#at least halved her aura

[bumblebeehug]

Natsu trashing dimaria the goddess of war so hard he traumatized her into becoming a farmer

I fear he slayed (her)

[dragon-communion]

Alright I on a roll now, more Prinxe of Death Frankenrebis thoughts incoming.

Basic premise: as two halves that could theoretically make a whole, connected by the Cursemark of Death, Ranni's soul ends up in Godwyn's body. This is not ideal for anyone.

Since a rebis is, technically, the feminine aspect conjoined with the masculine aspect, I think this would count as a(n unintended) step towards Ranni's apotheosis.

However. It would probably mean that, since her soul is being conjoined to a physical aspect, she'd wake up in fucking Leyndell. It's a tossup whether Godwyn died in the capitol or at home, but for simplicity's sake I'm tempted to say he was in Leyndell when all this went down since that's where the Black Knives struck.

The most immediate issues are:

Godwyn was just assassinated. His body needs to stay down or else Ranni needs to be very persuasive very quickly so the Black Knives don't double-tap.

Ranni has likely not spent much time around any of Marika's children, much less Marika herself. She needs to somehow play a convincing Godwyn while planning what the hell to do next.

Fortissax will instantly know something is off.

Ranni is a glintstone sorcerer and Godwyn was a founder of the dragon cult. Their fighting styles are wildly different, and Godwyn comes from a warrior age. He probably has a relationship with the knights, who might pick up on strange behavior.

Ranni's own plans involved the glintstone sorcerer equivalent of retreating to her tower to play WOW for the next ten thousand years while Blaidd fixes the stars. She is definitely hidden, like this, but her plans are in shambles and she needs to contact Blaidd somehow. While wearing Godwyn's body.

Godwyn also has at least one kid, possibly more.

Also, of course, death has rooted in their flesh. Without Godwyn's mind, the deathroot would have spread wildly, like a mycelium network. With Ranni's mind in Godwyn's flesh? She could theoretically control it. I'm willing to bet that it'll corrupt her natural Empyrean aura: instead of being surrounded by only cold all the time, something subtly stinks and there is the sourceless buzzing of flies. In the advanced stages, people around her start coughing up worms and worse.

I think the only person who could really help her reverse it, or at least escape, would be Miquella. But that would involve telling him about the assassination and that she's possessing his favorite brother.

[wowowwild]

You seem like you have thoughts on Aura Blackquill. (for the meme pls)

I have so many thoughts on Aura Blackquill.

Favorite thing about them: She knows what she's about and she sticks to it. She does nothing in halves. Aura Blackquill is a force of nature.

Least favorite thing about them: Ok, Queen, I only have one note, the grudge you were holding against a child, that was a little unhealthy.

Favorite line: She has so many good ones imo but I picked "…All right. That's enough of that… Bailiff, take me to the Detention Center." bc she really said 'ok, I'm done experiencing emotions I would like to go to jail now'. Queen shit.

brOTP: I want her and Athena to be friends but I think her and Apollo would already be great friends. They have a lot in common, and her interactions with him seemed nice.

OTP: Obviously Metis, they deserve to be happy. Alternatively I have explored both Lana and Amara for potential ships and I like them a lot.

nOTP: idk who they even ship her with other than the three listed above- oh... I shouldn't have looked it up.

Random headcanon: Super into MILFs and MILF adjacent people.

Unpopular opinion: I don't really know what people think of her enough to know what's an unpopular opinion.

Song I associate with them: I don't necessarily associate a song with her specifically but the UR-1 retrial is very New Invention by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.

Favorite picture of them:

She's so happy in this group shot.

[espectres]

@kudakenai sent:

 ∗ 34﹕ shou is found by yukako somewhere he shouldn’t be . + ∗ 95﹕ yukako cradles shou's face .

[ 100 NONVERBAL PROMPTS ] ...  ▬▬▬   accepting !

TRAINING IS SUPPOSED TO BE A PRIVATE MATTER , unless he finds a sparring partner or some sort of aberration that wants trouble, Shou keeps mostly to himself, and his energy ravish by the freedom of his isolation as he finds somewhere abandoned and seemingly wrecked. Hands ball into knuckle-white fists, a long exhale signals his readiness, and he decides that he'd be the one to bring this place into its final form of wreckage. 

That's when he can let loose, strength not held back by any strategic limit nor the fear of hurting passersby or even comrades & friends in worst case scenarios. Power hums intensely within his core, fierce & fast as it pulses & runs through his veins without reins and explodes into every punch and kick that breaks through concrete and splits old wood in halves. Dust surrounded the place in a husky cloud, the colours of his aura cut through with a flash & torrent as he aims and delivers and destroys, over and over as his knuckles bleed and his muscles whine in pain that he actively ignores. 

Because the walls aren't falling apart with one hit, and the rubble of his own destruction is becoming harder and harder to dodge. Turbulence settles in the flow of his energy as frustration tightens his chest. Weak, weak and even weaker - each hit feels less empowered by his own strength and more by his overflowing emotions, because he isn't fast enough, nor strong enough, and nothing he does seems to change this fact no matter how hard he tries and the weight of these truths crushes him beneath with no chance to even fight his way out like he's always done and it's frustrating, it's so frightening, it's so shameful.

And he doesn't know what to do about it, he doesn't know how to deal with it, all he knows is the dauntless urge to break something, and he can't exactly tell if it's the walls he's trying to destroy or the bones of his hands. He doesn't get to that point, luckily, as interruption arrives in the form of a familiar presence that he almost doesn't precept- and a voice that cuts through the chaos of his now blind, aimless rampaging. Like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide & crazed, frantic, everything freezes but not the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the dripping of sweat from his chin. Or at least what he believes was sweat, until he picks on the raw smell and the amount and realizes it's blood trailing from top of his head, across his forehead where the line parts, drenching his face in glistening lively red. 

" Anee-ki ... " 

What was suppressed by emotions and adrenaline now finds a chance to surface as Yukako centers his vision, and the storm in his mind dissipates along what was left of his energy, his senses gradually return in sync. His hands ache and twitch, and Yukako rushes to his side. Subtly, the form of those same hands seem to distort, fingertips almost transparent ;  a useless, desperate attempt to hide away the smaller injuries, maybe then she wouldn't get so worried- maybe then he wouldn't feel guilt twisting his gut as she takes his face into her careful hold, grounding him on a way he didn't know was possible. One of his hand moves to hold onto her arm almost immediately, bringing her along as he finally allows his exhausted body to sink onto the ground. 

Head wounds bleed a lot. His healer has once told him with a deep frown, Shou recalls it despite the profound throbbing pain in his head. And they don't close with ease. Shou wonders if Yukako knows of all these little facts, medical trivia he has gained after sustaining such injuries before. There is nothing new this time, either. No matter how careful he claimed to be, he ended up hurting himself like a child injuring their knee while playing outside. But unlike a trusting little thing, he doesn't find it easy to whine and cry for a bandage or a get-well kiss, tormented by his false confidence and responsibility towards every action. He did this to himself. Why should Yukako worry & fret ?  How come he'd eneded up hurting her like that ?  It's stupid, unbecoming, unfair. 

He can't meet her eyes just yet, his own gaze wavering & shaking under the weight of headache and every little dumb feeling, but his hand never lets go, and he leans closer to the safety of her presence, despite himself. " Your dress ... " Blood drips from his face onto fabric over Yukako's knees, staining the innocent thing that had nothing to do with any of this. He apologizes, then, to the dress and her stained hands and the kindness behind her fierce eyes- even if it's pointless to do som " I'm sorry. " 

[deadbeatbirdmom]

I could swear Raven (and I) did hear Yang's remaining shottie go off at least twice before she landed in the vault. As for whether that cafeteria fall involved comedy physics, there is that 1st Deployment With New Duds at the mine in V7 where Yang hops out of their plane at what looks like 400+ feet up, drops head-down for a second or 3, then spreadeagles, reorients elbows first & only blasts EC at ground level then spins like a top before flipping upright & sliding to a halt. Didn't seem like she bothered cutting much drop momentum there.

It's been months since I watched Volume 5, so it's entirely possible I did get it wrong in my tags on that post, and Yang did use her remaining half of Ember Celica to slow her fall down into Haven's vault. I just struggle to imagine it's as effective when her normal recoil is halved, and she'd presumably have to position it dead centre to avoid throwing herself off course.

You're right that Yang's landing strategy as seen in Volume 7 surely can't slow her down much.

Maybe the cafeteria fall and what she does in Volume 7 hints that her Aura tanking the fall damage is most of Yang's landing strategy, with Ember Celica's recoil just to adjust how much she tanks. Not that she had any option except to have her Aura eat her fall damage in Best Day Ever (at least I'm pretty sure she didn't have Ember Celica on her at the time). Or she uses those shotgun blasts to propel her for fun, like above the Emerald Forest in Volume 1.

[fleshcarverfugitive]

hi happy munday!

to celebrate, have a look at the third save i've now started bc i have absolutely No self control lmao

name: elzira - she can't remember her last name yet ( she / her )

race: "high half elf" / the perfect bhaalspawn ( resist urge )

age: 40ish - close to Shadowheart's age

class: cleric of kelemvor ( a doomguide, specifically )

background: haunted one

Bestowed upon a Moon Elf father and a Human Necrobane of Kelemvor mother, Elzira's life started fairly normally, all things considered. Raised in the faith of the Great Guide, Elzria always felt conflict between the two halves of her heritage - her paternal family spurned the lord Kelemvor for his hatred of the undead, while her maternal family nourished her curiosity for his teachings. Her faith would be tested as she grew, however, as a second god would try to stake claim to her mind. Her father - the one whose divine blood she carried. The calls for blood came as she grew older, but did not manifest fully until her forties. After her mother was called away to hunt undead close to the city of Cormyr, leaving the Kelemvorite temple of Baldur's Gate in Elzira's capable hands, her holy father was free to close his vice on her mind - and her paternal family was swiftly removed by her own bloodied hand ( the heathens! denying her! ) . She was given two commands here, once her first true indulgences of the urge were fulfilled: Kill, and find Bane's Chosen. Kelemvor's doctrine was replaced with murderous dark urges, and Elzira soon fulfilled both commands - and came to lead, at least in part, a large cult bowing to the whims of an elder brain she and her fellow Chosens of Bane and Myrkul had called the Absolute. Now if she could just... remember all that... Anything that happened before the Nautiloid is a blur to her. Fading memories locked behind a steel door. Flashes of a knife, the sight of the scar on her face, and sharp pain in her skull pick at the lock, but to no avail. All she knows now is her name, Kelemvor's doctrine, and that she needs to get this tadpole out of her head. Stopping the urges might be nice, too. Just as a thought.

alignment: lawful neutral, lawful evil ( formerly )

save status: just released withers from his tomb and spoke to him at camp - recognized his divine aura, though is no closer to answers regarding his true status.

[amorphousgreydragon]

Some more gameplay ideas part 2

New S.B.T. (Strike Back Tail) 6hs during backdash: From that Backdash animation you can execute a reversal type move that's visually and functionally the same as S.B.T. (drawing the opponent close from the further distances while serving as risky defensive option) while mechanically being similar to Hand of Doom from Slayer while being similarly slow. This move also leaves a Dead Zone right in front of Justice. In Metal Mode the Tail hits multiple times like a chainsaw while in Hatched mode the move only hits once, does less damage but launches the opponent further up on hit, especially on counterhit, making it a less rewarding but safer option, especially due to mode change allowing you to, if you get punished using the move, to at least be able to get punished while having a better defense modifier. To offset this discrepancy in usefulness, the move cannot be roman canceled in Hatched mode but can be roman canceled in Metal mode. Changing modes overall increases the length of recovery and cannot be done on whiff.

Super 1: Revenge Ray. Revenge Ray shoots an energy beam from your shoulders and causes opponent's caught in the super to float to the ground on hit, allowing you plenty of time to set up bombs or combo the opponent if you managed to catch them in the air. Doesn't break the wall and instead unstick the opponent if they're already stuck, allowing you to loop another mix. Solid anti zoning tool, can be used in the air. Whiffs on low opponents, especially in the air. Revenge Ray can be turned into Justice's own version of Emotional Revenge Ray by inputting it again while having 100% tension. This doesn't do as much damage as the Gamma Ray Dizzy has, but it still breaks the wall from most places on the screen due to Justice not knocking the opponent away horizontally while using the move combined with her also moving forward during it's duration (while firing), traveling about round start distance. If the opponent is in proximity to Justice before the move ends, she'll grab them, fly them to the wall and straight through it to the next area, where she slams them down like Sol using HMC.

Super 2: Beneath the Scales (Only available in Metal form). Short Range invincible reversal, changes modes from Metal to Hatched, gives a health stealing buff to all melee attacks for 7 seconds or until you change modes again. Look at Dizzy's xrd super "Don't be overprotective" as a reference. Launches the opponent away and either gives you a knockdown or breaks the wall. Visually, the move causes Justice to jettison her armor explosively after a few moments of charging up energy which she releases in an electric aura alongside the pieces.

Super 3: Sleeping Dragon (Only available in Hatched form): install that chages modes from Hatched to Metal while halving the charge length requirements for every level of bomb for 7 seconds, and gives you access to a knockdown after wallbreak using them, at the cost of entering into a lengthy stun animation (70 frames) after the duration ends if no wallbreak and no charged 5d homing attack, thus causing a stage transition, was achieved. All bombs on the screen explode once the time reaches 0, causing a hard knockdown regardless of the level of bomb.

Would Justice in Strive be pointless?

12.11 edit

Justice is a very unique design, visually, narratively and from a gameplay perspective, yet over time, not only has Arcsys moved away and seemingly abandoned the character but has also split what things that made the character special and turned these things into other designs, two primarily:

Jack-O, who inherited half her personality, her bombs, her very soul, and Dizzy, who inherited her zoning, her screen control alongside her strong mobility from before +r.

That being said, is there no direction to take the character that would make her a worthy member of the strive roster and could set her apart in a fulfilling and compelling?

Jack-O inherited Justice's soul, what was left of Aria. Dizzy has inherited Justice's identity as a gear- a monster humanity would seek to destroy at best and use for their own benefit at worst. What story could be told? How could Justice belong?

The answer lies in what you take for granted when you look at those two characters: how they were created and why. How timeless they are, while Justice- or Aria isn't. Aria is a just a human in a robot body. Jack-O was created by that man for a purpose, and after that purpose was fulfilled, she had to find herself again, both a clean slate and not, the question on how much of her timeless existence as a Valentine she should sacrifice to make everyone else happy on her mind. How she should sacrifice of herself to Aria keep everyone else safe. This isn't a dynamic Aria would have to deal of on her own. Dizzy, while her origins are kept vague, was supposed to be Justice's second coming, but thanks to Ky and all the others who, found a way to resist that external design and find herself. Aria on her own wouldn't deal with that struggle the same way, now that the universal will is gone. Both of them have their own stories to tell, with their own struggles- but neither of them is human, or has lost themselves to the degree that Justice has. They were born Supernatural, immortal, perfect, timeless.

While Justice wasn't. Justice was born a regular person. Was a person one day, and gear made for destruction the next. Justice would have just been Aria without the Universal Will interfering. Justice would have been saved in time, with Asuka transferring her to a new body, a Jack-O unit, after everything surrounding the research around the gear cells would have settled down. Aria, in perfect control of all the world's most dangerous weapons, would have been impossible to manipulate or use for destructive purposes, and Asuka, presumably, trusted her with that. With the power to destroy the world. If the universal will hadn't interfered, it would have been the perfect plan.

But now she is stuck. Due to the faulty duplication process the PWAB used, taking Aria out of this mechanical body is impossible, but at least she gets to keep her mind, unlike the first time, which would have been reason enough for the PWAB to seal her away during the events of +r, knowing how dangerous a Justice could be if she isn't 100% under their control. Where they would seal her away? Into the backyard. Where Asuka would find her after the events of Guilty Gear Strive and welcome her to world once more.

And with that mind she could evolve in ways that neither Jack-O nor Dizzy could come close to. Her visual design could change in ways to make the mechanical dragon just as cool and badass as she is now, but less of a monster and more just like the woman she is underneath, staying strong inspite of the struggle. She is the mother of all Gears and all Valentines. They are her legacy unbidden. They could be her family, or they could not be. She could accept them in time after working through her grief, of she could not. She could learn from them, be inspired by them, or she could also not.

The original Justice was a product of Ariel's meddling, this one isn't. This one, inspite of everything she's lost oh so suddenly, is a human adapting to not being one anymore.

From a gameplay perspective:

She could be the big body, mobile powerhouse that keeps her opponent's at bay while being as viscous and terrifying as Justice's stature has the potential to be. Without cold cruelty and spite controlling her every thought, without arrogance oozing from every movement, who could she be?

She could change modes and forms by controlling how much armor and many machine parts she has at any given time- changing her from a heavy, metallic android with shoulderpads big enough to hide an entire arsenal like in +r to a nimble and organic white dragon we see in Xrd story mode. Not only would this impact health, speed and defenses but it would also change her special moves as well, maybe allowing you to switch from one tool kit to the other during a combo in creative and innovative ways. You could even make the change impact her framedata, like the hatched mode (the one focusing on all the speed and airdashes without the mechanical parts in the way) having a less advantageous c.s by pushing the opponent further away while decreasing her advantage on block, or for the metal mode deal chip damage on Tail attacks with them hitting multiple times like a chainsaw.

You could also just make her more like Dragon Install Jack-O, a concept that would be so amazing and badass to play. So instead of only being able to invent new moves or incorporate elements from her +r entry you can also use DI Sol as base from which to reinvent and integrate inspirations from Dizzy, Jack-O and previous versions of the character.

This character has so much potential still left in her.

[pastafossa]

pasta you should know we know need to know about matt and janes pokémon 🎤

YOU WANNA KNOW SOMETHING, I gave WAY too much thought to it because it WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE and it's ANNOYING because I've loved pokemon way too long for it to be a SIMPLE thing I can just WAVE AWAY, no, I have to add MEANING, which means

Jane and Matt each have FOUR, and unbeknownst to THEM long BEFORE they met each other, they each end up with a pokemon that represents the other.

Jane leans dark type obviously, of course she does, and there's a lot of focus on getting away type pokemon, pokemon who scare others off, and avoiding a fight.

Absol, because absols sense disaster ahead of time and attempt to warn people - not only does this alert Jane, but it carries the metaphorical extra - people are afraid of absols and therefore avoid her. Sadly this also means that, to all appearances, disasters follow her wherever she goes, and that's not incorrect for a lot of those she's left behind.

Zoroark, because they use illusions to trick people and keep them from entering their dens. Naturally with all of the ways Jane disguises herself, a zoroark makes sense. Zoroark is out with her quite often since it can disguise itself as whatever it needs to be, and therefore change faces/blend in just like she does in city after city.

Ninetales, because A. psychic and she needs at least one psychic (Edit* pointed out: not psychic type, BUT just has psychic abilities) to journey with her into thread places, and B. vengeful and places curses upon those that harm it, which feels very fitting for how Jane sees the Man in the White Coat. Especially relevant if it's an Alolan one, and is therefore icy.

Our DD representative: Houndoom, because she's the Hound, duh, but ALSO because it represents Matt - it's a fire type, it frightens people, it's got a Devil aesthetic, and yet is absolutely loyal. Also sniffs and tracks things down with ease.

Matt, our boy MATT. He's got a little more variety, partly because he's torn between two halves of himself, but his pokemon would generally have some variation of enhanced senses.

Lucario, inherited from his dad after his dad died. Noble, reserved, prideful, but incredibly loyal, and can use its aura abilities to sense foes at distance. Excellent fighter, but also encourages Matt to remain calm and play it smart and focused.

Espeon, our Jane representative, but even beyond that, I stand by Espeon being a surprising but accurate choice for one of Matt's pokemon. Jane reasons - Espeon's not about brute force, it's about psychically outwitting. It requires sunlight, and helps to soothe Matt (much like Jane does later). Just plain Matt reasons: "Espeon's velvety fur is so sensitive that it can sense minuscule shifts in the air, allowing it to predict the weather and its enemies' movements." In other words, Espeon has a similar sensitivity to its surroundings that Matt does, and it's small enough to be out with him everywhere. He often lets his Espeon ride on his shoulders during the day, and whenever he 'slips' and uses his senses to do something he shouldn't be able to do as a blind person, he can tell them that his Espeon is essentially operating as his guide pokemon.

DEVIL POKEMON #1: Blaziken. Yes, the fire chicken - because FIRE TYPE which is very Matt when he's furious, and also fighting type. They practice a form of martial arts, and the stronger their foe, the more intensely they fight, their determination growing.

Devil Pokemon #2: Greninja! It's a NINJA, it's a dark type and is incredibly agile, has a propensity for leaping around, and its water stars are sharp enough to cut metal. Also knows the meaning of stealth, and can take out those farther back while Blaziken and Matt and Lucario focus on close quarters combat.

BONUS: Foggy has a dragonite, fight me.

[phantomrose96]

Buds After the Frost

This was supposed to be a short warm-up writing exercise yesterday and then it got... longer. Enjoy!!

...

The doors opened for Maddie Fenton with a pneumatic hiss. Pressurized nitrogen released, splitting open the vacuum seal on the door as its twin halves slid apart, slotting into the wall-mounted sleeves. The nitrogen misted out, cold and dry, air currents catching in swirls around Maddie Fenton’s lab coat. Her feet thocked against hollow metal, amplified by the coldness and the vastness of the containment room beyond.

She paused short of the specimen’s cell, mindful attention drawn to the panel of controls nested rightmost against the wall. The monitor read out stats, tracked metrics of the specimen’s heartrate and blood oxygenation and blood pressure. Dials beneath the screens offered her means of interaction, manipulating the cage’s environment without needing to tamper with it by hand. She ignored these, as she had been ignoring them the entire time, and paid mind only to the single switch which would seal shut the doors behind her.

She pressed it. Another pneumatic hiss followed, locking out the world behind her. Her breath curled, cold. She and the specimen were alone.

“No coffee this morning?” he asked.

Maddie sat down at the control panel, elbow leaning against the dashboard for support. She turned to the cage. “No. One of the interns broke the pot last night. New one should be delivered today.”

Phantom let out a huff of air. “You mean in this whole gigantic mega-hyper-futuristic government lab, there’s nothing that can stand in as a coffee pot?”

“I wouldn’t stay employed long if I tried using equipment to brew coffee.”

“Use one of the big ectoplasm beakers. Ectoplasm washes out with soap and water. Just suds it up and throw it in the coffee maker. I’m an expert about these things.”

“It’s more about protocol.”

Phantom waved her off. “’Protocol.’ Bureaucracy is standing between you and a delicious cup of ectoplasmic coffee, Dr. Fenton.”

Maddie looked forward now, taking him in. He’d hovered to the front of the cell, translucent reinforced glass separating him from the rest of the lab. Green eyes shined above a cheeky smile, a dusting of loose white hairs falling over his eyes, the rest of his bangs swept slightly to the side. His tailed flickered, his aura pulsed, his vital readings blipped out steady, normal, healthy.

“Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

Maddie paused.

“Why are you still here?”

The ghost boy let out a small guffaw. He motioned his arms around him, hands waving. “I dunno. Maybe the big ghost-proof box I’m in has something to do with it?”

“The shield is down, Phantom,” Maddie answered quietly. She set her eyes to Phantom, investigating. “…I put it down last night. It’s down now. You knew this.”

Phantom took just a moment too long to react, eyebrows arching up. “Oh, huh! Nope I didn’t notice. I mean it’s not like I’m constantly throwing myself at the barrier to electrocute myself so no I just didn’t try getting past it last night so I didn’t notice.”

“Phantom,” Maddie said again, voice measured, words stern. “You saw me crank down the dial that controls the shield.”

“Well I don’t know what all those buttons and dials do.”

“Yes you do. You’ve been observing me since day 1. You knew.”

Phantom kicked back in the air, floating a fraction back and higher. “Well maybe I thought it was a trap, I dunno. Or maybe I just like to get in your head, you know? What unpredictable thing will Phantom do next! Gotta write another 200 equations about ghost theory to figure that one out, Dr. Fenton.”

“Phantom.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you not want to leave?”

“Oh I wanna leave.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“We’re having a conversation. That’d be rude.”

“Will you leave as soon as I exit the room?”

“Who knows?”

“Phantom.”

“Yeah?”

Maddie stood. She left her chair and the control panel behind. She walked up to the specimen cage instead. It was cubic, a skeleton of metal bar ribbings with a metal mesh that plastered the glass sides like a membrane. The top anchored to the ceiling, the bottom—raised by about a foot—anchored to a pedestal on the floor. Maddie stared through the mesh into Phantom’s eyes.

“Is there anyone who realizes you’re missing?” she asked.

Phantom chewed on the question. “Nah. Well um, trick question, actually. Probably not. Assuming I do this right, then no one has even realized I’m gone.”

“Do what ‘right’?”

“You know that thing about Clockwork I explained?”

“You said he’s the ghost that controls time and reality.”

“Yeah. SUPER powerful.”

“And you said you …were from one of those other realities.”

Phantom nodded. “Maybe I touched some things in Clockwork’s lair I wasn’t actually allowed to touch. Jury’s still out on whether I’m in trouble for that or not. I’ve been a little too ‘stuck in this reality’ to know if Clockwork is pissed. But yeah, I got um, bopped into your reality instead of mine. So technically my reality is lacking me right now, and yeah there’s people there who’d know I’m missing.”

Phantom flipped upside-down, as though laying on his back. He rested his palms beneath his head, elbows out, suspended in an invisible hammock, head tilted far back so that he still stared at Maddie. “Especially since it’s been, what, a month that I’ve been gone?”

“2 weeks.”

“What? No way. I’ve been here absolutely forever it has to have been at least a month.”

“This is day 14 of your observation, Phantom.”

Phantom blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Anyway. Two weeks is still long enough to have a search party out on my butt. But whether or not that’s happened is up to – it’s kind of a Schrodinger thing. Because here’s my strategy. Assuming Clockwork hasn’t banned me from reality-hopping forever, I can just get him to send me back to my own reality at the precise moment in time I vanished. And then bam, no one ever knows I was gone. And it makes no difference whether I do that today, or next week, or next month. So assuming you eventually let me go, then I’m all set there.”

“You say that almost like you don’t care when it happens.”

“I dunno, more like I’m just not losing sleep over it. It’s not like I have a say in the matter. You do. I don’t.”

“Is the time you spend here just meaningless, to you?”

“I wouldn’t say meaningless. I’m still aging goddammit.”

“You’re a ghost.”

“I’m complex.” Phantom flipped right-side-up again. “If I start growing facial hair, send me back. I’m gonna have some awkward questions to answer if I show up again with a ghost beard suddenly.”

“…And what if I never send you back?” Maddie asked, careful with her words. “How does your plan work if you stay here forever? If I destroy you first?”

“Um. …It doesn’t, I guess.” Phantom set a hand to his chin, thinking. “Yeah um, please don’t do that. I don’t wanna worry my whole family like that.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“What part?”

“That you have a family.”

“I mean. I think that came up in Interrogation Session #3. Consult your notes.”

“I just have a hard time believing you.”

“Because I’m a ghost?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a complex ghost.”

“I know. You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

Silence filtered in between them.

“…What is your family like, Phantom?”

Phantom stiffened a fraction, his eyes finding Maddie’s and shifting away. “Oh, you know, family.”

“Do they exist here too?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from another reality, at least you’re claiming you are.”

“I gotta be. The me from this reality died 6 months ago, didn’t he?”

“The you from most realities is dead, Phantom. You’re a ghost.”

“A complex ghost.”

“The you from this reality was destroyed 6 months ago.”

“Which you validated with your own sciencey equipment, right? You said so! So you know I’m not lying. Unless you think I recombobulated myself from being a protoplasmic smear on the sidewalk.” Phantom caught himself, registering the flinch in Maddie’s body. He deflated a bit, eyes averted. “S-sorry. Inconsiderate phrasing.”

“Why?” Maddie asked, tone flat, blunt.

Phantom’s eyes shifted back. “Um. Just. You know. That accident was. There were um, you know—”

“Human causalities.”

Phantom squirmed. “We don’t have to talk about that, you know? No one wants to talk about that. Okay as a ghost I guess ‘talking about how I died’ is sort of a bit more normal, but this is weird yeah, ‘talking about how an alternate-me died permanently’? That’s morbid. No one wants to talk about that.”

“Okay then. You can go back to answering my previous question.”

“Um. I forget.”

“Does your family exist in this reality?”

“Um, well who really knows, you know? I had like a grand total of 20 minutes of freedom in this reality before you captured me, so, don’t ask me like I’m any kind of expert about your reality. What’s it matter?”

“I want to know if there’s anyone in this reality who’s mourning you.”

Phantom’s face schismed with surprise. His front dropped, and the first look of genuine emotion sank into his glowing eyes. “Woah… That’s um, weirdly nice, of you, I guess. Why do you… want to know?”

Maddie said nothing.

“I. Um. I think the answer is no? So don’t um. Worry about that. If you were worried? Which is weird. I’m the enemy, aren’t I? Evil spooky ghost to be studied?”

“I’m not so sure what you are…” Maddie answered. “I heard you got destroyed trying to save them.”

“The um… the human casualties?”

“Yes.”

“I said we don’t have to talk about that.”

“Phantom.”

“What?”

“Do you know who they were?”

“The… casualties?”

“Yes.”

“Come on we’re on a different topic now.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“I don’t—how’m I supposed to know? I don’t know how I died here, you know? You think I’ve got some kind of like… parallel-universe death vision?”

“So you don’t know?”

“N-no.”

“I have a different question, then.”

“Okay, good, because I haven’t been liking these previous ones.”

“Are you staying just to keep me company?”

Phantom faltered. He looked left, then right, hand scratching at his chin. “I’m staying because I’m in a ghost-proof box.”

“It’s not ghost-proof anymore. The shields are down.”

“I feel like you’re circling around some accusation I’m not smart enough to follow. This feels like entrapment.”

“Then I’ll be more direct.”

“Oh no there is an accusation.”

“I think you do know how you were destroyed in this universe, Phantom.” Maddie took a step forward, and she let her left hand touch the glass, eyes focused on her fingers. “I think you know what happened at the Nasty Burger.”

“That’s—um—the human food… consumption… location… that the local human adolescents meet at, yes?”

Maddie looked up, and she locked Phantom with her stare. He squirmed, and he relented.

“I um…” he continued. “I—yeah—yeah, okay? I know about the Nasty Burger accident. It was supposed to happen to me too in my reality but I—Clockwork—stopped it from happening in my reality.” Phantom glanced left, right, as if staring beyond the confines of his cage. “When I first got knocked into this reality, I went to go find the Fenton portal so I could try to refind Clockwork and fix this and… Well it wasn’t there. And I tried to find some people I know and… I checked out the library in case the Fentons just lived somewhere else and. I um. I found the articles.” His eyes focused on hers again. “They all say you were the only survivor, yeah…?”

“I was sick, that day. It was just a cold. My husband Jack went without me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It took my daughter and my son too.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“And it destroyed you.”

Phantom opened his mouth, but no words followed.

Maddie looked up.

“You knew this. You’ve known this ever since I captured you.” Maddie let her hand slide away from the glass. “Did you let me capture you?”

“Why would I let you capture me?”

“Because you feel sorry for me.”

Phantom’s eyes flickered about, unwilling to meet hers. “…Nah. Nah. I don’t—come on ‘sorry’? I’m a ghost you know? Bane of humanity! We’re enemies. You were just too skilled a hunter and you captured me.”

“And yet you won’t leave.”

Phantom lapsed silent.

“I um… I wasn’t happy to read about—to know the, the thing at the Nasty Burger happened here, okay? That’s something that I kinda didn’t want to believe existed in any reality anymore, but I guess… And if you were still alive. I was… maybe just kind of happy to see you? That you were okay. And still hunting. That was kind of, like a small relief.” Phantom glanced away, back again. “I wasn’t evil, you know. In my reality or this one. I care about what happened to the Fentons…”

“You let me capture you. …And you did it because you thought it would be a nice thing for you to do for me.”

“I Just—I thought maybe, um… I mean when you phrase it like that. I mean what else could cheer up renowned ghost hunter Maddie Fenton quite like a ghost subject to study? Me, especially? The ghost boy or public enemy #1 or whatever. I’m fun, aren’t I?”

Silently, Maddie pushed away from Phantom’s cage. She moved to the control panel, stiff movements and numb fingers. She entered the release code into the console, and unslung the key from her neck to twist into the override, and she threw down each successive lever in the row of four lining the top of the mechanisms.

The scrape of glass sliding away sounded behind her. All four walls of Phantom’s enclosure dropped away, metal mesh sliding away piece-meal. Phantom stared at her, blinking, floating in place.

“You’re free to go, Phantom.”

“I—uh—well hang on, I don’t think the Guys In White would be too happy about that. You can’t just let me—”

“Go, Phantom.”

“They could like, fire you.”

“I don’t care about this job.”

“I—come on, you still wanna study me, don’t you? Chat with me? If you feel bad maybe just get me a couch and some video games for my cage then I’ll be—”

“Phantom.”

“What?”

“Go home to your family.”

The half-hearted smile dropped from Phantom’s face.

“Come on. You can’t just evict me on such short notice. I’m not ready for Clockwork to kick my ass so soon.”

“Go home.”

“I’m not in any rush! I like talking to you. Don’t you—don’t you like talking to me too? In like a scientific way?”

Maddie lowered herself into the chair by the control panel. She leaned forward, arms pooled in her lap, eyes to the floor. “You have a family to get back to, Phantom.”

“It’s—there’s time travel shenanigans! Like I said they don’t even know I’m gone.”

“Every single day, Phantom,” Maddie looked up, eyes stern, “…I wish every single day that my own family would just come back home. I won’t do the same to you. I won’t do the same to your family.”

Phantom said nothing. A somber acceptance sunk into his eyes.

“They’re… alive, you know. In my dimension.”

Maddie dropped her head, and she blinked away the wetness in her eyes.

“I actually… in my dimension I’m kind of closer to the Fentons than I think the, the Phantom in this dimension was. It’s… complex.”

Maddie said nothing. Silence built between them.

“Jazz is um… Jazz is applying for colleges, y-you know. She got in early-acceptance to Yale but um, we all—they all—visited Columbia last month and I think that’s what she wants the most. I can see Jazz in New York City. I think she’d rock it.”

Maddie blinked again. Tears plicked into her lap.

“…Should I stop?”

“Jack… Tell me about Jack.”

“Oh. Yeah he um… big and goofy as ever. He’s got some kind of eight-armed-octogun he’s working on. I know because I was his target practice, involuntarily by the way. He keeps trying to merge “Fenton” and “octopus” together with mixed results. We—Mo-addie—you… are still trying to talk him out of ‘Fentoctopus’.”

Maddie’s ribcage shuddered, a repressed sob, a repressed laugh.

“And Danny?”

“Danny… um… Danny is...” Phantom’s shoulders fell a little bit. He looked away, and then back at Maddie. “He loves you. I know that.”

Maddie blinked, and blinked again, and her eyes wouldn’t clear.

“And are they happy?”

“They’re happy.”

“Am I happy…?”

“You’re…” Phantom’s tail bounced. “You’re happy, I think. I like to think so. I think you’re very happy. You have a great family.”

Maddie nodded.

“Now go.”

“But I still—”

Maddie reached forward, and she grabbed the ecto-gun propped against the control panel. She lifted it into her shoulder, and flicked the safety, and the charge built along the rising whine.

“Go.”

Phantom balked. He blinked. He kicked away from his wall-less cage. “Not forever. I’ll be back. You won’t be alone here forever.”

He was gone.

And Maddie was alone again.

…

Clockwork surveyed the boy in front of him whose head was bowed nearly to the floor, white bangs trailing along cobblestone, hands clasped, apologies repeated, begging case made.

Clockwork ran a hand along his beard, which unfurled, drew back, undid itself with the shifting of his form to a simple child.

“So let’s see. You have the audacity to break my rules andbeg me to meddle on your behalf in the time stream, all in the same breath? Apologies don’t usually come with additional requests for favors.”

“I know,” Danny’s head dipped lower. “You can punish me however you want for touching the restricted timelines but you have to help it, or let me help this one timeline. Please, please just send me back to the Nasty Burger incident so I can save it.”

“It’s already been saved.”

Danny faltered. He looked up.

“You died at the Nasty Burger incident that night,” Clockwork elaborated, form shifting older. “There is no you to ruin that future. That timeline is safe. It’s a very lucky timeline.”

Danny blinked. “N-no. No that’s not what I mean. Save it like you saved my timeline.”

“That did happen. You’re describing your own timeline.”

“I mean do it to THAT one.”

“You are misunderstanding timelines.”

Danny lapsed silent. Worry bled into his eyes, and Clockwork sighed.

“There is no undoing timelines, Danny. There is only forking them by meddling in the stream. All futures and pasts you witness exist, and do exist, and continue to exist,” Clockwork paused, “with the exception of realities I needed to cull, to prevent utter catastrophe.” His gaze fixed on Danny. “The futures that your evil self destroyed, I did have to cull. And culling a reality is not to be done lightly.”

Clockwork motioned with his staff. “There were a handful of surviving realities that I was able to save. That room you meddled in without my permission—they contain the realities off the main track where, for one reason or another, something else succeeded at destroying your future self. …Your own deaths, in fact. In every one of those realities, Danny, you are dead.”

“I don’t…” Danny shook his head. “So then just tell me how to save that one I was in, okay?”

“Oh, that’s easy.”

“How?”

“You don’t.”

Danny said nothing. Clockwork shifted young.

“You can let it live on in that room, or you could ask me to cull it, Danny. You could ask me to cull every reality in that room, so that the main branch, the one you’re from, is the only reality in existence. So you never have to worry about any existence where your family is unhappy. And it will be that way until you, or I, or someone else, meddles with the timestreams again, and more splits occur.”

Still, Danny said nothing. Clockwork continued.

“Sometimes, a mass culling of realities is healthy for the tree of time, like pruning a plant down to its stalk to survive an unforgiving winter, or a terrible disease. But I did that, just recently, to save all of time from the blight of your future self. It would feel cruel to snip off the first buds that have come after the frost.”

Danny lowered himself to the floor.

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay. Just. I have a different question then.” He looked up, a young devastation wet in his eyes. “Can I still go back and visit that reality, sometimes?”

“No. I cannot give you permission to do that.”

“Please!”

Clockwork spun his staff. A portal swirled into being in the space between him and Danny. Washes of color formed patterns, shapes, objects, images. Like a mirror, it reflected Clockwork’s lair beyond its shimmering surface.

“This is a portal back into your own reality. It is set to the location and the time that you vanished. Go there, and leave through the Fenton portal, and nothing will be amiss.”

“No. No no I won’t. Clockwork you have to let me—”

“I am doing you a favor, Danny, getting you home after you caused more trouble. Do not make further demands of me.” Clockwork curled forward, old, sallow skin sagging, and he turned his back to Danny.

“You have to give me permission—”

“I am the only one who has permission to meddle in realities, Danny. This is an absolute.” Clockwork glanced over his shoulder. “And because this is an absolute, I have no reason to have a lock on the room housing those budding other realities.”

Danny blinked.

“I wonder if anyone might break my rules anyway. I wonder if anyone might be nosy, and enter that room anyway, and water the plants in that greenhouse without my permission.” Clockwork stared forward again.

“Clockwork…”

“Luckily I am the master of all time. I would be able to see this coming. And maybe plan for it. If ever such a person would come into my lair, and meddle in my timelines, and try to spread a bit of his own kindness to the realities he couldn’t quite save, I would be fully prepared to stop him.” Clockwork spoke into the green abyss beyond him. “Unless, maybe, I were to accidentally have my back turned.”

Silence trailed after Clockwork’s words. He kept his back to Danny, staring into the abyss of swirling green ether beyond.

“…Thank you,” Danny answered, quietly. “I’ll be back.”

“I imagine you will. Those realities may get lonely without you.”

When Clockwork glanced back over his shoulder, both Danny and the portal were gone.

[demigoddessqueens]

Mine, Yours 🕷 🕸❤️

After I saw this movie, I was so damn hyped for it and it was honestly one of the better Marvel movies that I’ve scene. Everyone stole the show and I had to write this for it!! MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35914924

It still didn’t feel real to Peter. Different universes? Others like him?? A whole multiverse? He swears if he hadn't met the other Peter's/Spider-Man's like him, he would have gone insane. Although, in his opinion, Peter felt that his life had been insane ever since he lost....her.

He remembered growing up on stories of soulmates, that once you met them, the world was bright with their aura and the halves of marks you are born with become whole like your soul. The mark that still remained incomplete on his arm mocked him. Of his being alone. Of not being able to save Gwen. Reliving that horrid night again, seeing her face and that of the other Peter’s love. He remembered his words about not growing bitter, Gwen’s words an echo in his head. But…still, it was a hollow pain in his chest.

Today, that all changed for the better. Peter tried to take some of his own advice and at least try to make sense of a new life for himself. Shuffling between his new photography job and being the "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man", it kept the mind busy and at least it served as an excuse for him to not constantly torture himself. His heart yearned, but all of that was set to change one night.

Rushing to catch his early work shift, Peter made his regular coffee stop to make up for the red eye super hero from the night before. As soon as he walked out the door, you entered in at the same time. Though you yourself had a slew of bad past relationships before, you still looked upon your mark with some semblance of hope, wanting to find your other half.

When you both collided into each other, it was a kaleidoscope of every emotion possibly known. Your grey vision was awakened with every color known to man. Feeling the energy surge on your arm, you looked down to see the mark now whole. The young man who had just bumped into you felt it as well.

Peter could feel his eyes starting to sting with unshed tears as the color returned to his vision. With shaky breaths, he looked down at his arm marking, now whole. He instantly turned his head back in your direction, hoping it wasn’t a moment too soon before he lost sight of you.

Seeing your eyes wide with anticipation and longing, he knew he found what he had been yearning for. Both versions of him had found their hearts in their lifetime, and now he was given the privilege of that second chance. His love, his life, his MJ.

[rafent]

Unless fashioned that way from creation, two halves of a whole could not be perfectly identical. The ones known as Nel and Rafal were not. No matter how they met their hearts at a common center, some edges failed to align with their uneven contours, whittled further down by the thousand year rift of her slumber. The very same years and more which decided that he stood before her a changed brother. An indisputable fact regarding not the passage of time, from failure to true dragon, or even the shattered chrysalis as Rafal emerged from Nil, but the new face worn by his ideals.

From the single moment she drove herself to death on lance point, inviting the countless ones thereafter dormant with the warmth and sound of her heartbeat, nothing became more certain than a wayward Fell Child's deepest desire to preserve what he had lost, what precious rights to brotherhood he had newly gained. Just as Nel had protected Rafal, so too would Rafal protect Nel. And that was neither the least nor last of it.

The insurmountable aura of a stronger, older twin dispelled by necessary disillusionment. His sister had perished once and so was not all-powerful. But neither was Rafal who was now meant to defend her.

. . .Not yet.

"I intend to raise from them a small army of Corrupted. One that will elevate my power to greater heights." Silvery head tilted, casting its sidelong look upon the Corrupted villager, nearly as one might admire a fine stallion, or a new sword untainted by stress and impurities. In view of his intents and purposes no doubt that was what it was; a blade on the rack soon to be joined by others. He continued, his next correction preemptive with its clarity and haste. "—should you harbor concern for the methods, do not fear. Let it be known I have no intention to repeat the past. By extinguishing others to realize my plans as before."

He did not speak singularly for Nel's placation. The irreversible carnage of his ambitions dealt to their world, retrieved with seeming intentions to continue in another, was only misconception. If there stood anyone who would not wish to see that age of iniquity returned, the first and foremost among them would be Rafal.

With this new plan, there would be no more subterfuge, no more victims unwilling or unknowing of their plight; kings and queens pinched away from their thrones and returned to them as undead puppets without blood to warm them. In the distinction of benign gain, Nel would surely see sense - the very same sensibility which Rafal saw. The remainder of his grave face inert, his thin lips alone twitched upwards, only a shade, only a flicker, but in that movement suspended his attempt at a well-meaning reassurance.

"The villagers here feud among themselves. They will do that job for me."

　𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

　　　　　╰　　❪　board: fracture / + authority　❫

[impalementation]

Leapfrogging off of my tags on this post, I’m thinking about Willow and Tara as a duality of identity truth and identity performance. On the one hand, Willow is associated with performance. Her “Restless” dream, the drama class stuff in “Real Me.” The preoccupation with how she’s seen: a nerd, an imposter. The desire to hide and erase: the ghost costume, the memory spells, “Same Time, Same Place.” And on the other hand, Tara tends to be associated with truth. She see auras, she sees through Faith in “Who Are You?”, she’s the catalyst of Willow figuring out her true sexual identity, she tries to get Willow to be honest in season six, and she’s the one Buffy confesses to about Spike in “Dead Things.” 

As a result, it’s interesting to me that they’re romantically paired together. Their relationship is most harmonious in season four, the season in which the characters (or at least the show) are arguably most preoccupied with identity. Whether or not it was intentional, it works for me that they’re most in sync in this season in which characters are attempting to assert and discover their identities (in the face of identity-crushing institutions, etc), given that their relationship acts as an example of the uncovering of a true identity. It’s also telling to me that Tara in “Restless” is the voice of Buffy still needing to find her true identity (“you think you know what you are” etc), despite Buffy and Tara not really having much of a relationship in season four. That is, given that Tara doesn’t really represent much to Buffy at that point in the show, it suggests that she represents something within the show, instead.

In turn, it’s interesting me that Willow and Tara switch places in “Family”, and that there begins to be a bit of friction in their relationship. In season five, as I discussed a bit in the latest romanticism post (and probably others), Buffy feels torn between the different parts of her nature, uncertain of how to resolve them. Is she a human? Is she a hunter? Is she strong enough? Is she too strong? Is she a child? Is she an adult? All of these things. So it works for me that this figure of authenticity, Tara, stumbles in “Family”, and attempts to hide herself--in a way that seems much more Willow-like. She’s confused about where she belongs, and thinks she has some unacceptably monstrous half. But then she discovers the truth about herself, that she isn’t monstrous, and is welcomed definitively into Buffy’s social fold, by people who now have a better understanding of who she is. Which basically echoes and foreshadows Buffy’s own struggle in season five to achieve unity and belonging with regards to identity. Tara losing her identity later in the season also feels of a piece to me with Buffy feeling cold, being mistaken for the bot, going into a coma. Same with the fact that Tara then gets her identity back, and can share her power with Willow’s, in the same episode in which Buffy resolves her human and heroic halves in an act of self-sacrificial love. Basically, it works for me that Willow and Tara in season five begin to undergo difficulties, while still being very much in love and attempting to overcome them, because Buffy is experiencing tension in her identity while still wanting to resolve that tension. Of course Buffy can love, of course she’ll figure it out. I mean, Willow will always find Tara, right? 

Then of course, in season six Willow and Tara’s relationship falls apart. Which also makes sense to me in the context of an authenticity/performance duality, because in season six the point is that the characters are retreating totally into stories and performances instead of embracing adult reality. Buffy doesn’t feel like she’s real, she feels like she’s performing herself. She was brought back by Willow, who is clearly desperate for Buffy to be how Willow sees her. She feels pressure to live up people's expectations. Willow, for her part, tries to play at being in charge of the Scoobies, literally engineers the Buffybot, hides from fights, hides her addiction, alters people memories, vamps it up as a villain, and during the Dark Willow arc tries to take up Buffy’s identity yet again and despairs that Tara was the only person who liked her for her. Thus Willow and Tara break up, and Tara is ejected from Buffy’s house, at the same time that Buffy and Willow begin to escape into their respective...escapes. In turn it’s interesting that Buffy and Willow both begin to reconcile with Tara around the same time that they begin to try to get back to the reality of things. Buffy confessing to Tara in “Dead Things” (which notably takes place in Buffy’s house--she’s invited authenticity back into her domestic space, or her Self), Willow and Tara talking in “Older and Far Away” after Willow proved her commitment to recovery in “Doublemeat Palace” (and again--“Older and Far Away” takes place in Buffy’s house). And of course it’s when Tara dies that Willow goes off the deep end and begins looking for authenticity in things like bullets and pain, while retreating into a performance of villainy.

At any rate, I don’t know how deliberate any of this was. I haven’t sat with it long enough. But there seems to be a pattern there nonetheless.

[lexi-the-demon-69]

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” // Kumiwolf

It was another cool, autumn night in the Roll Cake Forest. A young cookie named "Werewolf cookie" was hiding in the bushes, while a crowd of cookies from a nearby village dashed by. Holding pitchforks and torches, they looked around with scowls on their faces.

"Where did that beast go?!" A villager shouted.

"It has to be around here somewhere," another villager stated angrily. "It couldn't have gone far!"

Werewolf cookie shook anxiously as he thought up a plan. He soon spotted a small rock right beside him and quickly snatched it from the ground, then tossed it as far away as we could. This immediately caught the villagers' attention as they bolted their heads in the direction of the sound.

"What was that?!"

"That must be the beast! This way!"

Within an instant, the angry mob was gone. Leaving Werewolf cookie alone, in the dark. He quietly stood up and crept away deeper into the forest. Sulking sadly as he passed by enormous trees, that stood tall mockingly over him.

"If only I didn't have this curse..." Werewolf sighed, "Maybe... I'd have someone to talk to."

"Oh, you poor dear..."

Werewolf cookie jumped.

"Who's there?!"

"Why, just a concerned cookie is all! You've been through so much, haven't you?"

"Why do you need to know? Are you one of the villagers who want to kill me?!"

"My my my...~ Now, why on Earthbread would I want to kill a cookie like you?"

"I-I don't know?! Everyone wants to kill me! Everyone wants to get rid of me! I feel like I'm losing my mind!!"

"Aw... tsk tsk tsk.... now this won't do at all, my dear!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let me show you Honey!~"

A marshmallow fox jumped from a tree and stood in front of Werewolf cookie. He was confused. Why on Earthbread is there a marshmallow fox standing right in front of him? It wasn't running away from the sight of him, nor did it hiss at him. It just stood there, expectantly. Werewolf backed away slowly, trying his best to not scare the fox. But, the fox only walked toward him happily.

"Get back, or you'll get hurt!" Werewolf pleaded.

Once the fox got close enough, it pounced on Werewolf, knocking him down onto his back as it layed on his chest. Waiting to be given affection. Werewolf hesitated, but for some reason, he found it hard to say no. There was something about this fox that was so seducing. It made him feel wanted. It made him feel safe. It made him feel... loved. The fox brushed its tail across Werewolf's chin, making his face go red. He turned away gently, trying his best not to hurt the fox.

'What is this feeling...?' Werewolf thought as he cuddled the fox. 'Why do I feel this way...? It's just a marshmallow fox, it's nothing special... but why...? Why is my heart beating so fast? Is this normal? Is this what other cookies feel? Am I losing my mind?'

A marshmallow aroma began to fill the air, which only enticed Werewolf more. It was the sweetest thing he ever smelled before. Sweeter than any strawberry pie he ever stole from a windowsill. He brought the fox in and cuddled it more. He didn't want it to leave. He needed its love, its affection, its aroma to feel happy.

"Don't leave me..." Werewolf pleaded quietly.

Suddenly, a blue aura began to form as the fox faded away. Revealing a gorgeous, young cookie. She possessed foxlike, piercing red eyes halved upwards in a cunning expression. Her scarlet lips formed a coy smile and are framed by two white fox whiskers on each side. Her hair was icy cyan and situated in two long, framing twintails tipped with snowy white. Her bangs were minimal and shortly drape upon her forehead in two rounded masses.

She had at least nine fox tails, trailing from underneath her skirt that appear identical to her long hair. Her outfit consisted of a hanbok chima that begins at its top with a darker sanguine shade that fades downwards to a lighter cardinal red. The chima is situated with a white heori band about her chest and an orange and cream floral norigae hanging from it. Under her skirt, she wears white stockings with no distinguishable shoes. In her left hand she totes a solid fuchsia folding hand fan. She was absolutely beautiful; a gift made by the witches themselves.

"Oh, dear!" She said, "You just can't get enough of me, can you?~"

"I... I need you... please... don't leave me."

"Of course, I won't my dear! I will never leave you.~"

The cookie held Werewolf's chin upward, making him look into her sharp, piercing eyes. Immediately, his ears drooped down as he slumped over. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

'Those eyes...' he thought, 'those red, lovely eyes... it feels like they're reeling me in....'

"What's your name, cutie-pie?~"

"Werewolf cookie...."

"What an adorable name!" the cookie chuckled.

"W-what's your name...?"

"Kumiho cookie, my dear!~"

[anika-ann]

Attached: Word Is that We Might Work It Out

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series 

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6850🙈

Summary: You said yes to Professor Rogers – Steve – taking you out for ‘coffee’. Ball’s in your court – and you decide to make your move. 

A date, maybe first of many, maybe not. A date with the gorgeous professor who happened to read your erotica about him. What could possibly go wrong? 

Warnings:  alcohol consumption, professor-student relationship and unspecified age gap, language, lots of fluff

A/N: Timeline-wise, this one-shot fits in after chapter four of Attached!!! At the end, you can find the reason behind me writing this. You can consider it one big flashback, if you will 😅 Gif by capchrisevaans.

Series masterlist | previous in timeline

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You lasted one day. One full day since the encounter in the office, since Professor Rogers admitted he would like to take you out for coffee or something similar. Since you two exchanged numbers.

It took you twenty-four hours – maybe less – to decide that so what if that might be a bad idea. It was not against the university rules and Professor Steve Rogers was a fucking specimen who also seemed to be a genuinely nice human being and if you allowed yourself to play chicken just because something only might go wrong in the future, you’d be an idiot.

Penny, your roomie, wholeheartedly agreed. She actually punched the air in victory as you were nursing a greasy lunch due to the wild-ish celebration of the end of the semester together the night prior and you just said to the void: “You know what, screw it. I’m gonna go for it.”

You didn’t even have to say what you were talking about – Professor Rogers had been the topic ever since the faithful Monday.

So you texted him that if the offer still stood, you’d like to meet up on Friday evening. Was he free?

Hey, Y/N :) Thank you for reaching out. Friday sounds great. Do you have anything specific in mind?

“Dude. He’s such a cutie. Who even texts like that?” Penny chuckled, a wide grin on her face as you couldn’t but read the text out loud.

“I texted him like that.”

“Touché. Because you want to impress mister ‘hot as fuck intellectual’ there.”

You just rolled your eyes, neither confirming nor denying. Mostly because Penny was right. But he was the first to use an emoji and… yeah, cutie indeed.

Well, I never say no to dinner and I’m down for almost anything-

“I bet you are,” Penny hummed to your ear and you swung after her blindly and thought of a better phrasing.

Well, I never say no to a dinner and I’m not picky. You choose. Seven-ish sounds good?

“Spoilsport.”

“Stop reading over my shoulder!” you chuckled and bit your lip as the answer came almost immediately.

Seven is alright. I’ll think of something to treat a girl right ;)

Your stomach made a small somersault, your face instantly radiating heat at the possible innuendo. The phone vibrated again before you could fully process the image your mind painted of him actually saying it in his gentle timbre.

Just so we’re clear, what is the nature of the dinner? It can be whatever you feel comfortable with.

Your heart leaped into your throat, hammering wildly.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Since you texted him, you made one thing clear with yourself. If you were doing this, it was going to be a date. You wouldn’t be doing things by halves.

Penny next to you made a noise that sounded as something between an aww and her gagging on nothing. “He’s disgustingly considerate for a man his age planning on going out with a girl your age.”

“He’s not that much older,” you protested instantly, frowning. He wasn’t. She knew that; you had both done your research. “And I think it’s amazing.”

You caught Penny’s smile from the corner of your eye as you typed.

“Well, it is kinda sweet. And I know he’s not, I’m messing with you. It’s just-- DON’T SEND HIM THAT!”

“Why?” you questioned, looking at her quizzically and totally clicking on send on purpose at the same time.

I’d be comfortable with a date if you are.

“It’s so lame. Of course he’s comfortable with a date, he suggested it. Duh.”

The reply came way too fast and Penny chuckled behind you as your jaw went slack.

“You know what? Don’t mind me. Good job. Keep it up,” Penny patted your shoulder as you stared at the screen where Professor Steven Grant Rogers just texted you a damn heart.

It’s a date <3

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It was a date indeed.

Steve texted you an address on Friday morning (along with an adorable good morning :) ), apologizing that he couldn’t pick you up, making sure you’d be alright getting there on your own. You found it absolutely sweet, considerate and smart. You suspected that his ‘inability’ to pick you up had something to do with the fact that you lived at the dorms and if he showed up there, it would be trending in the university chit-chat room within five minutes.

You spent a better part of the Friday afternoon researching the place and the weather forecast so you could dress accordingly and getting ready.

You were not ready for a date with Steve Rogers however; your nerves were a mess and nothing could ever prepare you for when he showed up perfectly on time in front of the restaurant---- wearing a suit no less.

How were you supposed to function when he was wearing such elegant clothing, a suit he filled up so fucking well?! And he looked just as breath-taking as always, stupidly perfect beard and slightly tousled hair you just wanted to run your fingers through and his smile was so gorgeous and--- Jesus Fucking Christ, the suit- how could you even put words together when looking at him-

“Wow, I feel so underdressed now.”

Clearly, you could speak just fine, only you lost your brain-to-mouth filter. Also, your mouth might have started watering and your heart was pounding like crazy. You would not survive tonight.

But, you also had a point. The restaurant was supposed to be a nice place, but relatively plain. And he showed up in amazingly fitting dress pants, white shirt, a tie and a suit jacket. So yes, you did feel underdressed.

“Oh no, no! You’re not,” he rushed to reassure you, eyeing your semi-leisure white dress with burgundy flowers with an attentive gaze that had you shifting your weight nervously. “I’m overdressed if anything. Sticking out like a sore thumb, I’m sorry.”

You could always just strip the suit jacket, was your first thought, but luckily for you, this time you managed to contain the words before they got out to the open.

“You’re fine,” you said instead, not knowing how else to react; needless to say you were grateful for the smile he gave you despite the double meaning.

Yes, he was fine indeed. Always. It was unfair, really.

“Thanks. You too. In fact, you look beautiful.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, your mind suddenly racing a mile per minute.

It was ridiculous. It was just a word. But for one, it was spoken so kindly and genuinely you couldn’t but think he meant it, for two, it was Professor Steve Rogers who told you that and--- beautiful.

You couldn’t remember a guy ever calling you beautiful.

Cute? Sure. Pretty? Maybe. Hot? Might have happened once or twice . But beautiful?

You might actually swoon.

And you were so lost in your head that you couldn’t but silently stare at the lethally handsome man in front of you and then it again registered in your brain that this was your fucking crush speaking to you and he was on a date with you and he had read your erotica, one that was about him no less-

Your face was set aflame in an instant and you… you couldn’t let out a word.

“It everything okay? Did I… did I say something wrong?” Steve asked hesitantly, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows and it reminded you of all the times you had seen him wearing such thoughtful expression in the two classes he taught instead of Professor Barnes and-

You were screwed.

Tonight was going to be a disaster.

“No, uhm, no, sorry--- maybe we should go inside or-“ you muttered, lightly gesturing towards the door and could you get any more awkward?

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

He let you walk in first like a real gentleman, the lightest skim of his fingers on your lower back, which caused your heartbeat to skyrocket; and only when the hostess seated you, you realized you never accepted his kind compliment.

It was too late for that now, you assumed, so you sipped at the still water which waited at each table, and repeated like a mantra to yourself that you needed to get your shit together otherwise you’d ruin your shot before the night even started.

But clearly, you succeeded at that already.

Whatever awkward aura you had around yourself, it seemed to extend now to him too – he shifted slightly in his seat (he had pulled out your chair for you before, because of course he had), his shoulders stiff. Despite that, he smiled at you over the menu.

“So… all exams worked out? Enjoying the freedom?” he asked casually.

“Oh, yes. Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” you uttered with a forced smile, your stomach twisted unpleasantly.  

For some reason, you felt like you were having a lame attempt at small talk with a professor, which you were, but it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

Not tonight. Not on a date.

What were you even doing here? What were you playing at? Professor Steve Rogers was entirely out of your league, gorgeous, funny, kind and smart and here you were, barely making conversation.

It was pathetic really. It was embarrassing for both of you.

“You up to anything fun?” he queried, the question less enthusiastic than the one before. He was already growing tired of making your uncooperative brain work at least a bit, it was obvious.

Your gulped as the memory of last night popped in your head – staying in, quiet evening, in a mood for some dirty writing--- oh bless, another reminder of why this dinner was and should be really weird.

Steve read your smutty story. The one about him.

“Nothing special,” you squealed silently, earning a plain nod. “Eh, we went out with Penny, my roommate and best friend in one person. But mostly I just stayed in and--- caught up on sleeping.”

“I know what that’s like,” Steve hummed, clearly as grateful as you were when the waiter appeared by your table to take your orders.

Silence stretched as the man left, your hand beginning to fiddle with the neatly folded napkin on the table, lump growing in your throat due to your nerves.

“What about you? Anything… fun?” you asked reluctantly, noticing a brief smile passing Steve’s lips. Pretty, sinfully pretty lips. Perfect. Untouchable for mere mortals like you.

“Oh, not much. Few exam sittings, faculty meetings – we had one now, hence the suit-“

“You came here right from school?” you blurted out, startled – and clearly surprising him with your rudeness. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Yes, I did. We have a meeting every last Friday of the month.”

“Oh my god, you must be so tired,” you sympathized with him quietly, the uneasy feeling in your stomach only growing. He came here straight from work and for this? “Why didn’t you say something? We could have postponed or something.”

Steve swiftly shook his head, his warm hand landing on yours, gently stopping your restless fingers. This time, it was butterflies in your stomach erupting with life, the sweet comforting gesture warming your heart. He wanted to be here. He came here for you. He was interested in you.

And the feeling was mutual. So why was it being so weird then?

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you reached out. I’m glad that you said yes in the first place,” he admitted, features softening despite the tension in his shoulders never leaving. His brows furrowed as he slowly withdrew his hand – it must have been an automatic reaction then. “I’m not that tired and… and maybe I was little worried that if I asked for a different date, then…”

He trailed off and your lips parted in surprise, your heart swelling in your chest at what he was implying.

Did he think you’d back out? Did he think that all the potential obstacles intimidated you too much? That you’d think it wasn’t worth it? That it wouldn’t work out anyway?

Seeing as you were now, you couldn’t blame him. Despite him being the world’s most charming man, here you were, being… not at all yourself, stressing for no reason.

It seemed to you that had had chemistry, back there in his office. This date made sense. When you imagined how this could unfold, well, it went a bit differently too. There was considerably less embarrassment going around.

This was why you preferred writing to speaking. That’s why you liked daydreaming. Because reality was often less than ideal, no script, awkward silences, misunderstandings…

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your food arrived.

You both thanked the waiter politely and you hoped that at least now you’d have a good excuse for the lack of normal conversation.

“What are you sorry for?”

You sighed and nibbled on your lower lip, not missing the way his gaze instinctively flickered there, pupils dilating just a fraction – but enough for you to notice. Your heart skipped a pleased beat – but the undeniable physical attraction couldn’t be enough.

“For this,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. His features twisted in disappointment and something that looked a lot like regret flashed in his eyes. “I want to be here, Steve. I really do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me-“

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” he was quick to oppose and you couldn’t help it as a wry chuckle escaped you.

“Well, there’s certainly nothing wrong with you. And still, there’s this…”

“…tension?”

You wished.

“Sort of? But not the fun kind, for sure.”

He grimaced, but a spark of amusement lit up his blue irises. “Awkward air around us?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed victoriously as he voiced exactly what you were thinking. Then you quickly lowered your voice, looking around. Luckily, no one stared at you. You realized you leaned closer to him over the table, your heart racing at that, but you didn’t withdraw; it was a lovely opportunity to get even a better look at his perfect face. “But I don’t know why!” You knew why. “I like you, Steve-“

“I like you too. And I know I already said that, but you look stunning.”

Your cheeks burned again, but this time, you managed to stutter out a thank you at least. Stunning, Jesus, was he for real?

“T-thank you. You look incredibly handsome too. Then again you always do—why did I say that.”

One corner of his lips quirked up.

“Why thank you, I’m glad you did. The feeling’s mutual, believe me.”

“Then why does this feel like one of the most awkward dates I’ve ever been to?!” you whisper-yelled, causing him to chuckle, the tips of his ears turning red.

His hand once again landed on yours, this time deliberately, the gesture warming you in more than one way.

“Well… I’m nervous. You might be too.” You hummed in agreement. Was that all it was? “But the way you said it, at least it seems to me that it could have been worse, right? More awkward?”

You felt the corners of your lips rise at the remark, shrugging. He had a point there. And he squeezed your hand a bit and good Lord, it should not be making your heart race so much, but he was touching you and he was being really sweet and his fingers were nice and warm and long-

“Tell me.”

You blinked in surprise, realizing you had been staring at your joined hands. You raised your gaze, finding him watching you with a subtle smile.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me about the most awkward date you have ever been to,” he clarified, his thumb caressing your wrist.

You only hesitated for a beat before you nodded in agreement, god knew why. Perhaps you did need a reminder that this could have gone much more disastrously and it was mostly your traitorous brain telling you that you were messing everything up.

Plus, Steve deserved whatever he wanted – so far, he was the only reason this date wasn’t as disastrous as it could be.

“Okay. You ever been to a speed dating event, Steve? Because I have.”

“Oh, this is ought to be good,” he noted with another squeeze to your hand, before he released you. Shame. He sipped at his wine and dug into his pasta. “I’m all ears.”

This is ought to be good, Steve said. Well, maybe. You certainly hadn’t thought so at the time.

Explaining to Steve that as you had been under duress from no other than Penny, you both went to the event which promised you meeting ten dashing men in only an hour. You’d get five minutes with each, as anonymous as you’d wished to be, receiving a folder with nothing but a table with the first names of the men and a yes and no option and a line for your own notes about them.

You weren’t sure what to think of it – but after three epically failed Tinder attempts, you agreed to try. If nothing else, you’d gain a new experience.

And an experience had it been. You even lasted a month with one of the guys, but you didn’t tell Steve that. It wasn’t important.

André was.

André Whatever-was-his-last-name – because that was how it worked, no last names – definitely believed he was important. With the guys moving around the tables from one woman to another, spending five minutes with each, you could already hear André closing to your station from two tables over.

He was hard to tune out, courtesy of the colour of his voice, extremely unpleasant to your ears, and him never letting the woman he faced talk. Always interrupting. Always turning the conversation around so it would be about him.

Asshole.

You liked to think you weren’t quick to judge people, but André was making you cringe before you were even introduced. And then you actually were.

A minute into his monologue to you, you felt like you were being tortured.

And then the waitress managed to stumble and spill a glass of white wine – partly over your table, but mostly on the floor. At least she caught the glass and you had but a tiny spot on your dress.

“She was apologizing so profusely and I wasn’t thinking, okay. I went for the napkins few tables over to help and— I didn’t realize I put the open folder down for everyone to see,” you explained, feeling like face-palming when you remembered the night.

Steve watched you in anticipation, a small smirk and a knowing look on his face as he guessed you had already circled ‘no’ for André at the time.

Oh, you wished it were that simple. You felt your cheeks burn hot as you continued.

“André read it, of course. Obviously, he already got a hard ‘no’ from me, but… I might have written a tiny note for myself as to why,” you admitted and Steve’s eyebrow rose minutely, his curiosity piqued even more.

You took a deep breath.

“I wasn’t exactly kind to him. It was something along the lines of self-important asshole who probably compensated for something.” Steve huffed in amusement. But oh, if he only knew... you sighed and continued. “And If Draco Malfoy and Gilderoy Lockhart had a love child, this would be him.”

No sound came from your companion this time and your teeth anxiously sank into our lower lip, your pulse wavering. What was Steve thinking? Did he think you had been rude? Mean even? Nerdy? All of the above?

He stared at you for full three seconds, clearly rendered speechless by your harsh judgement.

And then he burst out laughing.

Suffocating weight fell from your shoulders and you silently joined him as you explained yourself.

“I was in my Harry Potter phase! And in my defence, I think it was actually pretty accurate...”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, sweetheart,” Steve chuckled lightly before laughing some more, irises twinkling with amusement and something… softer.

You shuddered upon hearing the endearment spill unwittingly from his lips, upon seeing the emotion on his face.  And maybe you were a little proud of yourself for making him laugh and lose the tension in his shoulders completely.

“It was one of the longest and most awkward three minutes of my life, the silence that followed,” you huffed, massaging your forehead. “He did not appreciate the comparison.”

“I bet,” Steve cackled, taking another bite of his meal, smile playing in the corner of his lips as he swallowed and continued. “But you’ve got to give it to him, he knew his Harry Potter characters.”

“Ha! My thoughts exactly. But that’s a little bit of weak base for dating, I think, especially since I kinda already hated him.”

“Oh, you did? I didn’t catch that,” Steve joked lightly, causing you to smile despite the horrid memory.

And funnily enough, telling him and remembering it… it did make you feel better and more at ease with him.

“Ha ha ha, laugh it up, Professor. Your turn.”

“I’m sorry?” he said, clearly puzzled. It didn’t escape your notice as his voice faltered, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the addressing.

Oh, so that’ s still a thing. You couldn’t but smirk a bit at that.

“An awkward date. You have to share now, it’s only fair,” you shrugged, only for a terrible realization to dawn on you. “Please tell me there is at least one awkward date story, Steve. Tell me this isn’t really your worst date ever.”

He shook his head with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, there’s plenty. I’m just trying to think about one that won’t scare you away from me. I’d hate that.”

One corner of his lips raised, he looked you up and down, lingering on your lips for a bit before meeting your gaze, something you could only hope was fondness and wanton in his eyes. Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your abdomen at the thorough onceover despite the gentle tone of his voice.

Fuck how could he make you feel hot and soft at the same time.

Unable to stand the intensity of his stare, you lowered your gaze and gulped, your stomach making an excited slip. He did want you. You had been being silly, letting your nerves get the better of you.

Clearing your throat, you willed yourself to look up, finding him still watching closely – and perhaps, there was a hint of a red to his cheeks, the tip of his ears burning as if despite the blatant flirting, he was unsure of himself too, because he didn’t want to mess up with you either.

You found it absolutely endearing and your heart swelled. The way you got to see there was more to him than his professor side and his dashing looks… you felt incredibly lucky. The more you got to interact with him, the more it wasn’t just your sinful thoughts belonging to him – he was quickly working on stealing your heart as well.

Plucking up your courage, you were the one to reach out this time, carefully sweeping your thumb over the back of his hand, smiling.

“I’m not scared off all that easily, Steve.”

He mirrored your genuine smile, a glint of something you couldn’t read lighting up his eyes.

“That’s good to know,” he said lowly and sighed, narrowing his eyes as if he was assessing you again. “Alright, here goes…”

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You actually managed to get one more awkward date story from Steve, because frankly, his experiences were hilarious. And surprise surprise, he was a great narrator. Plus, while he talked, you could ogle him shamelessly without fear of looking strange.

But you guessed that since you were on a date, you could ogle him anyway. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, whenever he got the opportunity, he reciprocated it. It finally did feel like a date, the air growing thicker as you gradually shifted closer and closer, the light touches prolonging, feet meeting under the table without parting as soon as they made contact.

Your belly kept warming up with each smile and laugh, with every second of the intense eye contact, with every flicker of his gaze to your lips and vice versa. Sharing a dessert was a terrible idea, because you wanted kiss the crumbs sticking on his lips away. You teased each other, you complimented each other – with Steve absolutely winning the undeclared contest – and you realized that despite sharing your most embarrassing dates with each other at the beginning, this was the absolute best you had ever been to.

And you didn’t want it to end.

The light sweater you had brought with you did nothing to shield you from the surprisingly lukewarm wind. As you wandered the streets, Steve finally heard out one of your first thoughts you had had when meeting him today – he shrugged off his suit jacket.

Which… yum. The seams of his shirt were crying for help and you could only think fo one way of helping them – taking his shirt off too. But alas, Steve didn’t continue the striptease, probably because you were on the street. Instead, he did the most wholesome thing and held out the jacket for you to slip into.

You only hesitated a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip. How could you say no to that?

“That’s awfully cliché and really sweet at the same time,” you muttered, causing him to shrug, one corner of his lips raised in a smirk as he helped you put it on, forefinger most definitely deliberately caressing the side of your throat before withdrawing.

A shudder ran down your spine, electrifying feeling going straight to your core. The whiff of whatever cologne he was wearing enveloped you, clouding your senses. Goddammit he smelled so good.

“Maybe I just want to see you in my clothes,” he hummed, the suggestive remark knocking the breath straight out of your lungs.

Stepping to your side from behind your back, you caught a glimpse of his expression – a little bit smug, a little bit panicked as it probably registered with him just how much suggestive it was, perhaps crossing a line.

It was absolutely not crossing the line, because the thought of wearing his clothes, preferably grabbing it because you couldn’t find yours after you threw it all around the room as you frantically stripped each other was making your head spin in the best way.

“Maybe I’d really enjoy wearing your clothes after you rip off mine.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, a choked noise leaving him and you couldn’t but laugh at his dumbstruck expression. Surprise, professor, you little shit. I can keep up.

“That was… mean,” he said, clearing his throat. Your eyebrows rose, pot calling the kettle back style. “But I see how I deserved that.”

“Damn right… but that doesn’t mean it’s a lie,” you shrugged, chuckling at the exasperated look he shot you.

‘Man, she’s gonna fuck you up on a whole new level and I’ll be here for it in the front row with a bowl of popcorn,’ Barnes’ words to Steve which you weren’t meant to hear echoed in your head, making you grin.

The teasing was intense, yet you felt comfortable in it. You blamed Steve and his nature – he already felt like a guy to go lengths to make you feel at ease enough; the way he had kept insisting on you choosing whether this was a date or not only proved it. He made it easy to be yourself, making you feel like you could.

And he made it perfectly clear that he was enjoying seeing you like that, that he appreciated you as you were.

But the closer you got to the campus, the more the reality was settling in, your laughter fading, butterflies and heat replaced by anxiety. He was still a professor. If you went for it, it wouldn’t always be uncomplicated like this. The awkwardness crept in as your steps grew slower, the inevitable arriving.

He couldn’t walk you home, to walk you to the dorm, even if the desire to do so radiated from every fibre of his being. He couldn’t do that for the same reason he hadn’t picked you up.

You came to a stop, feeling like there was this invisible border to a safe, students-free part of the city, the line you couldn’t cross side by side.

“So, uhm… this is it, huh?” Steve hummed, grim. You appreciated the lame attempt at a smile though and reciprocated, turning to face him.

“Looks like it.”

Heavy silence settled over you pair. Your eyes trailed all over him, lingering on his face, noting as he did the same. He was beautiful; you didn’t care you should say that about a man. He was. The light in his eyes dimmed compared to that just a few moments ago, but it was still there, expression soft, almost as soft as his beard looked, causing your fingers to twitch in need to run them over it and pull him in for a kiss.

Your lips tingled as the idea. You had never kissed a man with a beard and you wanted to know how it felt. The fact it was Steve only sealed the deal and made the need grow exponentially.

You wanted to kiss him so bad. But here you stood, unable to move, unable to speak. You sighed.

“Would you-“ “I want to-“

“Sorry,” you and him said at the same time again, laughing it off quietly, your fingers running through your hair.

Your stomach clenched when you noticed his eyes following the movement almost wistfully.

“You go first,” he prompted you gently.

You didn’t argue – if you learned one thing tonight, it was that Steve was a gentleman and that was so rare these days that you wouldn’t want to discourage him from being that way. Even if you really wanted to know what he was about to say, as soon as possible.

“I… I just want to say thank you. For the… for the date. I had a good time, so I hope you had too, at least a little,” you offered lamely, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks.

Like a schoolgirl blushing in front of her professor. Jesus, why were you being like this again.

Steve didn’t seem to find you as awkward as you felt however, your name slipping from his lips, kind and soft.

“I had a very good time. You’re amazing.” Your lips parted at the blatant and genuine compliment. His eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, that came out so strong, I didn’t mean to put you in spot like that-“

Stronger than ‘maybe I just want to see you in my clothes?’ you asked yourself. No, you didn’t think so. It was just that the playfulness had left at least two blocks back.

This felt more serious. More intimate.

“Ditto,” you whispered, gracing him with a shy smile he instantly mirrored. “But hey, I already knew that, so…”

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly, his smile only growing. When he looked at you again, his eyes were the beautiful warm blue that made you weak in the knees.

“Would you like to do something like that again?” he queried lowly.

Yes. YES. YES PLEASE. Minus the awkwardness at the beginning and the one a moment ago, preferably.  

“Yeah. I’d like that,” you agreed simply, taking note of how his face lit up even more.

How could a man be so indescribably hot and yet adorable enough to tug at your heartstrings?

“Good. I’m glad.”

He tugged at your hand unexpectedly, pulling you to your left, his other hand steadying you by gently grasping your forearm.

Before you could question his actions, a pair of men swaying in a drunken haze passed you, having no care in the world for whom they might crash into.

“Thanks,” blurted out lowly, sparing a second to shoot their backs a dirty glare.

But Steve’s hands were still on you, distracting, as you stood face to face, chest to chest, a little too close, a little too far. Your heart sped up in your ribcage, breathing picking up in anticipation. So close…

But all Steve did was to squeeze your forearm reassuringly, lifting your joined hands to his face.

Just like the day you agreed to get coffee with him, he kissed your knuckles, only this time it was much firmer. His smile was sweet and utterly irresistible as he kept looking at your face and you felt all the worries about the future melt away once again.

He was so precious and this felt so right and--- you didn’t want him to kiss your hand.

Well, you wanted it, but you wanted more too.

You had been aching to kiss that mouth since you had first set eyes on him, on that inhumanly gorgeous and hot creature. You were on a date, you both had a great time and clearly he was giving you the opportunity to decide how far you wanted to take this, because as much as every little touch of his made to crazy, the displays of affection were positively chaste.

And you wanted to take it very very far.

Your rational brain wouldn’t let you just hop into sac with him today, but fuck, you could do with a kiss. You wanted to feel that perfectly trimmed beard of his and you wanted to taste him.

Did he?

You stepped even closer as he let go of your hand, distracting you minutely; due to the sudden proximity, it landed on his chest and Jesus fucking Christ he was firm.

Your fingers clutched at the white fabric of his shirt as you observed his face, your gaze inevitably flickering to his lips. Glancing up once more to find him still watching you intently, pupils dilated, your breath caught in your throat, heat stirring in your belly.

Rising to your tiptoes, you gripped the fabric tighter and shortly pressed your lips to his.

It was a funny feeling – lips hot, soft and slightly chapped, a stark contrast to the beard, less rough than you expected, leaving a tingly sensation behind. It was different; exciting and addicting. Before he could react and before you could think twice, you kissed him again, this time lingering for a few seconds, your eyelids falling shut.

Your heart fluttered when you felt his lips reluctantly respond just as you withdrew, his grip on your arm tightening. You ran your tongue over your lips to savour the feeling, mouth instinctively curling up in a smile, gaze meeting his.

Little wrinkles appeared around his eyes as he smiled as well.

“You okay?”

You nodded, almost too eagerly, lowering back to your whole feet. Involuntarily, your gaze flickered to his mouth again, wanting more.

“Uhm… beard,” you piped up unhelpfully, pressing your lips together as soon as the admission left them.

Steve’s smile widened as he once again grasped your hand, leading it to cup his face – not before he dropped a kiss to your palm.

You almost let out a very embarrassing whine at the curious sensation, your mind, still enveloped in Steve’s warmth and cologne, wondering how the beard would feel elsewhere.

Your fingers unwittingly caressed the hair, thumb brushing his lips, unable to resist.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, lips parting, hot breath fanning over your skin as watched you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out and that was it – you pressed against the soft swollen flesh at the pet name, causing a low grumble echo in Steve’s chest.

And then his hand slid to your waist, the other sinking into your hair, and he pulled up into a kiss that had nothing to do with how patient he had been before. He was still a gentleman, but it was a close call – he angled your head to his liking, his lips dancing with yours in a sensual dance with just a tease of tongue licking at the seam of your lips, causing you to sigh in bliss, granting him access.

He hummed appreciatively, the sound shaking your bones as he held you flat against him, the heat of his body seeping into yours – as if every nerve ending in your body wasn’t on fire already. He breathed you in, consumed you entirely – there were no other words for it.

There weren’t many words you could think of to begin with, too busy feeling his broad shoulders under your palm, fingers roaming to find the soft hair at his nape, revelling at the taste of him, just a smidge of tongue and you wanted more, your insides twisting in need--- and oh, your back was pressed against a wall now.

You let out a small startled sound which Steve instantly swallowed – but it was a good wake up call for you both. The motions of his lips slowed, softened, a gentle caress more than anything, his thumb stroking your cheek.

Breathless, you chased after his mouth when he retreated, earning one small peck and then another. He rested his forehead against yours, nose briefly skimming yours, causing you to smile and meet his gaze.

“Sorry,” he muttered and you genuinely wanted to slap his arm or something for apologizing for that. Because you knew what you’d be thinking about for the next few hours, days even, hell, probably weeks. “For springing out like that. I just… wanted to do that for a long time.”

The admission had your heart skip a beat and you couldn’t but lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth – and nope, you weren’t over how it felt, his beard against your lips. You wouldn’t be over it for a long time, you suspected.

“Me too.”

“So… we’re doing this again, right?“

You smirked up at him as he reluctantly released you. “You springing out like that or-“

“Don’t test me, babygirl,” he nearly growled, causing your eyes going wide as saucers, feeling as if you were sucker punched to your gut – and liked it.

Babygirl. Jesus, he was going to be the death of you.

“You can spring out like that again too,” you chimed, your voice sounding a bit strangled, because holy shit he just called you that. His gaze flickered all over your face, a shade darker than before. Your underwear was thoroughly ruined with that single look… and the earlier make-out session. “But if we’re talking second dates, I’d definitely do that too.”

He huffed and shook his head, a chuckle escaping him.

“You’re a minx…. I think I like it.”

You grinned at him and then sighed regretfully, reaching to slip off the jacket, which made him frown.

“You could give it back later.”

“Don’t tempt me… don’t want to rob you of it--- and there would be questions,” you explained, knowing that even walking around the campus like what would raise rumours of god knew what.

Like, maybe someone would think some gentleman like Professor Steve Rogers himself lent it to you or something, gee, where would that come from...

Steve nodded in understanding, accepting the jacket and shrugging it on.

“Plus, I’m thoroughly warmed up,” you added cheekily, causing him to chuckle incredulously again. With a sigh, he leaned in, cradling your jaw in one large hand and pressed a sweet lingering kiss to your forehead.

You could melt on spot.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Let me know when you get home safe?” he asked of you gently, tugging at your heartstrings some more, because of course he did.

“I will. You too?”

His smile was soft and sweet as he promised to do so, clearly touched by your care. Well, that made two of you.

“Goodnight, Steve. Thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you.”

You breathed in deeply, dropping a last kiss to his cheek and quickly spun on your heels to walk away – because if you wavered a second longer, you might have not left at all.

Sure, you looked back at him several times, finding him standing where you had left him, his eyes following your receding figure. But you kept walking.

And once you couldn’t see him anymore, you broke into a fit of giggles, hiding your face in your palms to muffle your delighted squeal.

You were just coming back to the dorms from the date with Steve Rogers.

And despite the hiccups, it was the best damn thing in the world, leaving you giddy and already craving another date and more. Your cheeks hurt from smiling by the time you made it to the dorms, your heart pounding excitedly the whole time.

As promised, you let Steve know you made there safe, earning another text with a heart. It only made you squeal again, fingers frantic as you replied – and with a kiss for goodnight so he knew you truly enjoyed your night, ending included.

What he didn’t know was that maybe, just maybe, the next evening you wrote a tiny story in which you elaborated at what could happen if he ever pushed you against a wall and kissed your breathless ever again.

And hopefully, he would.

Soon.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

...how it happened? I was asked about the first date, very kindly and in a no pressure manner.

S: Hey, just out of curiosity, you don’t really have to answer… how do you imagine their first date went?

me: Hm, let me think, I guess, mm, it would be like this--- oh shit. Oh no. It’s gonna be a fic again, isn’t it? Maybe I could finally write a headcanon or a drabble--- sigh.

As if I could ever.

Thank you for reading :-*

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Could I ask for a request where the reader is a private eye? She was hired by the families of those who ‘went missing’ in Santa Carla. The boys are naturally very curious when they meet the ‘cute detective’ but they think she’s harmless. Their perception changes when they find her one night killing a vampire who was passing through town. That’s when they realise that she’s not just a mere detective. She’s also a vampire hunter. But, instead of fearing for their lives they are very much aroused.

I love this concept so much!!! I listened to Private Eyes by Hall and Oates for inspo for this just fyi for those that like to listen and read :)) Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy :))

Private Eyes, Watching You (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: blood, gore, character death, vampire typical violence, vampire hunter typical violence, pre-emerson au

Word Count: 1.1k

The boys could spot a cop, or anything of the sort, with their eyes closed. You did a good job of blending in though. You wore casual clothes, too casual even for someone undercover, and it only took a few glances for Marko to lean in to David and say,

“She’s probably not even SCPD.” But David didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed, and he let the cigarette pass from his lips to his fingers. He didn’t try to hide the fact that he was looking you over. He thought that would make him seem even more suspicious. Instead, he stared at you as he might any other girl your age. It helped him that the others seemed just as interested, though David was nearly sure that Paul didn't have his head in the right place.

SCPD, or the Santa Carla Police Department, was one thing. Someone private? That was another. But, that meant that you probably didn’t have access to any case files, and the best you’d get was from whoever hired you, newspapers, and witnesses. The boys never left any witnesses, so that was one thing they didn’t have to worry about. David let a plume of smoke leave his lips, and he nodded towards the bikes.

It’d been decided. You weren’t a threat, and your trail would run cold sooner rather than later. They wouldn’t even bother their sire with the news of your arrival. As far as they were concerned, and they weren’t, it’d be a few weeks of a waste of time for you. And, if you just so happened to be more trouble then you were worth, they knew what to do.

For now, they just had to keep an eye on you. And, with how easy on the eyes you were, none of them had any complaints.

***

You pushed the body off the end of your stake, a small look of disgust on your face at the blood staining it. It glittered in the night, as if the fangs and yellow eyes hadn't been enough proof of the creatures lack of humanity.

You sighed, pulling out a cloth to wipe off the wood. You watched as the being in front of you caught fire, and then turned to dust. When the wood was finally clean of anything that hadn't already stained it, you put it back into your jacket.

You'd expected there to be something supernatural in the area. All the missing posters? That level of a body count? Even a serial killer wouldn't have that type of appetite for death. You looked at the pile of ash resembling a human body, glancing around and over your shoulder. You hadn't even been sure of what had been plaguing Santa Carla, but now that you knew it was vampires? You were sure that there had to be more. Maybe a mate, if not a coven.

There was no way that the creature you'd killed had wracked up such a body count. And that low-life? It wasn't nearly as clean as the evidence had suggested. There had been no bodies found, at least nothing that had been identifiable. There had to be more, others that cleaned up after their messes. Someone smarter. And yet? Nothing was attacking you. Trying to avenge their fallen comrade or lover. The night was quiet, the roll and crash of waves far off but still within earshot. You touched your bottom lip as you thought, walking towards the mouth of the alleyway and back towards the light of civilization.

It didn't make sense. None of it did. And you weren't going to leave until it did.

***

The boys stared in silent apprehension. They'd been watching you for two days. Two days. That's how long it took for you to track one of them. And it'd only taken about two minutes for you to drive a stake through their heart. You were surprisingly effective, stronger and faster then they'd expected you to be.

The boys hung in the air, high above where you could see them but close enough where they could see you. They were silent as they watched you walk back towards the light, back into the seamless crowd of the city of Santa Carla. You rejoined it as if you hadn't just taken a life, a life potentially older than you'd ever know, and walked around as if nothing had happened.

Paul let out a low whistle, finally breaking the silence that had settled over them.

"Shit. Is it bad that I think that was kinda hot?" He asked. Dwayne scoffed and shook his head, David rolled his eyes, but Marko was the only one to voice his agreement. The rest had planned on ignoring it.

"I mean- When she threw him over her shoulder?" He said, and Paul's face lit up in the dark. He reached for the other boys jacket, excitement clear in his voice as he said,

"And, like, that moment where he had her in a chokehold? I thought she was done for sure, but-" David couldn't believe what he was hearing. They were talking about you as if you were some action star, their very own Sarah Connor.

"Will you two shut up? She's a hunter." David reminded, and both of them fell silent. But, the second they shared a silent glance, the bleached blonde knew this conversation was going to continue the second they were alone. David rubbed his temple, looking down at where you'd disappeared in the crowd. It wasn't that he didn't agree with them. It had been surprising to say the least when he'd watched you take down that passerby through their territory.

There was something about how relentless you'd been, the aura of confidence, not arrogance, that you'd succeed. The need for survival and the ability to do it. It was something vampires looked for all the time, but usually when they wanted to strengthen their numbers.

David pushed away the thought before it could properly take root. You were a problem. Officially. And he wasn't going to solve it in a way that would end up with him on the sharp end of a stake. It just didn't help that Dwayne had said,

"She is already a killer." And, while the blondes may not have caught on immediately, David knew exactly what he was suggesting. David glanced over at him in the dark, and then over at Hudson's Bluff.

They already had enough halves, but maybe Dwayne was onto something. They always needed more numbers, people that wouldn't shy away from violence. That did what they needed to do to guarantee their own survival. David was always good at manipulation, and sometimes all people needed was to be pointed in the right direction. And, if David wasn't still considering the fact that they'd probably die in the process of even trying to turn you into a half, he would've gotten the ball rolling that very night. There were still more things to consider, too many unanswered questions as to how much you knew.

So, instead, he tilted his head back towards the cliffs. The plan hadn't changed. They were just going to watch.

For now.

[thesoulspulse]

Alright, now that I’ve drawn both halves lets talk about the ideas a friend and I came up with! So first of all, we had this idea that since her ghost sense is visual, as in she can see ecto-energy traces, we thought it might be cool if that was also an X-ray vision kind of deal. Basically, she can see ghost signatures/auras through walls!

Then there’s her friendship with Vlad and Jack. Since they both still have a crush on her tensions are high but Maddie doesn’t really notice at first since she’s too busy getting used to her powers and being half ghost. After the accident though, Vlad blamed Jack for putting her in the hospital in the first place and has been pushing the guilt trip on his former friend to get him to back off so he can finally make a move on Maddie. At some point though, Vlad, being the fruitloop he is even goes as far as turning himself half-ghost just to be with Maddie. Obviously she’s not thrilled by this but at least Vlad would never dream of fighting her for real.

As for Jack, he already felt guilty and from then on tries to be a lot more careful with their inventions...but eventually Maddie and Jack grow closer anyway either before or after he becomes a halfa too because Vlad’s advances are clearly getting out of hand. Apart from that, the three of them stay friends although Vlad’s on thin ice and at one point Maddie straight up tells him if he wants to stay in her life he needs to make peace with Jack since what happened wasn’t his fault. Both of them know how impulsive Jack can be and Maddie was the one who chose to push Vlad out of the way which was how she became half-ghost and its unfair to use what happened as an excuse to make Jack look bad.

So if Vlad really cares about Maddie he’ll do the right thing since they’re all friends and fellow researchers so all three of them knew the risks. Also, since Maddie can’t have kids either she buries herself in learning more about ghosts and realizes they’re not all bad. Although at first she still considered herself more human than ghost and didn’t think they were anything alike. As a result, the three of them mostly focus on researching ghosts while the rivalry between Jack and Vlad remains but hopefully he’ll wise up and stop being a fruitloop otherwise she’s already turned their confessions down once and if this keeps up she’ll leave to focus on herself for a while.