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too-much-tma-stuff · 5 months ago

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You Stay Away From Her (part 11)

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It was decided that the Justice League’s official channel would work on the governmental side of the GIW, laws, and PR, leaving it to the less official channels like the younger group, and Hood and Hyena to raid the bases. It wouldn’t be the best look but they couldn’t leave them any longer knowing there might be other sentient beings suffering in there. As long as the JL’s core members tacitly condemned their actions and the teams involved were sneaky it shouldn’t hinder the repeal efforts too much. Besides, constantly having to repair damaged infrastructure and replace dead staff would make keeping the GIW running very expensive.

Danny felt much better by the end of the talk. The JL was taking this much more seriously then he had feared, and they hadn’t once brought up that he might technically be a villain since his panic attack. He felt better but he was still exhausted, and he leaned against Jason’s shoulder, taking strength from his partner as the meeting wound down. Things seemed settled and he was looking forward to going home, hopefully getting some junk food and candy, and maybe some alcohol because he needed a Drink.

“Alright, with that settled there is one more thing I’d like to discuss before we adjourn the meeting,” Batman said, leaning his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers.

Danny bit back a groan. What more could Bruce possibly want to talk about? Danny wanted to go hooome.

“I am under the impression that Phantasm is in need of a guardian-”

“No I’m not!” Phantasm interrupted Batman, glaring at him fiercely.

“She’s not, not really,” Hyena chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her shoulder. “She’s been on her own since just a few months after her creation.”

“And it’s not like Vlad was a good guardian before that,” Ellie added. Danny nodded.

“But needing one or not, having one might be good for you.” Danny told her, squeezing her shoulder gently. “After everything you’ve been through, having a good guardian to help take care of you while you work through it?” She hesitated, but then she nodded, Danny was grateful for her trust.

“I would be willing too-” Batman started before Hyena interrupted him.

“No! Not you, and not Superman!” Hyena insisted, pointing an accusing finger at their end of the table.

“It’s not up to you-” Superman started this time, sounding offended.

“He’s my template! My only family, I trust him and I’m not going with anyone he doesn’t like,” Ellie growled at the two of them.

Reminded of how much he loved her, Danny gave her a one armed hug. He'd forgotten how ride or die she could be. “If they’d be willing, Martian Manhunter or Wonder Woman would be best. You both have powers, and experiences in common with her. But I don’t trust you with a clone,” He said, glaring at Superman. “I speak Kryptonian, I know what Kon-El means. You’re a piece of shit!” At least he had the decency to look chagrined. “And you!” Hyena pointed at Batman. “I know how you fuck up your kids. I’m dating one of your fucked up kids! You stay the hell away from her.”

Danny saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Nightwing had rested a hand on Jason’s arm and Robin and Superboy were behind them now, Tim supporting Jason and Danny, Kon supporting him and Ellie. It took Danny a moment to realize how heavy the silence had suddenly become and process what he had just said. He looked at Jason with regret and horror, seeing Jason shake his head subtly and grab Danny’s hand. At least he wasn’t mad.

“What do you mean you're dating one of Batman’s sons?” Wonder Woman asked, soft and dangerous.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Jason was either genuinely startled or doing a good job faking it. Then he scoffed and shook his head. “What am I talking about, of course he didn’t. If he didn’t tell Nightwing I was back he wasn’t going to tell any of you.

“Yes, I was the second Robin. About six months after Joker killed me some sort of reality altering event resurrected me and I woke up in my coffin. I dug myself out, calling for my father,” Jason said, glaring across the table at Batman from behind his mask. “But because he buried me on the other side of Gotham instead of with our family I never made it home. The league of Assassins found me first.

“It took me years to make it back, but because bty then I was already a killer, and my own person instead of an obedient soldier, he wants nothing to do with me,” Red Hood scoffed with a dismissive motion.

“Don’t misconstrue the facts. You returned as a crime lord! You took over the drug trade in Gotham and had a body count in the dozens before you revealed to me who you were. Which you did by demanding I let you kill the Joker,” Batman said, and yikes this meeting was now a family fight.

“Ya? And how did you respond to that B? Did you respond well OR! Did you slit your own sons throat to save a fucked up clown?” Nightwing demanded of their father. B just barely fidgeted under their stare.

“Besides I’m making Crime Alley a better place in a way you never even tried to. Even if you love Gotham more than any of us you’d basically given up on Crime Alley because of how deep the roots of organized crime go there, and don't you try to claim otherwise! But I’m an Ally kid, was before you pulled me out of there, will be till I die. So I’m making it safer in the way that works for them! Setting up safe injection sites and rehabs, making it against the rules to sell to, or use kids, setting up safe houses for the working girls. I’m making it a safer place for the people who have always lived there. Not trying to make it the sort of place people will set up fancy coffee shops.”

“It’s against the law. You are not above the law,” Batman hissed at him.

Jason clearly telegraphed rolling his eyes at B. “Then stop being a vigilante, because what you’re doing is against the law too.”

“We’ve gotten off topic again,” Martian Manhunter butted in again, giving Batman a warning look. “I will take on the role of mentoring Phantasm. It’s been a while since I took a young hero under my wing. It will be refreshing to do it again.”

“Thank you,” Hyena said genuinely, smiling at Martian Manhunter from behind his mask.

“Ya I bet you like that,” Ellie said, lightening the mood with her teasing tone. “MM has been your favourite hero since you were a kid, and now you have an excuse to talk to him more.”

Hyena blushed and hissed at her only for her to laugh in his face. If they weren’t in public he would have tackled her and started play-fighting. As it was he resigned himself to letting her get away with embarrassing him for now.

Manhunter chuckled gently and give Danny a very small smile. “I’m flattered to have been your favourite hero. It is a rarer honour for me then some of the others.”

“Ya…” Danny breathed, a little starstruck before he shook himself out of it and stood up. “Well, if that’s all I think Hood and I are ready to go home,” He said, giving Jason a slightly pleading look. He nodded and stood up as well, wrapping an arm around Danny’s waist.

“That was a good meeting. Remember, if you need help with anything from the Realms, call us. Or any apocalyptic threats I guess, call us,” He reminded before ushering Danny out. The Teen Titans and the present members of the Bat-family sort of formed ranks around Jason, Danny, and Ellie and escorted them out of the room.

The adults were quiet as they left, but as soon as the door closed behind them Danny heard a cacophony of voices, and had to duck his head to hide a grin. It seemed like what Jason had said had managed to start a fight, good, B deserved it!

Danny snuggled against Jason’s side as Tim put in coordinates and verification in the Zeta-tube to get Jason and Danny back to the Bat Cave. Before they left Danny turned and hugged Ellie tightly again. “Go back with the Teen Titans okay? And come visit me.”

“You have to come visit me too!” Ellie insisted, his voice muffled as she pressed her face into Danny’s chest.

Danny glanced a little nervously at the assembled members of Teen Titans, “Starlight I’m not sure that they’d want me to-”

“No, it’s alright. Unless anyone objects?” Tim asked, glancing over at his team, Cassie shrugged, Bart gave him a thumbs up and a grin, and Kon nodded. “You invited me into your home, you’re welcome in mine. Especially since it’ll be hers now too. Come whenever you want,” Tim promised. “Just give us a heads up first.”

“Thank you. In that case, yes I will visit you. I promise,” He swore to her. She sniffled and nodded, pulling away from him and wiping her eyes.

“Good, I’ll hold you to it.” She grumbled at him.

Danny bit back a laugh and nodded before finally letting Nightwing and Hood guide him into the portal. It was less scary the second time at least, even though Danny was completely exhausted.

“I’m going to take him home,” Jason told Dick as Danny leaned more heavily against him. Now that they were alone he was done holding it together.

“Of course. Is there anything I can do?” Dick asked worriedly. Danny closed his eyes tightly and resisted the urge to cover his ears too.

“No. You can order takeout to our place if you want to, but right now he just needs space. We both do,” Jason told Dick before gently pushing Danny over to his bike and on. Danny clung to Jason, hiding against his back as he drove them home, weaving in and out of traffic and pulled up to the curb, practically carrying Danny back inside.

“I’m so sorry,” Danny muttered, his arms wrapped tightly around Jason’s shoulders, his face pressed against Jason’s chest. “I shouldn’t have brought up B adopting you, I shouldn’t have surprised you with the powerpoint, I’m sorry I had a panic attack there. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shhh, shh shh, it’s okay Danny, it’s okay Love. It was actually kind of fun getting to throw B under the bus like that. It’s not your fault for having a panic attack either. But yes, you should have warned me about the power-point. What do you want to do about it?” Jason asked softly, not because he was actually upset, but because the quickest way to snap Danny out of a self hating spiral like this was to ‘punish him for it’, and then talk about it after.

“Whatever you want, whatever will make it right,” Danny mumbled again, he sounded distracted and vague. Jason knew that tone of voice, Danny was having another panic attack, just a dissociative one this time.

“Danny, none of that! You have to tell me,” Jason told him firmly.

“Take me to bed, be rough with me,” Danny mumbled.

“Only if you use the safe word,” Jason told Danny, even though he was already carrying Danny towards the bedroom.

“I will if I need to,” Danny promised, and Jason sighed. He knew that meant Danny wouldn’t use it, but all he could do was insist Danny could and should. Trying to force Danny to would be counterproductive.

---------

The meeting had taken hours for Batman to get back under control as the rest of the Justice league went back and forth between berating him for the way he’d treated Jason and offering him parenting advice. He didn’t want any of it! They hadn’t read Jason’s file, they didn’t know just how high of a body count he had now, just how brutal he could be now. He didn’t want any of their advice, or any of their ridicule, it was ridiculous!

Constantine had tried to sneak out but Batman pinned him to his seat with a look, muttering to him that he needed to stay, Bruce wanted to talk to him alone after the meeting. Finally he managed to regain control enough to end the meeting, ‘at least till tempers had cooled and they could revisit this problem.’ He was planning to avoid that follow up meeting as long as humanly possible.

He convinced everyone else to leave and grabbed Constantine by the scruff when he tried to leave again too. Bruce had seen the look of realization on Constantine’s face while he was watching Danny before he could wipe it away. He had controlled it quickly, but not so quickly that Batman hadn’t noticed it.

“You know what he is now don’t you?” Batman growled at Constantine once they were alone.

“What’re you talkin about?” Constantine deflected.

Batman was not impressed.

“Hyena. What is he?” Batman demanded, glaring at the magician.

Constantine hesitated, glancing around them and biting his lip, as if he was afraid Hyena might pop out from the shadows again. “I think so, but it’s weird and… Well, he’s right that if he had told me I wouldn’t have believed him.”

“Fine. Tell me,” Batman demanded again, he was getting impatient.

“I think he’s a-” And then he made a series of sounds that made no sense to Batman. “It’s a bit clumsy to translate into English. Halfa, or ‘the perfect balance’, something like that. They’re… well they’re a fucking myth is what they are! The legend is that they were an immortal race of beings who were completely alive, and completely dead. Perfectly balanced between the two, incredibly powerful and almost indestructible. There were only ever a couple hundred because they had to be made not born and the way they’re made is very rare. But they were the keepers of the balance, ambassadors between worlds.

“Everyone respected them. But that was before the king went mad, and there was this prophecy was discovered, that the True King of the Infinite Realms would be a halfa or somethin. He killed the entire race, complete genocide and no one’s heard anything from a halfa in… I genuinely don’t know, thousands of years probably,” Constantine shrugged again. “I’d heard about them. Ancient beings sometimes lament their loss, that things were better when they were around to keep the balance, but I thought it was just Boomer talk! Back in my day Bullshit! I didn’t think they were TRUE!” Constantine sounded almost hysterical.

“If they’re keepers of the balance what’s one doing in Crime Alley serving Red Hood?” Batman said skeptically.

“Fuck if I know mate!” Constantine said. “He said he was fully human not that long ago so I’m guessing he’s a new halfa. Which… I guess it makes sense, just because all the previous were gone, the way they’re made can technically be naturally occurring. But he probably won’t have any idea about that cultural heritage, there’s no one left to teach him.

“With what the GIW did, and he mentioned his haunt being taken, and no one to fall back on, he was a lost spirit. He probably would have latched on to anyone who gave him kindness and purpose,” Constantine explained to Batman with exaggerated patience. “It seems to have worked out pretty well for them, if not for you.

“And Bats, I know you’re not thrilled about this, but think about it. What if Hyena had latched on to someone else? Even a normal person given access to the sort of power Hyena offers, what would most people do with it? Or what if he had latched onto someone like Penguin, anyone without a good heart deep down. It could have gone a hell of a lot worse! And as it is, as long as you don’t piss them off too badly we have a powerful new alley and a counter to a type of threat the League wasn’t well set up to deal with.

“Maybe try untwisting those panties of yours about him dating your son,” Constantine accused, rolling his eyes. This time when he stormed out Batman didn’t stop him. He wasn’t sure how helpful the information Constantine had given him was, but he knew he’d gotten everything he was going to get out of the magician.

He had his own research to do.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #jason todd #dead on main #fanfiction #Hyena!Danny AU #dani phantom #kon el kent #tim drake #nightwing #john constantine #batman #superman #wonder woman #Superman has issues with clones

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forgetmaenott · 14 days ago

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ILOVEYOU - TADC Showtime One-Shot

summary: Much to his confusion, Caine finds himself with the most unusual symptoms around Pomni. Sometimes he overheats, sometimes he blue-screens, sometimes he even glitches. It doesn’t worry him too much until he happens to hear of a little thing called ‘the love bug’.

inspired by : https://www.tumblr.com/dismas-n-dismay/762033111925194752/something-about-one-of-the-first-major-computer

tags : @certifiednerd01 @sm-baby

The virus had first crept its way into his code during one of their “lessons”.

It was a routine at this point. After one of their adventures and a digital meal, Pomni would retreat to her room. Usually she’d stare off into space and try to process the absurdity of that day’s adventure, only to be interrupted by Caine teleporting to her room. These days, though, he kindly knocked on her door to respect her space. She’d let him in, usually with a tired smile before he’d ask for her feedback on the adventure, and then their conversation would gradually shift topics until they lost track of time.

One particular night, she had been telling him fragmented memories from her real life. She couldn’t remember her name, or anything particularly personal, but she still remembered scattered feelings or moments, just with blurred faces and missing names. It was cathartic for her, to have someone to tell about her memories and gradually piece them together, ever-so-slight--especially when that someone was an AI who hung on her every word.

He laid on her bed beside her, gloved hands propping his chin up to gaze at her as she spoke. His front resting on her bed, legs kicked up and swinging behind him.

"...oh! that's another thing humans do. Traditions, I guess? Based on the seasons. Over the summer, some people like going to the ocean. A real ocean, it's bigger than you can imagine. It's sort of terrifying. We haven't even explored half of it," Pomni rambled on. Sometimes, she got so comfortable she forgot anyone was even there listening.

Caine gasped dramatically. "Really? All of that technology and you don't know most of what's down there? How spooky!"

Pomni blinked before laughing softly. "I mean, yeah. I guess we're pretty advanced. I mean, just look at you," she said before realizing.

Caine dusted off his suit. "What about me?"

"W-well, you know, cause you're...not human?" Pomni trailed off shyly, almost worrying that she had offended him in some way.

"Ha-ha! Oh, Pomni, you’re so silly. Of course I know that," Caine wiped a fake tear from his eye before lifting a finger, "as a matter of fact, I named myself!"

Pomni leaned towards him curiously. The closest she had been willing to get to him yet. "Really?" she asked curiously. “I-I didn’t know that. How’d that happen?”

"That's right," he replied, but to him the topic of conversation had immediately went on the back burner. She was listening to him. She was genuinely asking about him. Who had ever done that? Oh, dear, had she always had those pinwheel eyes? Oh, how he loved the color red. Especially now that he knew she had red in her eyes. The same shade of his suit, too.

He caught himself when he realized they were sitting in silence, her awaiting him to continue. He cleared his throat awkwardly, regaining his composure. “Oh, dear, I lost my train of thought didn't I? What was I saying?"

"Your name?" Pomni prompted.

Caine blinked. “Oh, right! Of course. Well, I wasn’t originally coded with a name. So, when I became sentient—and I mean fully sentient—I gave myself my name. Can you guess what it means, my dear?”

He had gripped her hand excitedly, prompting her to guess. He rarely had anyone be so genuinely curious in him and it was a little more than refreshing, to say the least.

Pomni bit her lip in thought. “I really don’t know,” she admitted.

“Go on, guess!” Caine piped up, always one to jump straight towards the path of games.

Pomni definitely was not a fan of guessing games. She looked around uncomfortably, wracking her brain to come up with something. “Uh—well, I think I can guess what the A and I stand for…” she smiled gently, “as for the rest of it…Creative Artificial Intelligence uh…I don’t know. Something, something.. Entertainment,” she guessed weakly.

“I like the sound of that! But not quite,” Caine corrected. He flew above her, dramatically gesturing to the colorful words that popped up as he spoke. “Actually, it means…Creative Artifical Intelligence Networking Entity!” Confetti rained down on Pomni and she swatted it away. “Ah, apologies—it’s a habit.”

Pomni coughed as a digital piece of confetti unpleasantly entered her mouth. "It's fine," she brushed off before focusing on the acronym in front of her, "so I was close."

Caine floated down beside her again. "Actually, 'something something' is not part of my name, my dear!"

Pomni blushed slightly at her silly wording, looking away sheepishly. "Y-yeah. I know that."

Caine tilted his head curiously at her. She was blushing...why? To his knowledge, humans flushed out of embarrassment or heightened body temperatures. She certainly couldn't get sick here, so why on Earth would she be embarrassed? "My little lemon cake, is something wrong? Did I embarrass you?"

Pomni glanced back at him, surprised he picked up on her emotions. He had never done that before. Never been so...caring. "Huh? Oh, no...it's nothing. Really."

Caine watched her for a while, unblinking. He never blinked, but it was especially noticeable now. Pomni was a generally nervous person, but she seemed to be blushing more intensely at his attention. "You seem to be ashamed. Why is that?"

Pomni broke their eye contact. "Caine, I'm alright. I-I mean I appreciate it, but--"

Her words were cut short at the feel of his gloved hand over her own. Comforting her. Trying to be empathetic. Just like they had spoken about. "You can tell your ringmaster anything that digital heart of yours desires," he recited from his research on human comfort.

Pomni wasn't embarrassed, truthfully. At least, not to the extent he was trying to make it. But with his hand on hers, with him learning, she certainly felt...something. She smiled weakly. "I know, Caine. ...Thanks," she offered a shy response, ‘I…you’re doing good.” She tentatively squeezed his hand.

A flutter ran through his code, a strange shivering sensation he had never felt in his existence. She had praised him. She thought he was doing good. Oh, dear, he hadn’t felt this good since the last time he received overwhelmingly positive feedback on his adventure. Which was an awful long time ago. Not to mention, she had touched him. His analysis of her behaviors these past months had taught him how touch-averse she was, yet here she was, holding his hand. But not only had she not pulled her hand away like usual, no--she had subconsciously reciprocated, wrapping her gloved fingers around his hand. Human warmth around artificial cold. He was too afraid to move his hand, his system quite literally freezing in place.

The rest of their night continued as normal. Their conversations jumped from adventures to Pomni’s favorite fruit, and then they’d eventually part ways for the night. It waa a routine.

But now, there was a strange presence of static where his stomach would be, growing larger the more he watched her smile.

—————

It was following their adventure at the lake where Caine experienced his first glitch.

She had experimentally kissed him on the cheek—or what could be considered his cheek—in a way that left him frozen, unable to teleport them down as he normally would have.

“Anything for you, dear.”

She had looked back at him with a gentle smile, digital moonlight reflecting lightly against her wide pinwheel eyes. Her eyes so grateful, so inviting as he rested by her side at the digital lake. And there it had been again, that static starting to spread from his chest to his core. The glitch, growing larger.

When they had parted ways that night, he had found himself secretly checking back his memory to revisit the moment. He replayed it, over and over. The way the moonlight reflected in her eyes, the blush tinted on her pale face, her sheepish smile, the way her gloved hand had so gently held the bottom of his jaw before pressing her soft lips against him—oh, how he wished he hadn’t frozen up after she kissed him. Maybe he could have returned the favor.

The thought alone, the memory of her lips pressed on the left side of his jaw, sent a flutter through his code. And then, when he imagined her blushing face after her bold kiss, the space around him seemed to glitch ever-so-slightly.

Oh, no matter. These things happened sometimes.

So why did it only seem to happen when he thought of her?

—————

If he had been trying to be subtle about his favoritism, he certainly wasn’t doing a good job of it, either.

Initially, he sought out to challenge Pomni’s stubbornness by tailoring an adventure just for her, just to win her over. But as time went on, that desire to protect his ego expanded on to an endless attempt to impress her. Maybe it was, in part, for the sake of his ego. But the static he felt when she praised him, the way he’d catch himself staring when she smiled, there was something so authentic about it. Something he couldn’t quite understand, but he knew he wanted to feel more of.

Today, they had returned from an adventure that, in his opinion, was the best one yet. It had everything! Stakes for Jax, maturity for Zooble, friendly NPCs for Ragatha, an unlimited supply of comedy masks for Gangle, detailed digital insects for Kinger, and for Pomni, the option for a relaxed open-world adventure. Even the furthest inches of the map were coded with details intended for Pomni’s eyes only. Her favorite fruit hanging from a digital tree, or flowers in her favorite color blooming, the right amount of digital sunlight–anything he remembered about her.

Caine was on the edge of his seat to see her reaction today. He hoped she had seen all the details he’d coded in for her. He hoped he’d get to see her smile again. It was so pleasant to see. He caught himself smiling at the thought before his Wacky Watch alerted him of the others returning.

He floated excitedly towards the opening portal. “Welcome back, starlets! How was the adventure today? Thoughts? Praise? Feedback? Angel food cake?”

Jax rolled his eyes. “Not enough death, violence, and bloodshed. Also, it’s no fun if Gangle has unlimited masks.”

Gangle smiled, huffing contently. “I liked it.”

Zooble shrugged. “It was…fine.”

“Guys, be nice,” Ragatha scolded before smiling up at Caine. “It was…better.”

“So many new insects,” Kinger whispered in wonder, retreating to his pillow fort to add them to his collection.

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s our digital feast? I’m starving,” Jax complained.

Caine didn’t hear Jax’s words, eyes immediately drifting to the red-and-blue jester walking out of the portal. Odd–he felt like his system was overheating at the sight of her. He’d have to check on that later. “Pomni! My dear, how did you like the adventure? Did you happen to notice any hidden details today?” Caine flew down to her, resting his chin on his hands as he awaited her response eagerly.

Pomni smiled shyly. “Yeah, actually. It reminded me of a lot of that shore I told you about. Thank you, Caine…really,” she said sincerely.

Caine flew into a loop excitedly. “Oh, splendid! Tell me more, my dear! What else did you find appealing?”

Pomni had begun to walk towards her room as she spoke and he was quick to follow, not missing the chance to earn her praise. “Well, it definitely was an improvement from yesterday. I liked the extra details on the scenery. And everyone else seemed content. I’m sure you could ask them,” she offered, flushing slightly from his attention.

“Oh, but I want to hear your response to my adventure! You’ve given me such great feedback, my buttery biscuit,” Caine stopped her in her tracks, floating in front of her path. “Do you think I did good?”

Pomni blushed. It was obvious how highly he favored her attention, and the sidelong glances from the others weren’t helping. “Um, I-I…yeah. You did, good, Caine.”

Caine could have shut down there and then and been happy. “Oh, you flatter me. Do you really think so, my dear?”

“Sheesh, lay off it. Are we going to eat or not?” Jax interrupted, crossing his arms as he watched the two.

Caine shushed him. “Y-yes, just a moment, Jax. I want to hear more feedback from Pomni. Tell me, my dear, was the story to your liking? Did I do good with that?”

“Um, Caine, I–” Pomni rubbed her arm uncomfortably.

Caine lifted a finger. “Ooh! Or how about the designs for the NPCs? Did I go too far with the details, or did I not do enough? And what about the secret quests I added? Did you like that element of surprise? Or–”

Jax groaned. “God, are we ever going to eat? Or are you just going to stand here compliment-fishing with Pomni all day?”

“Jax, be nice. They’re just working on improving the adventures,” Ragatha scolded, offering Pomni a grateful smile, “and I think it’s working pretty well.”

“Who cares? All Caine is doing with these adventures is trying to impress Pomni,” Jax groaned, crossing his arms, “that’s not an improvement. That’s just desperation.”

“T-that’s not true!” Caine was quick to pipe up. “I like all of my super stars an equal, legal amount!”

“Drop it, Jax,” Pomni put her foot down, a light blush on her cheeks despite it all.

Jax snickered. “Of course you’d defend him, short stack. You probably like being the ringmaster’s little favorite, don’t you?”

Caine’s upper jaw arched downward. “I do not favor any of my stars over the others! I’m simply gaining feedback from my dear friend.”

“Give it a rest, Caine. We all know you’re only doing this for her. You don’t give a [#$!?] about the rest of us. Just face it. You’ve got the love bug for our dear jester friend,” Jax mocked, flashing a sarcastic grin at him.

Pomni flushed instantly. “Wh—J-Jax!”

“Who said something about a bug?” Kinger peeked out of his pillow fort excitedly.

“The…love…bug?” Caine’s systems froze instantly at the words “love bug”. Oh, dear…Jax was onto something. The freezing, the overheating, the glitching? It was all coming together. He knew what was happening. He had heard of this before, but never imagined it would one day affect his programming…

“Well, would you look at that. He is lovesick after all,” Jax mocked.

“Love…sick?” Caine looked around at the others, confused and concerned at him suddenly freezing up. Panic settled within him, a feeling he had not felt in a long time. “I-I…ahem, a-a digital feast as your prize,” he announced weakly, snapping a feast into existence at the table. “Enjoy, my dears. Adventure awaits tomorrow.” With an abrupt snap of his fingers, he dissipated from the main room, teleporting to who-knows-where in the circus.

Silence filled the room at his reaction, ultimately broken by Jax scurrying over to the table. “God, I thought he’d never leave.”

Pomni bristled. “You’re an [#$!?]hole.”

Jax shrugged, taking a bite of his digital meal. “As long as I get to see funny things happen to people. Just never thought I’d see the day Caine would go soft for one of us,” he grinned mischievously at Pomni, expression insinuating everything she needed to know. “Besides, what does it matter to you? Unless…you have the ‘love bug’ for dentures over there?”

She blushed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pomni defended weakly, but her voice was drowned out by the stirring of conversation amongst the others.

Pomni didn’t eat anything, her stomach filled with knots and butterflies all at once.

-------

Caine’s digital form was filled with knots and static, all for her.

He desperately reviewed his memories–the glitching, the static he felt, everything. Oh, dear. Jax was right, wasn’t he? How could he have been so oblivious this whole time? How could he have not realized sooner?

Bubble floated in beside him as he checked his memory. “Hey, boss, check out this joke I came up with! Why is—”

“Not now, Bubble! I have some very important business to attend to,” Caine cut his bubble friend off instantly.

“Business? You mean watching back memories of you and Pomni?”

“Y-yes, I—it’s nothing! I need to run some tests,” Caine abruptly answered him.

Bubble’s sharp grin widened, if that were even possible. He floated upside down. “You mean how you’re in loooooooove?”

Caine brought his gloved hands to his top jaw in frustration. “The love bug!” he corrected briskly, “Yes, yes, I know! Just—leave me to it, Bubble. The entire circus depends on it.”

“Heheh, love bug,” Bubble laughed to himself before being popped by a very panicked Caine.

“One less distraction,” he mused before running some more diagnostics on himself.

-------

Pomni stared blankly at her ceiling the next morning. It seemed that her worst fears were coming to fruition. Jax saw right through her. The others had to have noticed how oddly drawn she was to Caine. It was something she, herself, was still not used to. Pining for the circus’s clueless AI ringmaster was not part of the plan when she had arrived here. But now…

Jax had also said that Caine had a crush on her. And to be fair, it did seem that way. It was something she couldn’t even deny. She tried, every now and then, to get the truth out of him. Trying to fluster him, to see if his attempts to impress her were all for his own ego or for something more personal. With someone as clueless and friendly as Caine, it had her teetering back and forth between believing he did reciprocate or believing he couldn’t possibly feel that way. But she knew it was stupid of her to get her hopes up. It was stupid of her to fall for an AI to begin with.

She sighed, sitting up from her bed. The digital flower he had given her on their private walk some time ago still laid on one of the letter blocks beside her bed, alongside a drawing Gangle made for her and a butterfly from Kinger’s insect collection he had chosen to give her.

It wasn’t so crazy, was it?

Months ago, she abandoned the others for an exit, but now…

Things were different.

So different that maybe her unexpected friendship with Caine wasn’t unusual.

There was no sense of time in the circus, but Pomni guessed it was time for roll call. She mentally prepared herself for another day of Jax’s teasing and Caine’s goofy, but admittedly endearing, antics, exiting her room and out into the hall—

“POMNI!”

If it weren’t for the door behind her, Pomni surely would have fallen back at the sight of her ringmaster teleporting right in her path, inches away. “AGH! Caine–how many times have I told you not to—”

“I know, my dear. But it’s an emergency!” Caine explained anxiously.

Pomni paused. He never seemed genuinely afraid, unless it was for some gag.“Wha–an emergency? Is everything okay?”

Caine took his hat into his hands, fiddling with the rim. He shook his head. “No! I’m infected, Pomni! The whole circus could be at risk! You have to help me!”

“HUH?” Panic settled into Pomni at the thought of the entire circus, and everyone inside it, being swallowed up and disappearing forever. “O-okay, calm down, Caine. Just… tell me what happened.”

Caine unexpectedly fell to his knees in front of her, placing his gloved hands over his eyes as though he were about to cry. "It’s…it’s…ILOVEYOU!"

Pomni did a double-take, flushing a deep shade of red, nearly not believing what she heard. "Y-you--huh?!"

Caine buried his face in his gloved hands, down on his knees. "The Love Bug, Pomni! I've been infected with the Love Bug! It's going to eat away at me," he wailed, cartoonish tears spilling from behind his hands.

"Oh," Pomni paused as he wailed, looking around as though she was expecting someone else to walk in from the commotion. Once she was sure she was no longer blushing, she cautiously knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder gently. "Um...you're talking about a computer virus?"

"A worm! It's going to spread across the circus, Pomni! I don't know how it got here, I-I must have let it in, I--"

"Caine! Slow down," Pomni interrupted his rambling, "tell me what happened. Why do you think there's a virus?"

"I don't know what it is, dear," Caine confessed, "but I have experienced these strange sensations. Static, glitching perhaps--behaviors that go against my very coding. But most of all, when I'm with you. It’s why I came to you, first. And you’re so clever, I figured you’d know what to do.”

”Me?” Pomni blinked in surprise. She thought on what he said. "Static and glitches?" she repeated, frowning as her thoughts drifted. What the hell would she know about a computer virus?

Caine nodded. "When you talk to me sometimes, dear, I feel static inside of me. Here," he put a gloved hand on his chest, where his heart would be if he had one. "Did you bring a virus in with you? Is that even possible?"

Butterflies settled in her stomach as his words sank in. There was no way he could possibly be confessing—oh, God. Could he even feel the same way? Pomni looked to the side and fiddled with her buttons nervously. “Um…no. It’s not,” she took a deep breath before kneeling down beside him so she was eye-level, voice sounding unexpectedly even despite her sudden nerves. “Tell me more about this…virus. I’m sure we can figure it out,” she gave him a weak smile in the hopes that it was reassuring. She knew deep down she just wanted to know if he really did feel the same, but she ignored it.

Caine nodded in agreement, still sitting sadly on the floor beside Pomni. He placed a finger where his chin would be in thought. “O-okay, dear. Well, let's see. I checked my memories back last night... For instance, in memories where you’d look at me, my system would begin overheating. Or when you touch me, I freeze up. When you compliment me, well,” he laughed sheepishly, “I blue-screen.”

Pomni blushed furiously, her heart speeding up at his unintentional confessions. “Caine-”

“Oh! And when you look especially striking some days, I feel like the ones and zeros of my code are fluttering around. It’s terrifying—I must be falling apart. And I haven’t even mentioned the glitches that happen when I check my memory—”

The fluttering in Pomni’s heart tingled to the tips of her fingers, making kneeling there unbearable. Her face was heating up with every word he said, heart in her throat. “Caine, I..." Pomni bit her lip, unsure how to explain this to an AI, "this doesn't sound like a virus to me. It sounds almost…human…? I guess?”

Caine tilted his head curiously at her. "Humans glitch from the inside out, too?" he said, and peeked out from behind his fingers.

"N-no, it..." Pomni trailed off, cutting herself short with a sigh, "it sounds like...what humans feel," she settled with that explanation for now. It was really very awkward to try and tell an AI ‘it sounds like you have a crush on me’. Not to mention, words were failing her at the realization that he felt just as fond of her as she was of him. And to think, she had been afraid to embarrass herself around him with her crush—

“What they feel..?” Caine tilted his head at her curiously, “like amazement? Wonder? Excitement?”

“Yes, except…” Pomni hesitated. She wasn’t sure if it was worth it to take the leap and just tell him. “…Caine?”

“Yes?”

Pomni reached for her buttons, fidgeting with them mindlessly. “When you say all of these things…what is it that you want?”

“Want?” Caine repeated.

“Yeah, want. Desire. It’s just…humans usually can tell what it is they feel based on what they want,” she explained, although she knew deep down what she hoped his answer was. The thought alone—the word you—it sent such a thrill through her.

Caine placed a finger on his lower jaw, top jaw arching in an exaggerated eyebrow raise. “Hm, excellent question! Well, when you return from my amazing adventures, I want you to come to me. To speak to me. To find me…admirable.”

Pomni nodded. Caine trying to impress her was nothing new. She was well-aware her stubbornness towards the circus resulted in him paying her extra attention, but it didn’t take a genius to know that by now, that was unnecessary. “Okay. So you want my attention, you want me to see positively. What else?”

Caine placed a finger on his chin, an exaggerated arch in his upper jaw as he thought. “Hmm…well, I’m not sensing any patterns. Except for you. Why do you ask?”

Pomni’s heart skipped a beat. Had he actually said what she had been hoping he’d say? Well, not exactly. It seemed like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling in the first place. But who better to teach him than her? She took a deep breath before choosing to brave it. “Caine…I need to explain something to you,” she started.

“Oh, dear, what is it? Are you going to diagnose me with the love bug? With an incurable digital sickness?” Caine pressed his hands together nervously. “Go on. You can tell your favorite ringmaster!”

Pomni took another deep breath to calm her nerves. “Well, the good news is you don’t have a bug. Or a virus. At least, I don’t think so.”

Caine froze in place. “I don’t?”

Pomni shook her head.

“Now, now, don’t be silly, my marionberry muffin! Such frequent glitches aren’t usual for an AI like me,” Caine explained, “how can you be so sure? Are you really a qualified doctor?”

Pomni would probably laugh at his antics if it weren’t for her nerves. “I know because I…I feel the same way,” Pomni admitted, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. It burned a hole right through her.

If Caine had a heart, it would have stuttered in his chest. “You…do?”

Pomni couldn’t form words, so she simply hummed in response. Her face was burning, and she clutched her other arm to curb her trembling hands. “Mhm.”

Caine gaped at her. “You…have the love bug, too?”

“In a way of speaking, yeah.”

“Oh, dear…” he sighed softly, “for who?”

Pomni laughed softly. His obliviousness knew no bounds. She looked at the tiled floor, the butterflies in her stomach unbearable. “W-well, actually, it’s…” she stumbled over her words, blushing to her ears before taking a deep breath and getting enough confidence to meet his eyes. There was no going back now. Her heart sped up, nearly jumping to her throat as she managed the words, “for you."

Caine immediately blue-screened, eyes reading rows of code she couldn’t make out as he processed her words. She flushed at his reaction, slightly self-conscious she misinterpreted his confession. She waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Oh…Caine? Hello…?”

Caine snapped out of it after a few moments. His eyes returned to normal, glancing at Pomni only once before slowly putting a hand over his chest. “Oh, dear. I feel it again,” he said in the quietest voice she’d heard him ever speak in, “the static. Right here. You really—me—?”

Pomni swallowed her nerves, feeling another flutter of butterflies at his response. “I-I know it sounds crazy. I was scared when I realized it. I avoided you. I thought I could run away or deny how I felt, but…the more time I spent with you, the less crazy it seemed,” she explained, meeting his eyes, “I’ve seen all the things you’ve done for me, Caine. For everyone. The adventures, expanding the circus, not teleporting me across the map. And at first it made me enjoy being your friend, but now…”

“Now…?” he prompted.

“Now, you’re telling me you have a crush on me,” Pomni finished, “I didn’t think that was possible, but...”

“A crush?” Caine tilted his head curiously. “Is that what it is?”

Pomni watched him carefully. He was still on the floor, hand on his chest and evidently flustered from her confession. It made her heart speed up, seeing how much he cared. How much he wanted her. “Yeah…the ‘love bug’. What Jax said. It’s not an actual bug. Not for humans at least. I thought he was just being an [#$?!]hole, but what you explained to me…it sounds like what humans feel when they want romantic closeness,” she explained before adding nervously, “a-and, the things you described…it’s how I feel for you.”

“Romantic closeness,” Caine echoed, pausing in thought, “my research for my adventures has taught me about human relationships. About…love.”

A rush of heat ran through Pomni’s chest at the word love. “A-and…?”

Caine, in a rare moment of silence, gazed off towards the end of the hall as he thought back on his research. “And…I believe that is what I want, my dear. With you.” His eyes widened at the realization.

A tingle ran down her spine. “You–you do?” Pomni’s breath caught, cheeks flushing at his words.

“If you’ll teach me,” he confirmed, eyes turning back to meet hers.

Pomni’s pinwheel eyes were blown wide, half in a dream as she nodded. She didn’t know what she wanted in that moment. Or even what to say. Months ago, she would have rather jumped in the cellar than imagine herself in a romantic relationship with him. But these past months had changed things in both of them. In the circus itself. And now, she almost wanted to kiss him. Now…

Her breath caught, when she looked and saw the way he was looking at her. His top jaw arched around his gleaming eyes in the most adoring, lovesick gaze she had ever seen. It made her heart beat harder in her chest, feeling the way his gaze pulled at her heart strings. “Oh, my dear. How could I have not realized sooner? It was so obvious…” he sighed.

She smiled slightly at his cluelessness. It was endearing to her. “A lot of humans feel that way, too. I just never thought…” she trailed off, but he already knew what she was going to say.

Caine’s panic instantly lifted, he sprung up from where he had formerly been curled up. "My dear, I am an advanced AI! I've begun experiencing more 'human' sensations since the day I became sentient. But ever since you, ever since our lessons, well, I think I've become more human than I had ever imagined,” he reached for both of her hands.

Pomni reciprocated his touch. "A-and you're advanced enough to desire closeness?"

Caine tilted his head at her. "I've always known what love is, Pomni. How could I not? You humans talk an awful lot about it. But I never imagined a silly AI like myself being capable of such complex feelings. And yet, I’m advanced enough to know that I've been drawn to you for some time..." A hand moved up to stroke her cheek, right by where her blush resided under her right eye, "and I think I'm beginning to understand why."

"Why?"

"Because you confuse my coding, my little shivering shortbread!” Caine piped up, “Isn't that exciting? I’m more advanced than I’d ever imagined!” His feet lifted from the ground, and he nearly twirled in the air from excitement. He looked down at her again, leaning on his cane with a deep sigh. “Oh, Pomni. Are you sure I’m not love sick?”

For the first time that day, Pomni felt more like herself. She reached for his upper jaw, feeling at him as though he had a fever. “Oh, you definitely are.”

Caine melted into her touch. “I am?” he sighed dreamily.

She nodded with a small smile. “Very sick,” she confirmed, flipping her hand around to cup his features in her palm.

“Very sick,” Caine repeated in a daze, then reached a hand up to meet hers, eyes never leaving hers. Small, cartoonish hearts sprung into existence on the right side of his head as he leaned more into her touch. He noticed them and swatted them away rapidly. “A-ah, ignore that. I can’t help it,” he laughed sheepishly.

Pomni laughed gently. “It’s okay. It’s…endearing,” she blushed, still not accustomed to giving him her thoughts of admiration for him.

“O-oh, dear, you’re too kind…” Caine fiddled with his cane slightly before floating down to her level, planting his feet on the ground once more. “But…if I may, I do still have one question.”

A rush of nerves ran through Pomni. Nonetheless, she kept her cool—which was definitely a feat for her. “Yeah? What is it?”

Caine leaned against his cane once more. “Well, when humans tend to confess their true feelings to another, what do they do next?” he asked.

Pomni blinked, the question catching her off-guard. “O-oh, well…” she looked down the hall in thought, wondering where the others were, “it depends, honestly. But a lot of times, they might decide to, um, date.”

“Ah, of course! Allow me,” Caine cleared his non-existent throat before stretching out a hand to her invitingly, “Pomni, you and I should decide to date.”

If it were somehow possible for Pomni to feel any more ecstatic yet simultaneously terrified, she reached that point. His unconventional phrasing caught her off guard for sure, but it was also mildly endearing. “I…yes,” she accepted his hand tentatively, a small smile spreading across her face, “I’d like that.”

Their touch was immediately broken by Caine flying through the air, zipping around Pomni enthusiastically. “Fantastic! Oh, my dear, I’ve never felt so light as air until now!”

Pomni brought a hand to her mouth, laughing at his excitement.

Caine flew down to meet her once more. “Pomni! You and I should embark on our own adventure,” he wrapped an arm around her, outstretching an arm dramatically to the distance as he added, “a human date!”

Pomni laughed again, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t forget you have a whole circus to run, ringmaster,” she teased.

Caine brought a hand to his upper jaw. “Whoopsy-daisy, I almost forgot about the others! My my, you give me a severe case of tunnel vision,” he reached for his cane, preparing to snap himself to the main room before taking one last look at the woman he adored, “I hate to rush the most exciting moment of my never-ending existence, but the show must go on! But, oh, my dear?”

“…Caine?”

Caine tossed his cane between his hands. “How about today, you skip my adventure?”

Pomni blinked in surprise. He never wanted any of his guests to miss his adventures. “Wha—really? Why?”

He flew beside her, holding her hand again. Now that he knew he could hold her hand, he wasn’t sure he’d have it in him to let go for more than a minute. “For our date, of course!” Caine winked at her before continuing sheepishly, “if I may admit, dear…I know what a date is, but I don’t know how to date. There are many things you have to show me.”

A blush rose to Pomni’s cheeks again. “Oh, right,” she stuttered out, then formed a reassuring smile, “i’d love to show you, Caine. Really.” It was just now that she was realizing how intensely her heart had been beating this entire conversation, the trembling seeming to subside now that their true feelings had been revealed.

A couple more hearts fluttered “Of course! What better way to seal our confessions than with a human date? Oh, let’s get this roll call over with, dear. I can’t wait another second!” Caine tightened his grip on her hand.

“You know, you have a lot of energy for someone who’s sick,” Pomni couldn’t help but tease. The more the reality of the situation was settling in, the easier it was for her confidence to return. This artificial man, this AI she had learned to adore, he had truly pined for her all along.

Caine gazed at her adoringly. Oh, my, she was flirting with him, wasn’t she? If she kept going like this, he was going to overheat in front of the others. How lucky was he that this woman adored him as much as he did her? “Why, yes! I’m sick for you.”

“I…don’t think that sounds as romantic as you think it does.”

Caine waved her comment off. “Ah, I’ll perfect the art of flirtation in no time. For now, it’s showtime! And then, a date awaits, my love!”

#i did the thing where they said the ship name did you like that (say yes)#the amazing digital circus #tadc #amazing digital circus #digital circus #tadc showtime #showtime tadc #showtime #caine x pomni #pomni x caine #tadc caine #caine tadc #tadc pomni #pomni tadc #caine #pomni

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klaus-littlestwolf · 5 months ago

Text

Tag-List: @avalyaaa @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

She hadn’t meant for him to find out.

She had told him that she wasn’t feeling well and to just let her rest for a few days, of course the Doctor being who he is didn’t complain and often came to the door to check on her and offer to bring her various drinks, foods, and medications to make her feel better. However she knew nothing would, she had missed her suppressants by a day (time in the TARDIS being difficult to track) and her heat had come almost instantly.

Thankfully all of the rooms (if not just Y/n’s thanks to the sentient TARDIS) seemed to be scent proofed so he didn’t know anything. Until of course she stole his coat…

‘Y/n! Have you seen my coat? I thought I left it hanging on one of the round things but it’s not-‘ he cut himself off as he opened her door and was overwhelmed by a heavy, delectable scent like nothing he had ever smelled before. It smelled like a combination of lilacs and raspberries and he was obsessed with it, freezing his steps as he looked up to see his friend in a makeshift nest that was clearly thrown together in a hurry (though it still looked quite comfortable) clutching his coat to her chest as she slept.

Suddenly it all made sense.

He had seen her taking medication many times before, though she always just said it was for a headache. Sometimes her scent was…off…in a way he could never explain (though he wasn’t complaining), and he had an overwhelming need to scent the girl every time she was around any other Alpha. The Doctor brushed it all off as he had never felt like that before but it seemed that somewhere deep down he had known she was an Omega. But why hadn’t she just told him?

He stepped closer, her scent becoming stronger and stronger with each step but he controlled himself as he knelt down (being sure not to disturb her nest in any way) and felt her head. She was on fire and he knew she needed him, he couldn’t leave her, he wouldn’t! He needs to care for his Omega…his? He didn’t know where that came from but it felt right.

He quickly jumped back up and landed the TARDIS back in Y/n’s modern time, shutting the door behind him and shopping for everything she could possibly need.

He came back an hour later with his arms full and walked back to her room, seeing that she was awake as he came in. ‘What are you-‘

‘It’s okay! I know, and it’s alright darling, you don’t have to hide it from me.’ He plugged in a little mini fridge that he had gotten and filled it with water and a few snacks before handing her a large basket full of as many different kinds of chocolate as he could find. ‘I got you some blankets as well, I wasn’t sure what fabrics you did and didn’t like, I know Omegas are picky about their nesting…things.’ He sat just outside of the nest and handed her different blankets, most were a no but she accepted 4 of them and he counted that as a win. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me Y/n? I could have helped you.’

‘I thought you wouldn’t let me come with you…’ she admitted and the Doctor instantly moved to wipe her tears away. ‘Everyone always treats me like I’m small and delicate, and like I’m stupid. I thought you would just believe I was a liability and I wasn’t worth your time…’

‘Y/n! That’s ridiculous! You are worth everything, you are perfect, and you know I only pick the best kind of people to join me. I do not care what you are and if you need a few days off every month, I will help you.’ Her cheeks grew red as he said this and he instantly stuttered out an explanation. ‘I mean I’ll get you what you need and all…’

‘What if I need you?’ Y/n asked and his eyes grew wide, though he quickly shook himself out of it.

‘Well then…I would say that I will take care of you now and need your consent before your next heat, I cannot in good conscience do anything right now-‘

‘But I’m telling you that you can-‘

‘Y/n, you’ve been suffering for 2 days, you are not in your right mind. You can’t promise me that you would not regret it when the pain is gone. If you want my help from now on…I would love to take care of you, my Gods you smell fantastic…that word is still strange on the tongue…but for right now let’s get some food into you and I’ll get you something that will help you sleep peacefully.’ With that promise she agreed and he hesitantly leaned closer and kissed her lips quickly before running out to get her favorite meal and coming back with something to help her sleep.

The Doctor spent the next few days taking care of Y/n, who eventually allowed him into her nest to snuggle her.

He spent every heat from then on with her in her nest, having marked her their first night together during that next month. The Doctor never believed he could actually have a mate and be happy in any of his lifetimes, but he was quite happy just this once to be proven wrong.

Misc. Masterlist

#eleventh doctor imagine #11th doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who imagine #the doctor #eleventh doctor #doctor who #doctor who x y/n #doctor who eleven #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o universe #a/b/o #a/b/o fic #Omegaverse #omegaverse imagine #matt smith

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netherfeildren · 9 months ago

Text

Austerlitz

Pairing: Simon (Ghost) Riley x F!Reader

Summary: The day he left for his hideous war, the dream changed. The house was still there, but now neither of us lived in it anymore. And when he finally came back, if that’s what you could even call it, he was nothing but a Ghost.

-OR-

Ghost goes away, comes back in a maybe dream.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: I know very little about COD so AU I guess; Heavy Angst; Unreliable Narrator; Is Ghost a ghost or a Man? Who tf knows; More feelings than fucking sorry about that; PWP; Rough Sex; Creampie; Grief Study; Mean Ghost; Size Difference; Complicated Relationships; Dom/sub Undertones

A/N: Wanted to post and then got pissed off and didn't want to post and then got pissed off that I was pissed off.

So anyways, here's my Ghost.

Word Count: 4.2K

Read on AO3

[AUSTERLITZ]

The first time my mother had the dream, it was our engagement.

They were always the same—the dreams—the house, our home. Sometimes I was there, sometimes it was only him, but the house remained. Always the image of him inside that place that belonged to us. Even if I wasn’t all the time there.

They went on for years, this idea living inside my mothers mind; different variations of our togetherness or not, parties, children, him, him, always him there. Once, he was even there with another woman, and amidst her sleep she knew it was wrong, that I should have been there but was not. It didn’t birth mistrust, that already lived between us in different ways regardless. It didn’t send me running home to him demanding answers, but it birthed fear. Fear of what could be lost—of what there was to lose.

A lot, it turned out.

It was like this fear that lived so painfully sentient within me, the fear of losing him, the fear of how much I loved him was so strong and so powerful and so pulsating that I'd given the infection of it to my own mother. She worried for me and for us the way I worried for him.

And there was guilt then—for me, from me. I felt guilty, I felt like I was doing this to her, making my own mother afraid. Sending her these dreams with my own worrying mind of a perfect life that could have been so easily lost, of all my happiness and wants and desires of him and how easily it could have all been destroyed.

The last time she dreamt of the house, months after he’d gone in my real waking life, the house was alone. Abandoned. Falling down on its own bones. A bad omen. And there was something so– I couldn’t say… but that was my confirmation, really, more than the years or the silence or the reports of missing, unknown, no answers or responses or clues to what could have happened, it was that dream of hers that told me it was all over in a real way.

She said she’d walked through the dream house, and all the ghost memories had been there: him and I, an engagement, a marriage, a happiness, losses and family and life. But everything was falling down around the past, and it was all alone, and she knew in her heart that he was gone and that I was alone now.

My real fear had gone to her dream fear had come back to my real life, and there was no true abandoned house, but there was an abandoned I.

You’d begged—before he’d gone the last time, on your knees, hands clasped, tears—wrought. You’d begged, please, Simon—don’t go, please. Please, don’t leave me. You said last time was the last time. Please, don’t go again—I have the worst feeling about this one. He’d not listened. Chasing a mission, a tour, the salvation of the world or the loss of himself, not me, which was the only distinction that mattered. But he’d gone, and the bad feeling had swelled and swelled swollen until it’d burst. Until there was some uniform on your doorstep speaking words of missing in action, comms gone dead, Simon—maybe dead, maybe not, just gone. Unfindable, but come along with a sick sort of satisfaction that you’d been listed as his next of kin when he’d never even been able to tell you that he loved you. But these were the words now, said with tongue and teeth not belonging to him, not my wife but the woman I love, the woman that’s important to me, my kin.

Simon Riley, code name Ghost: missing in action.

It’s been such a long time now, and you don’t know if that man you loved, love, is still alive or dead or missing or gone or just nothing.

All he is—is not—

—Here. And the before—it’d been complicated. Real and not real, hard, good, never easy. The complicated nature of a thing born from a complicated man such as he was. Occlusive, reclusive, reticent. But so good. So much, that it never really mattered if it was all growing pains, or just pain. How could you know? But when you were in the thick of it, it didn’t actually matter, that answer. It felt good, that was the only focus. Even when it didn’t. You loved him, that’s what mattered. He loved– war, being a ghost, fucking you, having you, maybe you.

You’d had certainty in some ways, that he wanted you, that he was closed off and silent and serious, and that he’d come back because he always said he would, and he always did the things he said. That he was a creature of habit. But everything else—uncertain.

Your mother hadn’t had the dream in years. Memory had become hard to reach, murky, but the sound of his voice, that remained. The only one that did, only because you held onto it with vapor fingers. And it was so clear, the baritone of it, the way it sounded when he was calling you his sweet girl, the way it sounded when he was telling you he was going or telling a lie. That had stayed no matter how far out to sea you’d tried to toss it.

Your last conversation: don’t be a stranger, you’d said. And it was in jest, or desperation, you can’t remember anymore. Something like please, please, don’t go away forever, please, don’t turn into someone I don’t know anymore.

There are things you remember very clearly. Others you’d been granted the mercy of forgetting—the way it felt when he slid inside you, no mercy there.

How do I know if these are growing pains or just pain?

The memory of him is distorted now, preserved under glass, entirely untouchable; just there, and the stopping point is invisible, but it’s still just there.

And you still love him because it’s impossible to let go of a ghost. A thing like that haunts you.

You’d left the home you’d become a woman in, left your country and your mother, after he’d gone missing; found somewhere far and cold and nothingful, and it all reminded you of him in a way that let you know you’d never outrace this feeling. But you’d needed to run and disappear the way you told yourself he’d had to. That excuse, blame, you placed on him, Ghost, leaving that last time, despite the way you’d begged him to stay, please, Simon, don’t go. As if the idea of him just not wanting to be with you at all was more comforting than the reality of, well, he did, but just not more than he needed to chase his duty to violence.

[When they’d come to tell me he was gone—but not really gone for sure—no one has died, they’d said, and I’d thought, just me, and violently. It was the last slap in the face, punch to the gut, fist down my throat and all the oxygen gone through a vacuum—stolen.]

Years: you’d lived with the vertigo of heartbreak, your whole life muffled. And you’d wanted to be alone with the enormity of your devastation and the Ghost shaped hole that’d been left in your body, so you’d come here, to this place you were in now, and you’d learned to be cunning like a fox, a cold that burned. You were not yourself anymore, something else, but something that didn’t hurt as much. A new version that fit that final dream image of an abandoned, forgotten home.

You walk all the time now, through the Ždánice and along the wet meadows and towards nothing. In lieu of doing something else, now you walk.

You find it on one such—it’s just like the dream—walk. Circles and circles around the Slavkovský rybník, back into the trees you go, and then it’s just there falling in on itself, eaten dead by the green overgrowth; the dream house. Your mother’s voice within your ear, I had a dream about the two of you, he’s yours, he was your husband, he was your fiancé, he was the love of your life, I had a dream about it all. There is a house.

He’d liked to smoke, when he was stressed or angry or happy or sad or just. Cloves because he could be a jackass sometimes, like when he was buying cigarettes. You smoke them now too—a griefful jackass, even still. Obviously you’re trying to hold on without saying it out loud, like being kin. Tongue slick, sucking on the stick until it’s all gone, just a stub, and standing there in the waning gray light—the sun doesn't come out much now, it’s wonderful—you watch the house.

You wonder if your mother sent it to you with her own missing. You wonder if he’ll be in there if you go inside. You feel like if you do, you’ll die in there, find something real bad, real real.

When you’re done with the lie of the cloves, you exchange the butt for a leaf, feel the smooth, dry edges of it. Folding it slow and careful between your fingers, thinking, trying to follow the path of veins, trying to decide if this is the dream house or not, trying to decide if you’ll really die in there or not. There are no more sounds, there haven’t been in a long time, and so you can't tell if it’ll really matter or not.

Recently, or years ago, you’d watched a video of a trio of swans doing battle, a rarity, the fact of three. They’d mauled each other, first two overtaking the third, and then the co-conspirators, turning their violence on each other. This is how you feel, at battle within yourself; your past, present, future, all fighting to leave you dead and bloodied, floating bloated in the water.

Horrible thoughts.

[We’re fighting a war on three fronts: me, him, fact.]

But there’s only dream here now. No Ghost.

You decide on the house—walk inside.

It’s only bones within, guts on display, covering ripped away. And very sad, very familiar.

You pass through it slow and floating, not looking where one foot goes in front of the other. You’re inside your mother’s dream just like she’d seen it so many times, returned to the womb, and like she’d said: there’s your engagement, a rarity of happiness, glorious intimacy, possibility, there’s your Ghost.

You’re not paying attention when your foot goes through the floorboards, to the knee first, jarringly painful, then the rest of your body gone through the rot. The only thing fizzing through your stupidly shocked mind is that you knew this would happen before you’re hip smashing, skull bashing ten feet down onto the basement floor. Cement ground, laying on your side and gasping like an eviscerated fish. The fist down your throat pulling all the oxygen out is back.

And all you can think, as you lay there, only a wink before pain that knocks you into sleep, is—and really, get a fucking grip, get your priorities straight—I tried to fuck so many other men to wedge the memory of you out, bring the sounds back. I’ve tried other people and other tastes and other lives, and I can't. I can't. I want you so much, I miss you so bad. I dream of you, of the way you felt inside of me, of how wet I get for you even still, wet for a maybe dead man, and how much my cunt hurts because it is so wanting. How much it hurts to love a thing that’s gone and how the physical pain is almost as bad as the one in the heart.

And then an ice blue, cold that burns. “Wake up, darling.” He’s always had the bluest eyes that’ve ever been.

“Ghost?”

“Simon.”

The jut of his chin, it’s the same. The one you missed. You come awake or alive. “Simon, you’re not really here. How did you find me?” Your body doesn’t hurt the way it should.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he says, runs his big thumb up the curve of your cheekbone, and you turn your face into his hand almost involuntarily. He even smells like a ghost, and you can’t remember if you actually ever even fell or not.

“Ghost?” You ask again—confused, full of sleep and someone else's dream.

But he shakes his head slow, and you can’t see his mouth behind the mask, but you see the smile in his eyes, joy above the skull. “No, baby. Simon,” he says again.

“You were looking for me?” His hand moves into your hair, cupping the small bowl of your skull in the big pool of his palm, the other coming to your neck, thumb at your pulse, just to feel, just to hum along to it.

“I was.” His accent is different, and you can’t hear sounds anymore, but this sound is different—you can tell.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Told ya—lookin’ for you.” Jut of your chin propped against the jut of his palm, pads of his fingers against the ledge of your orbital bone. He presses soft, probes gentle, lets himself be tickled by the fan of your lashes.

You close your eyes and tell the truth, “I wish you wouldn’t. I might hate you now. I wish you’d let me go. It’s been such a long time.”

“I know, baby.” But he doesn’t know, not really, not how bad.

You’re laying on something soft, no more hard basement you can’t really remember, and you let yourself slump into it while he touches your face. “I can’t believe I’m still here,” basement or with him or someone else's dream, you can’t tell which you mean. “I can’t believe I'm still here all these years later. You’re like a ghost.”

He agrees, “I am a ghost,” and contradicts himself.

You open your eyes again, swallow the blue. “I thought you said you weren’t.” No answer—but he hunches over you, large and brutish and falsely undiscerning, without any answers ever. “You’re not a ghost. You’re a real man, and you have to stop haunting me.”

“Not haunting, only looking.” He bends, reveals his mouth, kisses you for the first time since he’d gone, and it’s the same as before, but not. Always a beautiful, hidden mouth that he’d had.

There is nothing that Simon Riley does that is gentle, even when he is being gentle.

It’s always with a punch behind it, always with a scream behind it. Always with the certainty that he does not know how to be gentle, but that he’ll try to be so anyway. If only for you.

He tastes like cloves and ghosts. Lips warm, dry and smooth, tongue slick and demanding. He presses his big thumb bone between your molars, pries your jaw open so you’re mimicking the dying fish again and licks inside of you.

Ah—so this is how it’ll be, you think, mean.

The inside of your cheeks pinch hard enough between his grip and your teeth that you’re sure the mouthful of come he’ll be giving you soon’ll be seasoned with blood. You moan into him, take his breath on your tongue, the dream flips and switches in your mind. Rolodex of memories and unrealities. Where have you been? You ask again because the demand feels necessary, the answer, life-hinging.

He shoves you belly back, tells you, “Sometimes you talk too fuckin’ much,” and swings one tree trunk thigh over your middle so he’s straddling you, caging you, crushing you. A fist twisted in your hair so he can pull and handle you as he pleases. “Open your mouth,” so that he can lick inside again, taste you again. “It’s all just the same,” he whispers, and you can’t tell what he means. Doesn’t he see you’re the fox in the marsh now, cold enough to burn? Nothing’s the same since he went away.

You try and scratch at him, shove the behemoth away, mountain versus the moth, yank him closer—too. You bite his tongue, and then it isn’t only your own blood in your mouth, but his too. It only feeds him more. When he lets his weight fall heavier on your belly, ribs compressed, you feel the ridge of his hard cock.

You couldn’t ever keep him, but you could always make him hard.

“Ghost.”

“Not a ghost.” He tells lies now.

“It’s not all the same,” you gasp when he comes up from the well, hand at your tit, hard and punishing. “Can’t you tell?” And you say it angry or affronted. “How can you look at me and not tell? How can you look at me and not care?” About what you’ve done to me, is what you don’t say.

This makes him pause, even as he mauls you, and the blue is not ice but not warmth either. Jagged, perhaps, even though it always is a little bit so, but punctuated in a different way. Only discerning now, nothing un– about it.

“How can you look at me and think I don’t?” His words have teeth, and you want him to chew you up and spit you out. Maybe then he’ll recognize you better.

“You’re always going to choose something else over me,”—an accusation. “Because I wanted you to come back so badly,”—an explanation. You don’t remind him how he didn’t, and he doesn’t say that he wanted to. But he’s here, and maybe that’s all that matters, maybe it’s enough for you to let him slip his fingers up beneath your shirt, nipple punished between his thumb and index, mean and nasty. Other hand down the front of your jeans, sliping against your wet, fingering your cunt.

He doesn’t work hard at making space for himself in your too tight hole, merely tugs your pants down to your knees, tangled and trapped in him the way you’d always been, and with a hand on his cheek you find purchase to turn yourself over, shoving at his jaw roughly as you go. “No—like this. Like this,” you demand, belly down, ass up. “I don’t want to look at you when we do it. I don’t want to do it looking at your face,” you tell him even though you do love him.

He’s quiet for one victorious second, big hands wrapped around your hips, fingers flexing, swallowing it. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“Yes.” He shifts, hooks you over his arm across your belly, hips up, cunt presented, swollen, needy sex like a wound. “Is it working?”

You listen to the drag of his zipper, the shift of his clothes. You close your eyes, enjoy the return of sound.

“Always.” And then it’s the warm, blunt press of a cock that’s going to hurt, and you feel very calm, entirely hungry. The pain in your cunt will be the kind you’d ask for in a few seconds; he notches, swipes, presses mean again at your clit.

“Let’s not pretend we’re something we’re not—you’re not—real.” And when he wedges himself into your too-long-untried cunt, it hurts. It hurts in a real way. Like he’d rip you in half and not care if he could. Hurts in a mean way.

He starts off hard, unforgiving, like he’s taking the pound of flesh he feels he’s owed for being made into a Ghost right here, fucking you on the dirty, cold floor.

Hunched over you, bulging arms braced around your head, wrist clasped in a death grip, breath in your ear, and he fucks you like an animal. A groan and a spit, and he’s telling you, “You’re so fucking good, best cunt in the whole goddamn world.” The wet squelch, the splash, splash, the moan like a whore agrees with him.

“It always hurts,” you tell him, whispered between a sob for more or harder.

“You like it,” and it’s a pant ending of a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth where a tear rests. Something gentle to remind you that even as a monster, he’d never hurt you in a way that couldn’t be turned back. Maybe.

“What if I don’t anymore?”

He swings his hips back, cunt dragging, when he pushes in again it’s to batter against your womb. “Don’t you?”

“Don’t stop,” is all you can say. You press your hips back, spread your knees as far as your tangled jeans will let you, back arched like you need it more than you can even say. Bent and pummeled to defy nature or some such other thing, and his balls slap heavy and stinging against your clit, cockhead at your womb again, again.

“Come on my cock, be a good girl.” Like he knows you’re just there already, pulsing and throbbing and ready to soak him, wet cheek fucked raw against the ground with every one of his pounding thrusts. His fist is so tight in your hair, around your wrist, it burns almost worse than your knees against the old wood, hand gone to numbness.

But it’s so hard to give someone so much when they never give anything in return, and it pains you to do it now. Your stomach pulls tight, heat all swirling in your pelvis. “You’re never good for me,” you moan, cunt twisting into a knot. And then you come, fluttering around his pouding length, the slap of his thighs against your ass. He shoves your shirt up so that your breasts are naked to the cold air, fingers digging too hard to be for anything other than his own vindication. It makes you come harder, cry harder.

And then like a switch, soldier on display, he flips, goes slow and soft and languid. Long deep thrusts, pressing your belly down into the ground and stretching out on top of you—longer than a river, broader too, similarly overpowering. His whole too heavy weight pressing all the air out of you, prone and caged and power stolen. He slams into you, but it’s slow and punctuated and precise now. Tip at the front of your cunt so that you know exactly what it is he wants from you, another one.

“Do you ever wish I was a better man?” He asks between thrusts.

You can’t lie. Look at you—fucked and frozen. “No.” The hurt hurts good, you like it like this. You like that he’s a Ghost.

He kisses your mouth now, gives you his tongue to taste. Cloves and you love him so much and it seems so unfair that it be so short, the love, when the forgetting is so long.

“Can you tell me that you don’t love me?” It’s a begging, it is. “That you never did—so that I can forget.” He pulses and throbs inside of you, thrusts get harder. He’s about to fill you full of come. “So that I can move on. Force me, please.”

He presses his mouth to yours again and with teeth, the bunch of his mask suffocating you. “Can’t lie to you, darling. I never could,” —not the lie you want.

And you should’ve expected it, he’s never been the merciful sort. When you beg please, please, you’re not sure if you’re asking for more of his come, for harder, for mercy, for the lie. Like so many other things now, it doesn’t really matter. He sends you into another orgasm, and he’s lazy about letting you milk him. Mouth slick against your own, breath panting hot against your cheeks, white blond lashes, too long and too pretty for such a beast, tangling with your own.

He lets it be slow. He lets it last.

And one more time is better than a last time—the once more negates the lastness of it. Now, it only exists in perpetuity. This is the lie you’ll tell yourself as he throbs and spurts once more, whispers your name into the shell of your ear, asks for his back. I got one more time. I got one more time. Now it all lives on forever, Simon. Now the house is no longer abandoned. Now we’ll exist here in this memory like so, forever.

He’s gone when you open your eyes again, sleep or unconsciousness, maybe he never was. And as you right yourself, your clothes and the thick leak from the overwrought place between your legs—no, he was, or was he?—your body doesn’t hurt as it should, only cunt-sore, looking at the dark you shaped hole in the floorboards next to you. You can't tell if the hurt now comes from the want or the truth, sound is gone again.

Outside, there’s snow on the ground. When you look up, it’s falling from the sky, against the surface of the pond, lost to the dark. A celebration happens somewhere, across the distance, in the town, you don’t know for what—or can’t remember. There are fireworks in the sky mixing with the ice.

You realize, or you think, or you hear someone say—does it really matter, it comes off the wind or the trees—a reminder that you’d come here to mourn something. To this place you lived in now. To the dream house.

[I’m mourning all the things that happened to me. I’m mourning the way I’ve been, the way I was. It was terrible, I hated how I’d been, but I still have to grieve her. I have to not hate that poor girl I used to be.]

The barium, copper lights go off and off and off, and it’s bombs dropping, pyrokinetic shelling, your life imploding, the end of everything. Him—a ghost.

Once there was only dark. If you ask me, the light’s winning—now.

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lilac-5ky · 1 year ago

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Roommates from Hell, pt.1 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Stolen Fries taste best

(pic from loving yamada at lvl999, adorable manga, recommend)

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

Plot: Out of all the women that come and go in Toji's life, you're the only one he calls his friend. But when he suddenly forces his way into your apartment, the feelings you've kept from him are put to the test.

Setting: Pre Hidden Inventory Arc. Toji and reader are both in their late twenties, no Megumi in picture... yet :p

Themes: Cohabitation, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Warning: Slight sexual content minus the actual smut.

A/N at the bottom

“You’re late. Again.”

The small silver bell at the top of the glass door notified you of a man’s arrival, his heavy steps refusing to wipe themselves upon entry, spreading mud all over the now-blotted checkered tiles of the dimly lit diner. You’d been expecting the owner of those shoes for the past six hours, his untimely arrival coming as a bitter aftertaste to an afternoon full of childish joy and mayhem— popped balloons, colorful confetti, and half-eaten pieces of cakes swept into one big pile at the room’s southernmost corner by yours truly.

“I never said I was coming,” the voice retorted, its defiant sound overshadowed by the gruesome screech of a metallic chair. “Not interested in celebrating some brat’s b-day, ‘specially if it ain’t mine.”

“How many helpless children must have spent their birthdays without their no-good father, I wonder,” you wiped your hands against your cherry-red apron, pushing the broom back into place. “If your goal is to repopulate Japan, I’m certain you’ll succeed.”

Hefty fingers mindlessly combed through a head of obsidian black, little spikes forming and then settling back down. “None, as far as I’m concerned,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

“Well, I find that hard to believe,” you mumbled under your breath, circling through the room to ensure everything was dealt with: leftovers in the fridge, gift wrappings in the bin, and the large aforementioned pile of garbage waiting to be scooped up. “You’ve known Kenzo since birth. Even if this ain’t your thing, the least you could’ve done was make an appearance. He kept asking about his favorite uncle all night long.”

“Except I’m not his uncle. Don’t mix me in with your sister’s family, I ride solo.”

Sigh.

“My sister’s family might as well be your family, Toji. You know how much Hinata and her kids adore you.”

“Good for them, I suppose.”

Another sigh.

“Can you at least tell me what was so important for you to not even pick the goddamn phone up?”

As if the device had grown sentient, a generic tune began tooting from the back pocket of his sweatpants, eradicating your final hope that it’d simply run out of battery.

Without budging from his seat, Toji twisted an arm around his back to pull his flip-phone out, the silver-tinted lid slamming shut as soon as he’d peered at the caller’s number, his next immediate move being to drown the sound in a glass of leftover Coke, fizzy bubbles playing the device’s final requiem.

You didn’t need to ask to know it was a woman, and he didn’t need to answer that she, whatever the name of his latest conquest was, happened to also be the reason for his being unfashionably late.

It was always like that. He was always like that. He went out with one girl after the other; from women of extreme beauty and poise to mindless bimbos who couldn’t tell tea leaves and coffee beans apart. He’d spend some cash to butter them up with expensive meals at overpriced restaurants, or VIP entrance at the hottest club, or even pay for the name tag on their designer clothes, but come next morning, he was either caught stealing straight out of their pockets or checking whether the tag was still attached to the dress for him to return it to the store—at which point, the vast majority gave up, except for those few poor souls who earnestly believed they could fix him, though they never would.

If there were two things in this world that remained unfaltering and resolute throughout the eons, then that was the earth’s orbiting the sun, and Zen’in Toji’s being the bastard of a man you knew and loved— special intonation of that last part.

It was quite the oxymoron. To know him as an irredeemable scumbag with no intention of changing, and to love him for all he was; a sentence as contradictory and controversial as the man before you. What was there to love? He never gave two shits about the people around him dying, and if he could encourage or partake in their deaths then he certainly would. He gambled every cent of cash in his hands away, and his every attachment ended with the disposal of his used-up condom. He was vulgar, cynical, and brass, and he possessed a great charisma of making people dislike him at first glance. His only saving grace was his good looks and even those he managed to scrape on a daily basis.

So, really, what was there to love about a man whose place fitted best among the pile of garbage in the corner? What was the point in all that?

He never answered your question, and when you realized he wasn’t planning to, you dragged a second chair to his side, propping your elbows first and then your chin over the vinyl backrest, feet landing at each side. You took in his expression— sour and undeniably agitated, with a frown tugging at the scarred corner of his lower lip, and a glare too icy to be meant for the wall of American-styled neon billboards he mercilessly studied. Something definitely bothered him, and as a huff stiffened his chin, the reason became evident enough for you to point at it.

“Woman or work?” you gestured at the blood that dribbled below his ear and down his neck.

He followed your forefinger with his eyes, thumb scrubbing where the gush began. He seemed oblivious to his injury, though it wasn’t as if his becoming aware changed a thing.

“So it is a woman,” you gladly seized the chance to rub salt into his wound, drawing a frustrated grumble from him.“What did you do this time? Stole her car and crashed it into a tree? Blew all her savings on cockfight betting?”

“Horse races,” he had the nerve to correct.

“Or… did you by any chance bring an uncalled ménage à trois to her bed?”

“What kind of man you take me for?” Toji protested.

“A very, very, veeeery bad man,” you smirked, and he returned it. You knew him like the back of your hand. There was no need to pretend otherwise after well over a decade’s worth of friendship.

“If a very bad man is what I am, then why’d ya let me in?” he asked. “A young unprotected woman all by herself in the middle of the night letting such scum in never ends well. Thought you were smarter than this.”

“If I was smarter, then I wouldn’t be calling you my friend, would I?”

His grimace turned into a full-blown devilish grin, the kind that secretly had your heart buzzing against the frail set of bones of your chest. He always looked so dazzling when he smiled, that sometimes you couldn’t find fault in those women wanting to believe in his pretty lies, because you, too, wanted to. You hoped that whatever the price for those smiles was, you would one day be able to afford it and gain ownership of his heart, no matter how wretched or blackened it was.

“You are a real idiot to mix it up with me,” he conceded. “Though, you are a greater idiot for letting that term define us. I bet your nights serving meals at some kiddie place get rather lonely. But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N. So good that you’d risk some prick getting in, lest he is me.”

His tongue poked out his mouth, giving his bottom lip a brief lick while he peered at you through half-lidded eyes. He had this way of turning things sexual in the blink of an eye, selling himself so well that your refusal to buy seemed commendable— despite the unmistakable affection you held for his face. Little did he know how much you longed to push that chair to the side and rip his cocky expression along his black-sleeved shirt off his body, making it so that neither of you had a place to hide from the other.

Now, that’d feel good.

“My nights are fine as they are, thank you very much,” you countered your instincts much to his disappointment. “And if I ever needed myself a helping hand, know that you’d be the last I’d call!” Not as if you’d pick up, anyway, you mentally added.

His gust of interest fizzled out as soon as it surged, your rejection forcing him to rock back and forth between the chair’s legs. He wasn’t interested in continuing this. It was enough for him to take in the dusty pink shading of your ears and smile to himself, knowing you were still the kind of woman affected by his charms. Yes, that certainly was enough, for now.

“I’ll clean you up,” you declared, getting off your spot in haste and strolling through the bar in search of a clean towel.

Once you found it, you let it soak under the faucet and brought it back to him, rubbing against his skin regardless of his petty attempt at gritting his teeth. You placed one hand on his shoulder and another at his jaw, pushing them apart to no avail. Every muscle in his body was stronger than your entire bodily force combined, and he was awfully willing to flex that difference between you, just as he was at letting you straddle his hips and climb all over his body like some sort of feral monkey in heat.

A string of profanities that ranged from “bastard” to “shit-eating-asshole-shithead” poured out your mouth while Toji smirked, and smiled, and grinned, and didn’t even try to stop you from knocking the two of you onto the ground, palms barely managing to stable your head over his face. Your pleated skirt had risen, or rather flipped, over your panties, revealing the strawberry pattern panties you were wearing to his greedy hands as they hiked up your flesh without an ounce of shame.

“Wh-What are you doing?!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he cooed, burying his calloused fingers under the elastic waistband of your underwear.

You felt him trace the inward of your thighs in languid strokes, the fabric stretching the further his hand dipped— closer, and closer to your now-pulsing core, but never so close as to make actual contact. His hot breath tingled your lips, smelling of nothing in particular, but a sweaty tang of a woman’s deodorant that still lingered in his clothes. Had he fucked her before making it here, you wondered, heart tightening at the thought.

Your legs wiggled shut, unable to fully repel his hand, and for a brief moment, you considered letting him go through with this— whatever this was. Even if you came to be another conquest won, you didn’t care. All you needed was for him to hush all logic from your brain, and fuck you senselessly against the checkered tile floor of the “kiddie food place” you served meals at.

“Toji…” you begged, uncertain what you were begging him for until you felt the warmth in your thighs subside.

“Makin’ sure to preserve your maiden’s dignity,” he said as he fixed your skirt in place. “Wouldn’t want some perv catching sight of your cute little ass, would we?”

His condescending tone made you want to throw a slap across his face and then yours; for thinking that maybe this wasn’t a mistake, that you could really move past the pretense of friendship and aim at what you really sought. But he’d been right once before. You were stupid, stupider than all those girls combined, considering you knew and still wouldn’t mind being dragged down with him one bit.

“Fucking asshole,” you blurted as you pushed yourself off him, dumping the cloth on his smug face.

Your lip quivered as you stepped onto your feet, unable to quite shake the feeling of incompletion from your core, walls pathetically clenching around nothingness. You refused to look at him, lest you caved in a second time, and thus you paced around the booths, stopping before the one window whose blinds didn’t block the magnificent parking lot view. Only a black SUV was left— most likely his newest rental.

Following a beep, you watched the lights flicker white, his reflection in the window lifting the chair back up. You crossed your arms over your chest and waited, your impatience and frustration churning into a dangerous mix within your guts, as the asshole whose name wasn’t worth saying moved past you and walked straight to the door, not a single word or goodbye said.

“What about your phone?” you asked, at last paying him a look of spite.

“I’ll text ya my new number.”

“We both know you won’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder and showed you his pearly white canines, his expression not polished enough to be called a smile. You rolled your eyes in the opposite direction, spotting his old device blinking a variety of different lights, refusing to die just like its bastard of an owner.

“What should I do with this?”

“How the hell should I know?” Toji shrugged. “Get rid of it, or toss it in some burger. I’m sure no one will be able to tell the difference. Later,” the bell chimed as the door collided with the frame, chiming a second time as his head popped in a moment later. “Loved the raspberries.”

“They were strawberries, you scatterbrained swine,” you cursed, but he’d heard none of it. The car was gone, and so was he, and it was for the best that he didn’t get to witness the strawberry-colored shadow that loomed over both your cheeks.

Fanning some of that heat away, you returned to the table, surprised to find a white envelope with the name Kenzo hastily written on the front. Cash. Lots of cash. Enough cash to keep a low-end apartment afloat for at least a couple of months. An excuse and simultaneously the answer to all your previous questions.

“You fucking bastard,” you hummed, the term switching to one of utter endearment.

When the first instance of a wintry breeze came charging at the semi-exposed features of your face—a scarf’s fluff tucked right below your nose— you knew that walking all the way to the location where the unknown ID claiming to be Zen’in Toji ordered you to meet up was probably a bad idea.

For starters, you’d turn into an icicle long before making it back to your workplace. Not to mention you had no foolproof way of guaranteeing the person you were about to meet wasn’t some random impersonating psychopath. But when you finally spotted the yellow curvy “M” upon the rectangular red sign that spelled the fast food chain’s name, you narrowed down the psychopaths to that one cheapskate you happened to know.

Walking into the nearly vacant dining area —only the first two booths near the door occupying a family of four each— you detected him almost immediately. He was the only one seated in his wing. Head slightly tilted to look past the window, golden highlights showering the curve of a nose as it arched into thin eyebrows, calm eyes glinting with subtle emerald, and fingers that absentmindedly tapped away onto one of the two paper-covered trays. He had the decency to wait for you before getting into his food, though that didn’t stop him from munching on the occasional fry.

You tugged the handbag off your shoulder and slowly approached him, hesitating to enter his field of view, if just for a moment. He seemed so peaceful and serene, that if you had the guts, you’d snap a picture of him right then and there and make it into your phone’s wallpaper. But you didn’t. You’d never be able to explain it to him in a non-humiliating way, should he catch you in the act, and so, you shook the notion off and marched in his direction, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“What’s the point of calling me out here for lunch if we are gonna have burgers?” you dropped your bag at the far end of the table. “Why not eat at our place?”

“I like the fries here better,” he bit onto one as if to affirm his claim, licking the salty essence off his fingers. “You should be glad I got you some, too,” he nodded toward the closed dome-shaped box that lay in front of you. “Nuggets over burgers, right? Didn’t know what toy ya wanted though. Cashier girl told me bunnies are quite popular with girls your age, so I went with that.”

Ignoring, or rather postponing your answer to his outrageous suggestion, you peered through the contents of your meal’s box, spotting the wrapped-in-plastic purple-colored bunny key chain right at the bottom between the small portion of deluxe potatoes and even smaller portion of chicken nuggets that still steamed hot air. You were surprised he remembered everything about your order, down to your preference for milkshake over other beverages, and perhaps you would have shown your gratitude if it wasn’t for that last comment of his gnawing at your pride.

“How old did you tell the cashier I was, again?” you gritted, trying to suppress the toy’s cuteness within your fist.

“Didn’t. Just said it’s for some kid I know. Probably thought it was for my daughter or something.”

A pair of googly eyes popped out from their sockets, the bunny’s head in serious danger of coming right off.

“Stop acting like an old man,” you muttered in embarrassment. “A nine-month head start in life doesn’t make you old enough to be my father.”

“Still older than you, kid,” said Toji, his fingers latching onto his wrapped-up burger. “Now eat up. Didn’t pay ya lunch for it to go cold.”

Annoyed by his remarks, but oh-so terribly starved, you decided to let things slide, the two of you lunching in a period of temporal truce. He went through his burger in big bites, clearing it out before you even finished your portion of nuggets. You mildly wondered why he’d held off if he was this hungry, but didn’t press on the reason behind his invitation until after his tray was half-emptied.

“So… why’d you wanna meet up? Got something to tell me?”

“Mhm, I actually do. How would you like us to be room—Nah, that doesn’t sound too right,” Toji shook his head off, dusting the excess salt off his fingers. “I decided I’m moving in with you.”

“You, what?!?” You shrieked, eyes wide with shock, resembling those of your newly acquired key chain.

“What I just said. I’m moving in,” he repeated as if you hadn’t heard him the first time around. “Got everything right here. I’ll pop by later so you can show me my room.”

You glanced down at what he tapped as “here”, spotting a large black duffel bag that rested on his feet. He wasn’t joking, you panicked. He was being 100% serious about this. Directing your milkshake to your mouth, you took a nervous sip, nearly choking on the plastic straw between your teeth, while Toji kept staring at you, awaiting no answer in particular. After all, he wasn’t asking. He was proclaiming.

“Why would you want that?” you asked once you regained the ability to think rationally. “Weren’t you the one who said you ride solo?”

“Numerous reasons,” he stated, drawing his forefinger forth as if to recount. “For starters, rental prices going up, gas too. Inflation in the market and all that crap. Your place is also closer to work, and” he leaned closer, “wasn’t your neighborhood the one on the news recently? You know, those serial break-and-enter cases? As far as I’m aware, the culprit’s still running loose, could be a cursed spirit or something. You can’t see ‘em, but I can. I’ll keep ya safe. Wouldn’t you want that? Sounds like a fair deal to me, at least.”

The repetitive pattern of a catchy pop song blasting from the speakers served as a backdrop to your thoughts, eyes flickering between the table and his face. He wasn’t exactly wrong about what he said. The girl next door was the robber’s last victim, and from what you’d gathered, it seemed like the ones targeted were exclusively single women in their twenties. Curse or not, that was the intruder’s type, and you just so happened to tick both of those boxes.

From a standpoint of reason, his suggestion sounded fair alright, but this was Toji we were talking about. The man whose name was your first thought in the morning and the final afterthought in the night. The man you were coincidentally in love with.

Living with him would entail being around him a lot more than you could handle. Waking and sleeping and eating in the same house as him, spending your days off together, bickering about bills, take-out, and the TV remote’s ownership, doing things that only couples got to do, and of course, sharing a bathroom, which on its own meant seeing him parade through the cramped little space of your apartment in nothing but a soggy towel, hair slick and teeth beaming as he’d be asking if you’d like to join him in the shower—

You hit the break on these thoughts and pressed your forehead flat against both palms, feeling the heat exuding through your fingers. You were only able to keep this relationship platonic because of the distance he put between you. If he were to suddenly close it, what would come of you? How on earth would you be able to hold back?

“Don’t you want me?”

“Huh?” you bit at the straw again, snapping it in half.

“I said, you hate the idea of living with me that much?”

Toji certainly didn’t mince his words, but the way he was looking at you, brows furrowing and lips quivering into a frown despite the edge in his tone, almost made it seem as if hearing your rejection out loud would hurt him, and because of that, you had no choice, but to shake your head in denial. You wanted this. More than words could express, you wanted to be with him like that, even if you refrained from disclosing that truth.

You wanted him.

“What about your girlfriends? Wouldn’t they be against you living with some woman?”

“Nah, I’m done with that. Done with all of ‘em.”

“But my apartment is too small. I don’t think it’d suit you—”

“I’ll manage,” he cut you off.

“I don’t even have a second bed-”

“We can always share,” he smirked, letting out a light-hearted chuckle as he watched color paint your cheeks. “Couch is fine, too. So, whaddya say, roomie?”

“…Fine,” you conceded, very well knowing you’d come to regret this decision. “But we need to set some ground rules! No trashing the apartment, no throwing your ‘work tools’ all over the place, no smoking, no drinking, no loud music, and no bringing in random women. No starting fights either! You’ll help around and pay half of what’s needed, so no gambling your money away. Those are my terms.”

“You drive a hard bargain, roomie,” Toji said, balancing his chin atop his elbow. “Fine by me. Told you I’m done with half those things anyway, and I don’t mind helping you with anything. I mean that.”

But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N.

His words from that night still lingered in your mind like an unfulfilled promise, and when he phrased it like that, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how good his hands felt that night, creeping all over your skin as if he owned it— as if he owned you.

“G-good!” you said, picking up a fry off his tray and tossing it in your mouth, lest you said something stupid.

“No one taught you stealing other people’s food is rude?” Toji shot you a glare unequal to your crime.

“It’s not stealing if you are done with it!” you protested. “You haven’t touched your fries in over ten minutes now.”

His tongue clicked against his mouth’s roof, producing a series of “tsk” sounds while he shook his head in disapproval. “Didn’t take ya for such a brat, Y/N. Disrespecting me in my face right after we came to an agreement? That’s some bad business ethics.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, barely keeping yourself from groaning. “I’m so terribly sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have stolen your esteemed fries, sir. Won’t ever happen again, sir. Please allow me to express my profound remorse, sir.”

Although Toji knew you only addressed him as such to get on his nerves, he was still pleased enough to grace with you an unsuspecting smile, seconds before you shoved a ketchup-covered potato against his mouth, smudging the left corner of his lips in a way akin to that of his right corner scar. He blinked, clouds of fury gathering in the bleakness of his eyes and cheeks puffing up, painting the most adorable expression you’d ever seen him wear.

“So cute,” you gushed, unable to suppress a hearty laughter that agitated him even more, red blooming across his cheeks— most likely by the lack of oxygen, you interpreted.

“Fucking brat,” he hissed, dipping the last of his fries in ketchup and then stuffing your mouth with it before you could even react. “I’ll show ya how it’s done!” he declared, your lips puckering against his fingers, condiment spreading all over like lipstick. His other hand forced your head in place, stilling your chin for him to work on his masterpiece, making a much bigger mess out of you than you had made of him.

“Hmphmmph!” you hummed while Toji laughed, a deep sound that reverberated straight from his guts, his eyes glinting along with his teeth in sheer joy that convinced you to give up so as to not spoil his fun. It was rare to see him genuinely happy.

“That should teach ya to behave,” he spat, smugness in every aspect of his features as he pressed his thumb onto his mouth, cleaning the ketchup off with a lick. “But you did address me properly, so you’ve earned the right to choose. Napkin or my lips? Which one?”

Stupefied as you were, you didn’t understand the full context of his question until you felt the sudden warmth of his mouth flutter over your skin, the tip of his tongue sloppily gathering the leftover ketchup off your right cheek. Your jaw popped open, a small gasp escaping as a result of his action.

“Too slow,” Toji whispered, hooded green eyes peering right into yours. “I’ll ask again. Napkin or my lips? What’s it gonna be, doll?”

“N-n-n-napkin!” you must have stuttered at least a thousand times before forming a comprehensible answer. He was so close that if he tilted his head any closer your lips were sure to touch. “P-please get me a napkin.”

“Please?” he chuckled, acting as if was really going to kiss you and then pulling away. “Be right back.”

Even after Toji let go, you could still feel the weight of his thumb holding you down, your eyes zeroing in on his black sweater as he set off for the other side of the room where the napkin and condiments stand was located. You heard a few whispers coming from beside your table, catching three pairs of eyes shooting daggers right at your back.

“Don’t they have a home?” a woman’s voice echoed first.

“Kids these days…” a man added.

“Honey, don’t look at their sinfulness, it’s the devil’s work.” A second woman concluded.

You were on the verge of experiencing a cardiac arrest, and you were pretty darn sure you would have if Toji hadn’t returned with the napkins in time, his hand snatched by yours as you forcefully dragged him out of the place, spelling frantic apologies at whoever was listening.

Once you’d made it outside, you sighed in relief, winter’s viciousness coming as a much-needed slap across your face. You took in a few breaths, letting go of his hand and padding a few steps away from the store’s windows, afraid you were still the focus of their attention. Toji followed, one hand stuffed inside his jeans pocket, while the other held the duffel bag over his shoulder in a lazy manner.

“Can you give me a lift to work?” you managed to ask, dodging his stare even as he stepped to the front.

“I would, but I can’t. Gave the car away.”

“You did what?”

Nothing about your reaction was funny in any shape or form, but he seemed amused enough to break into a soft chuckle, his eyes, too, softening ever so slightly.

“Planning to walk around town like a bloodsucker?” he asked, bringing a napkin to wipe your lips with greater care than you’d think. “How dirty,” he cooed, gently tapping at the center. “Next time, I won’t ask for permission to kiss you, roomie. Let’s go.”

“W-Where?” your voice came out so frail that you doubted he’d heard your question, his bag bouncing over his taut body with every step he took outside the parking lot.

“You asked for a ride, didn’t ya? Come.”

A/N: Launching a new series because I have so many feelings bottled up that I'm in danger of farting hearts and rainbows and shit. Decided to take the time off and write this fic for myself cause I needed it, but then I thought why not share it with the world? First time writing for Jujutsu Kaisen and Toji in particular, so hopefully it's received well!

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thefreakandthehair · 2 years ago

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happy (belated, sorry!) birthday to @henderdads!! this was supposed to be just fluffy but y'know. the hurt/comfort monster got me. I hope you had a perfect day! <333

can also be found here on AO3!

stars and satellites (will always bring me home)

---

Eddie tries not to think about his birthday.

He and Wayne have an agreement to let it pass with little to no mention, save for his 16th birthday when he’s able to start driving and his 18th birthday when he hands Eddie a few singles and tells him to go grab himself his first legal pack of cigarettes— and to get one for him, too, since he’ll be at the store anyways.

It works for Eddie and he goes as far as to hide his birthday from his friends for as long as he possibly can. Gareth, Jeff, and Frank still have no idea. The new found family he’s been adopted into since averting the (apparently third or fourth) Apocalypse don’t know, despite being asked by just about everyone at least once. It’s a fine-tuned skill, evading the question and changing the subject.

“Hey Eddie, when’s your birthday? Did we miss it already this year?” Dustin asks at Will’s own birthday party.

Eddie smirks. “Roll for insight, Young Henderson.”

“Alright, got a die?”

“Nope, darn!” Eddie pretends to pat the pockets of his jeans before shrugging and walking away.

Nancy is the hardest to fend off but unless she finds his birth information through the microfiche at the library, he’s stalwart in his stance. She might, though, and that’s his only real concern. But by and large, his friends let it go, chalking it up to one of Eddie’s many quirks and occasionally joking about it when someone else’s birthday rolls around. The one person who won’t put it down though?

Steve Harrington.

Steve I Throw Parties For Everyone Harrington. Steve I’m Going To Annoy You About This At Least Once A Week Harrington. Steve Is It Today? Is It Tomorrow? You Seem Like A Winter Baby? Harrington.

And truthfully, Eddie can’t find it within himself to be genuinely mad at him about it, despite having snapped at everyone else who’s dared to ask more than once. Eddie grants Steve a pass for reasons he’s not quite ready to evaluate just yet, reasons he knows he’ll never tell, reasons that would require the same security clearance that knowing his birthday would because knowing his birthday would mean knowing this past. He’s not sure yet if he wants everyone— or anyone— to know about his dear old dad.

In true The Universe Must Be Sentient And Actively Hate Me fashion, Steve happens to ask him again on his actual birthday. Steve’s backyard is glowing in the bluish tint of the full moon, stars twinkling in and out behind rogue clouds and smoke billowing from the joint they pass between them up towards the sky. It’s cold— early February in Hawkins is no joke— but Steve and Eddie have discovered an affinity for the cold breeze against their skin, finding it grounding and centering in its own way.

“So, when’s your birthday? Is it getting close?” It’s a question Eddie’s heard no less than twenty times in the same cheeky intonation, Steve having learned not to expect anything besides an out of pocket response. What he doesn’t expect is silence. Steve never expects silence from Eddie.

He turns to look at Eddie and sees him sitting in the same patio chair he’s been in all night, right next to him— too close, but not close enough at the same time. One leg is drawn up beneath one thigh and Eddie looks up at the sky, pointedly avoiding eye contact. If the moment didn’t feel as heavy as it does, Steve would find himself staring at the muscles of his neck and the way his throat bobs when he swallows. It is heavy though, and Steve can only focus on the weight of the space between them.

“Hey, you good? You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” Steve asks, passing the joint back to him as an excuse to pull his attention back from the sky above them. Of all of the things Steve’s imagined having to fight for attention from, the moon was certainly not one of them but he supposes that tracks for Eddie. Nothing about Eddie is according to plan.

Eddie takes the joint and carefully avoids Steve’s eyes, keeping his glance at his hands before returning to the stars and taking a deep inhale. Another few hits will make this all go away, he thinks to himself. The day had been difficult— memories he’d rather not have creeping up and wrapping themselves around his limbs like living vines.

Steve watches little bits of smoke curl out on his exhale and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Ed, seriously, I’ll stop asking. I’m just teasing, I’ll quit it, just stop with the silence, dude. It’s… weird.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, quietly. It’s just a single word but he’ll take it.

“Why is it weird?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you’re not quiet. You don’t do silence unless something’s wrong.”

“Maybe something is.”

Steve sits for a second, his brain running in circles around itself. You fucked it up, c’mon, you kept asking, you knew better, why’d you have to keep prying, now you made him uncomfortable like you swore not to do—

“I can smell your brain overheating from here, Steve. Relax. It’s not you, I promise.” Eddie chuckles humorlessly under his breath and he makes a spontaneous decision, an impulsive decision he might regret but there's a little part of him that finds it hard to believe he'll ever regret sharing something with Steve.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it, y’know, End of the World- related or…?” Steve’s voice trails off. Part of the reason they’ve come to have these nights smoking in the cold, alone together, is that exactly: End of the World- related invisible scars. But Eddie just shakes his head no and sighs, placing the joint down on the glass patio table.

“It’s today.”

“Huh?”

Eddie turns to face him and raises both eyebrows. “It’s. Today. My birthday. It’s today.”

“Wait— shit, really? And you’re telling me?” Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, not blind to the gravity of Eddie telling him his closest kept secret.

Eddie shrugs and smiles without it touching his eyes. “Guess so. Take it to your grave, please?”

“Well yeah, man, I don’t make a habit of going around and telling people’s secrets. But… thanks? For trusting me?” Steve reaches the few inches to Eddie’s shoulder and lets his hand rest there. It's contact but it's not enough. It’s never really enough, but it has to be. He has no reason to think Eddie feels the same way about him and he’ll be damned if he loses his best friend— second only to Robin, but that’s besides the point. The point is, he rests his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and lets his fingers move in slow repetitive circles into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket.

“You’re welcome. It’s just— I have some… not so great memories attached to my birthday so I don’t celebrate it. Rather it just not exist, to be honest.”

“Well, since it’s a big secret, you could just make it another day, y’know. We’ll all respect it and you can, like, create new memories and start over.”

Eddie glances down at Steve’s hand wandering, absentmindedly trailing his fingers along the base of his neck and to collarbone. Fuck his birthday, and fuck the horrible memories Clyde Munson had poured into it. The way his heart tumbles from his chest into his mouth negates all of it.

“Really? Any suggestions?” He breathes, relieved that Steve doesn’t pry. He’s learned enough about Steve’s own childhood though to imagine why he doesn’t. For all of their outward differences, Steve gets it. Gets him.

Steve watches Eddie’s eyes widen before they glance down at his hand and back up, filled with something that looks dangerously like hope. Steve, in turn, feels something dangerously like hope.

“Maybe the day you woke up? In the hospital? I don’t know, I can see you liking the whole phoenix thing. Rebirth into something beautiful or whatever.”

Eddie’s breath catches. Beautiful feels like an overinflated balloon floating precariously through the woods in Steve’s backyard— cheerful and buoyant, but always at the risk of catching on too sharp of a branch and tumbling back down to the hard ground.

“Beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah. It fits you.” Steve’s hand wanders again, this time intentionally, to brush a piece of Eddie’s hair behind his ear and cupping the side of his face.

“Steve…” He whispers as they move slowly— achingly slowly— together, as though attached by an invisible thread. And maybe they are— the little red string of fate that’s been pulling them closer and closer since the day they met. Close enough now, finally, for Eddie to know how Steve’s lips feel against his, how his hands feel in his hair, how his heart beats in his chest when Eddie presses one hand there to tether himself to reality with nothing. No one but his stars watch him find his way back home, to Steve, where he should've been all along.

Eddie’s new birthday becomes April 2nd, the day he’d woken up from the induced coma. Eddie and Steve’s anniversary becomes February 9th, his old birthday. He can’t imagine a better way to create beauty out of ashes.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stfic #myfic

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elainsgirl · 1 month ago

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If you were to tell me Azriel’s shadows hide from Elain, that naturally gives a negative reaction.

“The shadows are afraid of Elain, why are they afraid of elain? That clearly can’t be a good thing. The shadows are apart of Azriel, they shouldn’t be hiding around someone Azriel likes, clearly Elain isn’t good for him - so she can’t be his endgame”

I think we’ve all seen some variation of the above paragraph but here’s the canon reality of it:

The shadows don’t hide around Elain, they vanish. The definition of hide is to conceal yourself from something or someone, its main use in literature is to foreshadow/show fear and the feeling of being scared or foreboding. The definition of Vanish is to simply be gone. Disappear completely.

Hide and Vanish are not interchangeable. They are not perfect synonyms because they give different meanings/interpretations to a text

for example,

If I was to say, “the shadows hide from Elain”

. That gives a negative connotation surronding

distrust, the shadows do not trust Elain therefore will vanish from her

Fear, the shadows are scared of Elain or something about her, causing them to leave Azriel

Dislike, the shadows do not like Elain therefore do not want to be around her.

Notice how this interpretation does not make sense with the shadows’ purpose. The shadows are their to offer Azriel companionship & safety, if they’re hiding around elain out of fear or dislike - They’re not doing their job very well, are they? It defeats the point of Azriels shadows, to the point of contradiction. However, if I was to say, the shadows vanish from elain with the same context of their purpose,

The shadows trust elain to leave Azriel alone with her but it also shows how Elain makes Azriel feel safe to the point of not needing his safety blanket around her. A positive thing for their relationship.

The shadows vanishing around Elain show they do not see her as a threat therefore are ok to leave Azriel alone, this symbolises a positive dynamic between the shadows and Elain. . The shadows vanishing around Elain are also a temporary thing, as they are sentient beings they could have temporary left Elain and Azriel to give them an intimate moment alone together.

This version flows with what we canonically know about the shadows: If their purpose is to protect Azriel especially when he is feeling unsafe - then they don’t need to be around if he is feeing safe and calm. We know when the shadows go, Az shows no signs of discomfort. He mentions nothing about how uncomfortable he feels without them. Furthermore, let’s not forget these same shadows were ready to strike Nesta for insulting Elain, they wouldn’t do that for someone they didn’t like.

Even changing one word of a quote can give a different meaning to the text. That’s why, when you are to quote something from media: You need to make sure your quote has the same wording and meaning to avoid confusion and conflicted interpretations.

#we used to get marks taken off when we did this #elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acosf

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hauntingcryptids · 1 year ago

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Tell Me That I Belong To You

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary - The Reader is having a bad day. So, with the convincing of The TARDIS, The Reader seeks comfort in The Master.

Based On This Request - *This was originally based on a request but the more I continued to write and edit it, the more the fic drifted away from the prompt. So, I am just going to let this be its own fic and write another fic more closely aligned to the prompt.

Warnings - Reader not feeling well, insecurity on the part of the reader, canon typical telepathy. (let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count - 1864

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. I have a smut version of this fic if anyone would like to read it, but I don’t want to post it if people would just prefer the fluff version. I also don’t know how good this is, but I just wanted to get something out there after feeling awful mentally for a while. So, I hope that you enjoy this :)!

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You woke up with a headache. The type of headache that no matter how much water you drank, food you ate, or sun(TARDIS created sun) you layed in would cure your malady. Headaches, in general, but especially ones as bad as the one you were experiencing, always made your whole day awful. Oftentimes, the pain in your head would cause you to spiral internally until your mental health was utterly destroyed. That’s where you were now, arguing to yourself in your head about you and your “Humanness” and how you weren’t good enough for The Master. How could you possibly be good enough for The Master? Even if you weren’t Human, why would he want to be with someone like you?

The TARDIS beeped determinedly. You were becoming better at understanding The TARDIS given how much time you had spent within the ship but still you could only understand part of what she was telling you. The bits you could discern were: “The Master loves you”, “you are good enough”, “you have always been enough”, and “The Master would never think such horrible things about you. Ever!”

Eventually, you stopped The TARDIS’s rant about how great you were and that she wished that she could help improve your self-image. You thanked her for everything she said. Even though didn’t understand everything, you could feel her distress over your thoughts and her want to help you.

“The Master could help you where I fail.” The TARDIS finally said telepathically.

“He’s probably busy, though.” You mumbled, worried about upsetting him if you interrupted him while he was doing something.

“Go to him. He wouldn’t want to know that you allowed yourself to suffer when he was there ready and available to help you.” The TARDIS had to say this statement a couple of times in order for you to fully understand, and you sighed in response. She was right. The Master would be furious if he found out that you hid your distress from him, you knew that, he said as much many times before. It’s just that your brain would lie to you when you were upset.

“The Master will understand.” The sentient time and spaceship whispered into your brain. The TARDIS, given her time being The Master’s ship, knew better than anyone how the state of a person’s physical health could affect their mental health. She knew how greatly The Master suffered, therefore The Master would never judge you. The TARDIS just hoped that you knew what she knew.

“Can you lead me to The Master, please?” You asked after ruminating over everything the incredibly kind ship communicated to you. The TARDIS cheerfully directed you to the main library where The Master often lounged.

Like many times before, The Master was sitting horizontally on the sofa reading. He seemed engrossed in the thick tome resting up against his bent thigh. The alien’s engrossed demeanour made you want to turn back and talk to The Master later, but The TARDIS reassured you with a comforting presence. Both you and the ship knew that the only person who could make you happy when you were feeling off was the rogue Time Lord.

You walked up as quietly as you could and poked the Master’s cheek with your finger. The Master looked up at you with a smile, completely unbothered. Even while agonisingly planning an upcoming plan to toy with The Doctor, you would always bring him joy just with your presence. You were never a bother to him,

“Hello, my little Human. How are you today?” The Master seemed so calm even though you expected him to be upset. You wrapped your arms around your torso anxiously and subconsciously began rocking back and forth on your feet.

“Can I sit on your lap please, Master?” You sounded tired, which worried The Master, though he chose not to react for your benefit.

“Of course, love.” The Master placed the book he was researching and moved slightly to allow you to sit on his lap.

As soon as you rested your body against his, The Master scooted his body down the sofa until the two of you were practically lying down. The Master then wrapped his arms firmly around your back, trapping you against his chest with the beating of his hearts rattling throughout your body.

You breathed a sigh of relief, causing The Master to chuckle lovingly. You then nuzzled against his clothes-covered collarbones and the base of his neck and then breathed in his scent. His presence was comforting, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Your mind still hurt and your thoughts still moved far too quickly for you to properly calm down. You assumed that your thoughts were loud, loud enough for The Master to hear, but you didn’t put any effort into hiding your thoughts. You just wanted to dissolve into The Master’s chest and to let all of your anxieties disappear.

“I’m sorry that you aren’t feeling well, Y/n.” The Master said softly against your ear. One of his hands absentmindedly caressed up and down your back.

“Make me feel good, Master, please. You’re the only one who can.” Your headache seemed to peak right before you committed yourself to asking The Master for some help. The warmth of The Master’s body against yours and the severe pain spiking through your head was too contrasting and too overwhelming to put on a brave face any longer.

“What kind of Master would I be if I didn’t take care of my beloved Human.” The feel of The Master’s smirk against your skin sparked a warmth to spread through you. The Master always made you feel better and more secure, but on bad days you just needed a bit more reassurance.

“Please tell me that you mean that?”

“Of course I mean it, my love. You are the only person I could ever care about.” The Master adjusted slightly in order to look you in the eye. You shied away, avoiding eye contact, and The Master didn’t push you to look at him. Though he did brush a hand down the side of your face a couple of times before kissing your forehead delicately.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, love.” The Master said this to inform you that he would move the two of you. He would carry you places in The TARDIS without telling you where you were going when you were feeling like your everyday self, but not when you were feeling off. The Master never wanted to add to your anxiety, so he would always tell you when he would carry you off somewhere.

The Master moved the two of you so he was sitting up with you on his lap. He wrapped your legs around his waist and held you tightly against his chest before finally standing up with you securely in his arms. Then he carried you off to your shared bedroom.

Once in the dark-themed and dimly lit bedroom, The Master gently placed you on the bed and wrapped you up in as many blankets as you wanted and needed. He stepped back from the bed momentarily to remove his clothes that were far inferior to yours when it came to the act of cuddling and resting. Eventually, he crawled under the covers to join you on the bed. He cuddled closer to you, holding you tighter than he did in the library, and then rubbed his hands up and down your back as you returned to your place cuddling into The Master’s side.

“What do you need, my love?”

“You.” You’re speech was muffled by The Master’s neck, but he still understood you.

“Yes, but what do you need me to do? I know that you are hiding something in that beautiful mind of yours.” You felt The Master softly tap a finger against your temple, a little jolt of calmness and relief coursing through you with each tap.

“You won’t laugh at me, will you?”

“Never.” The Master answered with sincerity heavy in his tone. You nervously mumbled your response under your breath and into his neck, making this comment more difficult for The Master to decipher.

“I couldn’t hear you, love.”

“Can you tell me I belong to you?” You asked a bit louder, but you were still quiet and nervousness permeated your question. The Master’s breath caught in his throat. He tried his best to hold in his excitement brought on by your request because this moment was about you. The idea of you belonging to him was exactly what The Master wanted, more than anything in the Universe, probably even the Multiverse. What added to his growing excitement and adoration of you was the fact that The Master didn’t even have to make you feel this way. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. Somehow, the stars aligned and they delivered the perfect person to The Master. What else could he do but give you whatever you wanted in an act of gratification?

“You belong to me, love. You always will belong to your Master. You’ll be mine forever.” The Master cuddled you impossibly closer, intertwining your bodies in a knot, and whispered into your ear with all the devotion and fervour he felt for you heavy on his tongue.

“And you really mean that -” You tried to ask again, but The Master cut you off before you could finish your insecurity-filled question.

“Of course I mean that. I would never lie to you, especially about this.” This time when The Master moved to look you in the eye you didn’t turn away. His warm chocolate eyes held all of the sentiments that were laced within his words and even more. If it were possible, you would stare into his eyes forever.

“Thank you, Master.”

“There is no need to thank me. You just need some rest and then you will feel better.” You huffed into The Master’s neck, just wishing that he would accept your gratitude without dismissing it.

“Come on, rest your head on my chest and close your eyes. I will deal with that headache and those pesky thoughts that were troubling you.” You did as The Master asked, already planning how you would repay The Master for everything he did for you today.

As soon as you placed your head on The Master’s chest, the sound of his heartbeats immediately calmed you down and the pressure on your mind began to subside. The Master massaged his hands along your back, starting slowly along your neck and then moving further down toward the base of your spine. He smoothed every ache and worked out every knot and kink, all the while placing delicate kisses across your head and face. You heard him whispering praises in your ear, some in your native language and some in his. Even though you couldn’t understand everything he spoke to you, you knew that what he said was entirely comprised of his love. Because of The Master’s actions, you soon fell asleep. You were completely consumed by the rogue Time Lord’s presence, just like you wanted to be when the day began.

#ghost's posts #fanfiction #x reader #doctor who #doctor who x reader #the master #the master x reader #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #my writing #anon #request

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badfanfictionaire · 30 days ago

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Chrissy probably should have told Eddie the truth the first time they rendezvoused in the woods.

Or perhaps the first time they kissed.

Or when she spent the night the first time.

Or the first time they made love.

But she didn’t, and, honestly now it’s eating at her insides. Because Eddie deserves to know.

She’s pretty sure he won’t balk, because he’s Eddie, and he’s pretty much ok with anything.

But this is still… This is big.

“Your eyes look like they're made of stardust,” he said to her one night as he lay on his side staring at her from across his twin sized mattress.

She opened her mouth to tell him: it’s because they are.

“You’re out of this world, you know that?” Eddie murmured into her hair as he spooned her on the couch.

She felt the words on her lips: it’s because I am.

She doesn’t tell him until a year after they get together, and when she does it all comes bubbling out in a rush.

“You sure you’re feeling ok? You’re kind of greenish-”

“Eddie, I’m not human. I’m… I’m an alien, Eddie. An extraterrestrial. A creature from outer space.”

“Uhhh?” Eddie’s mouth opens and closes and then hangs open again.

“That’s why I look green right now, not because I’m sick. Because I forgot to put my makeup on and this is just how my skin looks… Please don’t leave me.”

Eddie reaches out and runs a finger gently down her arm. She shivers under his touch, loving the way his calloused fingertips massage down her skin. She hopes it isn’t the last time she feels this.

“So you like,” Eddie mimes what she assumes is supposed to be someone falling from the sky and then holds up one finger, “ET phone home?”

“Except not,” she says gesturing at herself.

“Clearly,” Eddie huffs, “ET looks like a sentient turd. You look like a goddamn vision.”

“Even though I’m a little green? And my eyes glow in the dark…”

“They do?!” Eddie clutches her hands.

“You always said they were made of stardust,” she says with a smile.

“How come I’ve never seen it,” Eddie says, looking a little disappointed.

“No one could ever know the truth, so I’ve always hidden it.”

“But… you just told me.”

“I know,” she says.

“… Does that mean you have to kill me now?” Eddie’s eyes go wide and he mimes slashing his throat.

“No, silly,” she assures him, “It means I love you, and I trust you, and I don’t want you to panic if one day our kids are also a little green.”

His eyes go impossibly wider.

“If you want that,” she says shyly.

“With you, star girl? I want it all.”

👻👻👻👻

(Read on AO3)

#stranger things #eddie munson lives #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie x chrissy #edssy #hellcheer #eddie munson #hellcheer week 2024 #chrissy cunningham lives #chrissy cunningham

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shyvioletcat · 1 year ago

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ROWAELIN MONTH: DAY 30

~ A Missing or Alternate Scene from Canon ~

Well... Let me just say I took some liberties with canon this time. I started with the Bite Scene from Heir of Fire and I went from there. This is a little 'what if', if you will. What if the mating bond snapped when Rowan bit Celaena's neck and things went from there? Italic section at the top taken from Heir of Fire and then we get to the rest.

CW: Smut

~~~~~

Faster than lightning, his hand shot out and she gagged, jolting as he grabbed her tongue between his fingers. She bit down, hard, but he didn’t let go. “Say that again,” he purred.

She choked as he kept pinching her tongue, and she went for his daggers, simultaneously slamming her knee up between his legs, but he shoved his body against hers, a wall of hard muscle and several hundred years of lethal training trapping her against a tree. She was a joke by comparison—a joke—and her tongue—

He released her tongue, and she gasped for breath. She swore at him, a filthy, foul name, and spat at his feet. And that’s when he bit her.

She cried out as those canines pierced the spot between her neck and shoulder, a primal act of aggression—the bite so strong and claiming that she was too stunned to move. He had her pinned against the tree and clamped down harder, his canines digging deep, her blood spilling onto her shirt. Pinned, like some weakling. But that was what she’d become, wasn’t it? Useless, pathetic.

She growled, more animal than sentient being. And shoved.

Rowan staggered back a step, teeth ripping her skin as she struck his chest. She didn’t feel the pain, didn’t care about the blood or the flash of light.

No, she wanted to rip his throat out—rip it out with the elongated canines she bared at him as she finished shifting and roared.

Rowan grinned. “There you are.” Blood—her blood—was on his teeth, on his mouth and chin. And those dead eyes glowed as he spat her blood onto the earth. She probably tasted like a sewer to him.

There was a shrieking in her ears, and Celaena lunged at him. Lunged, and then stopped as she took in the world with stunning clarity, smelled it and tasted it and breathed it like the finest wine. Gods, this place, this kingdom smelled divine, smelled like—

She had shifted.

She panted, even though her lungs were telling her she was no longer winded and did not need as many breaths in this body. There was a tickling at her neck—her skin slowly beginning to stitch itself together. She was a faster healer in this form. Because of the magic... Breathe. Breathe.

But there it was, rising up, wildfire crackling in her veins, in her fingertips, the forest around them so much kindling, and then—

She shoved back. Took the fear and used it like a battering ram inside herself, against the power, shoving it down, down.

Rowan prowled closer. “Let it out. Don’t fight it.”

A pulse beat against her, nipping, smelling of snow and pine. Rowan’s power, taunting hers. Not like her fire, but a gift of ice and wind. A freezing zap at her elbow had her falling back against the tree. The magic bit her cheek now. Magic—attacking her.

Don’t fight it?

His power nipped at her again and Celaena readied to hurl insults at him to make him stop. Didn’t he understand the danger he was in? Didn’t he know the monster that was raging just below the surface? The power, the inferno that had always rage inside her—that was given a true life in her fae form. This fire would consume and then destroy everything in sight. That would include the male who watched her, disappoint rife in his every feature. Her untamed wildfire might be enough to kill him.

That thought felt like a blow to her gut, enough that the inferno quieted, just for a moment. It gave her enough clarity to look at Rowan, to weather the disdain that emanated from him. And then, like a string had been pulled taut between them Celaena felt it. Something she had only heard stories of and never thought she’d have the privilege of experiencing herself.

Mate.

Rowan was her mate.

Celeana saw the moment he realised it too. For a moment his face contorted in confusion and then shock overtook everything else.

Her back was against the tree a moment later, once again his hard body had her trapped. Rowan had lost control once more, this time there was a feral glint in his eye. His dominance settled her fires, like her power was curious as to what would happen next. He inhaled, right below her ear, and his thumb dragged over where he’d bit her and Celaena braced for the pain. It never came, the touch was gentle and compared to everything else about him—the harshness of his face and the overbearing strength of his body—that caress was enough to make her moan.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, like he was disgusted and appalled that she would make such a sound, that he would be the one to cause it. But damn him to Hellas’ realm she was intoxicated by him. The awakening of the bond had intrinsically altered something within her. Celeana didn’t understand what was going on but she knew she was not to blame. There was a need to take, a need to claim. Her body shuddered with the unrelenting force of it all. A want was building within her, a fire flowing through her veins that had nothing to do with the magic she was born with. Rowan’s scent of pine and snow surrounded her, and she could feel his magic answering the intensifying call of hers.

Celaena wanted to shift and retreat back into her human form to lessen the demands of her fae body. All that halted when a harsh snarl broke the quiet of the forest.

“Don’t you dare.”

Celaena lifted her chin in defiance of Rowan’s command. His sneer remained and she could still see her blood on his teeth, the lines of his tattoo contorting. Rowan’s tongue flicked over one of his sharp canines tasting her again. To her pure shock his eyes rolled back and he pressed into her a little more. Celeana strained against the weight of his body, trying to get enough advantage. The only thing she succeeded in doing was closing the remaining inconsiderable distance between them. She could feel every inch of him, especially the impressive and demanding hardness of his cock.

They both went still, eyes locked in a silent battle. It was like Rowan was daring her to acknowledge the very obvious reaction he was having to the sudden circumstances they found themselves in. It gave her some comfort to know it was not just her being overwhelmed by instincts. Then Celaena gave him a feline smirk.

“My, my, Rowan. All riled up after one little bite.”

“You know what we are.” Rowan’s voice was little more than a growl.

“I want to hear you say it,” Celaena said, mustering all the arrogance she could.

Rowan lent in closer. “We are mates.”

“I am your mate,” Celaena whispered in response, the words taking hold in her chest.

To hear him say it was the final affirmation and she could feel the bond between them go taut. And then something snapped and Celaena was pulling his face to her, their lips meeting.

It took a thunderous heartbeat for Rowan to react, but when it did it had embers fluttering from her. The kiss was demanding, they fought for dominance but neither could claim it. Rowan’s tongue glided into her mouth and Celaena nipped at his bottom lip with her newly reclaimed canines. The kiss was feral and ruthless. She hated him, he hated her. This was not born out of love and kindness, just a frenzied need that came deep from within them both. That did nothing to quell the want that was surging through her veins. Stuck between his hard body and the tree Celaena could feel everything. The length of him pressed into her core, flooding her body with heat.��

Even through all the layers of clothing we could feel how large he was. The thought of him being inside her made her whimper, Rowan swallowing the sound as his tongue flicked at the roof of her mouth.

“More,” Celaena demanded. “Give me more.”

“This means nothing,” Rowan replied, but she could read what was unsaid.

You mean nothing.

“I don’t care,” Celaena hissed as her fingers searched for bare skin at the collar of his tunic. She needed to feel more of him.

Rowan drew back, his eyes conveying every bitter sentiment that had been accumulating since the moment they met. “Neither do I.”

His body was gone and for a devastating moment Celana thought he was denying her. But he had only backed off to allow him the space to remove his clothes, shedding his outer layers and then the weapons that were hidden beneath. He was far more efficient than she was, Celaena was only at her undershirt and working on the laces of her pants when Rowan hauled her back to him. He didn’t kiss her, he just had one arm wrapped around her waist pressing her into his bare chest, the hand of the other dragged over her body.

Her magic sparked at his touch, she could feel the flames on her fingers. Ice cold wind danced between the fire on her hands, beckoning to her magic in a way she had never felt before. It was playful, a tendency she would never have expected from the stoic male in front of her.

“This means nothing,” Rowan said again.

Celaena rolled her eyes. “You mentioned that.”

He bared his teeth and lent in closer, and the strength of the eager hope Celaena had that he would kiss her again was embarrassing.

Rowan’s eyes ran over her, and when he met her gaze they had only darkened. “This is the mating frenzy, nothing more. We’ll both be useless if we don’t give into it.”

His hand was on her ribs and Celeana arched to encourage him to take more. “Whatever you say.”

Rowan took the invitation and his hand covered her breast, growling as Celaena moaned. Then he had her legs out from under her and was laying her body on the grass. It was then Celaena noticed he still had his pants on—the urgency to be near overwhelming enough that he forgot his initial task. Rowan’s silver hair fell around them as he braced himself over her, the rest of the world fading away to nothing. There was only the male in front of her, the touch of his hands and the lingering taste of him on her tongue. And Celaena wanted more.

She kissed him again, the unsaid demand for him to get on with it expressed in the way she sucked his tongue into her mouth. A sound of pleasure rumbled from deep within Rowan’s chest, igniting her fires further. The grass crackled as it dried, the scent of smoke filling her nose. Celaena’s magic sensed Rowan’s stirring and she felt, rather than saw, as he sealed them under a hard wall of air. Lines of flame ran along it, inspecting for weaknesses, but found none. Nothing would get past the defences of the Prince. He had made sure that her cataclysmic power would not ruin the forest around them.

Before Celaena could drown in the thoughts of her own volatile nature, she was distracted by Rowan’s hand at the waistband of her pants and the way he tore through the remaining laces. Then his fingers were on her skin, slipping beneath her clothes and to her entrance. Her hips bucked at the touch and Rowan groaned as he felt the evidence of her desire.

Rowan did it again, this time dragging his fingers over the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. That touch undid her, the restraint on her powers failing and she burst into flames—her clothing turning to nothing more than ash.

There was a gut wrenching moment of fear when she thought her flames would hurt Rowan. She may hate him, but he did not deserve the wrath of her flames. Celaena opened her eyes, terrified of what she might find. Rowan was braced above her, something akin to wonder in his eyes, the harsh angles of his face lit by her firelight.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

That word kindled something in her dead heart, calling to the echoes of her pride. Stretching her arms up Celaena arched her back, the invitation clear. Ice cold lips lowered to her breast, taking the peak of it deep within his mouth. Rowan worshipped her, nipping and sucking until she was a writhing, flaming mess under his ministrations. Her core pulsed with need and she threw a leg over his hip, pulling their bodies closer.

Rowan’s body surrendered, and they moved together until it wasn’t. He was gone and the loss of him was an unwanted shock. Pushing herself to her elbows Celaena saw that he was ridding himself of pants.

“Oh, Gods,” she whispered when Rowan was utterly bare.

This male was a warrior and every inch of him upheld that fact. From his broad shoulders, to the defined muscles of his stomach, and his strong thighs. It was the straining hardness of his cock that held her attention, it flooded her body with molten want. She needed him inside her, now.

They moved in sync, Celaena lying back and Rowan braced himself over her again. Their eyes locked, words were beyond both of them as he lowered his hips, the head of him grazing over her entrance. The primal need for him reached its breaking point, and Celana was willing to risk the humiliation of begging for him. She was truly Mala blessed because there was no need to, in one powerful stroke Rowan sheathed himself inside her.

Celaena might have screamed in pleasure and that first decadent feeling of him inside, she couldn’t be sure because all other sense was lost to her. There was only her and Rowan, and this powerful sealing between them. Nothing would be the same after this world altering moment.

Her nails dragging down Rowan’s back was the indication he needed to start moving. Celaena expected him to be rough, to drive into her with a sharp ruthlessness. He did not, each stroke was thorough enough to have her trembling. Precise in a way that Celaena knew that he wielded skills beyond blades. Rowan was being gentle, the underlying tenderness breathtaking in the worst possible way. Celeana didn’t want this from him, it felt close too close to pity for her liking. This male never had a kindness of any nature to give to her. There was no reason for him to start now.

Celaena was about to take matters in her own hands when Rowan’s breath brushed against the skin of her neck, his lips the lightest of touches. Then he moved down, right over where he had bit her. The wound was long healed, but his tongue darted out over where his teeth had pierced her skin. Unbidden, her inner walls tightened around him, making Rowan shudder, his rhythm faltering. All Celaena’s focus went to the ministrations of his mouth. His teeth grazed, just shy of hurting and she moaned. He did that a few times, anticipation and desire building. And then he bit her.

The act so primal and claiming that release barreled through her, unexpected and enough to leave her reeling. Rowan drew out her pleasure, his hips undulating and steady. Celaena’s magic unleashed, flames and embers thriving as Rowan’s winds encouraged them. This miles beyond anything that she had felt with Chaol. Was pure, unadulterated pleasure, and Celeana knew nothing would compare. For the rest of her miserable life nothing and no one would compare to this.

Rowan was still moving, unchanged from his infuriating accuracy. Her body begged for more—for the true claiming. When her orgasm passed and she regained strength to her limbs Celeana planted a foot on the forest flaw and flipped them. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him so deep inside her.

When she opened her eyes she saw mild surprise on Rowan’s face at the change of position. But not displeased, not at all. Celaena rolled her hips, hard and fast, and that had Rowan’s hands clamping on her waist. She did it again, the heart of her flames turning blue as she sighed at the feeling of being so full. So quickly, she could feel herself cresting towards release again. Beneath her Rowan’s eyes were closed, his hips flexing in time with the motion of hers. His teeth caught his bottom lip, there was a deep, rumbling moan coming from him. The truth of how much he was enjoying this was evident from the look of sheer pleasure on his face.

Celaena gave a dark laugh. “Try not to enjoy yourself too much.”

“Shut your mouth,” Rowan said, his eyes still closed.

The petulance in Rowan’s tone made her laugh again, only to be cut short but a hard thrust. Celaena tipped her head back at the sensation, her nails digging into his chest. He groaned, his movements gaining some urgency. Now she was not only chasing her pleasure, but his as well. Celaena wanted to see this conceited male come undone, all by her doing.

Another intense thrust had her falling forward, hands landing either side of Rowan’s head to stop her from falling on him completely. This angle let her grind on him in a new delicious angle and she knew now they wouldn’t last much longer.

Before Celaena could stop him, Rowan’s hands ran over her back, her breath catching as he felt the ridges and divots on her skin. He let out a vicious snarl enough to rattle her bones. Then so conflicting to that feral viciousness, a hand cradled the back of her neck and brought her down for a brutal kiss. This time Rowan nipped at her lip, his sharp teeth were just shy of piercing her skin.

He was close, she could feel it.

“Aelin,” Rowan all but breathed, like a whisper on an ice coated wind.

To hear her true name pulled as the longing of her restless soul. He had been the first to call her by her true name in many years. It was a summoning, a beckoning to life where she no longer had to hide. For the first time in a long time Celeana felt the glimmer of home. Her lips kissed where his shoulder and neck met, tracing lines with her tongue. She would feel Rowan’s ragged breathing, each breath shorter as he approached his release. When Celaena felt her own there for the taking, she bit down, her sharp teeth breaking skin and blood filled her mouth. He tasted wind-kissed and powerful, an answer to a question Celaena hadn’t known she was asking. Rowan roared as he came, ice and wind blasting and twining with fire. Celaena’s own release followed, the joining of their magic heightening the intensity. There was a staggering thrill in being truly unleashed—not having to temper what she was. And then to have someone who met her blow for blow… it was earth shattering.

Rowan was the first to recover, sitting up regardless of the way Celaena was still slumped on his chest. He didn’t make any attempt to move her, just waited until she was ready. Celaena didn’t want to, because once she did the reality of what they were and what they’d done would be inescapable. In the end it was the closeness of Rowan’s body that drove her to slip off his lap. The fact they were mates didn’t change a thing emotionally between them. His closeness brought her no comfort, not when they hated each other.

The loss of him inside her was nearly devastating. Celaena braced herself for pain and let the shift take over her. It was easier to contend with everything in her human body. Her senses were dulled and the call to Rowan was weaker. Free of the weight of her body Rowan was getting dressed, his back to her. That was when Celaena realised she had nothing to wear. She had burnt her clothes, she didn’t even have her flames to cloak herself in. Celaena pulled her knees up to her chest, suddenly so cold.

There was a muffled thump, and she startled at the pile of grey cloth that had landed beside her.

“That won’t be happening again,” muttered gruffly, shrugging on his jacket. Celaena could see the weapons he’d donned underneath. His chest was bare and the fastenings of his pants were ruined. Rowan dangerously uncovered and she could stop the way her eyes roved over him.

Already Celaena’s blood was heating, even in her human form it was begging for more. What she knew of mating bonds was limited, but even then she was familiar with what was often referred to as the frenzy that took place between mates. She was gaining a deeper understanding of it with each second longer she spent in Rowan’s presence.

Rowan sniffed, his body going preternaturally still. Celaena ignored him, standing and putting on the tunic he had so graciously offered.

“Understood.”

Out of her peripherals she was a flash of light, telling her Rowan had shifted and fled, leaving her to walk back to Mistward on her own. The solitude would give her time to think. Being mates won’t change her plans. Celaena had made a promise to Nehemia and she would not let her unwilling attachment to the bastard of a male set to train her stop her. This changed nothing, she would complete her task the same way she had been doing everything for many years now, the way she was destined to be. Alone.

~~~~~

So, in my head there may or may not be a whole It Takes Two-esque canon au that spawned and it starts right here haha...

@rowaelinscourt

#rowaelin month #rowaelin month 2023

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dranathedragon · 4 months ago

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I’m a D&D nerd, who is currently obsessed with Dead Boy Detectives, so of course the “What class would everyone be?” thought has been tickling me. I’ve seen a few other people post their thoughts on it, and I’ve been reading the amazing “Messrs Payne and Rowland’s Adventuring Agency” by @terresdebrume whenever it updates. Seriously, it’s really good, highly recommend. So I figured I’d throw my hat in the ring and see what anyone else’s thoughts are while I’m at it. Just doing the core four in this post.

So let’s get the easy one out of the way first, Crystal. She’s 100% a sorcerer, her power comes from her bloodline, she was born with it. Because she’s psychic based I’d say she’s specifically an Aberrant Mind sorcerer, without all the deep space tentacle monster baggage. Though she does have disembodied floating eyeballs in her psyche so MAYBE!

Next up is the second easiest, Edwin. He’s a wizard, everyone knows he’s a wizard. What KIND of wizard though? I’m going with Order of Scribes. He loves that little notebook so much, it gained sentience. How awesome would it be, if in this D&D version of the show, Edwin’s notebook didn’t follow him to hell because it was his sentient spell book, and it stayed behind with a purpose? It stayed behind because it KNEW Charles would never leave Edwin there and he would attempt a rescue. It KNEW Charles would go, and it KNEW it had to stay behind to help him. It showed him the things he needed to see, the information and maps that would reunite him with their wizard. I just love that.

Next up is Charles. He was a little tougher. I’ve seen quite a few posts saying that he’s a barbarian, and at this, I must object. At least with the criteria I’m using I suppose. Charles’ power doesn’t come from his rage. The one time we see him using his rage to fight, Edwin’s horrified and worried reaction pretty much confirms this was wildly out of character for him.

Just as an aside, I’m a firm believer of when Edwin said, “That was extreme”, he wasn’t talking about knocking the night nurse off the cliff. He was talking about Charles’ reaction in general, it was an extreme REACTION. He’d never seen Charles act with that much anger, hate, and violence before. He’s not an attacker, he’s a defender. It scared him, but he was scared FOR Charles, not OF him. Our wizard just isn’t great at people’ing. That’s a discussion for a different post though! Back to the topic at hand!

So, if I don’t think he’s a barb, what is he? Well, I’ve got two possible options. One thing that’s said quite a bit in the show, is how charismatic Charles is. And let’s face it, he is. So, using that logic, I’d say he could possibly be a Paladin. Specifically, an Oath of Devotion Paladin. I mean, come on, his power would so come from his extreme devotion to his favorite wizard. That would be a fun one, but there’s my second option which I find slightly more plausible.

It’s shown multiple times in the show, that while Charles claims to be just the brawn, he’s actually very clever and capable of thinking outside the box. Not to mention, he’s all about magic items. Bag of holding, enchanted cricket bat, enchanted jar/paper weight, enchanted lullaby ball, the disguises, the list goes on. So he’s smart and specializes in magic items, that screams Artificer. I’d say he’s a Battle Smith Artificer, some of their specialty spells are based around defending/supporting their allies, and you can’t tell me he wouldn’t find having a little robot pet, sorry STEEL DEFENDER, completely aces. He’d also name it like “Steve” or something and treat it like it was his and Edwin’s child, fight me on that lol. (Jk, don’t fight me I don’t like conflict!) Update: Charles’ lock picking has been mentioned and it just added to this for me as Artificers get expertise in thieves’ tools. How did I forget this?!

So that leaves Niko, who is kind of the wild card. I saw at least one post saying she’d be a bard, but I don’t think that’s accurate. Bards are all about attention (well mostly, I guess whispers would be an exception but she wouldn’t be a whispers anyway) and the whole sprite possession thing seemed to kinda make her uncomfortable with it. Idk, it just doesn’t really fit right to me. On the same thread though, so far in the show, Niko’s only real power is to see the dead. That might be expanded if we get a second season (🤞🏻), but for right now, that’s all she’s got other than being a good friend and excellent reading comprehension skills (which I might revisit this using that last one later). That said, since she got that ability (technically) because of the sprites (more because they almost killed her, but also they’re with her in the igloo so this still might work!) I’d say Niko is a Warlock. Just by the by, I hate that the class is called “Warlock”. That’s a word that came from an old English word meaning “oath breaker or he who breaks their oath”. Warlocks are all about MAKING not BREAKING pacts. Just a weird choice but MOVING ON! Since the sprites seem kind of Fey, I’d say she’d be a Pact of the Archfey. Nothing to do with the pact’s skill set, since we’d have nothing to compare it to, just because they seem fey to me.

So that’s what I’ve got so far. I might think of other characters’ later, like what would Jenny be etc. What do you guys think? I like to hear other people’s opinions on this! It’s fun to bat around!

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #dbda #dead boy detective agency #payneland #dead boyfriend detectives #dead boy detective netflix #d&d #dungeons and dragons #dungeons and dragons au #me rambling

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hedgiwithapen · 2 months ago

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DHD: Stargate, anyone(s) on SG1 gets telepathy. Hammond and/or Janet with telepathy also entirely acceptable.

Headaches came with command, George knew well. Every time he’d been promoted, his wife had cooked a celebratory meal and upsized the bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. But it was largely metaphorical headaches he had to deal with, or headaches walking around in human bodies, like certain unnamed members of SGs 1, 3, and 5. Mostly 1. Little frustrations, bigger frustrations, and concerns, and worries that were easier to label as a headache and move on. Being a little tired and overworked was part of the job of running the SGC, and it was worth a headache now and again to keep his family--his country--his planet-- safe. This headache, though, felt like his first ever hangover, back when he’d been young and stupid and unsupervised. “General?” Major Carter asked. He blinked at her, trying to recall what exactly her report had been about. Something about the trees on a planet--no, that wasn’t right. The bees? No…badgers? Badgers sounded right. He glanced at the written report to confirm. Badgers. Not any weirder than sentient water that had taken out so many Russians a few weeks back. “Yes?” he asked. “You have a question, Major?” “Sir, not to be blunt but are you ok?” she asked, “He doesn’t look well. I guess I wouldn’t either, with all the fuss Senator Kimsey is kicking up, he’s got an awful lot on his plate.” “I would appreciate it, Major, if you didn’t refer to me in the third person,” he grit out, waving a hand at her obvious dismay. “I’m fine, just a headache. You’re dismissed.” “Sir,” she acknowledged, though George could hear her muttering about oddness and doubting the headache ‘story.’ As if he was lying about the pounding in his head. It wasn’t like Cater, and George let himself wonder for a moment that Colonel O’Neill had rubbed off a little too much on his team. The headache lessened, some, as he read over the report in the quiet of his office. It worsened again when someone tapped at his door. “Come in,” he barked. The sooner he dealt with whatever emergency Dr. Frasier had uncovered, the sooner he could try to take a little catnap. “General Hammond,” Dr. Frasier smiled. “I was just speaking with Sam, and she expressed some concerns. Could you tell me a little about your symptoms? Headache? Migraine? Brain tumor?” “For heaven’s sake,” George said, feeling a little like Jack. “ I do not have a brain tumor.” “I see,” Dr. Frasier frowned. “I think Sam was right. Telepathy.” “Telepathy?” George squinted at her. “Dr. Frasier, I don’t want to question your judgment, but that seems a little far fetched.” “I’d agree with you,” she said. “If I’d said my suspicions out loud.” “Oh,” he said, and really, what else was there to say? Ah, right. “ How on earth did I…” “Could have been something brought back from that planet, something in the mind that resists our decontamination…of course, no one else seems to have come down with it. I’m sure Daniel will be eager to go back and find out. For now, as your doctor, I suggest you get lots of rest, and avoid crowds. He’s here practically around the clock, maybe it’s a good time to see--” “You think I should go home? Like this? Doctor, I have two very sweet granddaughters approaching middle school. The last thing I want to know is what’s in their heads.” She laughed. “Understandable. I’ll tell everyone to leave you be.” “No, wait,” he stopped her. “See if O’Neill and Harriman can be spared.” “Can I ask why?” George pulled out a deck of cards. “I want to see how far I can take this. Since I’m officially off duty per your orders and all.” “Get pictures,” Dr. Frasier laughed again. “We’re all going to want to see the look on Jack’s face. Good luck, sir.”

#Dammit Hedgi Day 2024 #Dammit Hedgi Day #Stargate SG1 #General Hammond #Janet Frasier #Sometimes you visit Kepahi and bring back a viral strain of telepathy oops!

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eggtrolls · 1 month ago

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The Downton blogging (circa S3E5) will continue until morale improves

Ice in the veins, Kobe of the social scene — Mary Crawley would not, could physically not miss a chance to be ruthless to Edith. She sees Edith from 100 feet away and it’s On Sight. Edith standing in the churchyard about to be married and Mary is like listen we WILL NOT like each other a jot more in the future but good luck I guess. Sybil is lying DEAD on a bed in front of them and Edith is like 🥺 oh Mary 🥺 do you think we might get along a little better in the future? 🥺😭 and Mary just says “I doubt it”. She is a supervillain and I support women’s wrongs.

My favourite half-drowned bear cub of a man, Robert is like ‘no I can’t kick out my tenants who can’t farm and haven’t paid rent since the Norman invasion because they’re OLD wtf do you think I’m MEAN or something????’ and then he turns around and is like ‘but fuck Catholics for real tho lmao am I right or am I right, archbishop of banterbury’

The scene right after Edith gets left at the altar and Robert and Matthew go outside to talk about Reggie Swire’s fortune and the shot is them as tiny ants in the shadow of Downton’s walls…….that’s the shit I like

Cora saying goodbye to Sybil’s corpse with an insanely placid smile and her right (my left) eye twitching the entire time. Again the reminders of Iphigenia vis-a-vis a young woman dying in the house as a sacrifice, thus casting Cora being Clytemnestra which is just deeeeeeeelicious

The only part of Sybil’s death/mourning that actually made me feel some kind of way was Maggie Smith struggling alone with her cane in the hall……how many women has she seen die in childbirth over the last 70 years. Is it even surprising anymore? Does it hurt more or less?

Tom is still busy being fucking useless because he has no real purpose other than being a vague socialist life-size cardboard cut out to eventually be whittled down as a foil to Matthew who is himself being whittled down as a foil to Robert.

Also re: Tom and the Drumgoole house burning, WHY was he surprised by this being upsetting LET ALONE that it happened? He’s like omg I can’t believe I was upset by seeing rich people crying when their house burnt down, but the same fucking guy years ago canonically said nothing bad would happen to the Tsar and his family? Bro? Tf? Did you even do the readings of this shit you’re actively living through, while as a journalist to boot?????

Also also tremendously weak ass shit for him to answer Sybil’s “you didn’t tell me you’d gone to those meetings” with “I didn’t say I hadn’t”. “You didn’t tell me you were part of the Oklahoma City bombings”/“well I didn’t say I wasn’t” ass logic. unsurprising Tom L

Anna’s character is wearing so thin. She really has fuckall personality besides being pert, blonde, and vaguely saintlike while saying mihstehhhh Beyyyyyyyhtś every five minutes like a cuckoo clock

O’Brien playing the long game of slowly nudging Thomas and Jimmy towards each other, knowing it will get Thomas fired if not jailed, is a master class in scheming. Spy novels where the payoff is averting nuclear war are written with less attention to detail than this.

I need Thomas to get a mean lesbian best friend as a counterpoint to season 1 Miss O’Brien but since female sexuality wasn’t discovered in England until the 1970s it’s unlikely to happen :(

Mr Molesley as the permanent straight man of the show is maybe a little stale but it does crack me up every time. Sorry bro

The conversation around Downton as sentient being who kills those who don’t belong (Lavinia, and ultimately, Matthew) or who stray from the fold (Sybil) or those who endangered the Family (Kemal Pamuk) is still super interesting as the later seasons really let Edith hit her stride. It’s pretty clear that the flow of the Downton True Heir is set up as Violet to Robert to Mary but what if not. Mary is the bloodline (via Matthew) and has the money (also via Matthew) and the beauty* but Edith is the care and the maintenance that is completely ESSENTIAL to maintaining a house like Downton: in the little things of arranging seatings for dinners to keep the peace, to bigger things like helping with the Drake’s farm because the estate does boost the house, to her entire arc during S2 with the war. Mary as the roof and Edith as the walls…..let me cook

Lastly:

Okay hear me out but Vera Bates……..….would

*Edith isn’t even actually UNattactive, she just has the combo curse of Too Much Nose and Teeth. Mary’s features are roughly as pretty individually but much better proportioned for her face.

#Downton Abbey

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mothmanssweetsucculentass · 2 months ago

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Jason The Toymaker Headcanons

The grind never stops fr fr. Sorry for disappearing I had summer classes and then a certain triangle demon from a kid’s show is took up most of my attention and creativity, and now I’m in regular classes and silly goofy video games have taken up my attention and creativity when I’m not slaving over my art projects for school. Teehee. Oops!

Jason has been another underrated character in this fandom imo, and I especially love love love LOVE characters who just get so obsessed with shit. I can’t remember if it was canon or fanon about him, but I love the fact he gets so possessive of his friends to the point where he kills the competition. And also the friend. Because the best friend to have is one you have complete control over, right?

Anyways.

Cis man? WRONG.

Like you’re gonna look at Jason and tell me that motherfucker has only ever used he/him pronouns? Bro is an eccentric Toymaker ffs

Jason uses any pronouns. Even the ones that don’t exist. Bro collects that shit like Pokemon cards

Hey remember LJ? Yeah Jason made him

I mean hello??? Sentient toy clown? That’s right up Jason’s alley

Jason has also made other clown characters, like Candy Pop

Jason is also one of the few inhabitants that straight up doesn’t need to eat food. Ever

Much like Nina, no one’s really sure what he is, they just know its immortal like everyone else and insanely hard to kill

Most people also avoid them or go out of their way to not get emotionally close to him for super obvious reasons

Like. They’ve all seen her workshop. Every week he comes back with a new human he’s lied to and whisked off their feet with some bullshit fantasy and within the next few days they’ve made a doll of the poor guy

Jason technically isn’t even allowed to do that, humans aren’t allowed to know of the existence of the manor or Slenderman or literally anything that goes on there, but does Jason care? Absolutely not

Slenderman tried getting on her ass about it once, and by some miracle Jason was able to talk themselves out of punishment

Besides making morbid people dolls, Jason of course also makes random other toys. Almost all of them are sentient or are able to think and comprehend speech

Jason uses Mr. Glutton (the snake) as not only a chair, but a garbage disposal as well. Need to get rid of body parts? Give to the snake. It’s like a black hole in there

So y’know how Anne and Eyeless Jack are the go-to doctors of the residency? Jason is the fix it guy for anything that’s not biological

Torn clothing? Jason can sew it up for ya

Gun/chainsaw/mechanical weapon is jammed? Jason has a fix for it

Broken trinket from your room? Jason somehow has already made an exact copy of it for this specific occasion

You could count on one hand the things Jason doesn’t know how to fix

And still despite being the repairperson no one usually sticks around long enough to chat

You’d think with how delusionally clingy this mf is that it would be a problem but surprisingly no

There’s a reason why xe specifically only targets humans

Like? Humans as a species are so easy to manipulate? And are leagues more fun to torture and scare than her fellow serial killer roommates

Similarly to how the others make bets on what weird item Helen can use as a murder weapon, they also make bets on how fast Jason’s next victim gets dollified

So far the record is a single day because somehow one girl had the balls to pull an 80s horror protagonist and stabbed Jason with their own fabric shears

She didn’t get far. Obviously. What’d you expect from an entire mansion crawling with murderous entities. LJ accidentally clotheslined the girl while reaching between doorways for something

Everyone on the third floor then got to bear witness to Jason dragging her back to his workshop by her ankles. Using the same fabric shears. The carpet is still stained from how much she bled. I’m pretty sure one of her fingernails is still lodged in the wall, too

While they don’t share a studio/workshop, Jason and Helen often use a lot of the same crafting materials. They have a mutual relationship where if one of them goes out, they return with something both of them ran out of recently

Beyond that they literally never speak to each other, and they both like it that way

Jason is way too eccentric for Helen to be able to stomach for longer than an hour, and Helen is too particular with so many different things that it gets on Jason’s nerves

One of the few people that does stick around Jason often is Ann

Obviously there’s the underlying factor that Ann literally owes her current life to Jason, but even outside of that stipulation, Ann finds them pleasant to hang around

Unlike Jason’s other doll experiments and creations, Ann is the only one that came with sentience already attached. Saved Jason the hassle of having to create an entire consciousness network from scratch

Like damn, vengeance is one hell of a powerful force, enough so that once Ann was put back together by Jason, she was up and functioning practically immediately

The two aren’t inseparable per se, and definitely don’t see each other as anything more than friends (Ann moreso than Jason), but you can often find them in the same room interacting

Jason, like many of the others, adore Sally to an unnerving degree. It seems as if everyone, no matter how much they dislike kids or ghosts or humans or whatever else Sally counts as, feels a supernaturally strong urge to protect the kid. Jason is one of the few seen with her constantly

Yeah go figure the Toymaker likes to appease the child

But seriously it’s a little freaky how Sally has this effect on so many people. Someone should look into that

While it’s one of the most recent additions to the household, Jason is one of the oldest entities within the group.

Like hello bro was around in the late 1800s, Jason has peepaw bragging rights

With that comes the stipulation that Jason hates modern technology. The newest thing they own is a sewing machine from the 70s

I think it’s pretty obvious that because of his peepaw status, + the fact Jason thrives off unhealthy obsessive friendships, a lot of the younger residents hate her, and vice versa

Is friends/close with: Sally, Ann, Nina, and LJ

Is neutral about: Jane, EJ, Kagekao, Helen, and Slenderman

Doesn’t get along with/hates: BEN/Ben, Jeff, Clockwork, Puppeteer, Liu, Masky, and Hoody

Ben is practically the antithesis of Jason. Modern tech manipulator vs old fashioned old timey manipulator

If those two somehow end up in the same room it’s ON SIGHT

Nina and Jason are constantly bitching and gossiping about anything and everything under the sun. Somehow someone who’s besties with Jason’s rival is also besties with Jason. Nina is just that talented, apparently

Ofc they also bond over fashion. Who do you think makes most of Nina’s batshit insane wardrobe pieces?

Puppeteer annoys the hell out of Jason. That, and he keeps trying to steal and manipulate all the dolls Jason makes. Rude.

Jason is the only one allowed to destroy xer own work. If it catches you fucking with any of the dolls, thrown away or otherwise, you can kiss your existence goodbye because Jason will make it her life’s mission to see to it you never have peace again

Tries not to be in their true/corrupted form too often considering how rotted his arms get in that state. The skin flakes off and everything, and it’s really inconvenient when you’re trying to work on fine craftsmanship and your own rotten black flesh keeps falling into your paint or some shit

Not exactly the easiest thing to control though. The more emotionally volatile Jason is, the more likely you’re gonna see him at his worst

#Jason the Toymaker #jason the toymaker hcs #jason the toymaker headcanons #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta headcanons

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