#at least they can never take those away from us

[uvobreakmylegs]

How Chrollo is behaving after X amount of days since his darling went missing?

it depends on the reason why darling went missing

if Chrollo's darling was taken away by someone who means to do them harm, Chrollo's composure isn't as cool as one might expect. although his emotions are still rather muted, he's worried. worried that in the time it takes for him to track down his darling, they could be going through torture at their kidnapper's hands. or worse, they could be killed as a way to hurt him. the very least that can be said for Chrollo is he doesn't want death or undue harm to befall his darling, so until they're safe in his arms once again, he'll be searching for them, not sleeping until he has them where they're supposed to be

it's a different story when darling goes missing voluntarily

upon realizing that they've escaped, Chollo isn't terribly worried at first. more than likely Chrollo is certain that he'll be able to track his darling down within a few hours, and knowing him, he put in certain safety measures beforehand to prevent this situation from being much of an issues

but when those hours pass and there's no sign of darling anywhere despite those safety measures, Chrollo's confidence slowly fades and he grows more serious as he realizes just how far darling went to escape from him

if it somehow happens that darling manages to evade him for days or even weeks, on the outside, Chrollo's demeanor appears fairly cool and collected

but on the inside, his mind is swirling with thoughts of how darling accomplished this, how they managed to keep away from him for so long. Chrollo is using every resource and connection he has to track his darling down because nothing is more important than getting them back

and he will get them back. of that, Chrollo has no doubt

but until that time, Chrollo's thoughts will be a storm in his head, swirling about and ensuring that he gets no sleep as he thinks over where he went wrong in darling's captivity and how he intends to rectify those oversights to ensure that this never happens again.

at the very forefront of that storm, Chrollo is thinking of everything he'll be doing to darling once he has them again. every punishment they'll be going through for daring to defy him in this way

and every day that darling is away, that list gets longer

[vandme12]

Hello hi!! I love your writing you’re so insanely talented!!

I’ve been wondering and I’ve actually requested a couple people for this but, ronin x reader who has anxiety about him getting caught? I’m so curious on how he’d react to this

You check the news before you check your messages. That’s how bad it’s gotten.

Your phone screen glares in the dim light of your apartment, headlines flashing like warning signs: Serial Killer Still at Large – Authorities Urge Caution; New Evidence Suggests Possible Suspect – Police Closing In?; “The Butcher” Case Continues to Baffle Investigators.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the words swim together, twisting into something unreadable. No name. No face. Nothing solid. Your shoulders loosen. Your stomach untwists.

He’s still free.

For now.

The relief is short-lived. What if it changes tomorrow? What if they do find something? What if—

Your phone buzzes. A new message.

goreboy: “darlin’, if you’re gonna worry about me, you should at least let me enjoy it up close. i can practically hear that pretty lil’ head of yours buzzin’ from here.”

Your pulse jumps. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You shouldn’t be talking to him—not here, not anywhere—but that’s never stopped you before.

You: “I’m not worrying.”

goreboy: “liar.”

You chew on your bottom lip. He’s right, of course. He always is.

Another buzz.

goreboy: “lemme in.”

Your heart stutters. You glance at the door. He wouldn’t—would he? Your fingers tighten around your phone. A beat passes. Then another.

A knock.

Sharp. Playful. Like he knows exactly what it does to you.

You don’t think. You move.

The door swings open, and there he is—leaning against the frame like he belongs there, like he owns the space. Loose hoodie, ripped jeans, a smirk sharp enough to cut. Those amber eyes sweep over you, drinking in the tension strung tight in your shoulders. He grins, all teeth.

“Knew you’d let me in.”

You step back before he can make a point of crossing the threshold himself, before he can make you admit anything. He takes his time entering anyway, letting the door click shut behind him like it’s sealing a secret.

“Didn’t answer my texts,” he murmurs, circling you like a lazy predator. “Was startin’ to think you were mad at me.”

You fold your arms, ignoring the heat licking up your spine. “I was busy.”

“Busy worrying about me?”

“I wasn’t—”

Ronin hums, unconvinced. His fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up just enough for him to drink in your hesitation. He doesn’t have to say he sees through you. He just does.

“You’re cute when you stress, y’know that?” His voice dips lower, something almost fond curling around the edges. “Not as cute as when you beg, but I’ll take what I can get.”

You push his hand away, but it’s weak. Pathetic. He knows it.

“Ronin—”

“Mmm?”

Your throat tightens. You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t even let the thought form, but it’s already there, clawing its way free. “What if they catch you?”

For the first time, he stills. Not much—just a flicker, a brief pause in that endless, rolling confidence. Then his grin stretches wider, like a beast baring its teeth.

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, though.”

“Ronin.”

The teasing edge in his voice fades at the way you say his name—quiet, strained. He likes when you worry, when you care too much despite yourself. But this? This is different.

He exhales slowly, stepping closer. Close enough that you can smell the metallic bite of dried blood on his hoodie, the faintest trace of smoke and cheap motel soap. Close enough that, if he wanted to, he could crush you against him and make you forget why you were ever worried in the first place.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts a hand—slow, deliberate—and brushes his fingers against yours. An offer. A test.

You don’t pull away.

“I get it,” he murmurs. “Not used to playin’ on this side of the fence, huh?”

You shake your head. Your voice is barely a whisper. “No.”

He sighs, something almost fond bleeding into his expression. Then he leans in, just enough for his lips to ghost over your temple.

“Lucky for you,” he murmurs, “I don’t lose.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “That’s not—”

A finger presses against your lips. Not rough. Not forceful. Just there. Just a reminder.

“Shhh.”

You freeze.

Ronin leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Y’can’t change what I am, sweetheart. Can’t change what I do. But if it helps, I like that you’re worried.” A grin, sharp and self-satisfied. “Means you’re thinkin’ about me.”

Your heart pounds. “Of course, I think about you.”

“Yeah?”

He tilts his head, and suddenly, you’re looking at him again—really looking at him. At the way his pupils have swallowed up those amber irises. At the way he’s watching you, waiting for something. Daring you.

Your breath shudders out. You’re so, so tired of fighting this.

“…Yes.”

Ronin’s grin softens. Just a fraction. Then, without warning, he scoops you up, dragging you flush against his chest. A startled yelp escapes you, but he just laughs—low and satisfied, arms coiling around you like he knew you’d give in eventually.

He laughed.

Not in a cruel way—never that. It was a sharp, incredulous thing, like you had just confessed to being afraid the sky might fall. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a gloved thumb along your cheek, his touch so light it could have been imagined. “That’s adorable.”

You weren’t trying to be adorable.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his coat, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped animal. “I mean it,” you whispered. “I—I know you think you’re untouchable, but you’re not. They could catch you. And then what?”

Ronin tilted his head, considering you, his ever-present smirk softening. “Then they’d throw a parade,” he said dryly. “Statues, medals, a lifetime supply of those tiny jailhouse oranges. Can’t wait.”

You scowled, shoving at his chest—not that it moved him. “Ronin.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist. It was moments like this that reminded you what he was. Not just the teasing, ever-flirting devil who stole your breath with every grin, but the thing under the mask. The thing the world would never forgive.

He sighed, tilting his head back as if to examine the sky. “You’re really losing sleep over little old me, huh?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

His voice had dipped, losing its usual playful lilt. He tugged you closer, a gloved hand curling around the nape of your neck, grounding you in his warmth. “C’mon,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “You think I’d let myself get caught? Me?”

“You’re not invincible.”

“I might as well be.”

The arrogance in his tone made you want to shake him. How could he be so calm about this? About the very real, very terrifying possibility that one day he wouldn’t walk through that door with blood on his hands and a smirk on his lips? That one day, the news would break with grainy security footage and the words SERIAL KILLER THE BUTCHER APPREHENDED splashed across the screen? That one day, you’d lose him—not to death, but to a fate that might be worse?

“You scare me,” you admitted, voice small. “Not because of what you do. But because I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone.”

Ronin stilled.

For once, he had nothing clever to say.

Then, slowly, he exhaled. His free hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing along the bone in slow, soothing strokes. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, softer than you’d ever heard him. “You really do love me, huh?”

Your chest ached. “I never said that.”

He chuckled, but there was no teasing in it. “You didn’t have to.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world felt fragile, like one wrong word could shatter everything. And then, finally—

“I’m not gonna let them take me,” Ronin said. “Not now, not ever. They’ll have to pry me out of this world with a crowbar and a prayer.”

His grip tightened just slightly, as if anchoring himself to you. “And if they ever do? If some miraculous day comes when they get lucky?” He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “Then you run.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was steady, like this was the easiest thing in the world to say. “No visits. No letters. No waiting. You take whatever’s left and disappear, understand?”

“No.” The word was sharp, immediate. “That’s not fair.”

Ronin huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I think ‘fair’ left the building the second we met.”

You hated that he was right. Hated that he was telling you this now, like he’d already accepted that possibility, like he was already preparing you for a world without him.

“No,” you repeated, softer this time. “If they take you, I won’t just run. I’ll burn the whole goddamn place down.”

For a moment, Ronin looked stunned.

Then, slowly, his grin crept back. Wide, wicked, almost proud. “Arson, In the name of the devil, that’s romantic”

You swallowed. “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

His lips brushed yours—not quite a kiss, more of a promise. One he intended to keep.

And for the first time since this conversation started, you let yourself believe him.

[boyfriendtodeathconfessional]

A large reason I got into BTD + TPOF was the horror aspects and writing of certain characters; like Ren for example.

As fucked up as it sounds Ren is one of the only characters to share my same ways of being affected by abuse especially after being isolated by an abuser. The grappling at wanting to believe the abuser loved you and cared about you because you had a few good moments together, trying to explain away the abuse that happened to you, falling into old habits that you had during the abuse or learning the habits of the abuser and taking them on because it's all you've learned are all things I've done in my life as a result of being abused for almost my whole life.

To me Ren's route is terrifyingly realistic and something I can relate to. In one ending he cries about how he had literally no one except Strade and is trying to grasp the fact Strade did abuse him, all while still trying to explain and deny it. He says he loved him, which is something I found myself feeling about my abusers a lot. It's easy to believe they love you during the good times or even just when you've been alone for so long that any sort of affection, no matter how false or fucked up, reads as love to the mind. He feels like shit for not saving Strade, even knowing if he did he'd still be being abused because he thinks it's better that way because at least he'd still have someone, even if that someone hurt him so badly it altered his path of life completely.

Fox shares a lot of these relations as well. The want to have control so badly you'll do anything for it, grasping at any straws you can all while falling back into the habits you were trying so hard to escape. Fox himself doesn't exactly seem to enjoy hurting the MC once he gets to know them more, even stopping them from killing themselves on stream and saving them and instantly being concerned about their well-being even right before. He gets us the prosthetic because he wants us to stay alive. He doesn't want to lose us hence why he puts so much effort into us, even getting upset when we die in show 2. And furthermore he's still in denial about Strade once again. He says that all Strade did was make the scars but they didn't make him, but it's a lie. We know from BTD 2 that Ren can get better with the proper support and help, but In TPOF he never got that help. He wouldn't know how to be a showman or snuff streamer without Strade. Strade taught him all he knows and he doesn't want to admit that he's down this path because of him. He's repeating the same steps as his abuser while trying to deny he had any effect on him at all.

He tries so hard to please chat that he ignores his own wants. His wants to keep us safe and stay with him? He ignores them. In Show 3 there's a chance for a sprite to pop up where Fox tells you to wait, but then turns back to chat and see they're getting upset at him, likely making him worry as he thinks they may leave him if he doesn't listen. The people he's been trying to use as a substitute for Strade's affection turning on him the moment he shows worry for someone he's starting to care about. So upon noticing their reaction he addresses them, telling them he was just making sure they're having a good time while punishing himself for caring about us and trying to stop us by digging his claws into his wrists to make him bleed, punishing himself for going against those who he thinks love them, but they don't love him. They love that he's trapped himself again, that he'll do whatever they say no matter what because he's reliant on them. He thinks hurting the MC gives him some sense of control but in reality he's still completely lost any control he once had by listening to chat and not his own wants.

When you tell him "I thought you were the one in charge" it sets off to him that he in fact has never had control and has just been doing what everyone else wants. He only took you in because Celia said it'd be cute. It wasn't a genuine decision he made on his own. No decision has been.

In BTD 2 as well we can see endings where he ends up revictimized which is something I fear I've been through so many times, especially regarding sexual abuse. Ren becomes scared of you, terrified even, so he falls back into the old habits of listening and obeying because he thinks if he just listens it'll be ok. It'll be better that way. Fighting causes more issues so it's better to just take it, no matter how much it hurts and he doesn't want to. He'll force himself to like it, to love you, because now you're the one giving him the attention. You're who he'll be dependent on.

He also shows that abused can become the abusers as well, even if just by repeating actions they view as correct because it's what they've been taught and all they know. He doesn't know any other way, so he does what he knows worked to make him care about Strade and hopes it'll have the same effect on you.

Ren / Fox means so much to me as a victim of abuse because he shows the sides of abuse most people don't touch upon and are too scared to talk about or want to brush under the rug. It kinda sucks to me when I see people discredit him just because he's from a horrorporn game because he really is, at least to me from my own experiences with abuse and the aftermath/struggles, extremely accurate to the struggles that come after getting out of an abusive situation where all you know is your abuser and hold them to such high regard because you have no one else in life and will try to justify them no matter what because they're all you know and have or had.

.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Normal people love their weekends because they have some time off; I love weekends because I can finally enjoy my sweet moots incredible works!! And this here, was the perfect sweet and delicious treat I desperately needed!!

From the first word, I was conquered.

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window. “I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety.

The metaphor is so perfect, on top of being absolutely beautiful. I'm in love already, and this is the FIRST paragraph.

I loved how you perfectly blended the right amount of angst with his long absence, the Reader refusing to forgive him right away even if we can still understand how happy she is to be with him again, to be home again. It was really well-paced and made the situation even more real, as usual with your incredible writing!

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz.

I don't know why but this part made me LOL, it's so meaningful and gave me the best images in my head; like hell yes anxious thoughts clearly does that (for me at least 😂)

He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

I love this. I love how his return is nuanced and how you perfectly transcribed it with those details. He brought those flowers with vibrant colors but he wore a fresh shirt, suggesting he took care of himself first, which totally cancels out the effect of the flowers and even makes them dull. He's back but he has been (or we thought he has been) selfish. This is peak subtext here!!!!

Once again the "The king has returned" line made me laughed, I could picture it so neatly in my brain, sarcastic bitter tone and all. Also adored how she rightfully reproached him that he looks like it was his birthday, very real and well written! I think the bath line also made a strong impression for everyone, and indeed it was brilliant!! Your dialogues are always on point, and I'm very admirative of that. I'm forever taking notes while reading you ✍️✍️

And then, as you make us long and wait and make his hard for him to fix things, you deliver the perfect resolution, I was so happy when I read what he had prepared in the room 😭😭 It's so good that you made this crescendo!

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it. “Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

Yes yes yes my heart healed!! I also adored how they instantly jumped on each other, a perfect burst of joy after the cold stillness of the situation! And after that, Arthur explaining everything like the adorable puppy he is, justifying himself and all was just so cute I wanted to KISS HIM ALL OVER

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

I died.

(no like really, that line with the chipped tooth smile??? God I would have fainted.)

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.” His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued. “Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?” Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you. “Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

Jesus, the smut part to end this sweet little treat, just like the cream on top of a cake 🫠 The dirty taaaaalk omg, I am WEAK, I am on my KNEES, I'm feeling my body tingling everywhere just reading it again to copy/paste the paragraph 😂. But seriously though, absolutely perfect ending to continue with the crescendo thing. I don't know why exactly, but I also love that you cut directly to the SECOND orgasm? It was powerful and reinforced the intensity of their reconciliation 😏 The last paragraph was FIRE too, how you described their love making, comparing it to being home when tangled with the other, no matter the time spent away... Phew!! Loved loved loved.

Absolutely amazing from the first word to the last. I know I'm having the best time when reading you, Zae and I'm never ever disappointed.

Love ya!! Thank you for sharing this delicious sweatest treat with us, definitely needed it! 😌 (thanks to Kenny for requesting this scenario too eheh!)

Your Piney 💞

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety. 

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown. 

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.” 

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.” 

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.   

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself.  The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava. 

“S’a fancy shirt.” 

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible. 

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.” 

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him. 

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...” 

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully. 

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.” 

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.” 

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted. 

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

[isolaradiale]

"What is that?" Two of the Stars sat huddled over two of the many computer monitors set up within their abode. It had been a few days since it had appeared, prompting the city's defense systems to seal away half of the branches. One screen showed an impossibly long chain of code, while the other flickered through various images from within the quarantined areas.

The Mistwood's trees had been dyed crimson, affecting the lighting. When the screen showed the Sky-Strewn Islands, you could see what looked like bodies walking over the edge of the floating isles. "A gift. Likely from the ones who infiltrated through a backdoor at the beginning of the year."

"Bloody hell. Are those bodies? Is it affecting all of the life in the simulation? Even the plant life? What sort of virus is this?" A glance at the coding was all they needed to identify the cause. "It's glitching the data? Altering its behaviour... Like zombies? How long will the system be able to suppress it? Long enough for us to counteract it, I'd hope?"

"Not zombies, fortunately. Their behaviour is similar, but... Perhaps disconnect Ofiuco from the network for the time being? They've been banging on the barrier for 26 hours. I don't think it'll hold for long with that much data crashing into it. Actually, never mind. It already collapsed. Maybe activate the emergency protocols."

Cracks could be seen forming in the barrier on the second monitor. It didn't take long for it to shatter, unleashing hundreds upon thousands of bodies that crashed into the city. Anything living that these bodies crashed into became infected with a virus and then moved to attack anything that hadn't been infected.

But while the Isolans from other worlds would be attacked, they couldn't be infected. So killing them would have to do instead.

"Erm. Slight issue?"

"What?"

"It has infected the emergency systems. We only have one charge."

"[CENSORED]. That's not good."

WHAT THE HECK IS HAPPENING!?

Zombies! ...Kind of! A virus has spread among NPC people, animals, and even the plant life. While the characters won't know what the Stars are officially referring to them as, they have been simply codenamed "The Glitched". Anything "living" they come into contact with will become Glitched itself, with the exclusion of the player characters.

That said, The Glitched will see the player characters as prey nonetheless and will try to kill them instead. There is also a glitching effect visible over them to indicate their status. Lets go over the types of Glitched in more detail:

GLITCHED NPCS Your standard "zombies". They were the NPCs that lived among the player characters this whole time. They resemble traditional zombies in many ways. They shamble, they moan and groan, and their movements can be unsettling. But they aren't decaying at least! They will attack in ways similar to zombies, running at you in hoards, thrashing, and biting if needed. Whatever it takes to kill their targets. That said, they're generally slow.

GLITCHED CREATURES Animals and monsters are also affected (not including character pets). They've become much more ravenous, including those that would normally avoid people altogether. If you've ever been terrified of the prospect of zombie squirrels crawling in through your vents to get you, well... Depending on the animal or monster, they might be faster and / or more dangerous than a regular Glitched.

GLITCHED PLANTLIFE While not as outwards dangerous, infected plant life affects the environment. Any infected plants will glow crimson red and, once enough plant life in a contained area is infected, even the sky will begin to glow an ominous red. This phenomenon will spread north as the virus spreads.

EVENT MECHANICS

ABILITY DRAIN

At the beginning of the event, every characters will be uncapped entirely since the Stars activated the emergency systems. However, these systems have lost power since. As a result, every usage of a character's powers will cause all of their abilities to weaken regardless of the one used, little by little, until their powers disappear entirely. This means that the characters will need to be smart about using them once they realize this. This also applies to weapons, and their durability will degrade after each fight until they're liable to break. While we won't be policing this, we ask that you don't ignore this mechanic completely.

NO RESPAWNING

The respawn system is part of the emergency systems, so for the duration of this event your character will not be able to respawn. If they die, they will remain dead until the conclusion of the event! If you go this route, they will exist as something akin to a ghost that cannot interact with the living world, but will be able to interact with other ghosts. If your character is still alive and has the power to see and hear ghosts, though? You'll still be able to interact with them!

MODIFIERS

The ones who installed the virus in the first place also installed a modifier system. Every encounter with ten or more Glitched will trigger a modifier wheel to spin on the phones of every player character nearby and will all land on a single modified that may affect the Glitched or the characters themselves depending. A new modifier will be rolled every hour, replacing the current one. You can find a list of what the effects do here, as well as the wheel to spin before each thread here! You're not required to use the wheel, but we do recommend it especially if you're doing multiple threads! Characters will be able to check their phones at any time to see which modifier is active.

GLITCHED TERRITORY

At the beginning of the event, the southern branches are already completely dyed crimson and rampant with the Glitched. They've broken through the barrier and are now entering the city en masse. Throughout the event, they will move farther and farther north, leaving your characters with a choice. Will they hunker down in the city to try and ride out this storm, or will they flee to the branches across the water? Unfortunately, eventually nowhere will be safe.

FAQ

When does the event officially end? The official end time is 11:59:59PM EST on Friday, April 18th! You won't be able to make any new minis, opens, or starters after that point!

What are the requirements for participation? All you need is one IC post within the event scenario!

What if we're not very good with horror elements? While the Glitched take a lot of cues from the zombie genre and you could portray them to be as physically bloodied and ravaged as you'd like, because they aren't technically undead, you could portray them without less or no emphasis on what might make them visually disturbing if you need to!

Can we kill the Glitched? What will happen to the NPCs that are killed this way? You can! They'll respawn as if nothing happened at the end of the event, but the characters themselves won't know this. This will surely bring about a moral dilemma for some, especially those that know specific NPCs personally.

If my character is killed, can I write a thread with them set before that death? Of course! As long as it's set chronologically before they died, it's fine!

Will my character have any way to defend themselves if they have no powers? Yes! Characters that are powerless can access an app in their phone that will allow them to assume their avatar from the Fantasia Intraspace simulation! Even if you weren't in the group during this event, you can create this avatar by picked a player race and spells!

I have another question! Feel free to ask through the masterlist! We'll answer it as soon as we're able to! We ask that you do not ask event questions in the server for this event, just so everyone is able to see the answers if they have the same questions!

[zerosbubble]

hii i absolutely love your rookie series!! would you be open to writing something with tim and his boot slowly moving in with each other?? they leave things around his house during their father-kid bonding sessions (although he definitely denies it to the others) and just slowly starts to stay over at his place more often than their own. it gets to the point where they just permanently move in for comfort sake, maybe after something traumatic happens??

sorry if this is too specific or long T^T. love the series!!! tysm for writing for us ♡

Let’s go home, kid.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Masterlist

A/N: Hi, sweetheart! Don’t apologise, I love when you guys are specific about what you guys would like to read! 💞 Especially because this idea is super cute! (P.S, this is a separate storyline from my series, Like father, Like rookie, but you guys can imagine that it is if that’s why you guys like!)

Summary: What started as casual hangouts turned into something unspoken. Your things ended up in his house, and he never asked you to take them back. Then, after that night, he didn’t take you to your apartment—he took you home. His home. Maybe it had been yours all along.

It started with a rainstorm.

A bad one.

The kind that turned the streets into slick, flooded hazards and made every shift feel like a fight against nature itself.

By the time you and Tim wrapped up your last call for the night, you were both drenched—cold, exhausted, and in no mood to deal with LA’s nightmare traffic.

Tim had fully intended to just drop you off at your place. But when you slumped in the passenger seat, shivering, eyes heavy with fatigue, he sighed and made a split-second decision.

“Alright, Kid,” he muttered, flicking the blinker on. “You’re coming to mine.”

You barely stirred, half-asleep against the window. “Huh?”

“You’re soaked, I’m not leaving you to get sick and have a snotty rookie in my shop tomorrow,” he said gruffly. “You’ll crash at mine for the night.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t even question it. Didn’t even roll your eyes at the ‘snotty rookie’ comment. Just let out a quiet, “M’kay,” and dozed off to the soft platters of the rain against the windows again.

Tim tried not to think about how much trust that meant you had in him.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, you were awake again—barely. He tossed you a hoodie and a towel, pointed you toward the bathroom, and made sure you had something warm to eat before you inevitably crashed on the couch.

He hadn’t expected it to happen again.

But then the next time a shift ran late, it was “Might as well stay, kid. Saves you the drive and I’d rather not have you asking for gas money again like an overgrown 16 year old who just got their first car.”

Then it was “I already got takeout, no point in you getting your own.” Matched with a classic Tim remark—“I’m not surprised you didn’t listen to the lessons about saving money in high school.”

It wasn’t intentional.

At least, that’s what Tim told himself the first time he spotted something of yours in his apartment.

It was small—a phone charger, coiled neatly on his kitchen counter. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Just a forgotten item from one of those late night shifts that had you too exhausted to go home, totally not one of your your so-called “father-kid bonding sessions” (which he definitely did not call or acknowledge them).

Then it was a sweatshirt draped over the back of his couch. A spare uniform shirt folded in the corner of his laundry room. A six-pack of your favorite energy drinks shoved into his fridge.

Tim frowned at that one.

He distinctly remembered watching you put it in the cart last time you’d gone grocery shopping—not together, obviously—but somehow, it had ended up in his apartment. He hadn’t even noticed you stashing it away.

Then, something else.

A toothbrush.

Tim stared at the new addition to his bathroom counter, arms crossed, mouth pulled into a tight line.

This was getting out of hand.

He’d meant to bring it up. Ask when exactly you’d decided his place was an extension of yours.

Somewhere along the way, the father-kid bonding sessions had stopped being something he tolerated and turned into something he… looked forward to.

Not that he’d ever admit that.

Not even to himself.

Maybe it was because, despite how much he grumbled about it at work, the house felt less empty with your things scattered around. Maybe it was because your presence had stopped feeling like an intrusion and more like something inevitable.

Then came the real kicker—the night you crashed without a reason.

No rainstorm, no late shift, no excuse. Just you, wandering into his house after work with a bag of takeout and a casual, “Hey, figured I’d stop by.”

Tim had stared at you for a good five seconds.

You blinked back, unbothered, before holding up the bag. “I got your usual.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You do realize you have your own place, right?”

You shrugged, toeing off your shoes. “Yeah, but your WiFi’s better.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

But he still took the takeout from your hands, setting it on the counter. And when you flopped onto his couch like you’d done it a hundred times before, flipping through his TV channels, he didn’t argue.

As much as Tim would’ve liked to keep it under wraps that you and him have somehow slipped into the routine of you being at his—Mid-Wilshire wasn’t as gullible as he’d like.

The teasing started slow.

At first, it was just Lopez giving Tim a pointed look when you and him walked into roll call together, both holding coffee cups that looked suspiciously like they came from the same place.

Then Nyla got in on it. “So,” she mused one morning, eyes flicking between the two of you, “you two just happened to arrive at the exact same time? Again?”

Tim didn’t even look up from his clipboard. “Traffic.”

Jackson, always the instigator that knew just how to add the right amount of fuel to the fire, smirked. “Yeah, traffic. Right, Boot?”

You just took a sip of your coffee, completely unfazed. “If I say yes, do I still get a good eval this month?”

Tim shot you a flat look.

Lucy was the one who finally pushed him over the edge. “You know,” she started, an innocent lilt in her voice, “it’s funny. I lived with you for a while, and I still got called ‘Boot.’ But them?” She nodded toward you. “Kid.”

The room hummed with interest.

Tim set his clipboard down with a sigh. “We’ve been over this before. They act like a kid, they get called one.”

Lucy snorted. “Sure, Dad.”

Tim’s jaw twitched like he wanted to just quit right then and there, God forbid. “I’m not their dad.”

Lopez grinned. “Oh? Then why do you two carpool?”

“Because I—” Tim clenched his jaw. “We don’t carpool.”

Jackson laughed. “Oh, yeah? Then why’d I see you waiting outside your truck for them the other morning?”

“I wasn’t waiting for them.”

Lucy crossed her arms. “Mhm. And why’d I hear them say, ‘I left my charger at home’ the other day, and then magically a charger appeared at their desk five minutes later?”

“Coincidence.”

Lopez tapped her chin. “And why did I hear them say they didn’t have food at home last week, and then, the next morning, hear them say, ‘Tim, your fridge is looking kinda empty’?”

Tim scowled. “We don’t live together.”

The whole room went quiet.

Then Grey’s voice cut through the silence. “Yet.”

Tim’s head snapped toward him. “Sir.”

Grey just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You, meanwhile, were quietly enjoying your coffee like this had nothing to do with you.

And then, a few weeks later, the teasing stopped.

Not because it became routine to those back at Mid-Wilshire for you and Tim to live together.

Not because Tim snapped and told them to shut up about it. Not that they’d ever listen to him anyways.

Because something happened.

Something bad.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just you leaving things behind.

It wasn’t just staying over for convenience.

It was necessity.

Because after what happened, you couldn’t go back.

It was supposed to be a routine call.

Simple, in and out.

But those were always the ones that went sideways.

It happened so fast. One second, you were clearing a room, and the next—

Gunfire.

Searing pain in your side.

The world tilting as your legs gave out beneath you. You barely registered hitting the ground, too busy trying to force air into your lungs as panic clawed at your chest.

Then Tim was there. Dropping to his knees beside you, pressing his hands hard against the wound.

“Stay with me, kid.” His voice was sharp, but his eyes—his eyes were afraid.

You tried to stay calm, tried to keep your face blank like he’d taught you. But the pain was overwhelming, and your breath hitched, and suddenly, tears were pricking at your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

Tim’s expression barely shifted, but his grip on you tightened. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. We’ve got you—I’ve got you.”

His hand shook.

The sirens in the distance blurred into white noise.

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged breath.

Tim swallowed hard. “I need you to breathe, kid. You hear me?”

You nodded weakly, trying to focus on his voice.

Trying not to focus on the blood pooling around you.

And then, darkness.

The hospital was quiet.

Tim sat at your bedside, staring at the IV in your arm, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He hadn’t moved in hours.

Hadn’t let himself breathe properly since the second you hit the ground.

And now, as he sat there, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, all he could think was:

This is my fault.

He should’ve checked the room himself. Should’ve had you cover the door instead. Should’ve done something different.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

Silence.

Then—

A weak, hoarse voice.

“…wasn’t your fault, sir.”

Tim’s head snapped up.

Your eyes were barely open, heavy with exhaustion and pain meds. But there was no mistaking the way you looked at him—so sure, even now.

His throat tightened. “You got shot.”

You huffed a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Tim’s jaw worked. “You almost—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “You should’ve never been in that position.”

You blinked at him, tired but steady. “And if it were you? If you got shot, would you be sitting here blaming yourself?”

His silence was answer enough.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t think so.”

Tim exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “You scared the hell out of me, Kid.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Just—” He swallowed hard. “Just don’t do it again.”

You let out a weak chuckle. “I’ll try.”

And for the first time in hours, Tim let himself breathe.

You didn’t go home after you were discharged.

Because when it came time to leave the hospital, your legs still felt unsteady. Your apartment felt too empty.

And the nightmares—

Well. You weren’t ready to face them alone.

Tim didn’t ask questions. Didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just grabbed your bag and said—

“Let’s go home, kid.”

And somehow, that was enough.

The ride was quiet.

Not uncomfortable—just quiet.

Tim’s truck rumbled beneath you, headlights cutting through the dim evening, but neither of you said much because there was nothing to say.

Something unspoken had already been agreed upon.

When Tim said, Let’s go home, kid, you knew.

Knew that the home he was referring to wasn’t your apartment. It was his. And neither of you needed to say otherwise.

And so, the stop at your apartment was quick.

You moved through the space with a detached sort of efficiency, grabbing only what you needed. Clothes, a toothbrush, a few things you’d be annoyed not to have later.

Tim stayed quiet, standing near the door, arms crossed. Not pushing, not rushing—just there.

Watching.

Making sure you didn’t hesitate on whether or not you wanted to stay here, or go to his.

You didn’t. You never were one to when it came to staying over.

But when you went to grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, the sharp pull of your wound made you wince.

It was subtle. Barely even a flinch. But Tim caught it.

And without a word, he stepped forward, plucked the bag out of your hands, and slung it over his own shoulder instead.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His free hand ruffled your hair as he passed. “C’mon, kid.”

You huffed but didn’t protest, following him out the door, and never once did you look back.

Tim’s place felt…

Safe.

Not in the way a fortress felt safe. Not in the way an apartment with deadbolts and security cameras felt safe.

It was different.

The kind of safe that was quiet. Steady. Unquestioned. Like you could close your eyes here and not feel on edge.

Tim dropped your bag in the spare room without ceremony, moving through the house like it was just another night. He tossed his keys on the counter, opened the fridge, pulled out a couple of bottles of water.

“You hungry?” he asked, like you hadn’t just gotten out of the hospital. Like you hadn’t just been shot. Like you were just here because—

Because you were here.

Like it was normal.

And maybe, in some way, it was.

You shook your head, taking the water he offered. “Not really.”

Tim just nodded, popping open his own bottle. “Let me know if that changes.”

It wasn’t a command. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

An unspoken you’re allowed to need things here. And for the first time in days, your chest felt a little lighter.

Moments blurred as the two of you settled in. The weight of the contrast between the last time you were at his and now was heavier than the two of you expected.

The TV flickered, casting dim light across the living room. Some random movie played in the background—not that either of you were really watching it.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but stubbornly refusing to sleep.

Tim sat on the other end, one arm resting along the back of the couch, water bottle still in his grip.

The room was quiet, but it wasn’t empty.

Not like his house usually was, not with you here.

He glanced over at you, taking in the way your shoulders had finally started to relax, the way you looked comfortable for the first time in days ever since the days you spent in the hospital before being discharged.

And something settled in his chest.

At first, he’d thought he was letting you stay because you needed it. Because you needed space, needed to feel safe. Because, after everything, you deserved that.

But sitting here now, watching the way your breathing had evened out, the way the tension had finally bled from your frame—

He realized the truth.

He needed you here.

More than you needed him.

Tim sighed, shaking his head to himself, a bittersweet revelation that hit him like a truck rooted from you quite literally bleeding out in his arms.

He reached over, ruffled your hair just enough to be annoying.

Your tired grumble made him huff a quiet laugh.

“Go to sleep, kid.”

And this time?

You did.

Taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

[mutated-green-things]

Stop Me if You've Heard This One Before

Words: 5,189

Pairing: April O'Neil & Leonardo, Leonardo/Usagi

Rating: T

Summary: Leonardo isn’t supposed to be here. He shouldn’t be skulking outside April’s window, working up the courage to knock. He should be healing, should be working on letting go of his self-directed rage, but he can feel the thorny question at the forefront of his mind ripping at stitches, unraveling the progress he’s made thus far. He has to expel the sharp edges somehow or soon he’ll be right back to where he started. And April will get it. April will understand. At least, he hopes so.

-

There’s more than one part of Leonardo that rebels against raising his hand and knocking on April O’Neil’s window. There will be questions, oh so many questions, and he knows he can only handle so many of those right now.

It’s late too. It would be impolite. He says this to himself like it’s an actual argument, but the sun has really only just set and April is a New Yorker, she too never really sleeps.

And she’s the only one who would understand. He hopes. 

So he reigns in the rebelling parts of himself and raps his bulky hand against the glass. There’s a bit of shuffling and then sure enough, she answers. She’s clearly in an outfit that is more comfort than style, but she doesn’t look tired. Less so when she sees Leo’s face. Her eyes widen as they’re filled with sparks of surprise, and for a moment she just stares.

“Leonardo?” She blinks, then squints, like she’s sure she must have the wrong turtle. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a different dimension right now?”

Leo supposes that’s a fair question, but it isn’t one he’s entirely sure how to answer. He waves a hand back and forth and makes a sort of ’ehhhh’ sound. Then when her face starts to turn stern and disapproving, he jumps into his explanation.

“I’m feeling better! I think. I mean, I am. It’s just…” How does he explain this? Does he tell her all of it? He can barely even look at her right now, preferring instead to stare at his scaly, twiddling fingers.

Apparently, something about that is enough. When Leonardo looks up again, she doesn’t look confused or disappointed, instead her face has fallen into a melancholic kind of concern. She opens the window the slightest bit wider and steps back before gesturing Leo inside. 

He double checks to make sure no one sees him, that he’s not been tailed. After several months away from New York, he’s glad to see so many of his instincts are still holding up. That, at least, is one small island of reassurance in the racing current of his mind. He doesn’t see or sense any watching eyes or mysterious shadows, so he steps into April’s apartment and out of the early spring chill.

“You can sit wherever. I was just making—“ A kettle whistles from around the corner. She gestures toward the sound, then slips into her too small kitchen to silence it.

Leo doesn’t sit. He’s too amped for that right now and is busy taking in all the little things he missed while in Usagi Miyamoto’s world. Central electric heating. He hadn’t worried about that in a long time, hadn’t thought about it. Not since they’d turned… eight? He remembered worrying about all the wiring work Don was doing around that age, so that was probably right. Maybe nine. Definitely not ten. Only a decade couldn’t be long enough ago, right?

Second Earth had quickly reacquainted him with sturdy iron stoves and the frigid nights without them. 

The blazing electric lights in April’s apartment have almost become a wonder too, after being away for so long. Not their ease of use. He had prepared to miss that. In period pieces candles had always seemed… so much brighter, but actually trying to work or write or anything by candlelight was a hellish exercise in absolute frustration. How Usagi managed it without the eye strain headaches he would never understand. 

“Is lavender still your favorite?” April calls from the kitchen and warmth radiates from Leo’s chest all the way up to his smile. 

“You remembered,” he calls back. 

She comes back around the corner with a teapot and two cups in hand almost too quickly. Too quickly for her to have been waiting for an answer on flavor anyway. She has a wry smile on her face. “Of course I remembered, you doof. You’re all so distinct about these sorts of things it’s kind of hard to forget.” As she sets down the pot, she gestures to the couch, insisting that he sit down now. 

He finally does, saying very matter-of-factly in his best imitations of Mikey’s ‘I’m choosing to be obnoxious right now’ voice, “I’ll have you know that I have been turned into a jasmine turtle as of late. The flavor profile isn’t as light as I usually prefer but the deeper notes are—“ 

She throws a pillow at him. He laughs, and gods is it good to talk to her again. Actually talk to her, casually, without everything feeling like a deadly threat or without the world actually about to end. Whether or not she can help him, he’s glad he went to her first. His family— no, his brothers and father— would have been all somberly proud about a recovery he isn’t even sure he’s completed yet. 

She still sees it though, still smiles at him with an ease he doesn’t remember from the months before he went to go frolicking across second earth. He even smiles at that thought. That’s how he thought of it before leaving, but his time on Second Earth has been anything but easy. 

“You really are doing better, huh? I haven’t seen you this relaxed in…” she takes a deep breath, “I mean. It’s been a while. We all hoped Usagi might be able to help but—“ 

Leo winces inadvertently at hearing Usagi’s name outside his own mind. 

April flinches too, face quickly flickering into a deep frown. “Uh-oh. I don’t like that look. Did something happen? Are you two fighting?”

He laughs at that too, but this is a laugh from before any of the darkness had started lifting. Cold and bitter and absolutely devoid of the warm joy he was feeling earlier. Because really, if only it were that simple. If they were both at fault, then they could just talk things over, could just make amends, but the situation Leo’s in is all his own doing. Or… he tries to reframe it. The fault of someone else who hurt him maybe? Usagi told him the self-blame came from scars unhealed. Maybe that’s the issue. He wants to think so, but when the wrongness is inside him, his body, his feelings, his hurt, he can’t really think of who else could be blamed. 

“Leo, c’mon. What’s up? I know you came here for a reason.” She reaches toward him with one hand across the antique coffee table. His eyes dart past her manicured nails to the teapot and cups. The earthenware is immediately recognizable. It’s a gift from Donnie and him, from about three Christmases ago. 

“Is it still steeping?” He’s starting to smell the gentle aroma of lavender now. He’s surprised by how much he missed it. Usagi loves jasmine tea and Leo enjoys it enough that he doesn’t argue. He feels a little like he can’t, what with everything Usagi has done for him. With everything he keeps doing. 

“You know it is,” April says through a scowl. “What’s wrong, Leonardo? You’re—“

He picks up one of the onyx black yunomi. “Is the set still holding together well?” She’s using his full name and he just— he can’t handle that right now. Not yet. So instead, he traces the veins of gold kintsugi that wind and skitter against the black with a finger. 

April sighs and mercifully relents. “Yeah. I only use the cups when I have company, but the teapot is… I mean I don’t have a lot of them. I didn’t drink a lot of tea before I met you four, but it’s still my favorite. I use it all the time and there’s never been any cracks or issues with the bonding.” 

“I’m glad,” he replies, and even without the tea the warmth is back in his chest as he continues to trace the golden cracks. 

Donnie had been the one to find the set in the landfill. Three cups and the pot, though they’re pretty sure there were originally four. There had been minuscule bits of sharp earthenware scattered all around where Donnie had found it, like a pile of dangerous black sand. None of those tiny pieces matched any of the existing cups or the pot, and there hadn’t been enough to make a full other cup, so they couldn’t know for sure, but really, what else could it be?

The mystery didn’t matter much anyway. Something so quality so intact was always a great find, and Donnie didn’t hesitate to gather it all up into his duffel. He’d planned to repair it as he usually did. Glue and paint to hide any cracks, but Leo had taken one look and demanded it become a joint project

They practiced for weeks, following YouTube tutorials, public library books, on any dish they could get their hands on. They weren’t perfect. Leo can see the little bumps and blips in the gold even now, but they’re still beautiful, stunning really. Gold against black is always such a brilliant contrast. 

“Leonardo?” His eyes lift and sees that April’s slight frown is accompanied by a furrowed brow now. “The tea still has a minute left, but if you don’t start talking, I’m going to start pouring.” Her tone is mostly worry, but there’s also the smallest bite of annoyed anger there too. 

He sets the cup down, taking in the table as he does. Then he puts as much apology as he can into his smile. “Sugar?” 

“Leo!” 

“Okay that one isn’t a stall. I really—“

“Ugh! Yeah, I remember that too. Fine then. I’m grabbing it, but only ‘cause it’s still steeping.” She gets up, all forceful and irate, then stomps off to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder as she does, ”I swear to god Leo, if I come back and you’ve done the ninja disappearing thing I am going to be so mad.” 

He considers it. He even stares out the window. He still isn’t sure if he’s ready to do this, but then he thinks about the look on Usagi’s face and how fiercely he tried to hide the dejected shadows there. He really does need… no, more important than that, he wants April’s help. He wants to understand exactly what went wrong. He wants to know how to make the clunky weirdness go away. He wants Usagi to smile at him like that again, like all his cracks and flaws and scars have been filled with brilliant, beautiful gold, like he did before Leo’s… everything ruined it all. 

So he stays. April comes back with the sugar and a relieved kind of sigh. “Thank you.” 

He smiles again, still all shrinking apologies. 

She smiles back, and even if the grin is a tight one, it’s clear enough that she’s only this upset because she cares. “Now,” she says as she picks up the pot, “I am going to pour tea and you are going to talk.” 

“Is that—“

“Leonardo.” She starts pouring. Her voice brooks no argument. Leo nods. 

“Right um… where to start. Well. Usagi— he. I mean, I was sort of—” Leo realizes only now that he’s unsure if he ever actually officially came out to April. She knows. She has to. His brothers tease too much about celebrity and cartoon crushes for her not to. He’s pretty sure she’s even gotten in on it once or twice, but he still can’t quite recall if he ever said the words ‘I’m gay’ to her specifically. 

There’s nothing for it now though, and he knows that of all of his family, she isn’t about to judge. Still, he waits for her to finish pouring the steaming hot tea. “We… we kissed.” 

Her expression doesn’t even change. 

“And?”

“And? And! We kissed! I mean, I— wasn’t even. Really expecting it? Usagi is a good, great friend, but we were gazing at the stars and— why aren’t you more freaked out by this! I kissed someone! My first kiss! With another guy!” 

She raises a slim, perfect eyebrow. “Leo, I know you’re gay. You really think I’d have a problem with it?” 

“Well! No but… I mean. Usagi and I are really good friends but— I mean that’s kind of all we are and… and I thought this would be a bigger deal!” 

She blows on her cup of tea, then begins dropping little teaspoons of sugar into it, responding as she does. “Leo, you’ve had a very obvious crush on Usagi ever since you met him at the battle nexus. I’m pretty sure Raph and Casey had started taking bets on when you’d make your move.” She pauses, another little pile of sugar poised above her cup. “Or was it who would make the first move?” 

“Bets…?” Leo murmurs. 

“Anyway, you kissed! That’s— well isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Wait, what was that about bets?”

“Ask Raph or Casey. Or maybe Donnie. I think he might have been facilitating formal odds or something.” She waves off the idea of a gambling ring based on his romantic status with a flick of her fingers. “Why isn’t this a good thing? You looked downright devastated.” 

He opens his mouth to ask about the gambling again. Then shuts it. Later. He’ll be having words with all of them. Later. 

“It was a good thing. Or I think it was a good thing. It just didn’t… didn’t feel right.” 

She smiles like she understands, which means that she doesn’t. Not yet anyway. “Look, I hate to break it to you, but first kisses are never like the movies. My first kiss was messy. I’m sure Casey’s was too. Noses bump, teeth crack together, heck my sister ended up getting her braces tangled up and locked together with another set! She and the guy were both mortified. I don’t think I’ve seen her face that red since.” 

Leo’s nose scrunches up. “Really?” 

“Yep. They had to make an emergency orthodontist appointment. But hey! She laughs about it now. Whatever happened, I’m sure in a couple years it’ll probably just seem funny.” Her smile is still all sympathetic understanding, which is sweet, but if this were just about awkward mistakes, he wouldn't have come to her. He probably wouldn’t have gone to anyone. He knows what he wants to ask, but he also knows once the question leaves his lips there’s no stuffing it back in. There’s no pretending like he didn’t know what he meant. 

He bites his lip and tiptoes toward the line anyway, hoping he can get the answers he wants without tripping over it, knowing that’s probably impossible. “It wasn’t that. Not really. I mean… it was kinda perfect at first, y’know? He was really gentle with me and…” he goes back to inspecting the teapot. He just can’t look April in the eye when he says, “I mean, he’s soft. He’s a rabbit so that only makes sense. And that was nice. But…”

“Did he push you too far?” April asks. 

Leo can’t see her expression. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to. Especially when he shakes his head and responds. “No. I pushed. I shifted and it was all—“ how can he express it without the reality crashing down? If he says the words, if April figures it out, it all becomes real and the barriers, the obstacles, every single potential ‘you can’t’ becomes possible. 

Something clogs in his throat. That’s why he came here. Because April would understand, would help him mourn all the impossibilities. He swallows. “He’s older than me. By almost three years. He has more experience, more training. He’s wise and clever and I really admire him. Most of the time it’s like he’s larger than life, y’know? This sword master samurai who for some reason thinks I’m worth being around.”

“Leo—“ he hears the consoling tone in her voice and holds up a hand.

“That isn’t— I’m not done.” He takes a breath. He can guess what she sees, what she’s thinking, and she isn’t entirely wrong. It’s why he doesn’t think his recovery is over. He still hates himself. The reasons have just shifted a bit to the left. “Usagi… he’s also shorter than me. If you count the ears it isn’t by much but even with all that training he’s compact and small. And I’m.” He stares at his bulky, three fingered hand. “I just don’t usually notice it. With the presence he has, with the extra experience and maturity. But I pushed, just a little, and he let me. I had a hand on his cheek and I leaned in and he just folded. Then all I could feel, all I could think about was how— all the ways I’m bigger and clunkier and—“ he clenches his fingers into a heavy wrecking ball. His throat is stuck again, even when he swallows. He knows he wants to cry, but it’s all just lodged and immovable. Another weighty part of him. 

April is silent for several long beats, but when she finally does speak, it’s with the horrendous, crushing kind of understanding he’s been so desperate to avoid. “Oh. Oh, Leo…” 

He rushes ahead before she can offer anything. Before she can say it either. “How did you know? You know, for sure? That you wanted…” He can’t say it. He can’t speak it into existence. He isn’t strong enough to crush such a fragile, delicate wish. One he’s been holding in his heart longer than he realized. April does it for him. 

“That I wanted to be a girl?” 

He winces. Then nods. The fear is so horrifically real, but when he opens his wet eyes, he sees that miraculously, the world hasn’t crumbled around him. 

April is even smiling at him. She’s reaching out a hand. Now she knows, now she sees, and to Leo’s surprise she doesn’t look consoling or sad like he expected. Her smile is joy and excitement more than anything, genuine and bright. “I think you might already know the answer to that question.” 

He swallows. He nods. He brushes away the tears in his eyes before they can finally fall, staining his wrist wraps with salt and despair. “Don’t tell anyone.” He whispers through the heavy thickness in his throat.

April looks confused for a moment, but she nods. “Your secret’s safe with me, but…  do you really think your family will care?” Then she pauses, and seems to realize something else. “Will Usagi care? Is that what this is about? Cause if he won’t accept you as a woman, take it from me, he isn’t worth it.” 

Leonardo blinks for several moments. He honestly had never even thought about it. Usagi comes from an entirely different culture, one that’s missing over five hundred years of cultural baggage and interaction with western traditions and beliefs. Clearly if he kissed Leo, he doesn’t entirely consider himself straight, but the modern cultural connotations of that word are probably lost on him anyway. Leo hasn’t exactly taken the time to explain the Stonewall Riots to his extra-dimensional, early-Edo-period crush. 

“Uh— I don’t. I mean, It might surprise him, but I don’t think… I mean I’m not even sure how odd that would be to him, y’know? He lives in an entirely different dimension that I’ve only experienced for a little over six months. He’s— I’d like to think I know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t— he’d accept— he would be—“ how did he word this? 

“He wouldn’t lose any respect for you?” April offers and Leo nods once, sharp and sure. 

“Then are you just— I mean if you aren’t ready that’s fine. I shouldn’t judge. I just— I want to understand why you feel that way so maybe I can help.” 

The puffing wheeze of air escapes Leo’s lungs before he can help it. It’s not a laugh, not a cough, it’s more pathetic and painful than either of those. “There’s— you can’t help. That’s the problem.” 

“I—“ April’s mouth presses into a flat line. Now she looks really confused. “Look I don’t mean to toot my own horn or whatever, but I have kind of done all this before. If you have questions about— about any of it really! Hormones, blockers, make-up. You don’t have to change your name legally so that’s nice, but if you want ideas I already have some rattling around! I don’t know every little thing, but I’m here and I know a lot. I could even like— if you need me for moral support when you tell the fam, or heck even Usagi. I’ve gone to a different dimension before. I can do it again.” 

It’s all so sweet and supportive that it makes a couple more tears fall. An inane detail floats up to the top. Something he’s thought about longer than he wants to admit. “I already had a name in mind actually…” Mikey had given him the idea inadvertently while babbling about some comic when they were… eleven? Twelve? Something like that. 

His brother had bounced in his seat at the dinner table, telling them all about the superheroine who channeled the sun’s immense power to defeat her enemies. Going from how her supernatural abilities worked, to her armored outfit, to her secret identity and normal human job. He’d asked Mikey to repeat that last one, and then smiled at how something so similar to his own name could be so beautiful and elegant. 

Back in the present, April beams at him with the same solar power Leona uses to fight villainy. “Really? That’s awesome! What were you thinking?” 

Leonardo’s brain communicates to his body that a dire mistake has been made and he feels every single one of his muscles tense. From the outside it probably looks like a flinch, and he watches as the bright sun of April’s smile dims and then flickers out. She’s faster to recover this time though. 

She takes a breath and holds out both hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I know this is a lot. I’m being a lot and changing your whole life around is already scary. I just— I dealt with the beginning scary bits when I was like thirteen and… well to be honest I thought the whole mutant turtle thing would take the bite out of the whole gender thing.” She waves her hands in a way that hints at sculpting something amorphous. 

“But you’ve had your whole life to get used to the shell and scales and weird glowing mutagenic mystery substances whereas this— this is all new. And new is always gonna take some adjustment time. So, take as long as you need, okay? But when you wanna lay it all out, I’ll be here.” She reaches out again, only this time, she bends herself forward, not offering a hand but setting her small delicate fingers on Leo’s own clunky, twiddling digits.

This time, he really does flinch. Away from her. 

As April responds with her own flinch back, Leo stands up, shoving himself out of the chair, almost spilling his tea. 

“Leo I—“

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He thought, he oh so foolishly believed she would get it, but her ideas are grandiose, bright hope like Michelangelo might be. Like, Usagi might have been if he’d shared? 

His friend had spent the last six months trying to get him to see all the little spots of shining joy in the world. Usagi hadn’t babied him, hadn’t told Leo it would all work out or be okay in the end. He’d acknowledged that fear and failure were simple inevitabilities. But then he’d turned Leo’s eyes to all he’d been missing. The little beautiful sights, sounds, tastes and feelings of the world. He’d urged Leo onward with those, telling Leo that’s how he’d avoided giving into despair years ago, when his lord was killed. 

There had always been something out of reach though. A chain around Leo’s heart that he hadn’t fully felt until the other crushing weights had started to lighten in Usagi’s company. He knew Michelangelo wouldn’t see the truth of it, suspected Usagi wouldn’t, but April was a scientist and knew so much more than the little bits Leo had hunted down through the private browsing tabs on Don’s computer at seventeen. 

Raph and Master Splinter probably wouldn’t have understood at all, which was fine but not useful. And Donnie would know. For certain, irrevocably. Donnie could, would shatter every fragile hope and dream without even trying to. And that was so painful Leo tried his damnedest to not ever think about it.

He’d gambled on April O’Neil gentle tact not hurting as much as Don’s assured decree and made the wrong bet. Now he had to leave. Right now. 

Only his chest is soaking in surprise and what he knows is wrongfully placed betrayal. He stumbles toward the window, but April is already there, hands held out again. Not a surrender this time but a barrier.

“Leo, wait! Please. What— I didn’t mean to rush you or… or try to force things. I’m just trying to help. I promise.”

He swallows. “Move.” She doesn’t get it. He has to leave. 

“Leo. Please. Just talk to me.” 

Something boils over. He wants the frustration, anger, despair, horror, pain to come out as tears. He wishes it could. Instead, it comes out as words, loud and unwieldy and too deep and too honest. “ Talk to you? What, so you can not listen to me again?” 

“What?” April can only manage that one word, quiet and hollow. 

“You can’t help April! There is nothing you can do that will magically fix this. I’m not—“ he growls. Doesn’t she see the obvious? It’s right in front of her after all.

“Leo, what are you talking about? There’s all sorts of treatments and exercises and—“

“April, I’m a mutant turtle! I’m an— an anomaly! A fluke! Our bodies don’t work the same as a normal human’s. We have no idea how prescribed estrogen and hormone blockers would affect me. If— if they even would.” He clenches his fists. “Where would I even get it? Am I just going to start stealing it from someone else? In the same dose? Every single month? Like that wouldn’t get suspicious!” Then he splays out his fingers much like she is. “Even if it did work, there isn’t some magical fix for these! For— for who I am. For all the ways I’m too—“ 

April takes his hands. Grabs them, squeezes them tight for multiple beats before responding, “Leonardo. Is the talking turtle who just came back from another dimension about to tell me her becoming the woman she wants to be is impossible?” 

“I…” Leonardo hadn’t ever really thought of it like that, hadn’t really ever compared this to the other impossibilities of his life. His family had experienced some truly astounding things, but getting thrown through time and space, finding the lost city of Atlantis, overthrowing an alien empire. Those had all been dangers, near deaths. All turtle luck, true to form. There are very few things he or his brothers have stumbled into that feel truly miraculous or fortunate, and most of what comes to mind at the moment involves warm pink-red eyes and blue swirling pools of light. He doesn’t expect, can’t imagine, another stroke of luck like Usagi again. That just isn’t how his life works. 

“Leo, you have three tremendously geeky science freaks on your side, one of whom is the world’s preeminent expert on mutated turtle biology.”

Leo holds up a finger, and repeats a favorite line of Donatello’s, “I’m an engineer, not a medical doctor.” 

“Yeah and we both know that’s bullshit.” Leo blinks at her owlishly, not quite absorbing the fact she just cursed. April resorting to foul language to refute Donatello of all people almost felt like a crime. “He’s kept all four of you alive for twenty years, he’s stitched you all up more times than even he can count, and sometimes he’ll just, casually mention setting an extreme compound fracture or doing an in-the-field blood transfusion. Just because he prefers machines doesn’t mean he isn’t an expert in biology out of necessity. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a file stashed somewhere with regularly updated blood counts and cholesterol levels for the four of you. And Splinter. Especially Splinter actually.” 

Leo can’t argue with that. April is right. They both know that Don has done something stupidly tough or miraculous in every field he‘s touched. They also know he’s overly paranoid and has nearly driven himself insane with sleep deprivation when hunting down answers. They call him a mad genius for a reason. Still. “That doesn’t mean he’s about to become my long term endocrinologist April. He has more important—“ 

“More important things than his big sister’s happiness?” 

“We don’t even know—“ 

“Uh uh uh. Leo. Stop. Would it make you feel better about yourself? Would it make you happy?” She still has a hand on Leo’s cloth wrapped wrists. She squeezes them now. 

“I— the hormones?” Maybe? Probably? That’s what the hope is.

“ All of it Leo. The hormones yeah but… dressing different maybe? The she/her pronouns. I noticed you didn’t correct me on those by the way.” 

Leo felt heat rush to their face. They thought April was just being kind. Maybe she was. 

“Being the older sister instead of the older brother. Being Splinter’s daughter. Being… I don’t know, Usagi’s girlfriend maybe? You don’t exactly have a normal life so…”

Leo loses track of what April is saying for a moment. They don’t use Donnie’s computer that often, but it’s a cobbled together thing they’ve seen blue screen many times. Leo’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening now. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. 

They blink and reset their motherboard, or hard drive, or whatever is the correct metaphor.

“…no matter what you’ll have a huge network of support right there with you.”

“I— I know. I know that. It’s… that is great, but again. Mutant turtle. There’s no guarantee that any kind of…” a deep breath, “I’ve thought a lot about this April and if I’m doing it, I’m not doing it halfway. I know– I know I’d want the hormones April, I just don’t know if—“ 

April moves her hands from their wrists to their shoulders. Leo looks up into eyes that are all green warmth and kindness. “Will it make you happy?” 

Leo’s hand goes to their mask tails, fidgeting with them. They stop to really think about that question. Immediately girlfriend comes to mind again. They imagine Usagi saying it and have to move on before some other metaphorical machinery bursts into spectacular flames. It isn’t just that anyway. Sister. Daughter. She. Her. Leona. She finds the smile on her face more than she makes it happen. 

A disbelieving, unsure chuckle leaves her mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it will.” 

“Then that’s all that matters. Whatever it takes, we’ll make it happen. Okay?” 

There’s something stuck in her throat again. This time it doesn’t feel as heavy. “Okay. Thanks, April.”

[somerandomcockroach]

*rubs hands like a fly* *googles every death of every Blurr from every adaptation* NO, SERIOUSLY, I AM A SUCKER FOR SUCH PLOTS I don't like when there are some gods telling "you have to do so blablabla" and love it more when characters just, can't act out of character. I love when those characters firstly don't even understand what is going on, they just do their role that they think is theirs. And then you DIE, you die seriously thinking that it is your end and it f**king hurts, hurts to death and then you open your eyes again. I hate when in such stories they just go "oh he woke up and immediately became mentally okay and went on adventures/redemption arc/Shakespeare arc". YOU DIED. YOU WERE IN AGONY, YOU FELT IT. And I'm sure there is like, some time until you get cold and "happen in a new place". Imagine seeing horrible pictures while you are "dead". Then you wake up again. In a new place. You are still "you" but different. Your character didn't quite change, but you are not the "character" this world needs anymore. You see everything different and you recognize some people that were your friends. And you want to do something, you try to say something about it, but the world itself doesn't let you because you are part of the plot and you can't act ooc. And you are out of your own control and there is a script forcing you to act if it is a world where you are destined to have a different role model. You came from one death and you find out, oh hey! I have to die again! And you WANT TO CHANGE SOMETHING BUT YOU CAN DO NOTHING. This is even worse than usual reborns because you got isekaid somewhere where you are not in charge. I honestly can imagine that IDW could have been like, the best time for Blurr. The longest he got to live. I like to think that he made the bar "out of his character", when plot was busy with others and didn't see it, so he could postpone the suffer. After several deaths you still have to act arrogant, when there is no arrogance left in you. I can imagine that he just... stopped doing anything and left himself out to the plot force, he looks at himself from inside while the story uses him to act the way it needs. Imagine getting in Animated pffht. Where you have like, one of the stupidest events. And oh look! Why are you named "Shockwave" you don't even look like one. You bear the memories of your friends through the universes and find out that every time your friends are either not here or they are not anymore the friends you used to know. You get in Cyberverse, in ONE DAY, AND DIE RIGHT AWAY AT LEAST LIKE A HERO BRUH? If he isn't in a fricking mental breakdown after this one I will be surprised. Is there a way to trick the story. If story doesn't see you doing something ooc you can do it, can't you? Finding another character who also goes through all that, someone who also wants to get out. (On side note I know that everyone loves Starscream as a rat b*tch ~ But I remember how I was surprised and loved these few episodes in idw where he was shown as a good strategic negotiator, I know people love him bad but I also loved that one issue where he saw who he really could be. Imagine if take this moment, this part of his character, that it was main part of him hidden inside but he always has to act stupid and evil. "You want me to what?!? Bolt hell how stupid this story wants me to be..." And then he is in a Shattered glass universe, and he and Blurr are main playing figures and they can find each other from another angle and finally collect pieces) Honestly, making Blurr as a character for isekai jumps is a never ending angst trap and it is perfect ahah Others even if die at least not so soon and not so stupidly.

oh god Blurr in a death loop,,,,,,,,,,,

Keferon how dare you keep giving us thoughts oh i am going to be ill.

Blurr in a death loop, but only some of the characters he Doesn't form intimate bonds with remember him, never the ones that Do remember him????? AUHJ

G1 Blurr is funny and energetic because he wasn’t thrown in the death loop yet

Armada Blurr is depressed and rude because he doesn’t fucking care for anything anymore he got very painfully obliterated 30 times already he just wants to sit in the quiet corner and do nothing now. Humans are trying to poke him, narrative is trying to befriend him with the local “cool speedster protag” while all he has in his head are fuck-you-fuck-youfuckyoufuckyoufuckyou because everything is meaningless and he has no energy to make new friends every time he gets thrown in a new universe.

[solmire]

Hero will sacrifice you to save the world, villain will sacrifice the world to save you.

“I am always right here, only for you, my love. Always ready to save you, I am your hero! Do not forget about that.”

After months of cold, warmth always comes back with spring. Trees are not as bald as they were in December, buds on them tell that much warmer days are ahead.

“Look! Those are buds on the trees, warm days are waiting for us, my love.”

Walking around the streets, watching how father buys an ice cream for his little daughter, she is screaming in joy, desiring to be in his arms, and he lets her to be, pushing her head right on his shoulder, maybe saying a joke to her, because after that she starts laughing.

“Ha, I am looking forward to the day, when we will finally have our own family, my love. Do you think I am going to be a good father?”

A Young man with a blush on his cheeks right after him holds his same-age girlfriend; you see how tightly she holds his hand, her thumb moving up and down on his skin, trying to calm his racing heart like she is not in the same position. Her beautiful eyes glow; you can notice it even being meters away from her.

“Ahh, this young couples make me so nostalgic. I remember us on our high school time, I’ve always known that we are going to be together, you know?”

A young couple is passing by you. His hand stays still on the small of her back while she holds a bouquet of flowers in her hand smiles at him. The glow of his eyes tells you - he is the happiest man in the world, looking at her like she is the only masterpiece in this cruel world and he is going to cherish and protect her. Even if it takes his life, he would do anything for her.

“I will do anything for you, my love. Even if you ask me to steal the moon, I will do that without hesitation. Only to see your beautiful smile, my love.”

Stupid, aching thoughts are back. This walk turns out to be failed attempt to get back in life. Right hand slides right under the baby bump. Hand is shaking slightly, imagination is going wild on what could have been if he’d chosen you.

Liar.

Such a liar. Telling how he will never go, his life is only yours, no one will ever be as important as you, you are the only one for him. Liar.

Liar.

He is just a liar.

I hate him.

Why.

Why.

WHY.

Tears are streaming down, you can’t keep sobs in you. Sun is not shining as bright as before, warm wind changed to a cold hurricane, everything is spinning around you, eyes are not able to lock on his grave.

Everything is too much. Your lunch is right in the back of your throat, ready to leave your body with a giant plump of grief. But you know that grief will never leave you. Always right behind you, counting minutes away to throw you into a hole full of pain, memories, what ifs and maybes.

You feel your little baby girl is kicking inside of you. She can sense your uneasiness. Maybe it’s her attempt to comfort you, to remind you she is always right here, you are not alone, at least in couple months you are going to have something that left from your dear husband.

The thought of a baby brings small smile to your face. Flat will be full of laugh, warmth and care. Cold bed, his pillow, wardrobe full of his clothes, favourite mug, box of candies for later, unfinished book and a left sticker with some doodles and:

“I will be back soon, my love! Don’t forget to tell our baby that I love them too!! I love you, my love.”

He didn’t come back. He is not going to come back anymore.

Such a liar.

Was it so hard to say about a fight? What was the point of hiding your pregnant wife in another country? Saying it’s for your safety, there is no need to stay in Japan these days. You would plead him to stay, but he always had the same line.

“I am the strongest, I can handle everything. Don’t you remember? I am your hero, my love!!”

“You know, Satoru, I was hoping that you would choose me. You promised to be here, right beside me, waiting for our baby.”

You lightly touch his tombstone with your palm, imagining that you are running your fingers through his white hair. He loved it, every time begging you to do it before the sleep.

“Life would be better, if you were my lovely villain, not a hero, Satoru.”

[chelseeebe]

would that i

18+. mdni. smut!! tommy hagan is mean and there is slight homophobic language! no use of y/n!

part two to this fic! can probably be read on it’s own but p1 will help you understand things!

would that i - hozier because i think steve used tommy as a scapegoat for never being himself and now he doesn’t have to <3

HIHI! i’ve been away for a little while and i apologise tremendously! this is a part two which seems completely out of left field but i found it half-finished and really liked it!! i’m hoping to start posting this multi-part eddie fic i have been working on but i want at least a couple parts solidly finished beforehand because i know exactly what i’m like lol

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

as to be expected, tommy has no interest in steve. three years of friendship washed down the drain for no good reason. on reflection, steve doesn’t really count what tommy and he had as true friendship, they were just using each other.

he was too terrified to be alone while tommy saw that and took full advantage, milking his credit card along the way. 

he’s got you now, he supposes. finding solace in your house, away from the judgemental glares and snickering whispers of his teammates and friends. 

robin seems to be warming up to the idea of having him as a constant presence in your house, though it’s slow and longwinded. steve had found that she was nothing like tommy, she couldn’t be bought with pizza or gifts but not with lack of trying. 

you sit now on the couch, your head in some book with your legs strewn over his lap as the tv plays sunset avenue loudly. he’d never take someone like robin as an avid soap opera watcher, but then again, he shouldn’t be either. 

“donna should’ve left him years ago,” steve adds, a comment that was supposed to stay tucked away in his mind. 

you look up slowly, robin’s head turns, confusion plastered across your faces. 

“what?” you laugh, placing the book down on your lap. 

he just shrugs, eyes darting between both pairs of baffled eyes, “david’s an asshole.. she should’ve left.” 

“no no, i got that, i’m just- you watch this crap?” 

he shrugs again, “yeah,” finding great pleasure in the way he had finally gotten robin to crack a smile, “my mom used to watch it.. what’s the big deal?” 

you look to robin, a knowing smirk on your lips before picking up your book again. 

robin just grins, “oh steve harrington, i think we might just be friends.” 

and thus, a weekly tradition was born. 

he and robin would settle in for their fill of second-rate acting every tuesday at eight on the dot. 

he lets her know that her opinions are trash and she kindly tells him to fuck off back to the barn he was born in. they were two peas in a pod really. 

steve appreciates the newfound friendship. it’s comforting in ways no one else had ever been. he just hopes robin sees it that way too, he’d had his fill of one-sided friendships to last a lifetime. 

-

steve hadn’t really left your side since the night he tumbled down your staircase and proceeded to confess, rather terribly, that he was practically in love with you. 

he doesn’t mind, he likes spending time with someone who actually likes him for once. 

even now, as steve attempts to settle down for the night, you’re restless, sat at your vanity rooting through your makeup. 

“so i’ve been thinking,” you did a lot of that, most of it nonsensical. 

“hmm?” quirking his brow, always a little worried for what was about to blurt out. 

“i think you should let me put eyeliner on you,” spinning around to face him with a maniacal grin, the pencil already poised in your hand. 

there was one outcome here, and it absolutely involved you jabbing a pencil into his eye. 

“do i get a choice?” he asks naively, knowing the answer was certainly a no. 

you shake your head, smile stretching from ear to ear, gesturing for him to scoot back. eddie wore eyeliner, and those guys on your posters. is that why you wanted him to? to be more like them?

steve swallows that thought, pummels it down until it’s but a quiet whisper. he liked you for you, surely you felt the same. 

“if you really don’t want me to, i won’t,” sensing his apprehension, you were pushy and stubborn but not cruel. 

he blinks, who would ever see? maybe you’d tell robin, but she certainly wouldn’t care, in fact, she’d probably think he were cooler. “i wanna make you happy,” smiling softly, “and if putting eyeliner on is what makes you happy then.. do it.” 

your eyes light up, coming to stand between his knees, “you’re sure?”

steve nods his head, lying back on your bed as you get up to straddle his waist, black kohl pencil in hand. 

your thumb delicately holds the skin down, allowing the pencil to line his waterline. it stings for a second, an unfamiliar feeling of a pencil jabbing his eye. 

“babe ow,” exaggerating greatly. truthfully, he enjoyed the attention, the focused look on your face as your tongue peeks out in concentration. 

“shut up,” moving onto his other eye without much warning, his right eye blinking rapidly. “okay,” you smile, “sit up.”

he does as he’s asked, like always. holding onto your hips as he shuffles, keeping you steady on his lap. 

“oh my god,” gasping once his eyes meet yours fully, “oh my fucking god,” swooning over his forced makeover. 

“you like it?” he asks innocently, none the wiser to how he actually looked. 

your hands grab his cheeks, shifting on his thighs with excitement, “i love it,” gazing deep into his soul, “i just wanna kiss you.” 

the side of his mouth quirks, snaking his arms around your waist, “you can always do that.” 

“i know,” gladly connecting your lips, a softer appreciation for the intimacy you got to share now. nothing felt rushed or scary, you were able to enjoy each other without fear of getting caught. 

he keeps your body pulled tight to his, laying you back onto the mattress as he crawls on top, his hands sliding underneath your shirt. steve hadn’t realised how much he appreciated having sex in a bed and not his cramped car. 

your fingers brush the falling tendrils back from his face, interwoven into his hair with such tender loving care that it sends shivers down his spine. 

they hover over his scalp, tracing gentle patterns to the sensitive skin, “you’re so handsome,” mumbling into his mouth, “i can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” lifting your back from the mattress to allow him the space to tug your sweatpants down. 

“it should be me saying all that,” steve marvels, admiring the curve of your hips, the way your thighs fit him so perfectly between them. “you’re too good f’me,” saying so earnestly, he should be thanking the gods you ever looked at him twice. 

“stop it,” you hush, interlocking your lips once more in a bid to stop him rambling on and ruining the moment. 

steve sighs faintly, ridding himself of his shirt, giving you free reign of the delicate skin of his neck you loved so much. your lips find it first, peppering short kisses in the crook between his neck and collarbone, only for your teeth to graze the skin soon after. 

he enjoyed seeing your mark on him, violet and maroon splotch’s that meant he was yours. 

his hips grind down mindlessly, rutting desperately against your soft thigh. 

“we have to be quiet,” you mutter into his collarbone, cradling the back of his head in your hands, the feel of your thigh brushes against his ribcage as you shift beneath him. 

“i know,” he breathes, fumbling with his boxers in a desperate attempt to tug them down and feel you.  

“fuck,” almost growling as you bite down onto your bottom lip, “i can’t stop looking at you,” admiring his focused expression, the charcoal lines you’d painted below his eyes. 

“don’t,” fisting his cock, gliding his piece between your slick folds, “keep your eyes on me, darling,” nudging inside, his leaking tip just barely sinking into your cunt before you’re clawing desperately at his clammy neck, gasping into his ear. 

“sh-shit,” speaking in shuddered breaths, praying you won’t wake robin next door. on occasions, he missed the backseat of his bmw, for this very reason. 

he hadn’t heard you so loudly in months, the filthy, x-rated shit you used to growl only came out in whispers now. alas, his back had finally recovered after those weeks of trying to manoeuvre around the tiny backseat of his car and the faint scent of sex had faded. 

your delicate fingers stroke his jaw, panting in succession with his hips. he can see the exact moment the idea springs into your mind, moving your thumb to the plump skin of his bottom lip, itching for him to catch on. 

steve does, always one to please, you especially so. taking your thumb between his lips to suck gently on the digit, he can feel you practically convulse in response. clenching around him, keeping him so tightly wound inside you. 

“holy fuck,” releasing the most animalistic growl alongside your wretched smirk, ogling his face, tracing the curve of his lips with hooded eyes. 

taking his sweet, sweet time tonight, hips rocking at a astonishingly slow pace, hoping to keep you concealing your sweet moans for just a little bit longer. 

adoring the way you keep your eyes trained on him, humming in appreciation when his tongue dances around your thumb. 

your other hand brings his face closer, sliding your thumb down his plump bottom lip to replace it with your lips instead. groaning into his mouth when his hips still and his tongue runs the length of your bottom lip. 

messy and slow, just the way steve liked it. he wasn’t opposed to the hard and fast dynamic you shared either, but this way he could truly feel you, admire your curves and your warmth as it deserved. 

“can’t believe you’re mine,” he grumbles through shared kisses, fingers groping at your doughy hip.

the bed frame creaks as he moves again, disregarding how obvious the sound was to stay in this very moment. he wants to swallow you whole, sucking and nibbling ravenously at your jaw, trailing down to your neck. a safe haven for him to whine loudly. 

“ohh yeah, fuck- all yours,” reassuring him of what he already knew. 

steve shifts your legs, pressing down gently on the backs of your knees to allow himself further, deeper even. your eyes rolling into the back of your head when his cock nestles into your sweet spot. 

“shit baby, feels so fucking good,” murmuring through gritted teeth, his pace faltering as you rut back against him. 

he feels so obscenely close to you, connected in such a way that’ll leave your souls entwined forever. 

you’re close, steve can feel that much. no need for desperate gasps when you made it so obvious every time. you become accustomed to a person’s body when you spend every waking moment with them. 

“give it to me honey,” he pleads, unrelenting with his strokes, desperate for you to come undone beneath him before he lost it all completely. 

your whines become frenzied mewls, panting and sighing into his neck. 

steve’s arms tremble, succumbing to his own climax, especially when your thighs spur him on, entrapping him inside, your cunt clenching, tumbling over the edge with a chorus of pleas and utterances of his names. 

“ohh yeah- oh fuck yeah,” pumping thick ropes of cum into your hole, a decision he’d probably come back to regret. that didn’t matter now, not with you so placid underneath him, clutching onto his damp skin like you’d never let him go. 

he all but collapses, chest to chest, both heaving against one another. you sigh wearily, running your fingers along his shoulder, right up to his cheek, “i don’t think we were very quiet,” chuckling into the warm air. 

he shakes his head, “that’s your fault,” brushing the wisps of hair from your sticky forehead, admiring your spent state. 

“i love you, steve,” saying it aloud for the first time, exasperated but wholly true nonetheless. 

steve chokes on his tongue, the words had laid dormant for months now, only they fail to form at the most crucial time. dumbfounded by your admission as if it weren’t obvious. 

he coughs up a reply, cradling your jaw in his palm, “i love you too.. i really do,” slow brushes of his thumb on your skin, proving his full adoration of you. 

your smile causes his heart to thump, “i know.. but you gotta get off me so i can shower,” gently pushing his dead weight away, rolling out from underneath. 

his heart full of love and affection, you were everything to him and you hadn’t a clue. 

-

steve awakens to your alarm blaring, the weight of your body keeping him anchored to the bed. he peers over your lifeless body to the clock, 7:32 it reads. 

fuck. 

he was late. 

he peels your arm from his side, rolling out of bed to slam his fist on the frankly grating clock. you grumble in response, reaching your arm out for his hand, “don’t go,” murmuring into the pillow as you come around. 

“honey, i’m late,” he coos, pulling his sweatpants on, the remnants of your makeover smeared all over the pillow. “i’ll see you later, okay?” leaning over to place a gentle kiss to your forehead, receiving nothing but a soft hum in response. 

he hadn’t thought any more of his face until he busted through the locker room doors, receiving ten-fold the usual stares he’d get. 

they all snicker amongst themselves, elbowing one another as his heart sinks to his ass. dating you was one thing, wearing makeup was an entirely different thing. 

steve wants to die, far more than he usually does at this time of day. shoving himself into the far corner in hopes that they’d leave him alone enough to allow him to scrub at it. 

“are you wearing eyeliner?” jason perks up, grimacing right in his face. never subtle nor ever caring to be. 

steve shakes his head, his fingers trembling as he drops his bag on the bench, wondering if it’d be easier to just sprint out of here before tommy clocks on. 

too fucking late. 

tommy rounds the corner just as he takes off his shirt, a littering of violet markings scattered across his neck and collarbones. in any other circumstance, he’d show them off, be proud to be claimed by you. 

but not now. not as tommy whistles, scoffing to himself, “holy shit, what’re you fucking a vampire or somethin’?” the quip leaving his lips before he has time to spot the dark rings around his eyes. 

“fuck off,” steve retorts, pulling his jersey over his mop of hair, he’d had no time to style it this morning, treasuring his time with you instead. 

“you wearing makeup?” tommy punches his shoulder, far heavier than steve could brush off as just playful banter, “my god, steve.. she’s turned you into a fucking queer,” his words snide and venomous. 

a tongue so heavy and harsh, steve was genuinely surprised that that was the worst he’d said. 

though it doesn’t lessen the sting, watching the locker room erupt into laughter at his expense. 

tommy doesn’t deserve a reaction, knowing full well that any retaliation would end in a bloody nose and a busted lip. 

everything was new to steve, being the laughed-at rather than the laugher. now he understands why eddie hated him, why robin wasn’t interested in friendship or why people seemed to turn the other way when he was coming. 

it’s dreadful, the whirling nausea in his stomach and the flaming hot feel of his cheeks. nothing could’ve ever prepared him for being on the receiving end of tommy’s abuse. 

he barges past, desperate to just get their mandated practice over with and get the hell away from them all. 

he hadn’t understood it until now, how scared he must have made people feel, how dreadful he must have made their lives- your life. 

and eddie’s. 

steve didn’t deserve you at all, nor the kindness of your friends or your forgiveness for that matter. you deserved better, someone who wouldn’t get uneasy over eyeliner or kept you a secret for the first three months of your relationship. 

steve knows now that he wasn’t ashamed of you, he was scared. 

scared of tommy and his poisonous tongue, his teammates beady, judgemental eyes that saw him- saw you- as less than. 

he can’t face you tonight, unworthy of your warm bed and gentle embrace. questioning whether he had the gall to ever face you again. 

-

music thumps from below, showing no signs of stopping. a few months ago steve would have been right down there with them all, probably letting his mind wander back to you, just like it was doing now. 

he doesn’t like being here much anymore, the boys were too loud, too boisterous for steve to settle properly. the smell of stale beer and shoddily rolled joints lingered in every room, miles apart from your cluttered yet tidy house

he misses your bed, with the clean blankets and the fresh sage and lavender you kept in vases around your room. 

he misses you. 

screw it. 

if he wasn’t going to sleep well here, he might as well go back to where he belongs. shoving clothes into his bag without a second thought, he practically lived with you anyway, his own drawer full of clothes and other random shit he’d accrued. 

the clock reads 1:31, you’d probably be asleep but he’ll try his luck either way, the spare key tucked under the doormat if you really didn’t answer. 

sliding down the stairs and out of the door before anyone could notice him and poke fun at his co-dependency issues. 

it was only a short walk to your place, one he’d done a thousand times by now. passing other students just getting back from the bar or the library, paying him no mind, not like they used to. 

steve prefers it this way, without the notoriety that came with being tommy’s lapdog. 

tommy upset a lot of people, so in their eyes, steve also upset a lot of people. 

he supposes that’s fair, he’d never tried to intervene or stop tommy’s behaviour, a willing participant just by being there. 

he’d got his comeuppance though, what with being shunned by his basketball teammates and now becoming bullied as opposed to the bully. 

fortunately, there’s no time to stew on what his karmic punishment may be, sidling up the cracked path to your front door in record time. 

much to his surprise your light is on upstairs, a faint orange glow from behind the curtain. it settled his raging heart to know you were only seconds away. 

rapping his knuckles lightly against the door, hoping he’ll catch your attention and not robin’s. he could pelt pebbles at your window he supposes, truly old school romance. but he’s not sure how much you’ll appreciate that. 

the thought is futile anyway, he can hear your feet shuffle and creep down the stairs, flickering the lights on as you go. 

inching the door open to peer out, not expecting steve on the other side, “steve? what’re you doing here?” though you don’t sound angry, or even slightly annoyed for that matter. you look relieved that he’s here, after what was clearly a restless night for you too. 

“sorry, i tried.. i missed you too much,” pathetically shrugging his shoulders, “-is that my shirt?” knowing full well that it was. 

your head dips, becoming immediately bashful, “yeah, i missed you, i’m sorry,” pulling at the worn hem, weary eyed and full of sleep. “come in, it’s cold,” tugging him inside by the hand and locking the door behind him.

steve glances up the stairs, he knows the drill by now. traipsing after you like a little lost dog, he can’t help but let his eyes trail down to your thighs, his favourite tattoo of yours, a snake that wrapped around your leg peeks out from under his shirt. 

“and my boxers?” reaching out to brush his hand over your thigh, resisting the urge to pinch and grope like he really wanted. 

“sorry,” flashing a smile over your shoulder, “i told you i missed you,” hushed whispers as you pass robin’s room, her soft snores heard from the hallway. 

“stop saying sorry, i like it,” he mutters, clicking the door closed. back in his domicile, a wave of comfort washing over him immediately. 

“then good,” cradling his cold cheeks, “i’m glad you like it,” placing a soft, docile kiss on his lips,  clutching onto his hip, desperate to keep him close after a torturous twelve hours apart. 

steve hums in appreciation, relishing in the moment, wafts of coconut from your shampoo fill his nose as his chin settles on your head. 

“i don’t think i like sleeping without you anymore,” he’s laughing but he’s deadly serious, he felt empty without you, like a piece of himself was missing. 

there’d never been a time that steve had thought he’d become one of those unhealthy co-dependent people, but now he understands it completely. wanting to share your company constantly, missing your adoring touch and sarcastic jokes at his expense. 

“mhm, you don’t have to,” swaying in the low light, where the edges of you are a little fuzzy but his brain is still too amped up to sleep. 

“did i wake you up?” steve asks, lingering hands on your back before breaking apart. 

you shake your head no, kicking your obnoxiously cliche bunny slippers off under the bed, “i couldn’t sleep.. something was missing but i’m not sure what,” cracking a smile, tucking yourself into the soft blankets. 

ridding himself of his sweatshirt and jeans before crawling on in, right next to you. at peace once more, fatigue seeping through his veins. 

“how was your day?” he asks, settling in to his rightful space. 

your eyes roll back, “same old.. i passed that report i was worried about though, what about you? you look exhausted,” jutting out your bottom lip. 

steve mumbles some half-assed response, something about a long day and being tired but you’re too wise to his tricks, tilting your head when he doesn’t answer your question. 

“what happened?” settling into the bed next to him, “was it tommy again?” pulling the blanket tight around your shoulders, peeking inquisitively over the pillow. 

steve hums, staring at the ceiling, “i forgot to take that makeup off last night,” shrugging, because to most it wasn’t a big deal but people like tommy and jason aren’t in the 90s like the rest of humanity. 

“and they had a problem with that?” you ask, rather naively, because what other reaction would they have? 

“mhm,” he nods, swallowing his hurt, “tommy said some shit.. brought you up, it’s just- stupid, they’re stupid,” not seeing the need to repeat what he had said verbatim but hopefully saying enough for you to understand. 

he can’t see you though he can hear the blanket ruffle, “what’d he say?” 

steve doesn’t want to repeat it. he’s said some stupid things throughout high school but that wasn’t him anymore. 

“he.. he called me a- babe i don’t- i’m not saying it,” turning to face you, pleading with you to understand. “he said you made me.. gay, alright?” 

your brow knits together, doubtful that it were just annoyance and not pure wrath, “what a fucking-,” stopping yourself from saying anything else, that wasn’t the intention, “did it upset you?”

steve contemplates for a second, truthfully, he hadn’t really been able to really articulate his feelings. he wasn’t upset that he’d been called that, more so upset that someone he once called a friend could think so little of him over eyeliner. 

“i don’t know.. i’m not gay- i mean, i don’t have any problem with it, it’s just-,” he sighs, struggling to find the right words, “i dunno, he just said it so.. so angrily.. like it’d be the worst thing in the world if i was.” 

you exhale, not meeting his eye, “tommy’s just.. jealous, he’s intimidated by anyone that isn’t like him,” a concentrated look settles on your face, “he doesn’t have a job or a girlfriend, i mean, he’s barely gonna graduate.. it’s no surprise he’s pissed off that you’ve grown up without him.” 

it’s undeniably the truth, and yet it still hurts. 

this stemmed from tommy’s inability to grow up, and his raging jealousy towards anyone who was actually comfortable enough to be themselves. steve knows what tommy said to you, visiting the bar where you work just to try and get into your pants behind his back. 

he doesn’t hate you, he hates that you don’t care what he thinks of you. and neither does steve. anymore at least. 

“you’re really good at this,” he snickers, reaching over to stroke your cheek, “i don’t say it enough but i really appreciate you.” 

your smile creeps onto your lips, eyes creasing as it grows, “you say it, don’t worry,” leaning into his soft hand, “or you show me, at least,” feeling your smirk against his palm. 

“oh yeah? how do i do that then?” letting his own lips quirk up. 

“hmm lots of ways,” dismissing him with a shake of the head, “like when you kiss my head every morning before you leave orrr..” failing to turn this conversation around, “when you make me cum three times before even thinking about yourself.”

that was honestly just his duty as your boyfriend, your pleasure is paramount and seeing your eyes roll back and your thighs start to tremble meant the world. 

his chuckle bellows, louder than intended. “i’ll always make sure you cum first, don’t worry,” gaze flickering back to the ceiling, contemplating his next words. “even when we’re old and gray,” he’d been thinking it for a while, you deserved to know too. 

“oh?” yawning through your words, “are we going to get old and gray together then?” as if it weren’t a certainty. 

steve hums, unsure of how much detail to divulge, “oh yeah, i’ve got this all planned out,” his tongue clicks against his teeth, “you just have to agree.” 

you laugh sleepily, talking into the soft pillow at this point, “and you think you’re gonna tie me down?” 

he pauses again, “hmm no, i know i’m gonna marry you,” waiting for your reaction to his outlandish claim, though it doesn’t come. 

steve looks over, finding your eyes pressed shut and your mouth slightly open, soft snores floating out and into your room. 

“goodnight then,” reaching over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before flicking the lamp off and settling in. 

he would die a happy man if he got to talk nonsense with you for even one more night. 

-

eddie was hesitant to invite steve, it was his birthday after all. he understood, it’d take a while to earn his trust and respect, that was fair. 

but you were insistent, pestering eddie until he crumbled and said steve could join you all at the bar. so long as he was nice and didn’t bring any trouble. 

easy enough. 

steve keeps with you mostly, trailing around after you like a lost puppy dog. fetching drinks and accompanying you to and from the bathroom. fulfilling any and all boyfriend duties. 

“i’m just going to get another drink,” standing from the booth to shuffle over his legs, “stay here, i won’t be long,” patting his shoulder rather patronisingly. 

oh no. 

robin was in the bathroom, you were going and the two guys that eddie had arrived with were in a heated game of pool inside. leaving him no choice but to talk to him. 

“you’ll be okay, won’t you?” already walking off, leaving him with really no other option but to make awkward small talk with eddie. 

steve can sense how painfully awkward this was about to be, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the other without you here to mediate. 

no doubt some cunning plan of yours to get them talking. 

he determines that being the one to break the silence is the better move, clearing his throat before speaking, “so.. you having a nice birthday?”

“mhm,” short and curt, exactly as he expected. “i’m glad..” clearly struggling to be nice, “glad you could come,” his eyes flicker to the stone floor, “you’re not so bad, actually.” 

wow. 

steve almost falls out of his chair. 

he doesn’t know what to say, eddie had never been so polite, “th-thank you,” eddie already thought of steve as a loser, he didn’t need to make it any worse. 

eddie offers his cigarette carton out to steve, an olivia branch of peace or something. at least that was how steve saw it. it’d be rude not to take one. 

“thanks,” he hums, lighting the cigarette himself before offering his lighter out. 

it’s peaceful, and far less awkward than it had been just twenty minutes ago. maybe they could be friends, they had a common interest after all. 

“you know i used to overcharge you for weed, right?” eddie chuckles, taking a drag of his cigarette, narrowed eyes focused on steve.

he just sighs because yes, you had explained in great detail that thirty dollars was nowhere near the correct price for a gram of weed. “yeah.. she told me,” smiling back through his embarrassment. 

“sorry dude,” he shrugs, though it sounds completely insincere, “but you deserved it,” stubbing out the embers of his cigarette. 

“yeah, that’s fair,” he’d done far worse, he’s sure. 

just as they collapse into laughter, you and robin swan back through the door, carrying a tray of what looked like tequila. 

“absolutely not,” eddie cries out, watching robin grin as you hand them out. 

“it’s your birthday! don’t be so bor-“ interrupted as the door swings open again, a chorus of voices steve unfortunately recognised following suit. 

tommy, and his new lackeys stumble in, catching sight of your little party immediately. 

“this is sweet,” he mocks, “where was my invite, stevie? i thought we were best friends!” his tone patronising and his eyes narrow and dark, just as they were in the locker room. 

steve doesnt meet his eye, his didn’t deserve that respect. “we should go..” finding your infuriated gaze instead, noticing your clenched jaw. 

this wasn’t a fight worth having. 

tommy’d win whatever happened. 

“leaving so soon? but we just got here!” sneering at your silenced group, “c’mon man, where’s your hospitality?” swaggering over to the table, an overbearing grin that steve wants to wipe right off of his face. 

he won’t. of course. 

this is eddie’s birthday and tommy’s thoughtless stunts won’t get in the way of him becoming friends with your friends. 

but eddie’s up before steve can do anything about it, fist drawn back until it quickly meets tommy’s nose, a loud crack and a guttural groan follows. 

tommy grabs his nose, only to pull it back stained red, “what the fuck man!” staggering backwards like he didn’t deserve that and worse. 

eddie turns, entirely unfazed by his actions, “i think we should go home,” finding each of your eyes. he didn’t look ashamed, or even slightly concerned about the blossoming bruises on his knuckles, instead, he was proud. 

steve can’t sling his arm around him fast enough, stumbling out of the bar in sheer shock that that had really just happened. someone had finally shown tommy hagan up. 

“thanks man,” steve mutters into his ear, watching as you and robin attempt to hail a cab. 

eddie claps his hand against steve’s back, shaking his head slightly, “that wasn’t just for you,” his eyes trained on your back, “but her too.” 

their shared affection for you had been their means to come together, steve can recognise that eddie only ever wanted what was best for you. and now he thinks that eddie might just see that he was worthy enough to be that.

[n3ptoonz]

'Shape of You'

THANKS FOR 600+!!🩷🩷

Pairing: Laios Touden/F!Monster!Reader

Fandom: Dungeon Meshi/Delicious in Dungeon

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explciit! Riding, reader is a shapeshifter, reader is implied to be thicker, reader is tall, reader has larger breasts, mating press, creampie, msub to mdom, fdom to fsub, half proofread, might've missed a few tags

Word count: 2k+

aye this might not even get much traction but i did promise to write this a long time ago, so whoever is interested, i hope you enjoy and thanks in advance for reading!

the reference that launched me into overdrive to write this (like i took a shot of crack and heroine at the same time)

Laios' party made a quick stop by a shop on a lower floor of the dungeon--they were in desperate need of food and supplies. Thankfully it wasn't as packed as the ones on the upper floors, but the prices were a tad more expensive. And most of the vendors were...monsters. Or some variation of one.

"You're ten coins short," you said, quite flatly too. It was all too often that people would come through with not enough currency in their pockets to get by via these shops. Funnily enough, you couldn't help but take notice to the armored Tallman that was a bit unfazed by your statue. Most that come to and fro from whatever land shake in their boots, sometimes walking away without buying the things they need to continue. You even had to get a shorter stool at your kiosk so customers wouldn't faint or run off.

You were a tall female Beastman--well, taking the form of one--and your bangs covered your eyes. Clad in slightly revealing attire, but to most this was considered normal.

You could overhear the shorter blonde elf asking the rest what they can do since they really needed those supplies. The Tallman walked back over to you, some pep in his step and a genuine smile on his face. He really looked like a sweetheart. He looked like one of those kinds that took interest in monsters, and you've seen it all before. He might try to distract you, ask you questions about your species or life while the others attempt to steal the items and-

"Is there perhaps another way to pay?" he said, "We really need these supplies and I've gotta know my options...Please?"

In his mind, he was taking a shot in the dark. Being unable to read your facial expressions, especially unable to read your eyes was killing him. But he at least had to try.

You were pleasantly surprised. Not many customers pressed on this far. Not one was successful. Standing up, now being a generous four inches taller than him, you watched his jaw drop slightly. But not in a "I fucked up" way. No...He was practically drooling.

How can a monster be so...beautiful?! From your rigid horns to the patterns on your skin, and your rich voice that rattled around his brain, let's just say it's a good thing Laios would never eat a beastman. He could die happy just at the sight.

"This way," you said while gesturing to the hall that led to a spot closer to your habitat. Laios nearly broke into a sweat as his cheeks turned a deep red, clearing his throat and turning to reassure his party.

"I will be right back guys. Don't worry about me, I'll handle it."

Did he believe that? Maybe? I mean, surely if he had to fight for his life he'd have a better chance of winning if he wasn't walking behind you and taking in your figure. The confident sway of your hips. The silhouette of your thick thighs through your skirt...Woah! What is he thinking? Is it hot in here? Or rather, out here?

At the end of the hall, it was foresty and damp place that honestly looked enchanted. Like an untouched land filled with nothing but dreams. Though, that was the entire point. What use would this place be if you couldn't eventually carry out an...alternative transaction here? It's only been three months since the walls shifted and allowed your escape to this part of the dungeon. Make the most of it.

And make the most of it you will.

Once further in, the environment became more misty. The vines surrounding most of the area released some opaque vapor into the air, causing Laios to feel funny. His vision became wonky and he couldn't stop giggling to himself.

"Something funny?" you said stopping in front of him with your back turned. Your...really nice back. He couldn't help himself. He kept imagining what you looked like naked, but in his defense it's what happens when he's nervous! You know, like what you looked like without that piece of cloth just barely holding up your breasts. Just what you looked like hovering over him with not an article of anything on except for those pretty shiny beads around your waist...

Damn it.

He blushed hard and leaned on a nearby tree to compose himself before attempting an answer. If he spoke now, he didn't know what sound would come out his mouth.

The second he looked up in your direction you turned around and looked him dead in the eyes with your bangs out of the way. His pupils grew and the shine in his eyes was gone.

"Traveler?" you said in a feigned innocent tone. Laios blinked a few times and groaned, holding his head. His ears were ringing and he was sweating just standing there dazed as ever. His pants were getting tighter. He could barely look at you or register anything going on as your voice echoed in his head.

-

The weight of his limbs felt like bricks. But his legs only felt like that because you were sitting in his lap, and right atop his crotch.

"I have a challenge for you," you whispered in his ear, shifting your weight forward to wake him up more. He inhaled sharply as his eyes widened. He so badly wanted to touch you. Grab your hips. You shoulders. Anything! He could only just look at up you with hazy eyes and nod slowly.

"I accept," he muttered. His words may have been a bit slurred but he was well aware of the situation. He had to get supplies for his party, and if this was the only way, then shit, so be it! He was the last man to complain.

You smiled at him and sat up to push his pants further down his legs, softly gripping his shaft and hovering over it.

"All you have to do is ejaculate," you said. "I'm going to ride you until you do so. Clear?"

You could feel him twitch in your hand in response. So, with that, you sat right in his lap with zero preparation or warning. You had the ability to shape shift, so this kind of thing was never a bother. Although he was beneath you and locked up as soon as he registered your warmth around him. It was like a wet heating pad.

What you chose to omit was once inside of you, his system would slow down. The point was for it to be difficult, just take longer for him to cum. Also for him to not be able to speed up the process with whatever strength he may have. Not a soul has been able to do this without tapping out because even though it's taking longer, the sensitivity is still there. Stronger than ever before.

The hands that were lying helplessly at his side were generously placed on the fabric that covered your ass while you rode him. It was a normal pace but to him it was excruciatingly slow, but that didn't stop that goofy lazy smile from forming on his lips.

Every thought of his walking down that hall came true--which wasn't too many. You holding his head up let him just sit there with your tits bouncing in his face. This was not helping in the slightest. Oh the things he could say. The things he could do! Which was really...not a damn thing.

"Three minutes. Impressive." you said. Three minutes passed already?!

"I'm so sad..." he mumbled, more like whined.

"Why's that?"

You could feel his fingers wiggling, trying to gain some kind of control again. "Your breasts...so nice..." he huffed and a single tear fell down his face. You could almost laugh.

Wiping his tear with your thumb, you leaned forward to stuff his face in your cleavage, and you just couldn't help but chuckle at his groan of relief; your arms wrapped around his neck for balance. His tight muscles easing just a bit even as you rode faster, this time for your own pleasure. You could feel his hands gripping and kneading at the skin between his fingers. The pace his hands moved was oddly faster than before, but you were too caught up in your own world to care.

He was one of few that was decently sized when erect, which was the most exciting part. Each up and down slide better than the last, if that made any sense. To you it does, be as it may, you don't get this opportunity often.

He groaned again as he finally got the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach, his muscles a little less tense than before. Laios had to keep reminding himself why he was here. Why he agreed to this besides getting a nut off with a scheming, gorgeously thick monster that was taller than him. Whatever hit him, whatever newfound purpose reached up and slapped some sense into him moved his arms up to hug your waist, but not enough to trap you against him. Not yet anyway.

You were still coming undone. Your eyes to the sky and moaning to your heart’s content. It was now you who forgot what the purpose of all this was. Ten measly coins? What an excuse…or a lie.

But there was no time to think about it as your hips suddenly slammed into his lap and were unable to move. You panted in irritation as you looked down at him, feeling him trap you against his chest as he mustered every bit of strength to roll over so you were on your back. He hovered over you and caught his own breath, his arms shaking as he held himself up for a moment. You looked at him in pure shock. Of the few individuals that went through this “trial” of yours, it was just the typical process of you using them. However, now, as you watch him sit up straight and press your thighs to your chest, flushed cheeks and all, you couldn't tell if you should be upset, or thrilled.

If you were annoyed before, then it completely vanished the second his hips connected with the back of your thighs. A guttural, yet pleasurable shriek leaving your lips and echoing throughout the damp, dreamy forest. Your bright colored eyes wide and your fangs bore in its wake. Laios was determined to make this worth it and just move the hell on. It must've been the angle—it was—because now the heavy, dead feeling in his limbs was free, and he thrusted like he had nothing to lose yet all to gain, which was true.

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life. It's like the rush one gets when having a worthy opponent. The intensity running through your veins caused your form to change mid thrust, and you were focused on nothing else but the both of you reaching climax. You were already close to it, and especially Laois now that he just watched you shift like that because of him. He cursed under his breath and thrusted harder.

“You're…you are gorgeous,” he said breathlessly, his eyes taking in a totally different version of you. He groaned loudly once your tail wrapped around his neck. “In every form,” he added in a strained whisper.

He finally snapped. That sticky, warm substance filling the caverns of your core was almost never ending. You bucked and shook under him, shifting a few more times as your orgasm hit you like a weighted blanket in the cold. His hips finally stilled and he panted like a dog, shakily removing himself and watching his cum leak onto your now bigger tail from the new shift. You let out a sigh as your body relaxed, letting your legs drop.

“Traveler,” you said with a breathy laugh and looked at him while sitting up. “Take what you need.”

He helped you stand, silently marveling at the feeling of your hand in his since this shift gave you claws. Oh, how he wishes he could stay guess what you turned into post-Beastman form, but he had duties and a party to lead. He watched as his own cum evaporated from the ground, so he could only imagine at this point what it looked like after coating those walls of yours, like something he'd never felt before.

“It’s on the house.”

-

A/N: hello my tooniez <3, LOL, i hope this is not garbanzo beans. i been gone QUITE a bit, im not fully back yet cause college drained the hell out of my writing desires. i have my ideas but taking classes that involve writing really slapped me around 🗿 anyway, thank you for 600 hello?? i'm trying to release the old requests sitting in my drafts for y'all and i won't open requests until i get that done, so it may be a while. thanks for being patient if you've been waiting/haven't forgot about me :3

i've been reading a lot too so hopefully it improves my writing style? who knows!

[playstation-dreamcast]

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Character Select: Werewolf Chris X Hunter Reader

Synopsis: An Au that takes place outside of the Resident Evil canon. You've been hunting Chris for the better half of a decade now, or maybe he was hunting you. Did it really matter when neither of you ever had any intention of actually killing each other? You'd taken a break off to try and heal an injury (and your ego) and Chris wasn't taking your absence well. He decided it was time to get your attention

CONTENT WARNING: This book contains explicit sexual content, including monster fucking, knotting, and a slightly dubious amount of consent (even if you're having the time of your life.) Viewer Discretion is advised!

Song Rec: Howl by Florence and the Machines

Authors Note: This was written to actually celebrate one of my mutuals birthday!!! She knows who she is, sorry it's like, a months late lmao. it's HERE NOW THOUGH!! WEREWOLVES RIGHT?! CAN I GET AN AMEN?!

This had Chris Redfield’s fingerprints all over it. A small village away from any quick help suddenly has a wave of missing persons reports? Check. Most of those missing people are corrupt cops or otherwise known criminals? Check. 

The people start finding the desecrated carcasses of these criminals at the edge of the woods? On or near the night of the full moon?

Check. 

You’d been hunting this bastard long enough to know his M.O. and long enough to know when he was trying to send you a message specifically. Normally, Chris was content as a passive player of the game, always happy to see you and your knife, but rarely- if ever- going out of his way to catch your attention. What kind of werewolf would he be if he spent all his time trying to get noticed by a hunter? It would have been embarrassing, quite frankly. 

This time though, he brought it to your doorstep. The small village he chose to terrorize this lunar cycle was your home village. And while you hadn’t been back in…well, since you left, he knew your old stomping grounds. He knew your connection to that land, and the only reason he would so brazenly use it as a feeding ground would be to get his “Favorite Chew Toys’” attention. Still, you couldn’t figure out why. 

Maybe he was bored. No, that didn’t make sense. Chris was an animal, but not a mindless one. Even at his most savage, he was never fully feral, that you’ve seen at least. He kept a surprisingly tight grip on himself. For a werewolf. You wondered if maybe his pack had something to do with it. Maybe they had picked it out? But, that made even less sense. From everything you knew about him, you didn’t take Chris to be the kind of Alpha that would just let his pack run amok. 

You looked up at the clear evening sky. Waxing gibbous. You had one more night before the final rampage against the settlement. You looked down as you approached a decline, and a steep one at that. You grimaced, not sure if your leg could handle that, all things considered. You really should have taken more time to recover before going back out on the field. Having your own wooden stake turned against you was a real blow both to your legs' ability to function, and your ego. 

Still, the trail led this way. And backing down had never really been your thing, even if it was against your own body. You took a step down, putting all of your weight on your good leg. You took a moment to brace yourself, taking a deep breath and holding it in your chest. 

And then you stepped right back up to the top of the incline and turned around. There were other parts of these woods you could go hunting for him in, there was no point in possibly leaving yourself prone to the enemy. 

“What, scared to fall?” A familiar gruff voice hit you like a sledgehammer. You whipped your head to the right, only to find Chris leaning against a tree- his neon yellow eyes burning a hole into your soul, glowing in the night. When did he even get there? 

“You don’t have to be, you know.” He smirked, pushing himself off the tree, “I’d catch you.” 

You immediately readied your weapon. “I’d be careful who you went around saving, Redfield,” You warned as you aimed your flit lock at him, “You never know who might have a silver bullet with your name on it.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue jacket. “Do we really have to do this every time?” he complained. You took a moment to study him. dark cargo pants, jacket, and a navy turtleneck. His body would almost entirely blend in with the night, if not for the stainless steel dog tags glinting around his neck. 

“Do what every time?” You asked, lowering the gun ever so slightly. 

“The threatening, the fighting, the dancing around the sexual tension,” he grinned at that last one, “Can’t we just talk for once? I’m starting to think you only want me for my body you know.”

You aggressively rolled your eyes back at him, deeply annoyed with his nonchalant attitude. “You’ve been terrorizing my fucking villiage Chris!” You snapped, “What is there to talk about?”

“Oh, It’s your village?” He asked flatly, cocking his head to the side, “You’re one of the leaders? I didn’t see your name on it.”

“Chris.”

He raised his hands up in mock defense. “What?” He asked, “I’m not even terrorizing it. I’m helping it.”

You growled as you threw your limbs down in an almost childish display. “Murdering people is not helpful, Redfield! We've been through this!”

He smirked slyly, taking a step toward you. “Oh, but that’s the catch Pup,”

“Do not call me that.”

“I’m not murdering people,” he continued, “It’s just monsters killing monsters. It’s not my fault I have an advantage.” 

You grit your teeth. You hated how calm he was. You hated how he always treated your encounters like a game- or worse- some sort of fucked up date. He tried to banter with you, knowing he had killed your people!

…Those people being murderers or worse, in some cases, but that wasn’t the point! The point was he dragged away from your medical leave, kicking and screaming, back to a place you fucking hated, out of obligation, and he had the audacity to try and play cat and mouse with you! 

“Where were you?” He suddenly asked, taking another step closer. He seemed to smell something, something that genuinely caught him off guard. His face only showed it for a split second though, before he went back to his regular stone facade. You noticed he took a step back though. 

You shook your head in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

He scowled, the playfulness from earlier all but gone. “What do you mean what am I talking about? I’m talking about the fact that the last time I had any eyes on you, you were at the Kennedy estate,” He kept tabs on you? “And then nothing! You vanished into that fucking shack-”

“I’d hardly call the Kennedy estate a “shack.”” You scoffed, nearly sneered really.

He got angrier, continuing with a growl, “You were gone. For three. Fucking. Months. I thought you died, what happened?” He demanded. 

You fought back a smirk. Was that jealousy you heard? Maybe even a little concern? “Nothing happened,” You shrugged, “Leon’s a very considerate host.”

No he wasn’t. The truth of the matter was that you very nearly did die there. You’d hoped that if you struck in the daylight the ancient vampire would have been weakened. And to be fair, he was! It made the utter display of power as he manhandled you even more terrifying. It hurt when rammed your stake through your leg, but not nearly as much as the plummet from the third story window to the ground you took trying to get out of there. 

You had managed to limp your way to the home of a doctor that was known for helping hunters, broken- and ego more than a little bruised, and that’s where you had been for the past three months. Even now Rebecca had demanded you not go out, insisting you were not ready for combat yet. You ignored her. Your home had been attacked. Meaning your pride had been attacked. It had already been hurt once, you couldn’t just sit back while it happened again. 

Chris laughed as he shook his head, but there was no humor to it. “No. no no no no no, You weren’t at Leon's. I know. I looked. Personally.”

Your blood ran cold. There had been rumors that an ancient vampire had been slaughtered, but you assumed they were just rumors, made with the intent to rub salt in your wounds. You’d never thought it would have had anything to do with Chris. He made a point of leaving the vampires to their own devices. At least you thought he did.

“Did…did you kill Leon?” You asked.

Chris’s eyes darkened. “Who had you.” He wasn’t asking anymore. He was demanding. 

You almost took a step back. In the near decade that you had been hunting Chris, you’d never seen him so…

Possessive. You took a second to reassess him, this time taking into account the purple circles under his eyes, and his unkempt stubble. You wondered when was the last time he got a decent sleep cycle in. You hoped it wasn’t three months ago.

“I was with a doctor,” You explained slowly, trying to ignore the ice crawling up your spine and spidering across your body. “I needed to nurse a wound-”

“That son of a bitch hurt you?” Chris growled, stepping forward before his nose scrunched and he backed away again. 

It was an absurd question to ask. Of course he fucking hurt you, he wasn’t apart of whatever fucked up game you and Chris had going on, and he damn sure wasn’t looking to join. You wanted to snap back at him just how ridiculous of a question that was. Any other night you would have. Tonight though? Tonight his temper was rising at a fast enough rate, and you didn’t want to make a bad situation worse.

“Yeah, yeah he hurt me,” You finally spat the words out, biting back the obviously that threatened to come out with them.  

You saw something flash in his eyes, a feral crack of insanity. Somewhere between protectiveness and bloodlust. “Where?” Chris asked, “How?” 

You thought for a second. You couldn’t run if Chris chose to attack you right now. You’d have to fight. Chris was an Alpha Wolf, meaning he was twice as big and twice as strong as a typical werewolf. You’d been banking on trying to catch him off guard tonight. You’d been banking on him being normal. Maybe that was foolish in hindsight. You’d have to be careful here.

“Answer me Pup.” He demanded, the emphasis he put on “pup” somehow stinging more than any traditional derogatory term ever could. 

You shook your head, “He staked me through my thigh.” You said flatly. He took an instinctive step to you, before stopping to cover his nose, holding it and physically cringing. You knew his nose was better than yours, but for something to be affecting him that much surely you would be able to smell it too. 

Right? You sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of whatever it was he couldn’t get near. “What?” You finally asked, “What, is someone watching us? Some other monster? Is there a dumpster fire, what are you smelling?”

He shook his head aggressively. Like he was trying to shake something out of it. “No.” He groaned, not looking at you, “That’s not the problem.” He took a minute to think, or at least try to. Finally he looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “You’ve never come after me this close to a full moon.” He noted.

You blinked at him, not entirely sure where he was going with this. Chris was normally far more composed and coherent than this, something had to be going on. Of course you typically avoided him around the full moon, that was when he was at his most powerful. Typically you avoided hunting not just him, but any werewolves around the full moon. During the new moon or waxing crescent, sure, but never after the first quarter. 

You shook your head. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” You deadpanned.

He scoffed, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “Of course you don’t. Mortals never do.”

That struck a deep, raw nerve with you. You weren’t entirely sure where he got the fucking audacity to act like you were the one acting strange here, but you knew you weren’t a fan of it. The implication that you were somehow beneath him because of your mortal status was the final straw. Fuck getting answers, you just wanted him to shut up. 

Before you could realize what you were doing, the gun had fired. Chris jerked to the left, avoiding a silver bullet to the head by a hair's width. His eyes narrowed as he realized the game had started. He bum rushed you while you threw the gun down and tried to pull your second weapon from its holster, picking you up and tackling you against a tree. You felt the wind rush out of your lungs as you slammed against the bark, Pounding your fist into his solid back as if that was going to do anything.

If you had been paying any attention, you might have noticed the way he pressed his face against the crook of your neck, and the low growl that left him as he took a deep breath of your scent. You hadn’t been paying attention though, you were too focused on grabbing your silvered dagger from its sheath and digging it into his shoulder.

He howled as he ripped himself away from you, turning to wrench the metal from his back, no doubt causing more damage than you had. His eyes darkened, and a sick smirk found its way onto his face. You took these few precious seconds to grab your second flint lock and-

Jammed. Of fucking course. He pounced, his growing claws digging into you as he pressed you into the dirt. You swore you felt his teeth graze your jugular vein, and his already vibrant eyes looked brighter than the sun. You think he was going to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You grabbed a conveniently placed rock and slammed it into the side of his head instead, dazing him.

You managed to roll him off you and scramble to your feet. You noticed the way he lurched forward, and the twitching in his back. He was turning. You looked up at the nearly full moon and cursed. While Alphas could technically turn any night they wanted, their power grew with the moon. Their animal instincts intensified with lunar lunacy. A turned werewolf on a full moon night was at its most deadly. And while it may not have been the full moon yet, it was close enough that you knew you didn’t want to deal with a Transformed Chris.

And Chris was transforming. Fast. You watched the way his muscles contorted, his bone structure changed, and his skin ripped, only to show shiny black fur hiding underneath. 

Okay, new plan: Run. Run like hell as fast as you can. Logically you knew this was fucking stupid. You weren’t going to outrun a werewolf, and activating his prey drive was probably the worst possible thing you could have done in this situation. You knew that. But in your hubris induced rage you had come to this encounter woefully unprepared. 

You’d gotten too comfortable with the idea that Chris wouldn’t kill you. You had both had countless opportunities to end all of this in the past. To finally take the other one out. And you never had. You’d hurt each other of course, left your respective marks and scars littered all over the other's body. But neither of you had ever pulled the metaphorical plug on the whole operation. 

But that look. That darkness that clouded his normally vibrant eyes. You’d never seen that in him before. And it terrified you just as much as it excited you. Much to your dismay. Much to your extreme dismay. You really hoped this whole experience wasn’t going to awaken anything in you, but that was going to have to be an issue for future you.

If you survived tonight that is. You heard a shrill howl pierce the relative silence of the forest, and you forced your legs to run faster. You could hear him tearing through the foliage behind you, a predator locked in on its prey. You made the mistake of glancing back, only to see a mass of black fur, snarling teeth and hunger in hot pursuit. You involuntarily let out a yelp as you took a sharp right turn, hoping to lose him.

You heard the unbearably loud crack of a tree snapping behind you as he no doubt ran into it, going far too fast to make a turn as quick as you did. The odds of that stopping him were slim, and you knew that. You forced yourself into a full on sprint, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the stitch in your side. Ignoring the sounds of snarling that only seemed to get closer, and the tightness in your chest.

What you couldn’t ignore was the sudden, intense pain of your leg muscles seizing up, the improperly healed injury forcing you into submission. You screeched as you collapsed to the cold ground, cursing Leon, Chris, your body. Yourself. You tried to get back to your feet, only for your leg to refuse any amount of weight you tried to put on it. You were going to die here. Mauled to death by a creature you vowed to kill, but got too comfortable with instead.

Maybe you deserved this. Maybe this is what you got for breaking the Hunters Vow, and refusing to kill Chris Redfield when you had the chance. You wondered if he’d at least have the decency to kill you before devouring you. 

The air was knocked out of you for the second time that night as an animal crashed into you. Chris. He grabbed you, manhandling you into a position under him despite your weak attempts to fight him off. He pressed you flat on your back, towering over you and caging you in his arms. You’d taken a moment to look at him. You’d seen his wolf before, normally in the middle of a fight, but this looked…different. 

He was bigger, and looked feral. His elongated face snarled down at you, shockingly white fangs gleaming in the moonlight. You found it almost comical that the dogtags still hung from his neck, albeit fitting much more like a collar now. You locked eyes with him, refusing to show fear even in your final moments. You weren’t sure what made you sicker, the cloud of hunger you found there- or the lucidity that was behind it.

He growled and lunged down. As determined as you were not to show fear, you flinched- closing your eyes and jerking your head to the side. You braced for the feeling of teeth ripping muscle from bone, but it never came. Instead you heard him inhale sharply, and felt a soft tongue lap at the side of your neck. You forced your eyes open, looking at him as best as you could with your head forced to stay in place.

He nuzzled into your neck as if it was home. You felt a little lost here. You had expected murder feel more painful and violent, less…Intimate. You definitely didn’t expect it to make you stir the way it did. You’d press your thighs together if there wasn’t a giant, bowed leg keeping them apart. So this was going to awaken something in you. Great.

 “Stupid bitch,” he growled, low, and in the back of his throat, “coming after me smelling like that, knowing she’s in heat.” You were reasonably sure you weren’t supposed to hear that, despite him rambling literally right next to your ear.  You were caught up on what he said though. Heat? Humans don’t go into heat, surely he knew that. The closest they got was ovula-

Oh. Everything fell into place. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what he was after. You squirmed, trying to get out from under him only for him to hold you tighter. Surely you could at least have a conversation about this first, but the more you tried to claw your way out of his grasp the more insistent he seemed to get, growling as he held you in place. 

“Chris,” You forced the word out, still out of breath from your struggle before, not to mention the strain on your neck. You felt his clawed hands caress your side, felt him lick your neck again, sending a whole new wave of embarrassing heat rolling through your body. He dragged his teeth across your jugular, the threat of violence loud and clear.

He pressed his hips into yours, and you gasped. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what he might have been working with before, both out of and in wolf form. Even at your most generous, you couldn’t have predicted what was pressing into you now. He bucked his hips again, chasing any friction he could get, undeniably desperate for you.

You bit your lip. You shouldn’t want this. It was one thing to fail a hunt, it was another to willingly be fucked by one of these monsters. It went against everything you were raised to believe, everything you had dedicated your life to. To covet Chris was to covet damnation itself. Maybe that was why it took you eight years to admit you’d wanted him since the first time he dug his claws into you. 

As sinful and impetuous as it was, you could beg for forgiveness later. You rolled your hips up into his, and you swore you felt what might have been a laugh in his chest, but it came out distorted and wrong. “Knew you wanted me,” He groaned.

His mouth covered yours, forcing you into a kiss that was all teeth. One of his hands found its way to the small of your back, pressing you up and as close into his chest as he could get you. It was like he was trying to crawl into your skin, as if no matter how close you were it would never be close enough. 

You reached up to pull at his fur, looking for any sort of leverage you could get in this exchange. He groaned and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. You yelped at the sudden pain, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, desperate to taste every inch of you that he could reach. You moaned helpless against him, lungs burning but unwilling to try and pull away. You were a little embarrassed by how quickly you gave into him, but in your defense Chris was incredibly warm, and surprisingly soft compared to the cold hard ground he had you pinned too.

His claws cut through your pants like a warm knife through butter, the sound of denim shredding reminding you just how sharp those claws were. The same claws that gripped your now bare thigh, hiking it up on his side to give him access to you. He rolled his hips into you, dragging his tent- hardly contained by his own barely existent cargos- against your heat. You yelped, equal parts excited and embarrassed as he reached down and ran the pads of his fingers along the damp spot in your panties.

He moaned, something dark and possessive making itself known, mixed with his lust. You were so wet for him already, and he’d hardly even touched you. He shouldn’t have been shocked. You were his mate after all, even if you didn’t know it yet. Of course your body was ready for him, of course it wanted him. Still, a little ego boost never hurt anybody.

He cut a slit in your underwear, and sucked in a sharp breath. He felt almost dizzy, drunk off the full force of your scent with nothing left to hide behind. You had to have known what you did to him. You had to have known what you were doing, showing up smelling like honey and sin. You had to have known it was going to end like this. 

He felt what little self control he had left in him try to flee. He held onto it by a thread, reminding himself that you were still just a delicate little human. He had to be careful not to rip you apart. He pressed you deeper into the mud, lowering himself between your legs. 

You let out a yelp as he licked a strip along your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue. “Cute.” He chuckled. Your pathetic slap against the back of his head was even cuter. Even when you were writhing under him you still had it in you to try and fight. He licked you again, separating your folds and pressing his tongue against your weeping cunt. You moaned above him, rutting your hips into his muzzle like the needy bitch you are. 

He pulled you closer, claws digging into your hips, leaving blood to trickle down your body in his wake. He easily pushed his tongue into you, groaning as you clenched around him, imagining that same clench around his cock. Your head fell back against the ground, hands scramblings to tangle themselves into his hair. 

Chris was able to reach places inside you no human mouth could even dream of, easily lapping at your g-spot. the sensation sent you reeling. You tried to ride his face, buck your hips against him to chase your high; but his grip on you held strong, leaving you to whimper and beg for him pathetically. 

You felt light headed, climax building on itself faster than you could have predicted. It was like Chris instinctively knew every soft spot your body had to offer him, and was more than happy to bully the hell out of it. To twist, turn, and mold you into exactly what he wanted you to be, to get exactly the reaction he wanted out of you. He growled, pulling you closer to him. You pulled his hair in return, earning you a deep moan from him.

He pulled back enough to become more targeted with his snout, the padded skin now rubbing your clit with intention. Your legs started to tense up, the coil in your stomach tightening to the point of snapping. You let out a truly embarrassing sound. Luckily, you didn’t have to hear it, the feeling of euphoria washing over you and drowning out anything that wasn’t bliss or Chris. He licked you through your high, dragging it out for as long as possible, and leaving you a shaking mess in the aftermath.

You looked at him with hazy eyes as he finally pulled fully away, muzzle slick with your arousal. Your heart caught in your throat as you realized what you’d done. It was unforgivable to lay with the beast you were supposed to kill. He didn’t give you much time to think about the deeper implications though, before he careened down, pulling you into another facsimile of a kiss. Your taste was still thick on his tongue, mixing with his own and leaving you breathless.

You’d hardly noticed him all but ripping his pants down, until you felt him pressing into you. The stretch was enough to leave you screaming. No matter how prepped you were for him, you were only human, a fact that your body was actively trying to remind you of. “Chris!” You shrieked as he shoved himself inside you, with zero care to take things any slower than he already had. “Chris, it’s too much, I can't-!”

“You can.” He started moving, leaving you with zero time to try and adjust to his size. Tears sprung to your eyes as you desperately tried to accommodate him. “You were made for me, you can handle it,” He groaned, relief rolling over his shoulders as he finally got to feel you around him. He lapped your tears away, positioning himself to hit the sweet spot inside you he’d discovered earlier.

Slowly your body started to welcome him, the pain of being ripped in half ebbing away in favor of the mindless pleasure of being so full you swore you could feel him in your throat. He fucked you as if he had a map of your body, like he instinctively knew exactly where to push to make you see stars. Your cries morphed into moans, and before you knew it you were rolling your hips in time with his.

“That’s it Pup,” Chris groaned, completely lost in you. He was overwhelmed; your decadent smell, your pretty sounds, the divine feeling of your warm little cunt quivering around him. For all the times he’d fantasized about you, even his wildest dream couldn’t come close to the real thing. “You’re taking me so well, feel so good. You were made for me.” He praised.

His words went straight to your core, a storm building up inside of you faster than you’d care to admit. Every animalistic thrust of his hips managed to hit you exactly where you needed him too, and you could feel your second orgasm of the night coming on. A heat was mounting between your trembling thighs, and it only intensified as Chris’s hand fell to where the two of you met, using the back of his knuckle to massage your clit. 

It sent you over the edge, a crack of lightning so intense you felt the aftershocks pulse from your center to your fingertips. Waves of euphoria capsizing your little boat and drowning you in the ecstasy. It pulled Chris over his own edge. The smell of your arousal mixing with the feeling of you clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper had him spilling over and painting your insides white as he growled your name. 

You were still catching your breath, waiting for the world to stop whirling around you and for him to pull out when his voice finally cut through the fog. Rough, low, and still thick with need. “Still with me Pup?”

You nodded, and were treated to a growl in response. “Yeah,” You finally said, “I’m here.”

You felt him lick your pulse point before he started to move again. “Good,” He grunted as he folded you in half. It was only then you realized he was still rock hard inside of you, and your heart rate picked up again, “Cause it’s gonna take more than that to knock you up.”

You considered protesting for a split second. But, before the thought could fully form he had you folded into a mating press. And at that point he could have told you the two of you were going to burn your entire village to the ground and fuck on the ashes and you would have been down. Wasn’t all that unappealing of an idea actually. He was pressing against places you didn’t even know existed in you, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted at this point.

Chris set a ruthless pace, seemingly lasered in on his personal mission. Every relentless rut of his hips had his cock massaging your g spot and kissing your cervix. Every movement sending an overwhelming shock of pleasure through you, so intense it almost hurt. You were thankful you were in the middle of the woods, because if you were anywhere near civilization and the entire settlement would know. 

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Chris licked the tears from your cheeks. You didn’t realize you’d been gripping his fur so tight, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. You felt so small under him, left to his whims and helpless to do anything while he ruined human men for you forever. Nothing was ever going to feel like this again. 

“Pretty little Pup,” He groaned, rocking into you so perfectly you knew you weren’t going to last long. “So good for me, feels so good. Gonna take my knot like a good girl?”

You didn’t even think twice. “Yes, Chris please, need it.” you gasped. You wanted so badly to be good for him, to be whatever he wanted you to be so this happened again. 

You barely registered how dangerously close to your neck his fangs were. You were too focused on the feeling of his knot swelling, somehow stretching you more. The lewd sound of him fucking his cum back into you almost drowned out his growling. Almost.

“Perfect little Pup, and all fucking mine.” The way he said it definitely went beyond dirty talk, but you were in no position to pick up on that. “All fucking mine, my mate, mine.” He was losing himself, the moon pulling him away from coherent thought and leaving him with little more than the animalistic fuck his mate into oblivion. 

“Knew it from the first time I smelled you, knew you were mine. Say it, Say. It.” 

“Yours Chris, all yours.” You were hardly in the headspace to fully grasp what he was saying, the dopamine and oxytocin drowning out any sense of reason you may have had. Your body felt like an electrical fire, every nerve ending alive with feeling. You were driving towards a cliff at 200 miles per hour and had no intention to stop. Your limbs were shaking with anticipation, you really felt like you might have burned alive if he stopped now.

And Chris was just as gone. The look of you alone, tear stained and breathless in his arms, could have gotten him off. He watched his bulge appear and reappear in your stomach with every thrust, watched your eyes glaze over with dazed pleasure, felt the way your warm cunt hugged him perfectly and fuck who needed heroine? This was better than any drug he could have imagined. 

He decided then that he was taking you home tonight. 

You pulled at his fur, the bliss building inside of you, twisting in on itself and threatening to snap. When it hit you, it hit you like a tidal wave, suffocating and all at once. You didn’t hear the scream you let out, barely registered the way your legs tried to wrap around the monster that was on top of you. Your head felt like it was full of cotton and your veins were full of stars. You watched galaxies be born before your very eyes.

What you did register was his knot locking you in place as he tried to fuck you through your high. Felt the way his already impossibly tight grip tightened, claws digging into your soft skin, surly leaving you bruised and bleeding. You felt him filling you again for the second time that night, and were a little ashamed to admit how right it felt.

You felt his teeth sink into your neck to muffle his own howl. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to draw blood. Deep enough to infect. You’d like to say that you yelled, tried to pull him off and went to immediately seek treatment. Time was limited after all, if you wanted to avoid lycanthropy. 

You wanted to say all of these things. In reality your hand found the back of his skull to hold him closer. You struggled to catch your breath and reorient yourself. Chris gently lapped the blood from your neck, trying to soothe the ache there. He was muttering something, but you were barely paying attention. You were more focused on the fact he was already rocking his hips back into yours.  

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t totally sure where you woke up, jerking out of bed with a sharp gasp. Your head jerked around, trying to get a grasp on your surroundings. It was a simple room, barely lived in. As if whoever had set up camp here didn’t plan to stay for long. You sat up straighter, listening to the bustling noise from the other side of the door. It sounded like a decently sized family was descending into chaos. It sound like-

It sounded like a pack of wolves. You went cold. You looked down, only to discover stainless steel dog tags dangling from your neck, and that you were wearing an oversized shirt you didn’t recognize. You could guess who it belonged to though. You had a sinking feeling. You took a closer look at the tags around your neck.

Redfield.

Chris J.

315-05-4075

O Neg

NO REL PREF

No surprises there, but just to be sure you reached up to your neck. Sure enough, you felt the unmistakable divots of a wolf bite, flinching at the fresh sting. So last night wasn’t an extremely vivid dream. Great. 

As if on cue Chris chose then to show up, slipping through the door with two cups of coffee in hand. You wished that seeing him filled you with rage, or revoltion. Or at least some deep sense of guilt. Sadly though, the only thing you felt when you looked at his adoring smile was a warm sense of safety. He looked mostly human again, a far cry from what mounted you last night.

“Hey, I thought I heard you waking up,” He said. Jesus, he had good hearing. He came over and settled next to you on the bed, handing you the mug. You’d ask how he knew your coffee preferences later. For now, you were just happy for the caffeine.

You nodded to him, taking a drink of the coffee. He gently rubbed your back, looking you over, carefully assessing the damage. “How you feeling?”

“Okay I guess,” you muttered, “A little sore.” 

“That’s to be expected.”

[lo0py-lunar]

*SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE*

ALRIGHT BITCHES LETS TALK ABOUT THE WAY SEVERUS SMELLS

While reading and writing Severus Snape fanfiction I've noticed no one has a full idea of what he smells like and honestly that is fair.

there is a tldr at the end for the people who don't want to here the rant!

I've seen a lot of people say his main scent node would be sandalwood and HONESTLYYYY I don't think that's accurate. Severus in all accounts does not take care of himself past basic hygiene niceties something like applying a cologne would not be there??

Sure there is an innate musk from his shampoo and body washes (which i think he makes himself but that's more of a doesn't want to spend money when HE HAS PERFECTLY GOOD INGRIDENTS TO MAKE WHAT HE NEEDS RIGH THERE but like i don't think he puts fragrance into them it isn't needed he just needs it to clean him not make him smell good)

SO LIKE HERE IS WHAT I DO THINK HE SMELLS LIKE IN LIKE STRONGEST TO WEAKEST??

Tea

-a self made blend of Chamomile mint and clove-

I've always head cannoned he drinks a lot of it. not because haha British but because it preoccupies him while others are talking so he can note things for future use. I think he makes his own blend because since he is constantly growing herbs and foraging it for potion making it becomes cheaper to just dry out and make your own (i also think he gifts his tea blend at yule time). I think he only makes calming teas. Being around people all the time when its very clear he doesn't want to be you need something to stay calm while there are calming droughts and other potions its widely assumed they can be addictive and yes he could probably make a non addictive version he doesn't have the time. So tea. Chamomile and mint have always been noted to calm nerves and i feel like the clove adds some spice that he enjoys.

Potions / potion ingredients

There are to many to list honestly.

Just in general you can assume the one person making potions for self research, constantly in a class teaching with varying ingredients, Brewing for The castles Medi-wing. Then in the later portion of the story TWO sides of the war. smells like a varying array of ingredients.

It could be said that the smells changes seasonally.

During the fall months he may smell more of ingredients themselves as he would've had to prep certain things that cannot be bought (or are not up to his standard at an apothecary) Yet, during the winter months when flu season is happening the lingering scent of brewed pepper up because those snot nosed kids sure as hell cant make it themselves. Spring would be whatever his classes are working on he wouldn't have time to do any research.

Summer though, Summer i think is when that smell changes the most. There are no kids he needs to brew for right away so he can focus on whatever potion he wishes to improve or outright create he can work with more dangerous ingredients.

That changes during the war of course he now has the workload from voldy and than we can assume he is at least brewing wolfsbane monthly for the order (the snupin shipper in me wishes to think he started brewing it during Remus tenure as the DADA teacher and just never stopped. he constantly badgers Remus for his new address to ensure he takes the potion to stop that daft wolf from doing anything idiotic it just becomes easier when he knows that he would be at grimmuald place) And than whatever they need for "war purposes".

Lavender

now hold on i thought you said he wouldn't use any cologne or anything like that. YES BUT i think he would use lavender in floral form or in oil for as a calming agent to sleep. I think this would've started when he was young possibly something his mother would do to soothe nightmares, (a sprig under his pillow or a dab of oil into the case itself) and he carried that on when he went to Hogwarts later when he returned to teach mentioning it in passing to Pamona and she gifts him new sprigs and oils for yule every year.

Tabaco

This one is honestly pure head cannon. But it makes sense to me he was raised in a coal town were he was constantly surrounded by booze and smokes. He would've picked up at least one of those habits and seeing his dad and the at the time normality of smoking yeah he would've done it. I think he quit for a while keep a pack tucked into his drawers in case he had a really bad teaching day and needed a hit of nicotine to make him not throttle anyone. But when both wars where happening i think he allowed himself to just smoke. Smoke when he wanted smoke to numb himself to whatever remarks were made about him at any meeting he showed too. Its a vice we all need one and i think its his.

SO YEAH.

I think he just naturally smells more floral and herbal than "woodsy" he may have a bottle or two of more masculine scents he was given from the Malfoys that he wears when forced into social events or when they are around him. But given what we know i think it wouldn't be sandalwood or driftwood whiskeys or scotch etc. (I'm also in the head cannon while he owns booze he doesn't drink often for fear of becoming his dad)

TLDR: I think Severus Snape smells mostly of Tea, Potions/Potion ingredients Lavender and Tabaco.

WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW

<3

[lotusloong]

"I can't believe you fucking idiots!!!" The wolf yaoguai screamed, hitting his second in command hard enough to knock him over. One of the lower ranking thugs stumbles forward, trying and failing to wrangle the tiny monkey clinging to the fur on his head.

Said baby monkey is giggling to herself, yanking on any fur and sensitive ears she can grab. The second monkey, a little quieter than his twin, sits on the floor and giggles at his sisters antics. A bear yaoguai, an enforcer, coughs awkwardly into his fist as he eyes the little monkeys, edging away from them and their grabby hands.

"D-do...you think it's too late to just...give them back?" He mumbles. The thug leader pinches the brow of his muzzle and sighs.

"Li...repeat that question to yourself at least two more times. Then think long and hard about who's children you guys grabbed. And how you grabbed them. If you're simple mind can focus on that long enough, good. You're death will no doubt be the least painful of all of us, cause the Great Sage would take pity on your stupidity!" He howls in anger.

The wolf getting his face yanked at grunts and tries to speak, despite the tiny monkey hands trying to grab and pull at his tongue.

"It'ssthth-stop it! It's not that bad! We didn't even really hurt the mom with them, just threw a sleep bomb at her and nabbed the little ones!"

"The mom!?! Was it their mom!?!" The thug leader cries, pointing two accusing fingers at the little monkeys.

"Maybe not, could have been a babysitter-"

"Mama! We picked peachies for baba." The boy monkey chitters. The wolf leader looks at his group of bandits and thugs, eyes wide with fear and exasperation.

"We're going to die. You've killed us all." He says, looking between the guards responsible for kidnapping the Great Sage's first born children. Li the bear continues to stare off into the distance, muttering 'too late to give them back?' under his breath. The other wolves and bears in their group all look terrified, staring at their leader for guidance. He himself is pacing in circles, choking on cries under his breath.

"I just said 'get some food'! Nothing major! No life threatening consequences there! A simple task a fucking baby-!" He gestures at the two monkeys, the daughter now sitting by her brother and grooming the hard to reach spots on his neck as best as her little uncoordinated fingers would let her. "could do! I-...I need to pray-or something-!"

His words are interrupted by the sound of a crash outside their cave hideout. The very earth seems to rumble, and the yaoguais inside the cave panic. Bears and wolves run in every which way, some in circles around Li, who continues to mumble to himself despite the chaos. Everyone runs and screams while the twin babies sit on the floor, unbothered and chattering at each other with words they don't fully know how to say yet.

An echoing 'knock' sounds through the cave.

Everyone freezes in place, looking towards the entrance to see the Great Sage himself standing there, the light from the outside sun shining around his form like a halo of deathly light. His face is shadowed, only the vivid glow of his red diamond eyes visible. The knock came from his golden cudgel, the metal rod embedded deeply in the stone mouth of the cave wall, chips of stone falling to the ground.

The two monkeys chirp excitedly, rushing towards the menacing figure with glee.

"Baba!! Baba!!" They cry. Red eyes still watching the inhabitants of the cave, the Great Sage kneels down and opens his arms, his little ones jumping and clinging to his chest. The immediately nuzzle their tiny faces into his neck, chirping happily. The red glow of those demonic eyes finally flicks down to the little ones, and a single hand cups them both as he nuzzles his own nose against their tiny bodies. His lip curls and his nose wrinkles, the twins giggling into their hands at the funny face Baba is making.

"My little ones should never smell like this. Like fear and dirt and scum." His voice reverberates through the cave. Those burning red eyes flick back up to the group of thugs. One of the smaller wolves faints where he stands.

"G-g-guh-Great s-s-Sage! It was an-an acciden-"

"Which one of you was it that threw the sleep bomb." His voice cuts off the meager plead from the thug leader. All fingers point to the wolf responsible, who trembles in fear. Sun Wukong steps into he cave, Ruyi Jingu Bang still lodged into the stone wall.

None of the yaoguais dares to make for the exit.

The Great Sage stops before the wolf, his short stature not detracting from his terrifying presence.

"You threw a sleep bomb at my wife. My wife, who is four months pregnant with our next child." He growls. The daughter of the Great Sage sticks her tongue out at the wolf and her brother, seeing this, mimics the action, his own pink tongue sticking out.

Both babies are suddenly shielded from sight, Wukong's hand encouraging them both to slip inside the folds of his robe and to cuddle against his chest. The babies move without question, only their little tails still peeking out from the edges of the cloth.

The wolf thug barely opens his mouth to apologize before a resounding 'thwack' echoes. He spins in place once, then falls over dead, Wukong's fist still in mid air where it connected with the other's head. None of the other yaoguai's utter a word, simply trembling in place. The Great Sage makes his way to the cave entrance with confident, smooth steps. He grabs Ruyi Jingu Bang with a flick of his wrist, and steps out into the light without a glance back.

All is quiet for a moment, before one of the bears lets his shoulders droop, a relieved sigh escaping him.

"Well I guess that wasn't so bad-" He isn't able to finish as shimmering golden suddenly surrounds them all, the famed immobilize spell freezing them in place. The cave around them rumbles as rock and debris begins to fall.

None of them survive the cave in.

Sun Wukong doesn't spare them a second thought after getting home, his mind focused on playing tag with his little ones while you rest and recover nearby, rubbing soothing circles over your belly. Freshly harvested peaches sit in a pile near you, and when Wukong wants to sample a taste, you happily pop pieces into your mouth for him to steal in between kisses.

I think about this happening with Wukong's kid a lot

[catlady48]

The scrapped Avengers 5 script that was cowritten by Waldron was seemingly posted online and he was not done ruining Loki (at least the show version). Not sure if it's actually the real script or a hoax, but I still wanted to inform people about it, because it's bad. The entire thing is a mess. It's basically a copy of Infinity War as in the main villains (several versions of Kang) need the plotdevices to do catastrophic damage and basically everybody dies. Really, almost everybody gets killed off. He also involves almost every character that's currently alive in the MCU in this script, so they each barely get any screentime and no personality whatsoever. I haven't actually read the thing so I can't say how much time he had to ruin the characters, but it's Waldron so I'm assuming he still managed to do that somehow.

As for what he did to Loki specifically, apparently one of the Kangs drains him of his powers and presumably killed him (again). This is going to disappoint a lot of people who, despite the ways Loki as a character has been ruined by the show, still hoped that the ending would lead to them doing something cool with his new position and powers and/or would lead to him reuniting with Thor. Neither of this happens and I think even the show fans would be disappointed by them ruining the so-called "perfect ending to his character arc." Guess it was just a new way to kill him off and rub it in our faces after all. It's Infinity War all over again. He would've gotten ruined for nothing.

So glad this script got scrapped, even though I have zero faith in the Russo's considering they were the ones who thought of IW in the first place. I do think they will do somewhat better than Waldron since they can at least do action scenes. Even so, this is another warning not to get your hopes up that the MCU will not ruin Loki in some way or another in the upcoming movies.

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.