he knows, after your question, that you need him to be the one to talk for a while. 

Eddie pays the bill while you’re in the bathroom, your resulting glare only making him more pleased with himself. “I’ll-” you start, stop, grab his hand and gain some confidence. “I’ll pay next time.” 

“Next time,” Eddie agrees, squeezes your hand tight. 

You glance at the time on his watch when you’re buckled up in his van. “Where we going, Eddie?”

“Well, that’s up to you. If you want we could go to my place? If I’m honest, usually around this time on a Friday I’m, well...high? Was wondering if you still wanted me to teach you how to smoke.” 

You get a little fuzzy at the suggestion, remembering Eddie’s quip about what he might do when you were high. Just a joke, you knew that, but the thought of him touching you when you’re a little out of it is worryingly appealing. 

“Okay.”

“You sure? Cause we can just watch a movie or something. Or if you’re tired I can take you home.”

“‘M not tired.”

Eddie’s pleased look is heat inducing in the evening light. 

He warns you on the way, suddenly, that he lives in a trailer. Not ashamed, or defensive, just a mention. When you get there, he swings his feet on the way over to the door, holding it wide open and gesturing for you to enter in front of him. It’s nicely cool, a screened window open to let a gentle breeze drift through the air. You note a couch, chairs, a TV to your right, a little kitchen to the left that looks like it hasn’t experienced the presence of a woman in years. 

“Eddie, do you live alone?”

“Nah, I live with my Uncle, but he works nights, so…we got this whole place to ourselves.” He grabs your hand, pulls you walking backwards down the hallway. “Bathroom,” he says, pointing to the first door you walk by. “Closet.” He taps the one opposite. You reach the end of the hall. “My room.” 

If you had to guess what Eddie’s room would be like, this would be it. Posters and drawings line the walls, an electric guitar hanging by a mirror on the far wall. There’s tapes littered all over the place, a pile of records by a player. You smile at the clear attempt to condense the mess of clothes in one corner, a high pile lined with t-shirts to try and cover whatever else might be in there. 

While Eddie opens a window, you sit up on his bed, leaning down to remove your shoes so you can tuck your feet up and cross your legs comfortably. Eddie turns and stares at you, giving a long blink. He watches you even as he crosses the room to start a cassette up, intense electric guitar and heavy drums filling the room until he turns it down for your more sensitive ears. Eddie takes one big step towards you, presses his fingers to your shoulder briefly. When he visibly pinches himself and flinches, you grab his hand, eyebrows creased in disapproval.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Just really, really had to make sure this isn’t a dream.” 

Eddie lies himself easily back on his bed, legs stretched out, toes wiggling in his white tube socks. Like this, spread out and comfy in his t-shirt and jeans, Eddie looks so boyish and handsome it makes you want to crawl into his lap and stay there forever. You think about it while he grinds weed fished out of a plastic bag, wondering how seriously he meant the promise of no funny business. He pats the space next to him without looking up from his work. “C’mere.” 

You settle back into his spare pillow, keeping your legs tucked in, your knee just resting on his thigh. Eddie’s pink tongue peeks out, wet and wide, to get the paper ready, then it stays there, held between his teeth while he concentrates on rolling it up properly. “Okay,” he says, expression serious on you as he turns the joint in the flame of his lighter. “Want you to take a couple deep breaths through your mouth for me, yeah? In and out.” He watches you do what he says. “What you wanna do is, sorta, get it in your mouth first, then you breathe from there, like so.” You watch him, the sudden intensity of the cherry when he wraps his pink lips around it, then the slow movement of his chest. He blows the smoke away from you before holding the joint out for you to take. He senses some hesitancy and shakes his thigh under your knee. “You don’t have to, baby. No pressure from me.”

“I’m gonna cough.”

“Damn right. Looking kinda dumb the first time you smoke is a right of passage. But it’s only myself here to see it, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You do cough, a symptom of breathing in too fast in your nervousness. Eddie pats your back softly, taking a couple pulls from the joint while you try to clear your throat from the burning sensation, looking up to keep your watering eyes at bay. 

“That’s it, let it out. You gotta let it sit for a while. There’s no rush. Open your mouth even, get some air mixed in.” You follow that advice clumsily, but it’s easier, and followed after some time by the strange gentle wave that makes you want to settle back into his pillows and bury your face in them. Eddie watches some of the tenseness fall from your shoulders. “That’s it, huh? One more, baby, then you’re good.” 

“Okay, Eddie,” you murmur, taking another drag before handing it back to him. He leans over your body to dispense some of the ashes in the tray on the table next to you. Your eyes stick to the porcelain column of his neck, stretched out and tense from leaning, relaxing as he sits back, settling the ashtray on the middle of the bed. You sigh, giving in to the need to relax entirely, slumping down until you’re only tilted at the shoulders. “I like your room.”

“Yeah? It’s a bit of a mess.”

“Did you do the drawings?” 

“I did.”

“You’re so talented, Eddie.” You hum, turning on your side to look up at him properly. You reach out to grab the hand on the opposite side of you, the left one, covered in rings. You run your finger along them. A cross, a pig, a skull. 

“You like ‘em?”

You smile a little, thinking yourself very clever when you reply. “I like you.”

“Me? You’re serious, baby?” 

“You knew already.” 

“Yeah, but it’s still hard to believe.” The weed is nice, makes you feel at ease, drifting instead of fighting to stay afloat. But you aren’t confident enough to list out all the reasons it should be very easy for Eddie to believe he is liked. Instead you keep playing with his rings, linking your fingers through his. “I like you, too, you know.”

Your sigh is deep and long. “That is hard to believe. I haven’t done anything at all to make you like me.” 

There’s a pause, then Eddie’s detangling his fingers from yours gently, spliff hanging from his lips while he searches his bookcase. His fingers waggle, hand darting from shelf to shelf then a soft. “Ah, there you are.” You sit up when Eddie climbs back onto his bed, presenting you with his found book.

Sonnets to Orpheus. Beat up and a different addition to your own copy, but overall the same book. “I’ve sat through so many of those presentations, you know? You blew them all out the water.”

You tighten your fingers around the cover, shaking your head. Even like this, you couldn’t believe that for a second. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Baby, I went out and bought the book. Read every poem in there, too. Thought I could,” he huffs a laugh and sits back, taking a long drag before he continues. “Thought I could, you know, impress you, maybe, one day. Which I’ve ruined now by admitting it, but it’s the truth.” 

His tone, self consciousness mixed with sincerity as he tells you tried to understand something you love, did so entirely to impress you, fills you with fondness for him. The high is gently fading, but the confidence it brought is replaced by the growing feeling of safety that Eddie seems to radiate. 

You rest the book on his bedside table, toes curling in your socks while you give in to what you’ve wanted since Eddie splayed himself out on the bed. You climb into his lap, calves pressed to the mattress either side of his thighs, feeling immediately right. That you are where you belong. His expression is all wide eyed surprise, especially when you take the joint from him and put it out in the ashtray, getting one final hit from what he breathes out across your face. You breathe it in, the bitter smell of it overtaken by Eddie’s aftershave, cheap but pleasant, sticking to the skin of his neck. 

Safe, you think, leaning forward to kiss Eddie’s throat. You feel him swallow under your lips. Hands resting on his shoulders, you press kisses under his chin, the end of his cheek. His eyes are closed, letting your lips search the skin of his face until you reach his pink lips, giving the bottom one a quick taste with the tip of your tongue before you kiss him properly. Eddie’s hands come to your hips, smoothing over the fabric of your dress when your tongue finds his, fingers digging in a little at the soft, excited moan you let escape. 

“I promised no funny business,” he says when you pull away to cast heavy breaths. 

“Just kisses.”

Eddie fixes you with a look of disappointment that stokes the heat between your legs. “I think you’re looking for a little more than kisses though, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Your hips twitch, and the resulting laugh is harsh enough to send excited shivers down your spine. “Mm-hm, that’s what I thought. C’mon then, take what you want.” You blink, lips falling to a gentle pout that makes Eddie shake his head, hair moving about his face. “Don’t know what you want, do you, baby?” He pouts right back at you when you shake your own head. “No, course not.”

The hands on your hips press you down, spreading your legs wider on top of him until the warm place between your thighs is in direct contact with the denim of his jeans. You gasp, whimper a little at the stiffness there. “Been like this since I saw you sat on my bed, baby, looking all pretty and at home. Wanted to get you like this the second we walked in but, y’know, I was trying to be chivalrous.” His hands help you move in a slow roll over him, the cotton of your panties rubbing your weeping entrance, catching on your clit just a little at the end. “But what am I supposed to do when you sit yourself all wide eyed and willing in my lap, mm? I am but a man.”

You bear down a little, knees bouncing on his mattress to press the bulge at his crotch deeper, wanting him between your lips, wanting him inside. You whine low in your throat. “Eddie.”

“Know you haven’t ever had anything inside, but need you to tell me, sweetheart. You ever rubbed this little cunt on someone?”

“No, no. Nobody but you, Eddie. Just-” You gasp, finding the right tilt of your hips to drag the wet, sticky fabric of your panties across your aching clit. You focus on that angle, bouncing and rolling your hips against Eddie’s hard cock through his jeans. 

“Just what?” You hum in question, mind already losing the thread of the conversation. Eddie digs his fingers into your ass, making you whimper. “What have you rubbed this pretty cunt on, baby?”

“Mm. Use my pillow sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ.” His eyes clench shut, jaw set in a way that would make you worried he was angry if you weren’t focused on how to rub your pulsing clit just right. Your panties are stuck fast between your lips now, exposing some of the wet skin to the air, to the roughness of Eddie’s dark jeans. “What do you think about?”

“Mm?”

“C’mon now. When you’re riding your pillow. What’s goes on in your busy head?”

“Oh,” your body clenches, thinking about the last time, just this week. Not as good as this, not nearly, but better than any time before because you knew what Eddie’s hands felt like, had kissed his lips and heard him speak to you, heard him call you good and pretty and sweet. 

“Gotta know for my sanity. C’mon, please, tell me.”

“You,” you whimper, clit twitching happily at the sound of his groan above you. You press your face to his neck, hidden by his hair, deep in the smell of him that makes your head light. It takes you a second of gathering your thoughts, your bravery, but you continue. “You, mmh, saying I’m good.” 

Eddie presses one of his hands to your cheek, bringing you up to face him. He tilts his head to you, eye contact intense and overwhelming, your chest tightening. “Talking to me like this? You’re so fucking good. I know it’s hard for you, baby, and you’re doing so well.” He nods as the tears build in your eyes. You are half wanting to look away, but the feeling there in his brown eyes is something you can’t get enough of. You want to see it all the time, the tenderness there, the pride. “Sweet girl, making us both feel so fucking good.” 

You like that, smiling with pride. “Feels nice?”

Eddie laughs, finally letting you look away when he presses a long kiss to your forehead, hand moving to massage the back of your neck while his chin rests on top of your head. “So nice. S’fucking warm, bouncing all pretty on my lap. Your pussy’s gonna leave my jeans all wet, isn’t that right, baby?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer, mouth occupied by soft moans and little, begging whimpers. His hand is large and warm at the back of your neck, massaging points of pressure that make you feel like a kitten in his grasp, mewling for the comfort of his touch. Your hole clenches, missing him, gushing wet at the thought he might play inside again soon. You want him so much, the thought is distant but sure. If Eddie asked, he could lay you back and fuck you on his bed right now. 

More than the perfect drag of your sodden panties over your clit, more than the hard press of Eddie’s thickness through fabric against your hole, the thought of Eddie above you, hair wild and falling around you, stretching you out on his cock and groaning, pushes you over. 

“That’s it. Fuck,” Eddie laughs at the sudden change in rhythm, the desperate circling press of the top of your cunt against him, the sound of you bouncing on your knees against his mattress. His hand keeps rubbing your neck softly, keeping your mouth at the base of his throat while you clench up and cum against him, pussy leaking enough slick it’s starting to seep through the fabric, leaving even the check cotton of his underwear a little damp with you. 

You breathe deep, Eddie’s neck perfect to press your face into and whine when you start your hips up again. You avoid your sensitive clit, but allow Eddie to guide your hips over him, firmly rubbing his aching cock. “That’s it, make me feel so good, baby- yeah-” You feel the moment he cums, a violent twitch against your cunt, his hands suddenly halting your movement altogether while he groans, low and desperate into the air. “Fuuuuck,” he breathes, then laughs, lips finding your forehead again. “Jesus Christ, you are a fucking temptress.” You look up at him, blinking in confusion. “Just made me break a solemn vow. I’m pretty sure this counts as funny business.” He sighs, head falling back on his neck. “Certainly wasn’t very chivalrous of me.”

“I needed you.” 

His head comes back up with a grin on it. “Thanks for the loophole. Couldn’t just ignore a Princess in need. If anything, this should earn me the title.” 

You rest your head on his chest, hearing the beat of his heart as it slows steadily. Eddie strokes your hair from your temple, hand hiding you from the world while you recover. You tilt your head, a silent petition that Eddie reads and grants within a second, lips finding yours in multiple kisses of decreasing length until he’s pecking your mouth, then your cheek, eyelids, forehead, back down to your nose, your chin. You giggle when he starts all over your neck, never stopping in one place until he finds a soft little spot at your collar bone which he pulls between his lips harshly. 

Your hand tangles in his  soft hair, keeping him there through the wide lick of his tongue against that spot, soothing the ache. There will be a mark there already no doubt, Eddie’s first claim on you. Ask me, a desperate, weak part of you thinks. I’ll let you do anything. 

Instead, he holds you in his arms, lying back on his bed and letting you curl up at his side, staring at the serene expression on his face. When he opens one pretty eye to find you gazing at him, you aren’t even embarrassed.

Eddie lets you use the bathroom first when he starts shifting uncomfortably, needing to deal with the cooling cum in his boxers. The thought makes you a little giddy while you clean yourself up, that you made him feel good this time instead of getting trapped in your head. He runs in there when you’re done, holding a spare pair of underwear and jeans, but not before giving you another press of his lips to your forehead.

He finds you on his bed when he returns, swinging your legs a little and happy to see him back. Eddie stands over you for a minute, stroking your hair and watching for any signs of what happened the last time he touched you. All he finds is a sated, happy girl, so he clears his throat, suddenly turning to the piles of cassettes and picking one off the top. “I, uh, made something for you.” 

He hands you the cassette, the white J-card reading METAL FOR BABIES written in scratchy black biro. Under that, a list of tracks and artists. 

“Classic stuff on there. You might not like it. I mean, I have no idea what you’re into but I thought it would be kinda cool, you know? It’s nothing too heavy, so you might like it. And it’ll get you used to it, you know? Since you’ll be hearing a lot of it, probably, from now on.” 

Your heart cries, yes please.

Eddie gets you home by half eleven, even after toning down his usual speeding violations to spend a little more time able to look at you, clutching your new tape, sitting comfy in his van, kicking your legs happily. With the warning that your Mom would no doubt make good on her promise to stay up, Eddie has lent you a black oversized hoodie, already big on him so it sits on you comfy, the arms long enough to cover your fingers, the neckline high enough to cover the mark he’d left on your collar. 

He walks you up to your door, hands in his pockets, legs back to swinging. “I wanna see you again like immediately,” he admits, leaning right into your space the way he’s prone to doing. His face is close to yours, watching your agreeing nod. “You wanna do something tomorrow? We could go to the lake, maybe?”

Another nod. “I can make lunch.”

“I’ll bring beer.”

You give him a kiss, hand flat on his chest. “See you tomorrow?”

Eddie sighs dramatically. “Until then, sweet lady.” 

You watch him drive away from your kitchen window, hands covering your warm cheeks. Your wet eyes close tight. Your heart sings.

Next Chapter

[heisenberg-simp257]

Hello! Would you be so kind as to write some headcanons for the Four overprotective Lords of the village? Thank you very much!

Sure!💖

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The Four Lords Being Overprotective with You

Alcina Dimitrescu

-She’s probably the most protective out of the words. This may or not be surprising when you think of the others. But when Alcina cares about someone, she will kill for them. This can be seen with her daughters.

-Alcina sees you as fragile, and therefore perceives everything as a threat. You are not allowed to go anywhere without her unless you run away from her vision or really try hard to convince her.

-Her daughters understand how overprotective she can be, and how overbearing it can get. They will help you if you ever need a breather.

-She kind of gets this attitude of ‘my way or the highway’. Alcina is very defiant in her words and actions, and she can kind of sound angry. However, it just stems from her nervousness of losing you. You know she just cares too much.

-Will never allow you near Lord Heisenberg, who she sees as the worst threat possible. Alcina doesn’t want to see you defiled by a man like that, or any man for that matter. She isn’t afraid to tear him apart if he so much as looked at you.

-She will not be afraid to carry you around so you can’t escape her grasp. Alcina is very controlling in this matter. Because don’t we all feel better when we have control of a situation?

-If you bring up this matter, wanting her to stop, she will feel guilty. However, don’t see her letting up anytime soon. After all, she’s doing this all to keep the ones she loves safe and close to her.

Donna Beneviento (and Angie)

-Donna is only overprotective on certain occasions. Like if she has a nightmare, or it’s stormy, or if you start to wander farther from her estate. It’s only matters when she’s terrified that she gets scared of losing you.

-She is not a confident person by any means, so her ways of keeping you by her side and safe are subtle. Perhaps offering to have a cup of tea, or admire her new works, or just small talk. It’s subtle, but it makes her feel better.

-You don’t know how she’s feeling because she doesn’t tell you. Donna doesn’t want you to know how worried you make her, so she keeps all her anxiety to herself. Which makes matters worse when you keep placing yourself in what she sees as dangerous.

-It’s Angie who voices Donna’s thoughts on how she just wants to protect you. As expected, you feel guilty for making Donna worry, but it opens the door to talk about the situation.

-Donna doesn’t want to be so overprotective, but she can’t help it. She’s so scared of being alone again after losing her family. You are the one person who has stuck by her side because you care about her.

-But she doesn't want to be controlling or overbearing, so she tries to back off and just let her feelings consume her. You realize that you need to help her out with this matter.

-From now on, you listen to Donna and stick close to her for comfort. Perhaps you offer for her to come with you when you go outside to the gardens. As long as she’s with you, Donna will feel less anxious about losing you.

Salvatore Moreau

-If anything, Moreau is more overbearing than overprotective, but I guess they can go hand in hand. It all stems from the fact that he doesn’t want to lose someone who actually loves him. He’s worried that you might leave.

-Poor guy probably has little anxiety attacks from thinking on how he can keep you safe without crowding you. This knowledge alludes you because he manages to keep it under wraps.

-Although, you could guess that he’s insecure about himself. And you start to notice all that he does to keep you safe, such as making sure you stay indoors and away from the lycans.

-Moreau starts to slip and get more controlling, saying you need to stay by him at all times. When he notices this, he begins to apologize profusely, thinking he’s made you dislike him for sounding so controlling.

-However, you aren’t swayed by this, understanding he wants to keep you safe. You can imagine how happy he is when learns that his actions don’t upset you, and he can finally stop hiding his feelings.

-Now, all the handholding, keeping you close, and forcing you to watch movies with him 24/7 makes sense. Moreau doesn’t want to lose you, so he goes far beyond what is necessary to keep you safe.

-Still, if you want to do something, he lets you. After all, Moreau is a sweetheart who’s not about to deny your wishes, even if they cause him to absolutely worry. Don’t worry, you always reassure him with a hug.

Karl Heisenberg

-Right beside Alcina, Heisenberg is probably the most protective. You wouldn’t guess it, but when he finds something to cherish, he won’t hesitate to kill for it. Still, you find him getting overprotective adorable.

-He’s gruff about it for sure, telling you to stay close whenever he’s with you. That, or just grabbing your hand, cheekily saying how he wants to feel your skin on his. It doesn’t come across as overprotective for you.

-However, Heisenberg is like a ticking time bomb with his emotions. Every little thing worries him to the point of him blowing up. After all, this world is very dangerous.

-Unlike the others, you aren’t going to convince him to change. He’s going to be stubborn about keeping you safe, and what you can and cannot do. Everything he does is for your own good, remember that.

-Miranda and the other lords are what really worries him. Heisenberg would never recover if they got to you, so he’s extra cautious when it comes to you. He doesn’t want them finding out.

-The two of you have got into little spats about his actions, and this sometimes leads to him chaining you to the bed. Of course, he releases you almost immediately, but that leads to some other interesting activities.

-If you ever want to calm him down, just give him a hug or run your hand through his hair. Trust me, that will lead to less yelling and more conversation. Also, you can start to understand why he feels the need to be so overprotective. Perhaps he won’t chain you to the bed this time to make him feel better. (Unless you want that (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

[bisexual-scorpion]

A rant about my mixed feelings about Harumi in this timeline.

Mk1 story and endings spoilers, brief mention of possible leaks

On one hand, I am really glad that they are giving her depth rather than being the murdered wife of Hanzo. To give her the opportunity to be a character rather than a plot device. But it gets thrown out the window the moment they insta married her to Kuai because he's Scorpion now.

Yes, it's true we probably get to know more about her in mk1. That she was running a clan in Japan before Kuai got there. She is an effective fighter as well. She is just as passionate and angry if the roles were versed and she lost Hanzo and Satoshi. These sound like good things and they are.

So, what's the problem? Well, her relationship with Kuai and the lack of context. To me, it seems like all NRS sees her as "SCORPION WIFE." and her destiny is always to be wed to one even if Scorpion is a man to whom she has never interacted with in previous canon. A relationship that hasn't been shown to us but rather told to us repeatedly in intros and endings. We are TOLD that her and Kuai were childhood friends. We are told that Kuai goes there after that Mk1 and basically crashes her clan and rebuilds and names her after. We were told that they plan to wed after a short time of reuniting.

The only thing they are going to show allegedly (according to story2 leaks) is their wedding. We won't ever get to see them bond? Why did they decide to marry? What do they even like in each other? We are told they are marrying before we can actually see Harumi as a character. I feel like if you are gonna pair Harumi up with Kuai, add context or develop it? At the very least? Don't just tell us and think everyone will accept it? So many fans would have loved to see Hanzo and Harumi fall in love. To see why they were passionate about each other to begin with? Why they would go down a path of revenge and anger when the other and their son dies To see them work together without Harumi instantly dying? After like 30 somewhat years of only seeing small snips before tragedy hits them.

Everything would have made sense if it was Hanzo in Kuai's place in the story. It would be more easily believable to be told these things because we do not have to extend our imaginations to figure out how that worked? We know in every other timeline, Hanzo and Harumi are married and in love. We can conclude they will do without it seeing random and swallow. Then all NRS had to do was focus on her character because we already know they can love each other. Instead, they're going to make an unsatisfied romance between two characters that have no chemistry or context to be together. Other than the fact, Kuai is Scorpion so therefore Harumi should marry him.

Like you're telling me we have an invasion ending where Harumi is shown that if she was in Hanzo's shoes, she would make similar decisions to him? Only for her to never interact with Hanzo outside invasions? It feels like a money paw, we finally get to see Harumi do something other than die but we don't get to see her and Hanzo be together? That we won't ever actually get to see what they were like before they were married? Like NRS could simply have written that her and Hanzo were both Kuai's childhood friends? Or that her and Kuai remained friends and worked together on the Shirai-Ryu? Give her a timeline where she doesn't have to wed "Scorpion"?

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

"Of Bridges Built and Burned" 👀

I really like the title

I think i'm a genius with titles haha

tagging @moodyseal because this is based off some clowning we did together

So. Moody had let slip about a certain "how Commodus could be redeemed" au and I slid into the ask box and we clowned out over it.

Anyway. It's Copollo (obviously- this is ME we're talking about haha) and begins with Apollo and Commodus conveniently being stuck in the same place in TDP and have to talk/scream their dirty laundry out.

This, of course, brings certain things to light. Because, if I recall correctly, Apollo was never the one to bring up The Assassination - Commodus was always the one doing that and getting angry about it.

However, Apollo never did- he only ever talked about it in detail to Jo, then gave the Sparknotes to Leo & Meg. He never actually talked about it, and therefore never spoke of what drove him to do it.

Which means, Commodus doesn't know the real reason(s) why Apollo killed him. He just assumes Apollo didn't love him as much as he thought- but that's where he's wrong! >:)

So imagine them stuck in that room, Commodus ranting and raving about how Apollo's such a traitor, and a lier, you gave me your blessings and then murdered me, you never cared did you? and Apollo's sitting there just taking it until- fuck this shit- and starts yelling back at Commodus, about how people were going to kill him anyway but Apollo couldn't bear to let anybody kill him but him (because that's very healthy, right?🤡) and when he's done they're both standing there in silence.

Oh yeah. While that's happening they've had to work together to get out of the place so when they do get out they just. awkwardly go separate ways.

BUT WE'RE NOT FINISHED YET!

Apollo and company are in a situation (probably because of Caligula) and lo and behold, Commodus does something to help 'em out.

Because reasons.

Then when everything's said and done- Nero's dead, Python's dead, all the fasces and fascists are destroyed...

Commodus is still alive. And now I, Alder, slap on my "start combining history and RRverse" hat and give u a small history lesson! :D

In Ancient Rome, emperors were deified by the Senate. Notable examples are Caesar Augustus, Marcus Aurelius, and...Commodus.

Nero and Caligula were not.

Interesting how Commodus is the only Triumvirate emperor who's been historically deified...

and if we factor that lil' history nugget into this AU...who's to say Copollo still can't prevail? (🤡)

Of course, now I must direct your attention to the "Burned" part of the title. As much as it pains my Copollo shipper heart, neither of them have to forgive/forget what the other has done, and therefore simply may not ever speak to each other ever again- Apollo would leave Commodus be, provide he doesn't go back onto more "end the world" things- and that would be the end of their story.

Painful. Tragic. I love it and them.

though i wouldn't be opposed to them getting back together eventually either...

and Meg dragging them to couples' therapy. and both of them to a therapist in general.

They both need to desperately sort out their own issues before anything, especially if they do reignite their relationship.

Because ah...they were both doing some heavy projecting-of-issues onto the other.

although that's part of the reason why i love them so much they're so toxic and entertaining it's so good

[muiromem]

Just... repeatedly rotating An Idea around in my head

(and yes it's still Tom/Harry/B'Elanna OT3 because I'm obsessed with them, but I also love Janeway's and Tom's weird friendship)

Basically, something Big and Insane and Sci-Fi happens, and somehow all of the known universe in time/space is just sort of.... gone. Or dying, or being destroyed. Stars are going out, everything is vanishing out of existence. Planets, galaxies, creatures and anomalies and time/space itself - all completely gone.

Of course, Voyager is in the eye of the storm (so to speak) of this catastrophe that happened around them, and therefore one of the few things that remains for now (much like Kirk and the crew still existed after McCoy accidentally changed the timeline in "The City on the Edge of Forever"). Obviously, they're trying to stop it - to fix whatever this catastrophe was that could unmake all of existence.

With the wonders of Science-Fiction, there is a theoretical way to fix things; a jump-start essentially, to reset everything to what it was before this catastrophe and repair the wound it created. But even with this theoretical plan, there's something missing: a blueprint, of sorts. If they set off this insane spatial-temporal reaction, everything would be reset, but there's no telling what state the universe would actually be in after it was done. It would be like setting off a Genesis device on a war-destroyed Earth and hoping it would magically return everything and everyone to how they once were. There was nothing to guide this theoretical process of rebirth - and literally everything was at stake.

Even the great minds of Tuvok, Seven, B'Elanna and everyone else are at a loss for what to do. Unless they had someone like Q, omnipotent as he was, how could they feed something into this reaction of theirs to tell it what to do? How could they ever have enough information to rebuild all of existence from scratch?

It's Tom, of all people, who comes up with the answer: let him go.

At first everyone just sort of looks at him like he's insane because, what? What could he possibly be talking about? But even though he can't really remember, Tom still has a theory: the Warp 10 flight.

For a brief time, he was literally everywhere in time and space, all at once. Existing throughout all of existence simultaneously. Could his body, his unconscious mind, have somehow remembered that time? Could it have imprinted something onto him? Perhaps his very cells? He figures if there was a chance, even a small one, that his theory was correct - they had to take it. Because if he was right, then technically he was a living, breathing blue-print of all the known and unknown universe... and their only chance at saving everything.

That's when the riot starts, a great uproar of arguments. Facts and theoretical probabilities from Seven and Tuvok, horror and concern from Harry, even more from B'Elanna and the Doctor. They're startled, angry, because even if that were true the process would almost certainly kill him. And then there's Janeway, putting a stop to all the noise with a hand and saying that if there was a chance this theory would work, if the Doctor or someone could find even a speck of evidence to support it, then she would do it. Because even if everyone else forgot, she'd passed the transwarp threshold too.

Tom tries to argue, Chakotay and the Doctor too, but Janeway insists. She sends Tom to be looked over by everyone for proof of his concept, but says that if the time comes, she'll be the one to do it. As Captain, it's her job to keep everyone safe, no matter what. No one can argue, but no one is happy. Even this one chance at survival feels like it will come at too great a cost.

Time passes, with everyone rushing to do what they can before Voyager is also consumed by the nothingness. But eventually the verdict comes - Tom's idea has merit. His very atoms are somehow encoded with cross-temporal chronotrons and other signs that the theory may work. Once he knows what to look for, the Doctor scans Janeway and sees that she has these markers too, though hers are... fainter, for lack of a better term. She theorizes that it's because she only went through the Warp 10 process once, while Tom did it twice. The Doctor admits that there is a possibility Tom's the better candidate for this mission, only because he has a stronger "imprint" so to speak. Janeway still insists, refusing to send one of her officers to die in her place.

When everyone finally gets this complex and theoretical "reset" device figured out and constructed in one of the cargo bays, Tom begs to come with Janeway. He says that after everything she's done for him, he wants to see her off one last time. She relents, and once B'Elanna has started the reaction up from the safety of Engineering, shining beyond the doors like an imploding star, the two make their way there.

The entire deck has been cordoned off to keep chroniton and other radiations from killing the crew before they can set this whole thing in motion. It's just the two of them there. Tom takes a moment - as the doors open and they're both hit with a wave of heat, energy, and the unknown - and he thanks Janeway properly. For giving him a second chance, for believing in him, and for everything that followed after; like meeting Harry and B'Elanna, and finding a home aboard Voyager. Then he says "get them home" and before Janeway can realize what's happening, briefly thrown by his intense sincerity, he's shoving her aside - hitting the mechanism to shut the cargo bay doors. Inside, Tom grabs some tool and smashes the console so the door won't open without a manual override. That would probably buy him enough time.

Inside the cargo bay, it's like being trapped with the birth of a star; plasma, light, and colors all swirling in strings and shapes and a great sphere of something. There's no special switch for Tom to flip, no complicated sequence he has to follow. The best Voyager's brightest minds could figure out was for him to simply... walk into the singularity and hope for the best. He thinks of his family on Voyager, he thinks of his father and so many things unsaid, he thinks of B'Elanna and Harry and hopes that they'll still take care of each other when he's gone. And to keep them safe, to preserve everything that ever was or ever would be.... he walks into the fires of rebirth.

Outside the cargo bay, Janeway is screaming - trying to get in, to override the doors. She gets them open, only in time to see a tall silhouette disappearing - almost disassembled before her eyes, like dust being scattered away on the wind. Then there's just light - so bright it feels like it somehow pierces through her skin and bones and the very atoms of her being. Then.......

She wakes up. There's no telling how long it's been; all Janeway knows is that she's on the cargo bay floor, ears still faintly ringing, and Chakotay is gently helping her sit up. All around her it's... quiet. The cargo bay looks untouched - no crumpled bulkheads, no scorch marks, nothing. Even the vast, cobbled together machinery for the reset is simple gone. Once her head finally clears, Chakotay asks if she's alright, if her plan worked - but Harry's comm. from the bridge interrupts the question. Excitedly, Harry announces with great relief that the nothingness, the catastrophe, seems to be gone. His scans, Voyager's databanks - everything seems to be showing up normal. As far as they can tell, the universe was back to how it should be.

Back, except for one thing: Tom Paris.

As far as Janeway can see, Tom isn't in the cargo bay. She asks the computer to locate him; the reply is that Lieutenant Paris is no longer aboard. This is announced just as B'Elanna is running in through the cargo bay door, no doubt to see the result of all her hard work. She comes to a halt, looking at Janeway - staring because she wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to... After only a fraction of a moment, the computer's announcement finally registers and suddenly B'Elanna is running at Janeway with fists flying, screaming about how could she let him do this? Where is he, dammit, where the hell is Tom?!

She gets a few good hits to Janeway's chest and shoulders before Chakotay holds her back, and Janeway just lets her do it. Because this is her fault - she should have known Tom would try to pull that stunt with the doors, should never have let him come to see her off. She barely registers that B'Elanna's fury soon devolves into angry, choked back tears which Chakotay tries to soothe. When Harry arrives soon after and sees her expression, probably sees Janeway's too, it's all too easy for him to put two and two together. He and B'Elanna end up clinging to each other in their grief. Though Chakotay comes to Janeway to try and comfort her too, to reassure her that she's not responsible, all she can do is look at the cargo bay and see the silhouette where Tom last was - lost now to the ether of the universe.

The next few days are... hard. Harry might as well have aged a decade, and instead of the righteous fury that Janeway had expected, B'Elanna's just gone quiet. When Janeway stops by Sickbay, even the Doctor has become subdued, staring wistfully into the distance at nothing when he'd normally be working on some experiment or other. She still asks him, and Seven, and anyone who might be of use, if there was anything that could be done. But as far as anyone can tell, Tom Paris is gone - he'd sacrificed himself to save everyone else.

But Janeway feels like something is still wrong, like Tom's ghost is... haunting her somehow. It's a figure of speech when she admits it to a concerned Chakotay, but one night, she startles awake from a dreamless sleep, and there he is - standing in her quarters. Tom looks confused, exhausted, and he's... well she can see right through him. He looks at her, seemingly just as startled as she is, and she swears she hears him whisper "Captain?" But then suddenly he's convulsing, curling in on himself with a cry of pain and Janeway is horrified as she watches him.... unmade. It's like he's nowhere and everywhere, born and dying, unraveled but stitched together all at the same time until he's once again vanished into nothingness.

Janeway's heart is racing and she doesn't understand what she just witnessed. A dream? Hallucination? Some alien interference? She goes to the Doctor at 0400 and demands he scan her for a virus, temporal misalignment, anything. She's terrified that this was nothing more than the aftermath of radiation from being so near their "universal reset" as it went off. But there's also a tiny sliver of the smallest, most fragile hope, that this is something else - that there's a chance Tom isn't really.

The Doctor does find something, a strange resonance of sorts, connected - or perhaps coming from - Janeway. He theorizes that it's an effect of being so close to the singularity during the reset. As far as he can tell, she's not suffering from radiation damage, but believes that her guilt over Tom must have caused the hallucination. He offers to devise a treatment, and Janeway begrudgingly agrees. For him to say that what she'd seen was a hallucination though... it felt wrong somehow.

For the next few days, she hardly sleeps, too busy pouring over anything she can find - old Federation logs, complex theories, and all the research and schematics for the device they'd created. All in the slim hope to understand what had actually happened to Tom. Was he simply dead? He couldn't have been wiped from existence or surely, no one would have even known he'd existed. But had he been scattered throughout existence itself, a fundamental building block of the universe now? Seven helps her eventually, though it takes a good deal of persuasion. Chakotay and even Tuvok (though he'd never admit it) become increasingly concerned that she's grasping at straws, just trying to absolve herself of the guilt she feels because Tom took her place - but she knows it's more than that.

And eventually, she's proven right. The so-called hallucination happens again - but this time she's not the only one there. Seven and the Doctor were working with her on some experimental simulations on the holodeck when there's suddenly a terrible noise; something between electro-static and the wails of a dying creature. The holo-grid starts sparking, a console blowing out completely, until suddenly they all watch Tom Paris form out of nothingness before them. Whatever process was involved in his... reassembly, is obviously painful. Just watching the strange tangle of unidentifiable mass contort itself until it could become Tom was sickening. And when he finally takes form, still only semi-opaque, he collapses to his knees, shaking.

Janeway runs to him immediately, unsure what to do but calling his name. Here's there, he's there - it wasn't just in her head. The Doctor and Seven follow shortly, taking tricorder scans in shocked fascination. They ask questions, trying to understand what happened, but Tom doesn't know any more than they do. He says it's like he's everywhere but nowhere - and yet something keeps pulling him back into reality, back onto Voyager. He thought he would die, had come to terms with it, and yet he's still coming back. Even if he'd been completely tangible he looks awful, like he's dying every minute he's there. Janeway tries to reassure him that they'll find him, that they won't just give up, and that manages to make Tom smile. He says knows she won't give up on him - but as he starts to shift out of phase again, face clenched with pain, he asks her to promise him something. Janeway doesn't want to, knows she won't like what he has to say, but she nods anyways. "If you have to - let me go," is what he pleads. "Don't risk Voyager or anyone else for me. Just promise me that."

Janeway can't even form a reply, doesn't know how to let go, how to admit defeat. She's never given up on a crewman before, how could she possibly now? Out of habit she reaches out to touch Tom's shoulder - and even as he's fritzing, starting to disintegrate before her very eyes, she is surprised to make contact. The sounds of tricorders going haywire are behind her, but all Janeway can focus on is the fact that despite Tom literally unraveling in her hands, for a moment, just one moment, she could feel him. Then he's gone.

Everything is different this time - there was proof now, witnesses. B'Elanna and Harry are no longer withdrawn, instead racing full-steam ahead to do anything they can to help. They ask her about Tom of course, about how he's looking, and whether or not she thinks that they can save him. Janeway doesn't know what to say, how to tell them that Tom's clearly in pain and that she has no idea what even happened, let alone how to fix it....

Unfortunately, she doesn't have to. During some experimentation, Tom reappears again - much more violently this time, just when Harry and B'Elanna are present. The very air around them seems to crackle with energy, the temperature changing from too hot, then too cold, and back again. The atmospheric readings are going haywire and when Tom reappears, somehow less corporeal than before, he crumples to the ground in a heap. Harry is openly crying as they run to him, begging him to open his eyes - but when he and B'Elanna try to touch Tom, somehow their hands go right through.

Janeway is completely flummoxed. She'd touched Tom before, she knows she did. But it seemed he was becoming less and less stable each time he returned to a corporeal form - perhaps that explained the change? As the Doctor and Seven are once again running complex scans, Janeway goes to Tom's side and slowly reaches out a hand. As it lands on his shoulder, as Tom tries to sit up, she does make contact. The tricorders instantly go haywire, and Harry and B'Elanna wonder in despair - Why now? Why her? Why can't they touch him? But all Janeway can think is that this is progress. It must mean something, especially since Tom he seems to regain consciousness as she maintains contact, becoming a bit less transparent - a bit more real. When Tom sees Harry and B'Elanna this time, his eyes begin to water too - and Janeway wonders how tears could form in whatever state of flux Tom has become entwined with. But when she removes her hand to give them some space, to ask Tom if he's alright, he starts to fade once more.

This time Tom tries to reach out, to touch Harry and B'Elanna - but is just as unable to make real contact. Instead he tells them he loves them, begs them to take care of each other, to let him go - and it's painful to watch as he's once again gripped by whatever agony has been tearing him into reality and back. Hoping it might do something, Janeway grabs Tom's hand and this time she makes a promise she's going to keep: to bring him home dammit, no matter how long it takes. Just her hold on him seems to stabilize him a bit, taking the floating sands of his dissolving form and pulling them together for just a moment longer... but then the temperature goes haywire, energy crackles around them and Tom is gone once more. With him goes every sound as even the beeping of tricorder scans finally cease. In the silence, Janeway can barely seem to breathe and knows that Harry and B'Elanna must feel infinitely worse. Even more terrifying, each time Tom appears, he seems to be getting weaker, losing whatever cohesion he's managed to retain. She has no real basis to understand anything that's been happening, but Janeway has the sinking feeling that if they don't do something soon, Tom will be lost to them for good.

But then the Doctor clears his throat and holds up his tricorder, and suddenly hope floods back. "I believe I know what's happening to Mister Paris," he says, with not an ounce of boastfulness for once. Instead, the Doctor is as grim-faced as the rest of them, but holographic eyes no longer seem so empty. "And I think there's a chance we can fix it."

The process is... complex. Even for a mind as scientifically adept as Janeway's. The only important part is that Janeway wasn't just imagining that there was something connecting her to Tom. In reality, it was the other way around. Tom wasn't just being pulled back to Voyager - he was specifically being pulled back to her. It was all down to the the second transwarp flight, which they'd taken together. Crossing the barrier had created a sort of tether between them - a connection point across the vastness of reality. When Tom had entered the singularity to "reset" all of existence, in a manner of speaking his very existence was used to rebuild what had been lost. The price for this was Tom himself - every atom and molecule destroyed like the fuel necessary to keep a fire burning. But Tom and Janeway had gone to Warp 10 once together - existing everywhere in time and space at the same time. Because of that, a part of Tom still existed in Janeway, safe from the "reset" aboard Voyager within the eye of the storm. Janeway had unknowingly become a sort of temporal anchor, pulling Tom back into existence where he belonged.

At the moment though, he was trapped - pulled between reality and the strange purgatory of nonexistence. But with the magic of incredibly complex Science-Fiction and Technobabble, the crew essentially find a way to use Janeway's own Warp 10 resonance as both a magnet and a waypoint - to pull Tom back, and then reintegrate him into their time and space with the help of B'Elanna's ingenuity and a lot of Borg-enhanced technology. Harry describes is as being "like a temporal transporter" and that's already enough to give Janeway a headache, so she doesn't try to ask for details. The main idea boils down to grabbing onto what's left of Tom's "pattern" of existence, which has been imprinted onto Janeway, and using their newly constructed technology to "rematerialize" him back into reality.

Once they've found the method a jurry-rigged some machinery, the Doctor is standing by, both for Tom and for Janeway should anything happen. The others are farther off, manning the various machines while Chakotay and Tuvok have evacuated various decks in case of any explosions. The risks are immense, and this time Janeway had actually assembled the crew - asking them if they thought it was worth it. They'd potentially be putting the ship and everyone onboard it in danger, in a last-ditch attempt to bring one lost crewman home. It had warmed her heart when not a single person balked at the danger; Tom Paris saved them, their homes, their families and futures. Why shouldn't they try to save him too?

When the process happens, Janeway feels a sense of déjà vu; the light, the swirling mass of indecipherable colors and shapes and feelings, all cascading before her. This time she's strapped up with various bits of technology, hoping against hope to become the lighthouse that guide's Tom's way. In the very same cargo bay, bulkheads rattle and crumple this time, machines start screaming their warnings, and Janeway can feel the heat and pain and dizziness as radiation tries to eat away at her. But she can't stop yet, she won't stop. Even as the Doctor is yelling that the radiation levels are reaching critical, even as she hears Harry calling out that there's a new singularity opening and it's becoming completely unstable, Janeway sees it - a silhouette. It's only just forming, scattering in and out like a dance of lightning and sand, but it's there.

This time she won't be thrown through a cargo bay door and left to rebuild in the aftermath. This time she listens to her gut, and runs forward. She'd been the only one able to hold onto to Tom before because of whatever this bio-temporal tether was that had connected them - she sure as hell wasn't going to let him go now.

So she runs and sees an outstretched hand, breaking and reforming and scattering like light through a prism, everywhere and nowhere all at once. She ignores the pain and the feeling like she herself might be consumed by the fires of the unknown.

Kathryn Janeway takes a leap of faith, she grabs that outstretched hand, and for the sake of every person on her ship, she pulls.

Watching from afar, all the others see is a gigantic explosion of light and colors and sound. The cargo bay had been nearly cleared out before this process, but every piece of newly-made machinery has been completely destroyed. Bits and pieces scatter the floor, bulkheads have been wrenched open, sparks are flying, and Harry and B'Elanna find their ears ringing as they choke on smoke. They'd erected a level 10 forcefield for protection before starting the procedure, but in the aftermath it's been completely torn away. Even as the environmental controls kick in and start clearing out the haze, they look up from where they'd been thrown to see a massive scorch mark, spread out like a starburst across the cargo bay deck.

At it's center, they see.... something. Dizzy, confused, and still trying to see through ash and debris, initially they can't make it out. Even the Doctor is nowhere to be found, his emitter lying on the floor. It's fritzing but, after a brief inspection, seems repairable. Whatever happened must have shorted out many different systems, as Harry's attempt to use his combadge goes unanswered. He and B'Elanna make their way instead towards the center of the scorched cargo bay floor and behold... Captain Janeway.

She's covered in ash, with burns on her skin and uniform, and as they watch she kneels to the floor. There's something in her hands and after a moment it becomes clear; she's draping an emergency blanket over a long, familiar form. One with a head of messy, tawny blonde hair.

Harry and B'Elanna are running then, falling to their knees as they reach Janeway's side and behold Tom Paris - naked save for the blanket Janeway has brought to preserve his modesty. He's overly pale and clearly unconscious, but he's there, he's alive.

Harry cradles Tom to his chest, rocking him gently and bawling like a baby. B'Elanna runs her hand over Tom's hair, his face, his bare shoulders - anything she can seem to reach. They don't even know if he's fine really, but at least he's breathing. They didn't blow up the ship and they didn't have to lose him. Janeway looks exhausted and it's obvious her burns are painful, but she just stars at her three crewman, clutching onto each other with such love, and she smiles.

It feels like she sits there for an eternity, just watching them, basking in their reunion and the knowledge that they did it. In reality, it must only be a few minutes before the cargo bay doors are being forced open and Chakotay, Tuvok, and Neelix come through, bringing medical supplies and asking if everyone is alright.

By then, Harry is finally wiping his eyes and asking B'Elanna if she can get the Doctor back online because they're probably going to need him. For once, she looks reluctant to work, clearly wanting to stay there with him and Tom. In the end she agrees, but not before pressing a kiss to Harry's knuckles and Tom's forehead before taking the holo-emitter and leaving.

Afterwards it's all a long process of scanning, repairing, and treating everyone's wounds. Janeway tries to shoo Chakotay away once they bring her to sickbay, far too worried about Tom's condition, but he pulls out the big guns. Chakotay knows that she can't say no to Neelix when he gives her those big concerned eyes and tells her that "the crew needs their Captain to be taken care of too". So she ends up lying on a bio-bed for half an hour while the Talaxian carefully treats her burns and radiation poisoning as best he can. Unsurprisingly, B'Elanna gets the Doctor's program and holo-emitter working in record-breaking time, and they're all relieved when he checks over Tom and the prognosis is good; Tom's exhausted, dehydrated, and a bit worse for wear, but he'll be fully recovered in no time. Whatever madness they'd pulled of had worked.

Eventually, he wakes up, still very weak but every bit the Tom Paris they know and love. When he sees how distressed both Harry and B'Elanna are, he even jokes that they put an awful lot of effort in "just for him". B'Elanna looks like she wants to punch him for it, but instead throws her arms around him in a hug, and the three of them share a teary, heartfelt reunion. When the lovebirds have to split off so everyone can get some rest, and once the Doctor has given her a clean bill of health, Janeway goes over to Tom's biobed to see how he's doing.

He's obviously tired but he smiles up at her. However, the first thing she tells him is that she should court-martial him and throw him in the brig for the stunt he pulled in the cargo bay by taking her place. For a moment, Tom nearly believes her. But then Janeway smiles back and pats his hand with hers and says that he may be a reckless idiot, but she's proud to say he's one of her bravest officers. She also sincerely thanks him for what he did, to which Tom replies that she risked everything to get him back, so that probably that makes them even. Janeway doesn't bother trying to make him promise never to do something that risky again, since she knows he'd only break the promise anyways if the circumstances required it. Instead, she says that if he's going to continue doing insane, reckless stunts for the good of her ship, then she'll just have to keep doing insane reckless things to keep his sorry ass alive. She receives the patented "yes ma'am" for her troubles, and Tom says that after all, he learned from the best.

The last thing she does before telling him to get some rest though, is tease him - threatening that, even if she understands why he did it, if he ever tries that switcheroo he pulled with her again, she'll have to tell the gossip mill about all the places she hadn't realized he has freckles.

Janeway can see by his slowly-dawning expression that Tom does recall something about emerging from the nothingness, naked on the cargo bay floor. The last thing she hears as she walks, grinning, away from Sickbay is a sputtered yell of "You wouldn't actually... Captain? CAPTAIN!" before the automatic doors swish shut.

[hauntedwitch04]

The pumking king

🎃Halloween party🎃  

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Words: about 1.8k words

Warning: none, just pure and lovely fluff with our sweety Steve, with a very protective Dusty-bun with his sister, a bit angsty

Author’s note: 6th and finally we arrived to one of my favourite prompts. This is a little bit longer than the one before, hope you like this!

✒️:     "You know, honey, as much as it costs me to admit it, your pumpkin is much more beautiful than mine." "Of course, I am the queen of pumpkins."

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Ever since you were little, you and Dustin have always loved the Halloween season because that meant only two things: treats and ... the best pumpkin contest.

Your mother on October 31 always held this little competition between you, for the best carved pumpkin, where the winner would choose the movie to watch that night. And no matter that you have grown up, the tradition has been upheld and for now you are leading the winning list, although Dustin complains that you are only because you are older than him and therefore have been able to get more experience. This year is different, however, because for the first time Steve, your boyfriend and no less than your brother's best friend, will be participating with you in your little contest. Everything is now ready, the pumpkins are on the table and the knives are by their side with their respective bowls and candles, the only thing missing are Dustin and your boyfriend, who had gone to get candy. Finally you hear a car in the driveway, and a little later the door swings open.

"We're home!" Your little brother shouts, running into the kitchen and positioning himself in front of his pumpkin. A few days earlier you had gone to pick it at one of the nearby fields, and you had brought them home. Dustin had literally locked his in the coat closet, since no one but him could touch the "winning pumpkin."

"You took forever!" You say a little impatiently as you watch your boyfriend walk through the kitchen door with several bags in hand, following Dustin.

"Sorry love, but I thought not even that many people lived in Hawkings, believe me. It was full of people." He replies as he walks up to you, and wraps an arm around your waist before leaving a kiss on your lips to say hi You hear a mock retch of vomit coming from your brother, and you can't help but laugh.

"I have already asked you to stop being lovey-dovey in front of me. I will not repeat myself again Harrington. Next time your punishment will be never to see my sister again." Dustin says menacingly, pointing his finger at him, while you can't help but laugh.

"I thought you loved Steve, don't you always say he's your best friend?" you ask curiously, as you take a seat next to him in front of your pumpkin patch and watch your boyfriend sort out the things he bought, while you couldn't help but think how cool he was doing that small, everyday gesture.

"Sure, Steve is my best friend, but when he decided to get together with my sister he also became enemy number one. Well no come on maybe number two, number one is the Upside Down." Explains the little boy.

"Wow, I'm honored to play for the top spot with that hell, I'm touched by your high opinion of me Dusty-bun." Countered Steve wryly.

"You better shut up Harrington. I know things about you that you wouldn't like to let people know." He says, always making the threatening look, which looks more like an angry hamster, which is always super cute, though.

"If you're talking about hairspray, by now I think everyone knows and that's because of you." The older boy complains as he sits down next to you. You are now in the midst of their current argument, which grows second by second in intensity.

"I'm not talking about that I'm talking about something else like...scratching or cuddling." Dustin continues by making quotation marks with his fingers and a disgusted face as Steve pales. You barely hold back your laughter.

"How do you know that? Who told you that? Don't even try to think about it, I have a reputation to maintain!" He shouts, putting his hands in his hair.

"I have my sources." Your vague brother replies as he laughs.

"Robin! That bitch, I knew the friendship between you two could only end badly for me!"

"You should stop using her as a psychologist, at least Y/N/N confesses everything to her but she does it as a friend, not as a patient." At this sentence from your brother you can't contain yourself and burst out laughing.

"If I catch you, I'll put my hands on you." Steve says to your brother, trying to get up. You stop him with an arm and glare at him. He seeing your eyes immediately freezes.

"Now it's time to end this ridiculous skit. Dustin stop making fun of Steve, and you Steve stop being a baby. We have to carve pumpkins now." You say in a firm voice, and immediately the boys listen to you. "After all, I must or must not be crowned the pumpkin queen again." You continue.

"Empty gourds, at best." Your brother answers.

"Don't insult your sister." Steve counters

"God, you yell at me like a married couple with children." Dustin whispers, then continues. "Then Steve, do you still think you have a reputation after you hang around with a bunch of fifteen-year-old kids when you're twenty-two?"

"Emh emh." You cough as you look at him. He rolls his eyes and picks up the pocket knife he had laid down earlier.

"Yes, yes the pumpkins, I understand."

So you begin your challenge, and the hours run fast on the clock, so much so that it's evening by the time you're done. Steve looks around and sees that by comparison his is really the ugliest of them all.

"You know, honey, as much as it costs me to admit it, your pumpkin is much more beautiful than mine." He says with a defeated air, but at the same time with a smile.

"Of course, I am the queen of pumpkins." You answer in an obvious manner, smiling as you look at your handiwork. You turn to look at him and see him with a dejected look on his face. A 'wave of compassion invades you as you watch him and you immediately look for words of comfort.

"Although I think yours is a thousand times better than mine really, I hadn't stopped to look at it properly before. It's really good work for a beginner honey." You try to say, but he smiles at you with his eyes still sad.

"There's no need to lie, I know it's bad. It's not the first time I've sucked at something." He responds by touching your face with one hand, stroking it, before excusing himself because he has to go to the bathroom.

Another punch in the stomach raises your guilt and anger at the same time. His parents have always made him feel like a nobody, incapable of doing anything, and now this is the result: he thinks he is incapable of doing anything and that everything he deserves, given the magnificent person he is, he doesn't really deserve. Immediately you get an idea and turn to your brother unaware of the conversation you and Steve were having since he was running out of his noggin. You pull him by the sleeve and he turns away angrily.

"You make me wrong! What do you want, I'm almost done!"

"We have to let Steve win." You whisper and he looks at you as if you have committed the greatest betrayal in history.

"No! What are you thinking!"

"Shut up! He mustn't hear us." You shout in a whisper before briefly telling him about the conversation between you and your boyfriend just before and your thoughts. Immediately he too becomes more serious as he looks at his friend's noggin and finally nods in defeat.

" All right, but I have a better idea." He says taking the knife back in his hand as he moves in front of Steve's noggin. "But you'll have to help me out." He continues by handing you your knife.

In a few minutes you make slight changes that markedly improve Steve's noggin. You step abruptly away, hearing the bathroom door open and close as footsteps come toward you. When he enters the room the boy knows perfectly well that you two are hiding something, since you both have Henderson's face, as he calls it, which is the worst poker face he has ever seen.

"I really think you won." You say with a smile on your lips as you point to the pumpkins that are now facing him. Steve can't help but notice that yours are now totally ruined, yours has a big hole in the front, while Dustin's is destroyed from the top.

"What happened to yours?" Says your boyfriend incredulously, as he looks at his pumpkin, which looks much more finished to him than before.

"I tripped and accidentally dropped Dusty's pumpkin, and he out of spite destroyed mine, but that's not important. You won!" You say, hugging him as I kiss his cheek. "You made a wonderful pumpkin, I'm proud of you!" You finish, before letting him go.

"Yeah man you did really good." Dustin continues by clapping a hand on his shoulder.

A light of pride lights up in Steve's eyes as he thanks us. After collecting all the treats, we sit on the couch not far away and decide to watch a movie. Once we get it started, immediately we are already laughing at the lack of believability of the monsters in the movie. A half hour into the movie Dustin is already asleep on a back of the couch, while you and Steve are snuggled under the blanket. I am distracted by the movie and do not notice that Steve's gaze is on his pumpkin, now resting on the kitchen counter, with a lit candle inside.

"I know you let me win on purpose." He says shifting his gaze to you. "You didn't have to, I know how much it means to you and Dustin."

"You deserve it, I only gave you a little help, and as I said before I'm proud of you." You retort, forgetting about the film.

"I still don't understand how you got Dustin into all this."

"Big sister tricks." You say and he bursts out laughing.

"How did I deserve you?"

"Every pumpkin queen needs a pumpkin king. And in case it's the other way around, I'm the one who doesn't know how I deserve such a sweet, caring, kind and extremely attractive guy like you."  

"As you said every king needs a smart, funny and selfless queen by his side." He replies before giving you a kiss.

"I am glad that you are my king."

"And I that you be my queen."

Little bonus (I wanted to end it fluffy, but I think that the bonus it’s the real end) 

"I love you guys, and the scene is very cute, but I swear I'm getting diabetes." Exclaims Dustin still half asleep.

[microraptorreactor]

Im just. gonna hammer out some thoughts about Ep 17/18. Because man I have thoughts. Spoilers (and bad words) below the cut.

So the very base of the story, Golden Cheese herself, is fucking heartbreaking man. She's lost everything, her friends, her family, her kingdom, and it drove her insane. She built a massive digital city where everyone she lost can live in utmost luxury, but she still isolates herself to a small circle of cookies, probably to try keeping an airtight seal on the true nature of the kingdom. Her deepest desire is to keep her citizens happy and she'll do just about anything to achieve that. Because what is she without her treasure?

And her conversation with Rasine at the end TT-TT Those two bounce off each other so well. I hope they kiss.

And then there's Smoked Cheese!! God, after ep 17 I really wasn't sure about him, but he's such a fucking good character. He's just as scared as GC, if not more. But unlike GC, he's not quite as clouded by grief. He realizes that his god-queen is delusional, and quite possibly has realized for some time. OF COURSE, he'd flip his shit when he finds out DE is back and GC plans on doing nothing! He watched the kingdom burn down for the first time! And he has to watch these cookies who it's his job to protect, that he quite possibly grew up around, walk around like nothing's ever gone wrong. He has to keep up a facade that everything's fine and there isn't another massive threat looming over the city while his queen berates him for questioning her. He has every right to be angry and scared! And I can't particularly blame him for turning on her and airing out the truth. Trying to blow up the kingdom was 100% a dick move tho. But the scene where he's LITERALLY BEGGING GC TO KILL HIM??? It's my personal interpretation that he was terrified to go back to the Digital City, and therefore going back to ignoring all the trauma of the war.

Honestly, I feel like SC's whole villain ark might have been avoidable if GC and her little circle of friends sat down and had a heart-to-heart about the Dark Flour War, but that would require any of them to be emotionally vulnerable. Something that everyone in this kingdom is alergic to, apparently.

Mozarella cookie I certainly have. Feelings about. Her whole deal with erasing cookies memory so that they don't catch on to the digital kingdom is a detail I really like, but as a character, I just don't really care for her. It's probably just my personal taste, as I like the angsty characters and she just doesn't have that going on. I haven't finished the mineing missions story so maybe she has some in that. I feel the same way about Burnt/Basque Cheese, he's cool he just doesn't have enough going on in the backstory department for me to care.

Fettuchini Cookie's concept is terrifying. She's slowly losing herself to factors outside her control. There are literal bugs eating her brain. But the narrative doesn't really do anything with that? She's just kind of Olive Cookie's weird adopted child. To be fair the story is long enough, both chapters together clock in at about two and a half hours assuming that you have the best possible team. But she could have been so much more with that concept! Especially since she's playable instead of actually-really-important Smoked Cheese.

Olive Cookie is Olive Cookie. She's there to be an exposition archeologist. She serves her purpose in the story. I have no complaints about her. Y'all are being too harsh.

anyways, back to working on my OCs!