#based on some stuff i briefly mentioned before!

[lavendermin]

disasterology | boothill

boothill x reader, mad scientist reader

wc | 1.7k

genre | light banter, ambiguous relationship

warnings | nsfw, artificial cyborg guts, suggestive, body horror, love bug (literally via data transfer), mentions of giving boothill a womb, boothill bluescreens

note | my piece as part of the autumn festival collab hosted by @owlespresso ^^ I’ll probably make a part two to this to squeeze in more banter and get some actual freaky stuff in

“You’re back at my lab… A little soon, no?” The question is thrown at Boothill without a spared glance as you are engrossed in several tasks at once. The Galaxy Ranger makes his way over to your mess of screens and tools by your main work desk, his strides reminiscent of someone a little too comfortable in your bubble.

“Annual checkup. Don’t tell me you forgot already, doc?” Boothill teases with feigned hurt, sharp teeth flashing with his playful grin.

“Not a doctor,” you correct him flatly.

A holo-screen appears before his face, stopping him from nearing your concentrated form. A flurry of data scrolls by and a pop-up appears with a few dates.

With a few final taps you swivel toward him and the screen. “According to your record in my data bank, you’re not due for your checkup for another nine weeks,” you state matter-of-factly. With a few taps and a swipe, the screen is gone and you meet Boothill’s gaze for the first time. “So, what’s the actual reason you’re here? Surely not just a friendly visit to the resident witch or whatever they’re calling me these days on this planet.”

“Recent scrap didn’t end too well. Leg’s been acting up.”

Your eyes scan him briefly, humming in thought as you enter new data and access his file.

“I definitely noticed a few new scratches to your outer shell armor,” you note, speaking more to yourself as you log the new data. “I’ll run some tests and analyze further.”

You roll back in your chair near him, gathering a few tools here and there and holding an emesis basin in front of him. Boothill squints at you in confusion, a frown pulling down his lips in a glimmer of dangerous, sharp teeth.

“Here. Spit them out—all the ammo you have. Now.”

His eyes sharpen, but he relents with a grunt. The metal of the bullets hitting the basin is all that fills the silence as you return to some screens and rummage through rows of drawers and drawers that line the walls.

It’s a chaotically organized yet unorganized lab, to say the least.

“There’s an empty box near you. Go ahead and remove all of your outerwear and any other weapons so we can get started,” you instruct as you prepare a table nearby.

Boothill begins to protest. “Doc, it’s just my leg. I don’t need–”

When he turns back to your desk you’re gone from sight. It unnerves him and you appear behind him seemingly from thin air.

“Hey–!”

You plug several chords into a few outlets on his hip. The feeling of the data processing through multiple base drives makes his entire body feel like numbing static courses through it.

Your face is close. Too close.

“Let's get a base-read on what’s going on here for now. I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed if you’re modest like that.” Your eyes flit down and you smirk. “Not like I haven’t seen your full model before.”

His face flushes a bright crimson and he sputters, shoving you away. You laugh out loud, unsettling and loose as you go back to your screens. It’s become more apparent with each visit that you aren’t entirely sound of mind.

“I still wonder why your face flushes red when your synthetic blood is blue. Perhaps I’ll find out today,” you grin, looking up and being met with a metallic click and the barrel of a gun between your eyes.

There’s a fierceness in Boothill’s glare, red cheeks betraying his threat. Though his hand is steady, your monitors signal increased levels of core maintenance and adrenaline. He doesn’t know how to handle your teasing— never will.

“I don’t have time to be yer forkin’ lab rat,” he sneers.

Your expression remains calm, unbothered as a lazy smile makes way to your lips. It’s an irksome sureness that makes the ranger’s eye twitch and teeth grit. Perhaps that’s simply your insanity creeping into him as well.

It draws him in like a moth to a flame. And he convinces himself that he hates it.

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t put a bullet in yer head for crossing me?”

“Plenty of reasons. But really I only need one.”

“Yeah? And what’s that, sweets?” He scoffs, patience running thin.

You gently tap a knuckle over his heart core, the area making a soft metal clank as you do so. Boothill falls silent for a moment as you say nothing more. The mental gears turn a little harder than usual and suddenly his face is hot. Too hot.

“Wh– What– Who ever said I liked ya like that?! A ranger doesn’t get wrapped up in those feelings, ya hear?!”

And you fucking smirk.

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating. All I meant was that you wouldn’t get rid of your one and only mechanic on this side of the galaxy, would you? Who else would be stupid enough to take all your last minute tuning appointments and repair jobs after reckless battles? You need me, ranger.” You pause and shift your gaze directly at him. “No reason to get so defensive. Unless… you have feelings for me?”

“Negative feelings,” he seethes.

But you’ve seen right through him. It’s an act of pity that you just chuckle and resume your work on diagnosing some of the sensors around his midriff. Still enough to keep the cowboy grumbling and red in the face.

“Feelings nonetheless,” you chuckle under your breath as you swivel back to the flurry of incoming data. “I’ll head to the back to grab a few things I’ll need and see if a few spare parts are lying around that are similar to some of your fractured hip joints. Do not touch anything.”

Once you’re out of sight, Boothill grumbles and removes his hat and jacket. The bright industrial lights only serve to irk him more— never was one to like hospital settings.

It’s a bit more of a predicament when the wires attached to his hip get in the way of removing his bottoms. He clicks his tongue and listens as your fumbling in the distance remains constant.

Whatever. Damn cables are in the way. What is he to do? He yanks them off and removes the last of his articles, shoving them in the box off to the side you left for him.

“Fork me,” he grumbles. There’s an unruly mess of cables on the floor, most of which look the same and range in color. Naturally, none are labeled.

Just his luck.

One of your monitors beeps and a few pop ups come up as the data flow abruptly ends. In a panic, Boothill grabs a red and a black cable and plugs them in. He clicks a few of the pop ups to make them go away and resume whatever they asked. He didn’t have time to read whatever jargon it said, not that he would have understood it anyway.

He’s seated and on the examination table by the time you walk back in with a few boxes stacked in your arms.

A warm hum settles in his core with his data processor kicking in. It’s pleasant, albeit an odd sensation.

You set down the boxes and glance at the screens, humming with thought. The pause is a beat too long and Boothill can only hope you don’t prod. You tap a few things on the screen and approach him with a smile.

“Alright. Pain receptors are off and your maintenance mode is on. Let’s get started.”

—

Only about forty minutes have passed but it’s becoming increasingly clear to Boothill that something is clearly wrong. He’s used to certain processes being shut off while you work on him— that part is normal.

Right now, he can’t seem to take his eyes off you. And you won’t spare him a glance as you work, much too engrossed in his guts— literally. He huffs and you don’t bother looking at him. It pisses him off.

“If you’re feeling discomfort use your words, ranger,” you mutter without missing a beat. “If your pain processors kicked in due to something that went wrong I need to know before you blow up on me.”

Your tug at a particular wire makes him gasp, his grip on the edge of the table warping the metal.

“Fork– Watch it!” His breath shakes with a gasp, face flushed.

“You didn’t exactly come with a manual.”

“Please don’t say that while yer hands are in my guts.”

You snicker, ignoring his glare as you continue to work methodically.

“I could always give you new insides if I mess these up,” you tease smoothly, fingers deeper still in his abdominal cavity. “Would you like it if I gave you a womb?”

Boothill huffs with a shiver as you tug at that same wire again, his back arching slightly off the cold, metal table. His mouth hangs open, unable to say a word. It’s overwhelming, an intense sensation that he feels in every artificial nerve end.

You call his name once more— so sweet and full of concern. The auditory hallucinations have begun from the wrong dataset he hooked himself up to earlier. Your voice in actuality is much more nonchalant than he processes.

“Booth? Ranger? Are you still with me?” You tap his cheek, his eyes darting shakily around the room. Red hearts for irises replace his usual programmed eye setup when he blinks to glance at you. You sigh. “I told you not to touch anything didn’t I?”

“Yer… my soulmate.”

“No,” you deadpan, flicking your wrist to bring up a holo-screen before you. Seems the neuro-processors couldn’t sort the wide range of the artificial emotion dataset and developed a love bug. “Boothill, if you can still understand me beyond the love bug, I’ll be turning on your standby function for a few minutes to finish.”

You’re not sure if he heard you at all, watching as whatever he heard in his bugged brain makes him red in the face and shiver.

Then, he blue-screens and all is quiet after his metal body clangs against the table.

You heave a sigh, a smile still on your lips. “Only your soulmate would put up with a ranger this obtuse.”

[meamiki]

some random reverse entry au [office + reverse isekai loop] drawings :thumbsup:

[mildly interested in this silly au? here is a link to scroll through for all the stuff i've made for it! i'll make a proper master post... someday.....]

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

[Wicked: For Good speculation/predictions]

[obviously spoilers + wild conjecture + musings]

Okay so I have many thoughts about what we might get in the second film, and decided to put them all in one place; so here we are.

1.) I've heard a lot of people mentioning that the movie might choose not to jump straight into Thank Goodness, and instead opt for some sort of buffer opening to establish the time-skip and whatnot. I think it would be amazing to actually see Elphaba flying around Oz saving Animals and being harbored as a fugitive and stuff; maybe we could even get reintroduced to Brrr briefly! He's obviously able to speak, so maybe that implies Fiyero took him to an Animal resistance group or something for safety? The map of Oz shown in Something Bad does imply that there might be such groups around, plus of course Doctor Dillamond mentioning protests. Maybe we'll get to see some of that on-screen; I think that would be fascinating. Maybe as kind of a soft adaptation of Elphaba's domestic terrorist phase in the book. This is possibly all supported as well by the shots we've seen of the Yellow Brick Road under construction; presumably this will be early in the film, since obviously it must predate Dorothy's arrival, so I suspect these might be the opening scenes before we get to see how Oz is reacting to Elphaba's activities at the start of Thank Goodness.

2.) I suspect we'll find out that Madame Morrible is not only the one who brought Dorothy to Oz, but also the Wizard — and maybe even more interestingly, caused the Great Drought (which I think is quite heavily implied to be the Dust Bowl, based on the time period and a scrawling on one of the chalkboards in the background; which I think is meant to be Dillamond's research). (My current headcanon is that Morrible accidentally caused the formation of the Impassable Desert (since it is also mentioned on the same chalkboard), which caused a ripple effect out into Kansas and started the Dust Bowl.) If we do get more background on Morrible and her earlier magic experimentation (and maybe even the Grimmerie), I suspect we'll learn that her heart's desire was always to be the prophesied magical savior of Oz, and the Grimmerie based on those vibes (since it seems to read the hearts of the ones using it and flip to pages that will give them what they want, like how it heard "birds" and went straight to relevant pages) brought the Wizard (and by extension, Elphaba) and Dorothy into Oz. In a way it feels like the Grimmerie is sort of the dark magical inverse of what the Wizard does: they hear the desires of people's hearts, and "grant" it in a deceptive way. The Wizard "grants" wishes through bullshitery and spectacle (and the people who come to him for help always end up having to get what they wanted themselves), while the Grimmerie "grants" wishes using real magic (and so can actually give things that the wisher didn't already possess) but always in a fucked up way that they'll end up regretting. I've already made a post about the theme of "the heart's desire" and how it's explored in the original Wizard of Oz and in Wicked — and maybe at some point I'll do a longer analysis of that (for instance, the fact the Wizard was in possession of the book and got his heart's desire to be a father in the most catastrophic way imaginable) — but it's really interesting if we consider that Morrible's desire seems to be to essentially be the Witch of Oz, and the answer given by the Grimmerie might basically have been the giant magical backfire that brought all three of the most plot-important characters into Oz in the first place. It's possible this won't actually be explained and will remain in headcanon territory, but with the way they've been focusing more on Madame Morrible I think we'll probably get at least a little something exploring her background and connections with the Wizard (and it would be really interesting if we got more stuff relating to the Grimmerie in the process).

3.) In the frames we've seen of Dorothy, the slippers are still silver! Not ruby! We know from interviews that the production team read the original Wonderful Wizard of Oz and took heavy inspiration from it, so I assume keeping the shoes silver was an executive decision on their part. But it has some really interesting implications about what sort of changes might've been made to Part 2. We already knew that we're getting major alterations to Nessa's narrative — groundwork for that was already laid in the ways they changed her in the first movie, particularly surrounding her relationship to Elphaba and her agency regarding movement, which I think is great — but regarding this I've heard some people asking if this means we might not get Nessarose standing. Marissa Bode who plays her is capable of limited standing and walking, so I doubt that part will have been cut entirely; but I'm really curious about the ways in which Nessa's story might have been rewritten. The point of her independence has been emphasized a lot thus far, so I think we might get some tweaking (or outright cutting) of the "hideous chair with wheels" bit; and with how we got the lines about Nessa wanting to make a new start and Elphaba getting in the way of that, I think it's likely we'll get less of a focus on "why haven't you used your powers to help me walk Elphaba?" and more on "wow, you ruined my life again Elphaba". I am curious about whether Nessa will still be able to read the Grimmerie (which always felt a little like a plot hole/contrivance in the original show, so it would need a proper explanation at the very least), or if perhaps — since I believe it's being set up that the Grimmerie can "read" people around it and give them a fucked up version of what they think they want — Nessarose's dark desire at that moment is to not have a heart (kinda like that line from the 1939 movie: "As for you, my galvanized friend: you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable") and gets Elphaba to read it: but neither knows what it will actually do until Boq's heart starts shrinking away into nothingness. (Also I'm fairly positive that the still we got of Elphaba below is from the Colwen Grounds scene with Nessa and Boq: I've heard some people presuming it's from No Good Deed, but the background, her expression (which seems to me to be obviously her trying to get Nessa/Boq to calm tf down), and the fact she seems to be in the same costume as in the Yellow Brick Road scene, tells me it's almost certainly from Wicked Witch of the East.)

4.) We're told to expect two new songs from Stephen Schwartz! I'm extremely curious what these might be (and naturally, Gelphie simp as I am, would like at least one one of them to have some more good ol' gay goodness from our girls), but we don't have a whole lot to go on for clues yet other than (as far as I can tell, unconfirmed?) reports that one is an Elphaba solo and the other is a Glinda solo. This is very exciting of course, but until we have more insight it's still too early to make deep predictions. Although as for hopes, I'd obviously like for a new Glinda number to involve her grappling with her feelings more — a much-needed addition — and for Elphaba to perhaps get some of that as well (it would help the lead-up to Wonderful make a bit more narrative sense, if nothing else). And if it turns out they aren't Glinda or Elphaba songs, then I think Fiyero or Boq deserve to get a little bit more to sing. All Schwartz has said thus far is that the new music was made to meet the needs of the story: so (since the two songs DON'T seem to just be reworkings of existing ones, and are actually all-new, film-only material) that further supports the fact we'll be getting fairly major changes to the plot.

5.) The Glinda-Fiyero wedding seems to either happen or very nearly happen??? Extremely interesting expansion on the original material, I can't wait to see what they do with it. I've heard some people saying it might just be a fantasy sequence or something — and I suppose it could be — but I don't think so; the style of filmmaking and writing is deliberately "grounded" to make Oz feel real, and the first film didn't have any imaginary scenes. I think the wedding scene will happen at the same time as (or directly before) Wonderful, and will probably be interrupted: maybe by the release of the flying monkeys, the Wizard rallying the guards after Elphaba, or — scandal! — even by Elphaba herself! (No, I don't think we'll be getting the "I object!" sequence out of Shrek, even though it would be hilariously apropos, lol.) We've seen an image of what looks like Elphaba back in the Emerald City (maybe right before Wonderful, perhaps sneaking into the Wizard's palace to free the Animals; or perhaps just after Wonderful, after finding Doctor Dillamond and deciding to remain the Wizard's enemy?), and judging by when these events would have to line up based on the story of the musical, I think these are almost certainly within the same section. It seems like the wedding sequence might be a decent spot for some of the new music: or maybe a beefed-up version of Glinda's I'm Not That Girl, if she got left at the altar or something.

6.) We've seen this image of Glinda running up a staircase (with the Grimmerie in hand, and in her Bubble Dress): this seems very likely to be immediately after For Good and the Melting — I suspect Glinda is heading up the stairs to see the aftermath, recover Elphie's hat, and receive the green bottle from Chistery. OR, it could also be related to the Wizard — the wood reminds me of the tower in the Emerald City palace where all of Oscar Diggs' old stuff from Omaha was stored at the end of the first film, so I'm wondering if this is Glinda going up to confront him after realizing that he's Elphaba's father, maybe.

EDIT: I realized after reviewing a better quality image with higher contrast and saturation that the latter possibility I suggested is more likely than the former — behind the wooden beams are the emerald blocks we see in the Wizard's palace, so this frame seems almost certainly to be from the scene where Glinda confronts the Wizard in his tower after returning from Kiamo Ko. And what a brilliant way to do that scene, if indeed that's what this is: the Wizard isn't just sitting despondent in his throne room, he went up to wallow in his old mediocrity — and Glinda doesn't just fly up to him, she ascends the same path she once went up with Elphie, processing her grief the whole way up. The painnnnnnn. It makes her ordering him to fly away in the same balloon that he arrived in — and that Glinda and Elphaba NEARLY escaped in before everything — all the more bitter and ironic. Can't wait to see Jeff Goldblum sell the Wizard's descent into the mother of all midlife crises, fiddling with his old sideshow props in the attic as he comes to know the true despair wrought by his hand.

7.) Will the ending be changed?? It seems all but confirmed that the cloaked figure riding away out of Kiamo Ko at the start of Part 1 was Elphaba: this costume concept for the second film looks identical to what we saw the rider wearing. Add to that (as I've talked about in a prior post) the fact the Scarecrow is shown alongside Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road, implies that at the very least the events of the last few minutes of the musical have been revised. My earlier post listed four different possible alterations (from Elphaba leaving Oz alone, to her still meeting with Fiyero somewhere else after everything, to her somehow letting Glinda and/or Fiyero know she's alive before leaving, or (hope against hope) that she takes Glinda with her), but it's still far too early to tell what they might've gone with. I just hope that at least wrote it better than it was originally. The image of Elphaba riding out of Oz on horseback across the desert would certainly be striking, no matter which option they chose.

[cryptidghostgirl]

so sorry for this (very) specific request hope it's not ocish

anyways alastor x wife reader who's a virologist / kinda a mad scientist??(girl just wants to start a apocalypse without anyone to bother her)

Like they got married for mutual benefits (whatever benefits he would gain and her having access to money for her wildest dreams) when they were humans (whether he actually loves her or not is up to you lmao)

They both die (I assume that she would die around when he died from her own negligence caused by her 'freedom' to do her work more often without actually worrying about him finding out) and she avoids him like the plague (not that hard to realize this so called radio demon is your 'husband' when you find his secret stash of 'local cuisine' in the fridge)

Then he goes missing and she finally kinda goes out of makeshift hiding, just chilling doing her evil deeds before finding about the Hazbin Hotel from some gossip

Deciding that, while redemption is most likely not gonna happen mostly for the fact she does not care, she joins Charlie's little program. For her own little project (just wants to have a angel test subject, gotta see if they can be a good carrier for her little virus)

The reader doesn't know that Alastor's back (you think she's gonna use vox tech? Or listen to the radio? Girl uses a non vox tech phone and maybe a computer and does her work) so she goes and knocks on the door to the hotel

Thinking that this shit is gonna be easy, after all her husband is gone so she won't be bothered by him. She can focus on her beautiful creations and maybe destory hell and heaven with a apocalypse for some laughs. While also getting access to heaven through Charlie somehow (maybe even Lucifer, girl doesn't know nor care)

Anyways you can just IMAGINE her surprise that right after Charlie greets her (Vaggie ofc suspicious af cause she knows damn well no sinner wants to be redeemed for the most part) then here comes the strawberry pimp coming to say hello

Would he recognize his lovely wife? Maybe

Ofc reader had a plan, and by plan I mean she just says they were married and now acts like their divorced (death do us part and we fuckin dead)

(Just for example, do what you want <3)

Anyways I'm sorry again (can you tell that I've been watching a lot of mlp infection aus :') )

A/N bestie,, i love an overly detailed request. no apologies. i hope i did it justice <3 <3 I have literally been obsessing over the whole 'we're dead. we've been parted.' reader idea. It's so fun. Also I am very sorry it took me so long to get to this. Also, I am not a woman nor am I in STEM (I'm an enby in history) so apologies if science stuff in this is bad. I'm basing the character off of Entrapta (my love) from Nate Stevenson's She-Ra remake.

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Gore. Murder. Bodies. Animal cruelty (not detailed at all just like test subjects and burning ants as a kid). Viruses/plague talk. Just capital d Death all around in this one folks. Suicide and starvation briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,584

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n hadn't been sad when Alastor died. It didn't really even register on her radar that he was gone until the police showed up at her door. Their marriage was more of an agreement than anything else, a division of labor. Y/n was a talented virologist who came from a rather wealthy family. He got access to her money, using it to start his own radio studio, and Y/n? Well Y/n got a clean up crew.

She had always been fascinated by death. It was a morbid curiosity that had followed her since childhood. The typical 'burning ants with a magnifying glass to mass murderer' pipeline only, murder was not exactly her objective. Since learning of the Black Death in school, she had been fascinated by biological warfare and weaponry. The stories of soldiers throwing infected bodies over the walls of city's to break down their defenses? It was magnificent, masterful, absolutely awe inspiring. Living through the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, watching how it tore through her city of New Orleans, only furthered her determination.

As soon as she had had the knowledge base to do so, she began working on bio-weapons on her own. She wanted to create a disease, to devastate the world. She wanted to watch the things around her crumble into ruin and know it was by her hand.

She'd found out about Alastor's hobby by accident. They were friends, of a sort, in that Y/n would show up randomly where ever he was and quiz him about radio waves. He worked at a radio station and she knew that. She had followed him, tracked him down. There was no reasoning behind it save he was the first person she'd really found out about that was involved in the business in New Orleans. She would pick his mind about getting the word out about things, marketing, advertising. She was prepping for the main event, for the day she finally created her magnum opus.

One day, when she had shown up unannounced at his door and broken in when he didn't respond to her knocking, Y/n had discovered him dismembering one of his victims. Alastor had stared at her, wide eyed in shock, fear and adrenaline mixing into an intoxicating combination in his veins. Y/n had just smiled.

She had been wondering about human experimentation for a while now. Animals were easy to cover up, easy to bury in the back yard but people? It had always been too risky, up until now anyways.

So it went like this: Y/n funded Alastor's dreams and he hid the side effects of hers. When he died, Y/n didn't really feel anything too strongly about it at all. Yes, it made life harder in that if she wanted to keep using human guinea pigs she'd have to figure out a way to dispose of them on her own but it also made it easier. Alastor had always been so obsessed with image, dragging her to office parties and forcing her to sit down to meals with him. Now that he was gone, she could work on her projects in peace once again. The body thing was something she would figure out along the way. She was smart and she wasn't going to let something like that stop her, not when she was this close to cracking it.

As it turns out, Alastor had been more of a help than Y/n believed. So used to his nattering and persistence, she had stopped eating. It wasn't long before she joined her husband in death. The papers of course had a field day with it. Heiress and Virologist Y/n L/n Withers Away Due to Heartbreak. Y/n L/n Starved Herself to Death and Joins her Murderer of a Husband. Virologist Commits Suicide After Revelation of Dead Husband's Criminal Deeds.

When Y/n had woken up in Hell, her whole world had been turned upside down. If there was life after death, what was the point of killing everyone on earth? She was back at square one.

Rumors were already buzzing through the streets of Hell about some new overlord, some Radio Demon, who had a strikingly similar MO to her husband. Not wanting any distractions this time around, Y/n secluded herself in the outskirts of the pride ring to reformulate her plans.

For decades she worked, trying to create a poison to wipe out the dual planes of the underworld. Work was easier here. No one questioned why she bought the things she bought, no one got upset when people went missing. Hell, no one even blinked twice if they saw her burying a body. It was a veritable paradise for Y/n.

Eventually, news reached her of the Radio Demon's disappearance. Y/n had never been the biggest fan of technology that wasn't involved in her work. In the world of the living, she had barley read the papers. All the machines in her laboratory were ones she had built herself through trial and error. But still, somehow, the news reached her and she felt elated. The last thing weighing her down, the last road block had officially been lifted.

Within seven years, she had perfected the disease. Having run tests on lower rings of Hell, she prided herself on her ability to make it so infections, so deadly. The survival was on par with that of unvaccinated human's infected by rabies. But her plan wasn't complete, no. Taking out everyone in Hell wasn't good enough, she had to figure out how to get it into Heaven as well.

That was when the perfect opportunity fell in her lap. Y/n nearly cried when she caught sight of the interview through the window of a shop selling Vox branded TVs. Charlie Morningstar, Lucifer's little brat, was creating a hotel for sinners, where they could be rehabilitated and sent to Heaven. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Y/n didn't question it, her own excitement blinding her. She barley even took the time to come up with a plan that consisted of more than get into the hotel and get her hands on an angel. She figured that was something that could be dealt with later on.

After a few days of research and snooping, she finally made her move. Having packed her bags and woven her way through the streets of Pentagram City, she found herself before the brightly lit marquee of the Hazbin Hotel. Placing her bag on the ground beside her, the test tubes and various paraphernalia inside clinked gently against one another. Raising her hand, she knocked on the door.

It was Charlie herself who answered, with wide eyes and an earnest smile. A smaller moth demon beside her crossed her arms, eyeing Y/n with doubt. It barley registered with the excitable demon, she was used to the strange looks. The new form Hell had granted her with when she died was odd, after all. She was still the same height, still held a roughly human shape, but her hair had become its own beast. It moved like secondary limbs, falling nearly to the floor from the pigtails she had tied it up into. It shot up into the air around her in joy at the sight of yet another open door in her path, this one literal rather than figurative.

"Hello!" Charlie exclaimed, "Are you here to check in?"

"Yes, check in." Y/n nodded, using her hair to pick her bag back up.

She took a step forward, trying to enter the hotel, but found her path blocked by the smaller grey demon. Her arms were uncrossed now, one of them pointing a spear right at Y/n's neck. Y/n didn't flinch, she simply looked down at it in curiosity, reaching a finger up to touch the end.

"Ow." she said flatly as the spear's tip pressed into the pad of her finger.

Raising it to her eyes, she rubbed the droplet of blood that had pooled on her pointer finger with her thumb before turning back to the spear.

"Is this..." Y/n leaned forward, grabbing the spear's shaft.

"Hey!" Vaggie yelled threateningly as Y/n crouched down, examining the weapon carefully.

"Oh my stars, this is an angelic blade, isn't it?" she exclaimed, her eyes still fixed on the spear.

"Uh..."

Vaggie was more confused now than anything and she took the slightest step away from the excited demon. Y/n followed her and soon, they were in the entry way to the hotel. Charlie watched the scene play out with mild amusement, finding her girlfriends bewildered state rather charming. She let the door fall shut.

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n asked again, "But how did you get it? Did you make it? What do you do with it? Is it more effective than normal weapons? Why a spear? I-"

"What's this, we have a new guest?" a crackling voice cut Y/n off.

"Uh, yes!" Charlie stepped in, turning to face the newcomer.

Y/n, still preoccupied with the spear, was now engaged in trying to get Vaggie to let her hold it.

"I think..." Charlie doubtfully added, her brow furrowing at the site.

"Well well well, a little devil." Alastor hummed, turning to watch the show as well, "Honestly, reminds me of someone I knew back when I was alive and kicking. Ah well, what's her name?"

"I don't... actually know that yet." Charlie admitted, fiddling with her hands a bit as she spoke, "But she seems really enthusiastic about being here!"

"It seems she more interested in that spear of Vaggie's than the idea of redemption." Alastor noted in response.

"Are either of you going to help me or are you just gonna sit and watch?" Vaggie exclaimed, trying her best to pry the spear out of Y/n's grip.

Alastor sighed and with a twirl of his microphone, a shadow arose, pulling Y/n off Vaggie. There was a split second where the smile on the girl's face fell. It quickly returned as she caught sight of what exactly had interrupted her escapades. Placing her bag on the floor with her hair, she wormed around in the shadow's arms, turning to face it. Tentatively, she poked it.

"Would you stop that?" Alastor asked, his voice thick with irritation.

Y/n poked the shadow again.

"What is this? How are you doing this?"

When no response came from the demon in question, she at last turned to face him.

"Oh."

She stilled in her movements and Alastor allowed the shadow to disappear.

"No reason to be scared." Charlie quickly stepped in, "I know Alastor here has a bit of a... reputation, but he is actually helping us at the hotel. He's really a great once you get to know him."

Alastor's smile widened as he bowed his head slightly in recognition of the praise.

"If you're going to be staying her-"

"You can't seriously be thinking of letting her stay here, Charlie." Vaggie cut in, "She's been here what, five minutes? And all thats come of it is chaos."

"Vaggie, come on, don't be like that." Charlie turned to her girlfriend, "Everyone deserves a second chance, that's the whole reason we built this place."

"But does she even want to be redeemed? I mean, what if she's... I don't know, trying to take us down from the inside out? What if she's a journalist or some shit trying to write us bad reviews?"

"You flatter me." Y/n smiled and Vaggie scoffed.

"See?"

"Isn't that all the more reason to let her in? Vaggie, if she is undercover as a journalist or something, we just have to prove to her how amazing what we're doing here is."

"I don't know... I've never seen her before, what if she's another one Vox sent?"

Y/n shook her head, sticking her tongue out slightly in disgust at this notion and Alastor chuckled. There really was something so familiar about this demon and her antics. Even if she was a tad irritating, it was a comfortable familiarity.

"Then we will figure it out, same way we did with Sir. Pentious. Okay?"

"Fine." Vaggie relented at last with a sigh.

Smiling brightly, Charlie turned back to Y/n.

"So, hi. I'm Charlie, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! What's your name?"

Y/n's eyes flicked back and forth between Alastor and Charlie for a moment before settling on Charlie.

"Y/n L/n."

Alastor let out a little laugh of disbelief, a sound he had meant to keep in. He couldn't help it. Of course this little mess of a demon was his favorite crazy wife. Alastor had looked for Y/n on occasion, always keeping an eye on news involving anything scientific but, he had never found a trace. Not that he'd admit it but, in their time together, he had grown rather fond of the girl. Not love, never love, but a sort of familial feel. Everyone turned to face him.

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Charlie asked, walking over to him and placing a hand on his arm which he quickly brushed off.

"Yeah, do you know her or something?" Vaggie added, "Is she dangerous?"

"No..." he paused, his brow slightly furrowed, "She's my wife."

The room fell silent.

"You... you didn't recognize your own wife?" Vaggie asked in disbeleif.

"Ex-wife." Y/n corrected with a little sigh.

This was all becoming so tedious. She hadn't come here to sit and talk with people. While the spear and the shadow had been fun, they had both run their courses and she just wanted to get to work.

"I..." Alastor turned back to Y/n, "Ex-wife?"

Y/n shrugged.

"So you didn't recognize your wife and you didn't know you were divorced?" Vaggie asked, rubbing her temples, "Jesus fuck, man."

"I..." Alastor cleared his throat, "We were married when we were alive. I didn't even know she was dead yet."

"Yeah." Y/n shrugged, "Turns out all your nattering was what was keeping me alive. I forgot to eat, starved to death."

Alastor's eyes softened slightly for a moment at the notion. She had needed his care so badly that she had died with out it. It felt good, in a strange way. Satisfying. They darkened again as he recalled her earlier statement.

"Ex-wife?" he asked again, taking a step towards Y/n.

She looked up at him, her expression blank.

"Yeah?"

"When did we get a divorce!" Alastor exclaimed once he realized she would say nothing else on the matter without his prompting.

"Oh! We didn't." Y/n nodded, smiling slightly, "Now, can I go to my room?"

"No, Y/n. Why are you calling yourself my ex-wife? We are still married."

Y/n looked around at Charlie and Vaggie, seeing if they were going to back up her claim. Sighing, she turned back to Alastor.

"Do I really have to lay it out for you?" she paused and Alastor just stared at her, eyebrows raised, "Jesus. Uh, Al, we died."

"Yes...?"

"Till death do us part? That was the agreement."

"I... Well..." he was at a complete and total loss for how to respond.

She wasn't wrong, he just didn't like her answer very much.

"So... the agreement is done... yeah?"

"I mean," Alastor shook his head slightly, "I guess?"

"Great! Can someone please show me to my room now."

---

Next Part -> Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

[uvobreakmylegs]

Lamp of the Body

first part of a fic long in the making based on some stuff @hypnoswrites and I were discussing about Chrollo :D

Chrollo x female!reader

Part 2

Warnings: mentions of accidents, injury, isolation, mentions of strangulation

Word count: 6.3k

You were struggling to breathe.

You couldn't see anything.

Your heart was pounding hard against the inside of your chest.

You were scared.

Scared of what? You weren't sure. All you knew was that the adrenaline was rushing through your system while you panicked. And what furthered that panic was the fact that you couldn't move. You were stuck, laying on your back and frozen in place while all of your senses told you that you were in danger.

Then you noticed the figure sitting next to you.

It was too dark to make them out, but you saw their general shape and the way they leaned over you.

Once they realized that you had seen them, they moved.

A hand reached out, turning your face towards them before caressing your cheek in slow motions. An act that should have been comforting, but instead the panic in you worsened and you began to cry.

The figure did nothing to comfort you; they only wiped away the tears that fell. Despite that action that to most would have indicated some amount of care, you didn't feel anything like that when their skin brushed against yours.

They didn't care.

In such a vulnerable state, you were at the mercy of such a person, one who had no concern over your distress.

As if you were simply a spectacle to them.

They wiped away another tear in a robotic manner, and still said nothing when those tears continued.

It didn't seem real.

That was your first thought when you woke up in the morning, your eyes going over details in the bedroom: the thin bits of light showing through the cracks in the blinds, the soft rug that lay on the floor that you had picked out when you'd first moved here, and the door to the walk-in closet that was currently closed. If it had been open you would've seen both your own and Chrollo's clothes hanging inside of it.

At the thought of Chrollo, you looked to the other side of the bed, finding that your boyfriend was still there beside you. You took in the sight of his face, how peaceful his expression was and the way his bangs partially covered the tattoo on his forehead, only allowing little bits of the design to be seen through the black locks. It looked as though he was still fast asleep based on the way his eyes remained closed and how steadily his chest rose and fell with each breath. As much as you felt compelled to scoot over closer and cuddle up against him, in the past your boyfriend had proven to be an incredibly light sleeper and you worried that the action might wake him up.

With all that Chrollo had done for you, the man deserved to get as much sleep as he wanted.

As quietly as you could, you got out of bed and made your way over to the bathroom, periodically looking back over to Chrollo and finding him to still be asleep each time you did. But as you looked back at him one last time before entering the bathroom, you were once again struck by how it still didn't feel completely real, that you were able to look at the image of your sleeping boyfriend.

That you were able to look at anything at all.

The lights came on when you flipped the switch, and instinct had you closing your eyes as they adjusted to the light. When it no longer hurt to have your eyes open, you made your way over to the sink, covering your mouth to yawn before you looked at yourself in the mirror. The gray eyes of your reflection stared back at you, briefly flitting about as you took in the messy state of your hair and wrinkled sleep clothes before you went back to staring at your eyes.

Maybe some might find it weird to be referring to them as being “yours” considering that they were definitely not the eyes you'd been born with and had come from an unknown donor, but seeing that they'd been placed inside your skull, it seemed silly to say otherwise.

Still, to think that just a few months ago you hadn't been able to see at all, your original eyes permanently damaged because of that car accident.

You'd lived that way for almost a year, and after getting used to the world being in total darkness with only the images in your memory to go off of, it didn't seem real that you were able to see again.

You brought a hand up to your cheek, watching as your reflection did the same and lightly brush beneath the area under and around your eye, your fingers briefly lingering on the small bits of scarring on your skin.

It didn't seem real, but clearly it was.

“Is everything alright?”

Hearing Chrollo's voice surprised you, and you looked over to find him entering the bathroom, smiling at you when you made eye contact.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” you answered, adding “sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't,” he said, “I woke up on my own a moment ago.”

You were about to reply when another yawn came on that you couldn't suppress, and you covered your mouth with your hand.

His eyebrow raised as he asked “are you sure you don't need more sleep?”

“I'm fine,” you said, “I don't think I'd be able to sleep anymore, anyway.”

He nodded.

Then Chrollo walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your form and holding you close to him. You reached up and grabbed at one of his hands, to which he responded by taking your hand in his and lightly squeezing.

“You came in to admire yourself, I see,” he said.

You laughed a little.

“Don't know if there's much to admire here at the moment,” you answered.

“I disagree,” he said, “there's quite a lot to admire about you.”

“Well, you're biased, so I don't know how much I can trust you on that,” you said.

He chuckled, taking the hand that he held and lifting it so he could place a kiss on your skin. As he did that your gaze went back to the mirror.

It was a nice image, you thought to yourself. You and your boyfriend, both of you with hair that needed to be brushed and looking rather disheveled after getting out of bed, standing together and holding one another in a moment of peaceful quiet.

A definite contrast to what life had been during the last nine months where the days had been filled with anxiety despite how hard you tried to adjust to a new way of living. Unsurprisingly, having one of your senses be unexpectedly taken away was a difficult thing to cope with.

Despite what had happened, you spent a relatively short amount of time in the hospital as Chrollo had been insistent on you returning home with him as soon as possible. You hadn't minded that too much. Even though you hadn't stayed there long, the loss of your eyesight had made your other senses get stronger. As such, you'd grown to truly hate the smell of hospitals, the feeling of needles poking into your skin and the never-ending beeping of the machines you'd be hooked up to.

Being in the comfort of your home while you recovered was preferable.

And hopefully it would be a while before you needed to go back for any doctor's appointment, though when you did, the staff at the hospital would definitely be surprised to find that you were able to see again.

Chrollo seemed to notice that your thoughts had drifted elsewhere as he asked “what is it, love?”

“Nothing too important, I guess,” you said, “just thinking about what'll happen if I ever end up back at that hospital. They'd be surprised if they saw me with how adamant they were that there wasn't anything that could be done for me.”

You looked back at him while asking “why wouldn't they have mentioned the guy in Padokea?”

“I don't know,” he answered, shrugging as he added “perhaps they were worried what might happen if they recommended an experimental surgery and then something went wrong.”

“What do you think could've gone wrong?”

“I'm sure there's a number of things, though I can't say what exactly they might be.”

“I thought you knew everything,” you said teasingly.

He smiled as he answered “I'm afraid I must concede that I only have a basic knowledge when it comes to the world of modern medicine. That's why I usually go to Machi if I have any questions.”

You hummed, looking back to the reflections in the mirror.

You could lose that. In a mere moment your eyesight could be taken away and your world would become dark again.

Remembering the way things had been caused the anxiety to swell inside of you, and this time you voiced your concerns.

“Things will stay this way, right?” you asked him, “nothing's going to happen where the eyes won't work out and I'll need to go back to not being able to see, right?”

Chrollo's hand went to rest on your shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly as he asked “is that what you're worried about?”

You nodded.

“It'd be sad to get back my eyesight and then have it taken away again,” you added.

Chrollo pulled you around so you were no longer facing the mirror. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss against your lips before holding you against himself.

He spoke again.

“Everything will be fine, love,” he told you, “nothing's gone wrong since we came back, and if we were to call up that professional, he'd tell you that everything is fine.”

“You're sure he'd say that?” you asked.

“I'm sure.”

His hand was on your head stroking your hair. That alone was able to quell the anxiety that had begun to grow in your chest.

“After all,” he continued, “I promised that you'd be fine, didn't I?”

You nodded, remembering what he said to you almost a year ago.

You still remembered the way he'd grasped your hand and the feel of the fur that lined the cuffs of his coat sleeves brushing against your skin. You remembered the cast that your leg had been trapped in and the constant beeping of the monitors beside your bed. You remembered the darkness.

And you remembered how easily your spirits were lifted when Chrollo spoke to you.

“Everything will be fine, love. I promise you.”

At the time you thought he was only saying that so you would feel a bit better about your situation, that he was simply doing his best to be a supportive boyfriend as he navigated through the results of this accident with you. While the future may not have been completely bleak, it was without a doubt going to be different than what you could have ever imagined and you and Chrollo were going to need to find a new version of your “normal”.

At the time you never would have thought he'd find a way to make things go back to the way they'd been before the accident.

Yet he had.

And now you were here.

Still not completely recovered as the trauma that had come with being in such a nasty accident remained with you and would likely stay with you for a long time to come, but you were still in a much better place than you had been in the previous months.

And Chrollo had been by your side every step of the way.

He pulled away, cupping your cheek and moving your head up to look at him.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling after.

He kissed you again before saying “we may as well start getting ready for the day.”

He let you go after that, moving over to his side of the sink.

“Are you working today?” you asked.

“No, not today. My schedule is free.”

“Do we have anything planned?”

“Nothing in particular,” he answered, “although I suppose I should figure out something fast, otherwise you'll be insistent on watching horror movies all day.”

You pouted a little as you asked “what's wrong with that?”

“Ordinarily there would be nothing wrong with that. Unfortunately, you never seem to be able to pick any good movies,” he replied.

“Rude.”

“It's the truth, love.”

“Even if it is, you aren't supposed to say that.”

“So I'm supposed to lie to you?”

“When it comes to my taste in movies, yeah.”

“Interesting.”

There wasn't any malice behind either of your words during that bit of banter, and you couldn't help giggling a little bit after. Chrollo also had a soft smile on his face, though the somewhat distant gaze his gray eyes made it seem as though he was thinking about something.

His eyes…

… Huh. You hadn't really thought about it before.

“We almost match now,” you said.

“Hm?”

He glanced over to you, waiting for you to elaborate.

“Our eyes,” you explained, pointing to your own as you continued with “we almost have the same eye color now. It's off by just a few shades.”

Chrollo's hummed as he smiled again.

“So we do.”

Was that a dumb thing to point out? If it was he wouldn't say anything like that. And with the amount of time the two of you had been together, he was probably used to hearing such things from you. How a man like him wanted to be with someone like you, you would never know. But after the events of the past few months, you could say with one hundred percent certainty that he deeply cared about you.

Really, you didn't deserve him.

“I'll do whatever you want to do today, Chrollo,” you said, smiling at him again.

He smiled back at you as he said “I'll need to make sure I come up with something good, then.”

The accident happened when Chrollo was away on business, during one of his trips that he took every few months that lasted up to a few weeks on average. You never quite knew what those trips were about; Chrollo said he couldn't tell you and communication with him during those times was shoddy at best, so you didn't even have much to go off of to figure out on your own what he was doing. There was a constant curiosity burning in you about what he was doing exactly, but since he told you that you didn't need to know, you stopped pressing the issue.

If Chrollo said so, then you trusted him.

Not that your trust helped at all in how lonely those weeks would be while he was gone. With communication being almost non-existent while he was away and no one else around to hang out with or even really talk to, the feeling of isolation would take over fast. For that reason, you figured that things would be more interesting if you were to step out of your routine. That day you headed out to attend a convention that was taking place not too far from where you lived in the hopes you could browse around, perhaps make a few new friends, but mostly to do something different.

When you were on your way was when a careless driver slammed headfirst into the taxi you'd been riding in.

Your leg and collarbone had both been broken, and one of your wrists and a few of your ribs had been fractured. Terrible injuries, to be sure, but those were things that you could recover from.

The loss of your eyesight was a different story, and the doctor who'd treated your injuries had informed you that there was no way to bring that back.

Hearing that had been hard.

It was made harder still when your attempts to reach Chrollo failed.

Even after giving them his number, the hospital had been unable to contact Chrollo as every single call they made failed to go through. With you stuck in bed with all of your injuries and not having anyone else you could contact, it was a devastating few days.

But on the afternoon of your third day in the hospital he showed up unexpectedly, heading straight to your room and calling out to you once he saw you. Relief filled you in the moment where you heard his voice, but the gravity of the situation brought you back down not long after. His hands grasped yours, and you felt the fur that lined the cuffs of his coat brush against your skin as you tearfully told him that you couldn't see anymore.

It seemed to take him a moment to process that information as he remained silent at first.

After a few moments, he pulled your hand up to his mouth and placed a kiss to your skin.

And then he spoke again.

“Everything will be fine, love. I promise you.”

The words had been spoken with conviction.

And he was right.

Everything had seemingly gone back to the way it was before, and that fact in of itself was better than you could've hoped for.

It was hard to breathe, and you could feel the adrenaline pumping through you while you lay frozen in place. You couldn't move. No matter how many times your brain ordered your limbs to break free of their state of stasis, they wouldn't comply, and you were stuck, laying as though rigor mortis had set in.

The figure was there. Though you still couldn't see them clearly, you felt them watching you.

Why wouldn't they help you? Why did they only ever watch?

Your jaw refused to open so you could ask those questions, and you were left to harshly breathe through your nose while the figure continued to observe you.

The next morning, while you fought with the eggs that didn't want to be unstuck from the pan, a thought came to you.

“What sort of things does Kortopi like?” you asked, looking back to where Chrollo sat at the table.

“Kortopi? He likes books. He also enjoys making miniatures.”

“Miniatures?”

“Those sets you can get from hobby stores,” Chrollo clarified before adding, “what makes you ask?”

You turned back to the pan as you answered “I wanted to do something for him since he helped us out. I thought maybe I could get him something nice; like I could put together a basket of stuff he'd like as a way to say 'thank you'. Same with Pakunoda and Machi.”

You paused before adding “and Shalnark.”

“Why the hesitation in naming Shalnark?”

Of course he picked up on that.

“… I don't want to say anything bad about your friend,” you replied.

You glanced back to find that his eyebrow had raised slightly.

“Oh? What did he do?”

You were hesitant to answer, because while Shalnark had been rather intrusive when he'd been here with you, he had been helping you and Chrollo out. Still, you knew from past experiences that Chrollo wasn't going to let this go.

“…. Some of the questions he asked me were a little invasive,” you admitted, “and I think he might have been going through our stuff.”

Chrollo didn't seem surprised.

“Shalnark does have a bad habit of being a bit too nosy,” he said, “but I doubt he meant any actual harm in anything he said or did.”

“Why didn't you bring this up back then?” he then asked.

“He was doing us a favor,” you said, “and you said that I could trust him. Just… Maybe if he ever comes back, we should make sure you're around to keep him in line.”

You heard him let out a chuckle as you went back to your cooking.

“He usually listens to me, so that shouldn't be an issue,” Chrollo said, “and if you'd like, I can take care of getting him something.”

“Nah, I'll still get him a gift as thanks. It'd be rude if I didn't,” you said, “hopefully I won't need him or any of your other friends to babysit me again.”

The eggs managed to not be burned when you pushed them out of the pan and onto your plate, and after months of being out of practice when it came to cooking, it felt good that you'd managed to do that much.

“I still don't think you needed to call on them as much as you did,” you added, “I would've been fine on my own for a few hours those times you were gone.”

“It was better for you to have not needed them than be in a situation where you were having an emergency and couldn't get help,” he answered.

“I'm not sure how much trouble I could've gotten into on my own, honestly,” you said.

“You never know.”

“I guess. I feel bad for taking up their time like that, though.”

“They were happy to help,” he told you, “but I do think your idea of gifts as a way of thanking them is a good one.”

Setting the plate of eggs down at the table, you sat down as you asked “where are you heading out today?”

He was already dressed to go out, and he'd finished up his coffee just as you took your seat.

“Nowhere special. I just need to take care of a few things in relation to my last job,” he answered.

“How long will you be out?”

“Not long. I should be back after lunch.”

“So not long enough that I need someone to look after me,” you said.

He smiled as he said “not this time, no.”

A beat of silence passed, and though you suspected you knew what his response would be, you decided to make a request anyway.

“If I finish this really fast, can I come with you?” you asked.

Though his smile didn't falter, Chrollo shook his head.

“It's not the sort of trip where I can bring you along,” he said.

“Not even if I stay in the car while you go do whatever?”

“Do you really want to be stuck in a car for hours?”

“No,” you admitted, “but it'd be nice to get out for a little bit.”

He nodded while reaching over so he could grasp your hand.

“I know that you're feeling closed off from the rest of the world, love,” Chrollo said, “but I'd much rather you stay in here while you continue your recovery.”

“I feel fine, though. Better than I have in a while,” you replied, “I could start going out a little, right?”

“Perhaps. But not on a trip like this.”

“What then?”

“We can figure that out when I get back.”

He stood up then, and there was a sense of finality in the conversation as he pushed his chair back in place, though he kept his cheerful demeanor when he smiled at you again.

“No need to get up,” he said to you, “I'll see myself out. Don't stress yourself and stay inside.”

That last part was definitely tacked on because of what you'd said.

“Even if I feel fine?” you asked.

“Do it for me, love.”

He finished that off by placing a kiss to your forehead.

Well damn. How could you refuse when he asked you like that?

He smiled at you, and you smiled back at him. Everything was fine.

You were fine when he walked out of the room, gathering his things before making his way to the door. You were fine even when you heard the jingling of his keys and the sound of the door opening. You were fine when you called out one last “goodbye”, to which he responded in kind.

But the instant you heard the front door lock behind him and you could no longer hear his footsteps, your mood fell.

Life got lonely when Chrollo wasn't around. Largely due to how small your world had become as you were lacking when it came to other people you could be around. And while the accident had made things smaller, it had been getting to be that way even before the crash. Friends and family didn't contact you anymore and you didn't know anyone outside of Chrollo's social circle, of whom you very rarely saw. The most time you had spent with anyone aside from your boyfriend was a few hours at a time during those months of recovery when he got his friends to look after you when you were bedridden.

Did your old friends or any of your family even know about the crash?

You had no clue, but since Chrollo said you didn't need to worry about them, you didn't think about them most days.

Though it didn't help how the apartment felt incredibly empty whenever he was gone.

But it was okay.

It would be fine, you told yourself as you finished up your breakfast. Chrollo wouldn't be gone long. His lack of packing an overnight bag or getting one of his friends to stay with you was proof of that. He'd be back before the day was out and everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine as long as Chrollo was with you.

After all, he'd said so.You had your eyesight back.

Though it had taken a while to get to that point. Months of staying put in bed so as to not strain yourself, and then getting used to walking on your own again after your broken bones had healed up. Despite having no vision, muscle memory had kicked in when you were feeling well enough to walk without assistance, and you didn't have much issue navigating the layout of the apartment once your leg had fully healed.

That was when Chrollo came to you with a proposal.

The medical professionals told you there was nothing that could be done about your sight, yet Chrollo had found a way around it, telling you of an experimental new surgery being done somewhere within the Dentora Region of Padokea. Under normal circumstances, you might have been skeptical, and just hearing the word “experimental” made you nervous. But Chrollo managed to convince you to give it a shot. All it took was a single conversation and he had gotten you to agree.

You were glad that he did, otherwise you might not be here like this right now. Back to what your normal had been before the accident, at least for the most part. Being able to be on your own and not needing to worry if you were becoming a burden to your boyfriend. Going back to waiting for him to return from his work and eagerly greeting him when he walked in the door.

Chrollo had done a good job of keeping up a positive attitude while you recovered, but now you were feeling better mentally, his happiness seemed a bit more genuine.

Maybe at some point soon, you could start to go out again like you had before the accident.

That would be something to discuss once he was back.

You woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard as you sat up in bed, your arms shaking as you struggled to support yourself.

Another nightmare. The same as the others where you couldn't move and someone sat by and stared at you. But this time had been different.

You could still feel their hands around your throat as your air was cut off completely.

A quick check by placing one of your hands to your neck confirmed that it had been a dream; no one was trying to choke the life out of you.

That only brought minimal relief, however. Even if it was only a nightmare, the images were still fresh in your mind, and it had left you shaken. The thought of being unable to fight back or even cry out while someone sat on top of you and tried to kill you was one that made you feel incredibly helpless.

And you were so, so tired of feeling helpless.

Glancing next to you, you were able to make out Chrollo's form on the bed. He was still asleep, otherwise he no doubt would've asked you what was wrong.

Maybe you should tell him.

They'd started weeks after getting back from Padokea, and the first few times you hadn't thought much of them. And even when they continued, you decided to keep it to yourself. They were simply been the result of stress, likely in relation to the accident, and that at some point they would stop on their own. You didn't want to bring it up because you didn't want to saddle him with anymore of your issues. After all, you weren't a child and Chrollo deserved better than for you to go crying to him whenever something mildly inconvenient happened.

If the nightmares had stopped quickly you wouldn't have considered talking to him.

But if anything, they were only increasing in frequency. Not only were they leaving you emotionally exhausted, but you felt that you were being drained physically as well. Your nights were becoming restless and you spent almost all of the next day tired as you tried to recuperate.

No wonder Chrollo didn't want you going out; he could easily see that you were tired and took that to mean that you still weren't well enough for the outside.

It still seemed strange that they would continue as long as they did, though. Especially when you were considerably less stressed than you'd been before the surgery. Why were they happening when things were going well?

… You didn't know. You just wanted them to stop so you wouldn't need to deal with them anymore.

For now just rest, you told yourself.

With that, you settled back down onto the bed, though your gaze went to Chrollo, still asleep and with his back turned to you. After a moment, you scooted over to be closer to him, resting against his back and placing a hand on his arm. Chrollo didn't wake.

A little unusual given how often he awoke to even the slightest of movement on the bed. He must have been more tired than usual. Part of you was sad because of that; it would've been nice to feel him hold you back, to give you some form of reassurance, even if it was one small piece of physical affection.

But waking him up would be selfish.

So you stayed still, not moving any further, keeping your hand on his arm and your face against his back while you took in his scent.

You can deal with this much on your own, you told yourself.

Just rest for now.

“How would you feel about moving?”

You looked up from where you sat on the couch over to where Chrollo stood on the other end of the room. Moments ago you'd both been reading separately, and he'd gotten up when his cellphone had gone off so he could take the call in another room. He had just come back in and that was the first thing he said, and it managed to catch you so off-guard that it took you a bit to process what he just said.

“Moving?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“And go where?”

“Out of the city,” he said, “somewhere in the country. That would be nice, wouldn't it?”

“…. Huh.”

He seemed surprised at your reaction, as he asked “you don't want to?”

“I don't know,” you said, “I was really looking forward to walking around here again when it's okay for me to go out.”

Shutting your book and placing it to the side, you asked “where exactly are you thinking?”

“Somewhere near the mountains would be nice.”

“…. Wouldn't somewhere near the mountains be several hours away from here?”

“It would.”

“Won't that interfere with your job?”

He shrugged.

“Relocating won't effect me much,” he said, “my work already requires me to travel. Adding a few more hours to my trips is hardly a sacrifice.”

“Besides,” he added, “I think a new environment would be better for you, especially one that kept you away from the stresses outside here.”

That made sense. Everything he said made sense, as it always did.

But still.

“I really like it here, though,” you said, “there are specific places I haven't been to since the accident that I want to visit again, and I won't be able to do that if we move. Not easily, at least.”

“I understand, but you shouldn't be sacrificing your health just to see certain places again.”

“I'm not sacrificing anything.”

At that, Chrollo leaned against the door frame before he sighed.

“You haven't been doing well, love,” he told you.

You frowned.

“I thought I was doing pretty good, all things considered,” you said.

“You spend most of your days exhausted.”

“I'm not that exhausted.”

To that, Chrollo gave you a pointed look. One that clearly told you that he didn't believe you and you knew you couldn't continue to insist that he was wrong.

“Okay, maybe I'm not doing as great as I'd like, but I'm still getting used to things. It doesn't mean we need to completely leave the lives we have here,” you insisted.

Should you mention the nightmares, that those were probably part of the issue? No…. He might use those as another reason as to why what he was suggesting was the correct decision, and therefore, the decision that you needed to go with. Like most things when it came to your life.

Not that there were any bad decisions that Chrollo had forced on you, but you generally had little input on them as he expected you to go with what he wanted. Like the eyes. He had basically told you that it was happening and you had been in such a depressive state that you didn't offer much resistance.

But it was different now. You liked it here and you wanted to stay. Plus he'd had this place even before meeting you, and the thought of forcing him to move out of his longtime home made you feel guilty. Even if he was the one who wanted it.

“Moving somewhere else just feels like a really extreme reaction,” you continued.

“Trying to keep your health in mind is extreme?” he asked.

“…. Maybe just a little bit, this time.”

Your voice was a bit more hushed when you answered.

After a moment, he pushed himself off the door frame and began to walk towards where you sat.

Chrollo would get his way again. You could already tell: he was going to talk to you, explain all of the reasons as to why he was right and shoot down every argument you had until you were forced to agree that there was no point in doing it in anyway other than his. Then by the end of the week he'd have found some home away from here, if he didn't have his eye on something already, and you'd find yourself packing up everything before the end of the month.

You loved your boyfriend. You really did.

But you didn't want to leave your home.

Maybe you could find some sort of compromise, figure out something to say that would get him to back down temporarily.

So before he could speak, you asked “what if we just held off on that for a few months? Wait and see how I'm doing after a longer period and come back to the topic of moving?”

“It's been some time already and you haven't gotten better,” he countered.

Sitting down next to you, Chrollo reached out and took your hand in his.

“I understand why you don't want to leave,” he continued, “but we do need to consider what is best for you. And I think staying so close to where that crash happened is having a negative affect on you.”

Giving your hand a light squeeze, he asked “don't you agree?”

You surprised him again when you shook your head.

“I get what you're saying,” you then told him, “but I don't think I'm going to get anywhere if I keep running from my problems. Yeah, I'm tired, but I really want things to go back to how they were. I really want to move past what happened.”

“So I'd feel a lot better if I could at least try to tough it out for a little while longer,” you continued, adding “and maybe you're right, that a change in environment is better for me. So maybe in a few months, if we find that I'm still in the same place, we can look into leaving.”

You stayed quiet a moment before adding “if that sounds good to you.”

It didn't seem like he felt that way. Or did it? You couldn't quite read him at the moment, his expression rather stone-faced as he presumably thought over what you said.

At least he was taking your argument into consideration. At least that was something.

“Alright then, love.”

You sat up straighter when he said that and stayed quiet so he could continue with “we'll hold off on it and come back to this discussion at a later date. However, if it seems like you're getting worse, we will be looking into moving.”

You nodded.

He squeezed your hand again as he then asked “you will tell me if you aren't doing well, won't you?”

“Of course.”

Chrollo stared at you for a moment.

Then he finally conceded, pulling your hand up to his lips so he could kiss it.

You responded by placing a kiss on his cheek, which he couldn't help but smile at.

It wasn't good to lie to him. You knew that.

But you were going to get through your issues without bothering him.

You weren't going to burden him anymore.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light in |One-shot [1]|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader | Dewey Riley and Fem!Reader

One-shot: A Classic Whodunit

Summary: Moving to Woodsborro was certainly not your willing decision. Change has always been hard for you, so what better way to cope than to make everyone else's life almost as miserable as yours?

Warning(s): Swearing, & mentioned family issues (?)

Notes: Finally got around to re-writing this and I definitely prefer this version. There's more Tara x Reader stuff and a little more details regarding R's past. Still based off this scene from Gilmore Girls and takes place when R just moved to town. This'll still be the last thing I'm able to post for one my stories for a bit, but I'm glad it's still something

Masterlist

The fall breeze hits you as you walk out of the school building. You continued reading from your book as you walked with your head hung low paying no mind to your surroundings, too engrossed with the words you read. That was until you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye, your brief suspicions immediately being confirmed when the person spoke. 

Dewey—who was previously leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed—began to follow you, uncrossing his arms. “Hey,” he nodded at you and you didn’t reciprocate, only turning your head to look at him briefly before turning your attention ahead of you while putting your book in your back pocket. “How was school?” Dewey immediately followed with. 

“Great,” you couldn’t help the blatant disinterest in your tone. 

“Learn anything good?” You could already tell he was amping up to something. There was a certain eagerness in his voice. An eagerness to segway into what he truly wanted to talk about. 

“Oh yeah, tons of things. I got gold stars plastered all of my forehead,” you remarked with as much sarcasm you could muster at the moment. 

“I got an interesting call today. Wanna know who it was from?” He asked and you couldn’t care less. 

“Not really,” you answered honestly, your tone still showing anything but amusement.

“So Mr. Collier—you know he owns the local market?”

“If you say so.” 

“Said you came in today.”

“He did?” You rhetorically asked; you looked both ways before you and Dewey now walked alongside a road. 

“And he said you took some money out of a little donation cup to help repair the roads. I told him he was crazy, you wouldn’t do that, you weren’t a thief, that he was just trying to start trouble and then I hung up on him.” Most of what Dewey was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You’ve grown good at tuning people out, intentional or not. Still Dewey continued. “Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging up on Mr. Collier. The guy’s nothing but a jerk—and he is crazy. But I was just wondering, if maybe, any of the other things were true.”

“What do you think?” You questioned with annoyance at the edge of your voice. You were starting to grow more and more impatient as he continued to yammer on. 

“I think if you tell me that what he’s saying is not true then I’m going to believe it’s not true,” he elaborated.

“Okay. It’s not true.” 

“That doesn’t sound very convincing—”

The two of you were now on a dirt path as you stopped in your tracks and finally turned to face Dewey. While one hand moved as you spoke, the other one was clenched into a fist to your side. “—Look, what exactly do you want from me? First I get forced to move here, now I’m stuck with you most of the time. I’m put in this place—now in a school that has us doing the pledge of allegiance in six-different-languages! I’m supposed to be this happy-go-lucky person after being taken away from my home, my friends—and now you want what from me?!” 

You didn’t need this. You were fine living in a crappy apartment. You were fine knowing the city you lived in like the back of your hand. You were fine having your best friend within walking distance. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Your father had no right to ship you off just because he couldn’t take his precious image being ruined. He was on the verge of sending you to military school before your mom stepped in. Their marriage had been falling apart for some time but this was definitely the nail in the coffin. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” Dewey sighed as his own patience was beginning to grow thin. Dewey knew about your complicated relationship with your father. He knew what led to you ending up in Woodsborro. He knew things about you before you even knew them. He just wanted to protect you, shield you from harm. Even if he knows where that has gotten him in the past.

“Well stop trying. Stop talking to me, stop following me, and stop asking me questions! Just stop!” You waved your hands in aggravation as you spoke, your temper and annoyance taking over you with each second. You were pissed and upset with every aspect of your life. Unfortunately, Dewey found himself being on the receiving end of your frustration. 

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes!”

“That’s what you really want?” He wasn’t yelling but his voice grew louder with his second question to match your own tone.

“Yes,” you spoke with more conviction. 

“Fine. You got it, kid!” Dewey said as he threw his hands up.

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You both continued walking, both of you walking tensely as you stepped onto the bridge that went over the lake that was not far from where you two were previously standing. You each refused to look at the other as you walked along the bridge. When you were halfway on the bridge, you suddenly felt yourself being shoved. In a blink of an eye, you go from standing on the bridge to standing in the lake soaking wet. You pushed your hair back to look at Dewey who was still walking with his back facing you. He didn’t pay the person he just shoved into a lake any mind. 

Great.

By the time you successfully lifted yourself up and got back on to the bridge, Dewey was gone. Nobody liked soggy socks but maybe you deserved it. Maybe. Even if you were far too stubborn to admit it. 

—

The next day people were crowded around Mr. Collier’s store. He was ranting about something with his hands going up and down as he spoke angrily. When Tara walked closer she finally saw what all the ruckus was about. 

Apparently someone had drawn the outline of a body right outside of his store and put up caution tape. It was obviously just a prank.  If there was actually a murder, the police wouldn’t let it hit daylight. Let alone bring attention to it by drawing an outline of the body with white chalk. They weren’t living in the interwar period. But Mr. Collier refused to see this as he argued with Sheriff Hicks, eyes flickering back and forth from the sheriff and the outline as he yelled. 

“What am I supposed to do?! I have a dead body right in front of my store!” 

“No. You have a chalk outline of a dead body in front of your store,” she said as a matter of fact. “One of my guys is doing a headcount to see if anyone is missing. Until then just sit tight? This is probably just some prank done by one of the highschoolers.” She sighed before walking away from the dramatic man. 

Tara couldn’t help but laugh as she looked over at the outline again. Nothing good ever happened in Woodsborro. Other than the fact that a few murders from the 90’s are practically a part of their school curricula, it was a boring ass town. So one should never take entertainment like this for granted. 

Sheriff Hicks came back just a few minutes later and informed everyone—mainly Mr. Collier—that everyone had been accounted for and it really was just a prank. 

“But it looks so real! Where’d they get the police tape?” The man was still in disbelief if his tone was anything to go by.

“Kids have their ways,” Hicks shrugged, resting a hand on her hips. She had gone through ghostface before and even her ptsd wasn't flaring up from what was in front of her. The man needed to relax.

“Who would be depraved enough to pull a stupid prank like this?!” 

As if on cue, Tara’s eyes found you leaning against a light pole across the street as you wore a devilish smirk. It shifted into a small smile when you met her eyes. You looked away for a moment then back at her before you walked away. 

Of course it was you. This had your name plastered all over it. You might as well have been posing at the scene of the crime. She should have known better. You have been wreaking havoc from the moment you stepped into town. Nothing good ever came from that stupid smirk she’s become all too familiar with. Everything about you annoyed her to no end. There was just something she couldn't put her finger on. It was driving her insane. You were going to drive her insane. 

—

The next day, Tara returned to the market so she could fulfill her duties as the snacks retriever for tonight’s movie marathon with the others. After seeing that everything—your mess—was cleaned up and Mr. Collier was less frantic, she made her way inside the market. While inside, she bumped into Wes. They talked for a few minutes as she continued shopping. Wes was nice, but romance wise? Tara didn’t know how to feel. Wes is kind, good looking, a gentleman—what was stopping Tara from going out with him?

“I’m going to ring these up but I’ll meet you outside?” Tara said to Wes and he nodded with a smile. Tara returned it before checking out the things she bought and waited outside the store for Wes with her plastic bags full of snacks in hand. She suddenly felt a light tap on back before she turned around and saw you.

“Should you be standing around here all alone? I heard this is a pretty dangerous corner,” you teased while emphasizing the word ‘pretty’ by motioning with your hands. Tara looked at you then immediately looked away as she crossed her arms.

“I’m fine,” she said—trying in a nonchalant tone.

“Feeling succinct today?” You looked her up and down, noticing her tense demeanor.

“Pretty much.” She refused to give you anymore than that. She was not going to buckle. She was not going to fall for your witty remarks or snide comments.

“Hm,” you said while lightly nodding. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“Me? No.” Now she was finally looking at you, meeting your eyes.

“Good.” 

“You might wanna ask that same question to Dewey though.”

“Meaning?” You raised your eyebrows as if you didn’t have a single clue.

From your facial expressions to your tone—how were you so unbothered? How could you be so clueless? So dense? Fuck it. Maybe she was going to buckle and fall but you were just too irritating to resist the temptation. “You’ve got this whole town coming down on him,” Tara’s voice became more defensive.

“Reeeally? How’d I do that?” You feigned a look of surprise and concern, matching your conceited tone

She was going to punch you.

“You know how you did that,” she replied because you couldn’t be that dull. You just couldn’t. 

“I’m quite familiar with the bluebook laws in this town so you’re talking about a lot of things. Dropping a gum wrapper, strolling arm and arm with a member of the opposite sex on a Sunday,” you satirized with that vexing voice of yours.

Maybe you were that dull. Tara pointed down with both her arms at the chalk you both stood on. They were able to clean up the police tape no problem, but the chalk was going to take more elbow grease. 

You looked to where she was pointing before saying, “Ah.” You moved your feet off of the outline before continuing, “What about it?”

“You did it,” Tara said. “Everyone knows you did it. They had a meeting about it.”

“You actually go to those bizzaro town meetings?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. You shook your head, “God those things are so To Kill A Mockingbird.” 

“My friend’s mom is a sheriff, so she’s the one who went. And Dewey went. When he got there everyone ganged up on him. They all want you gone,” Tara told you with no remorse.

“Wow. Bummer.”

“And he’s standing there, yelling at everyone, and defending you—now he’s a pariah for the shit you’ve caused in just a month of being here.” You looked down to the side, processing what you were just told. You wore a look Tara wasn’t able to read. “Of course you don’t care about any of this,” she rolled eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” you said. 

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” she waved you away with her hands, shooing you, before looking away.

“Fine…” You started to walk away but Tara’s frustration got the best of her and you stopped and turned back around when you heard her speak again. 

“You’re an asshole!” 

“Got a second wind, huh?” You tried to hide the displeasure you suddenly felt.

“You’re making his life hard. And for what? For your own amusement? You’re sadistic.” You could tell she had been holding that in. You also wouldn’t comment on how you found the pout she was wearing a little cute. “Second wind over.”

“I didn’t realize they were coming down so hard on him…”

“Funny, I never pegged you as clueless,” Tara remarked, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“I get it…” She gave you a look. “No no no, I do, I get it,” you lightly nodded at her. Contrary to your previous tone, your voice now held interest and understanding—and so did the look you gave her. Your eyes flickered between her and the chalk outline before asking the question that’s been in the back of your mind, “Did you at least think it was funny?”

Tara tried to fight the smile on her face as she rolled her eyes, but this time rolling them in a more playful manner. “That is so not the point!” She hoped you didn’t hear the laugh that threatened to come out. 

“Yeah… you thought it was funny,” you said proudly. 

“Shut up.” She could no longer meet your eyes, now looking back at the ground.

Before either of you could say anything else, the door to the market opened and Wes walked out with a few bags of his own. “I got the—oh hey,” Wes cut himself off to greet you.

He didn’t know you personally, just that you already had a few run-ins with his mom in just a month of being here. Did that make him weary of you? Sure. But you weren’t the first kid at his school to have run-ins with his mom. Your reasons were just more… creative. 

“This is Wes,” Tara introduced the two of you. Looking between you both as you two made eye contact.

“Boyfriend?” You asked without looking away from Wes.

“No! I mean,” she cleared her throat. “No. Not boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” was all you said as a reply while you continued to stare him down. “How you doin’?” 

“Good. Yeah I’m good,” Wes responded with a tightlipped smile. 

“Okay see you around,” Tara quickly cut in before this awkward interaction could go any further. 

You finally turned your attention back on Tara, looking at her. “Seems to turn out that way. Doesn’t it?” Your tone was underlined with something Tara couldn’t place. Before she could respond, you turned around and walked away to who knows where.

You were truly something. 

—

You let Tara’s words sink in as you made a detour to Dewey’s trailer. Deep down you knew Dewey didn’t deserve the way you were coming down on him. Especially when you could probably say he’s done more shit for you than your father has. 

Moving to Woodsborro was definitely not at all ideal. You hated change and everything that came with it. All it did was bring more anxiety into your life. So when your mother informed you you would be leaving Brooklyn to move to some town in California, you didn’t handle the news well. You still weren’t handling it well. There were a few reasons as to why you moved, your father being the root of each one. But although you understood part of it, what you didn’t understand is why you had to move so far away. Maybe that’s part of why you’re so hard on Dewey. If your mom was moving and starting fresh, it makes sense she would want to start it surrounded by close friends. But did she have to pick one that lived so far away?

You didn’t know a bunch about her dynamic with Dewey other than the fact that they met in 1998 during the ghostface attacks. They eventually got close and became friends. They must have been great friends considering she made him your Godfather. 

You also knew Dewey was a former Sheriff. A former Sheriff that’s aware of your trip of a track record. He always made sure to keep an eye on you and it was extremely annoying. A nunsense really. It’s like you couldn’t breathe for five seconds without him hovering over you.

Your mom was a nurse, you didn’t get to see much of her. She always took as many shifts as she could, more shifts meant more money. More money is definitely something your family could use. Since your mom was always working, you often found yourself stuck with Dewey. You quickly grew sick and tired of him. But now here you were, making your way to Dewey’s trailer as you went over everything in your head. You knew you were the asshole in all this. Dewey was just trying to help you. He didn’t need you making it harder for him than it already was.

You knew what you had to do, even if it meant forcing out the words. Apologizing was not one of your specialties. You went over the exact words you wanted to say, sighing, before knocking on the door to Dewey’s trailer. 

Dewey answered the door, already knowing who it was. “Hey, kid,” he greeted just a second after he opened the door for you.

“Hey. Mind if I…?” You pointed to the inside of his trailer with raised eyebrows and he nodded before letting you inside. “So uh…” You shoved your hands in your pockets as you looked around as if you have never been in his trailer before. As if you hadn’t already spent most of your nights sleeping on the beat up mattress that was now leaned up against the wall. Dewey looked at you with his arms crossed and expression warm. You felt like he always wore a warm expression no matter what. “Hey,” you finally said once you realized you lost your train of thought.

He chuckled a bit before saying, “You already said that.”

“Right, well I wanted to…. Apologize,” you said while looking at the ground, playing with the fabric of your pockets.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Dewey replied as he took a seat on his futon.

“Oh, that was actually the apology.”

He hummed before inquiring, “For…?” You didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. 

You exhale, tilting your head back as you look at the ceiling. You finally looked back at him before saying, “I’m sorry for making things harder than it needs to be.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that,” he looked at you with a soft expression. You didn’t get a lot of those.

“No problem,” you give a brief smile before you begin to turn around. But before you’re able to leave Dewey’s trailer, you hear his voice again. 

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I know your mom’s working tonight and Stephen’s off at a friend’s house. What do you say?” His offer caught you off guard. You certainly weren’t expecting that after all that you’ve put him through. But you also didn’t feel prone to declining it like you usually would be. 

“Uh, yeah. That sounds nice, actually,” there was still a bit of reluctance in your voice but it still held honesty. You were feeling something indescribable. You don't think you have ever felt it before, or maybe you just never felt it often. Dewey cared about you. He wanted to be there for you. It was a strange feeling, but not a dreadful one. 

You spent the remainder of your night in Dewey’s trailer; you talked and joked with one another as you ate leftover pizza with the television playing in the background. You always ate dinner alone. No one was ever around to eat with you and it didn’t take long for you to get used to it. It was different eating dinner with Dewey. To have someone to share a meal with. It was just a matter of whether it was a good or bad difference. 

Maybe for once you shouldn’t dread on your spiraling thoughts and enjoy the moment.

The next morning, you woke up to Dewey cursing at his toaster. You lazily pushed yourself up by your elbows, leaning forward and rubbing your eyes with one of your hands. “Damn toaster!” You heard Dewey curse before you heard something clattering. You pushed your blanket off of you before rolling off of the mattress and onto the floor then got up to see what was going on. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked once he saw you before continuing to whack his toaster. 

“No. You’re good,” you yawned. “But—uh, why are you assaulting your toaster?” You looked between him and the toaster with raised eyebrows.

“I’ve had this hunk of junk for ten years and suddenly it just stops working,” he answered with a huff as he continued to hit the toaster's side. 

“I don’t know if ten years is suddenly.”

He waved his hands up in the air, purposely dropping the screwdriver he had on to the counter in the process. He let out a defeated sigh as he said, “Forget it,” pushing the toaster away from him. “I have to grab a few things. Are you going to be fine here or do you want me to drop you off?” 

You looked at the toaster as you thought to yourself. “I”ll be fine,” you said and he patted your shoulder as he made his way towards his keys. 

“Breakfast is on the table—I shouldn’t be out long!” He called out before leaving through the trailer door.  As soon as he left, you went for his tool box. You remembered seeing it the first time you came over. After grabbing the tool box, you grabbed the toaster and got to work. It actually wasn’t that bad. There was just some tightening and cleaning that had to be done. By the time you finished, you had a little over ten minutes to spare before Dewey was home. It wasn’t until later that night he noticed something was different about his toaster.

“My toaster works,” he said with shock. This toaster was complete garbage just a few hours ago. What happened? He looked over to see you with your nose in your book, not paying him any mind. Then it dawned on him and he couldn't help the smile that grazed his face as he looked at you. “Thanks, kid.” 

“Didn’t do anything,” you simply replied before getting up from your mattress and grabbing your light jacket. “I’m going for a walk,” you reached for the handle before pausing. “I'll be back in a few,” you then added before leaving.

Dewey was still admiring his toaster when you returned.

-----------

A/N: tara and r are both sarcastic little shits in different fonts

Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax@andsoigotabutterfly @ajortga @rroyale-109 @alliecavell

[ppnuggie]

　　　　　　XENOMORPH KING x gn reader

　　　　『　king ,, gender neutral reader 』

　　-> xeno king hcs | meeting him

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, yautjas are in this universe ,, featuring my ocs panther (yautja talked abt later on in the hcs) & king (the xenomorph ,, briefly mentioned)

　　— here are the hcs :D this is kinda somewhat an introduction to meeting king and more hcs will come soon ,, introducing his brothers of sort ,, im making their refs slowly 😭😭🫡 so hopefully those will be up before i decide to actually turn these hcs into a story n stuff

| • it was an assignment from your higher ups ,, heading to a lesser known "shake and bake" colony located on a distant planet where the habitable zone was way out from the sun surprisingly

| • usually habitable zones for planets would be in the middle ,, but this one was farther out ,, though it also made it more dangerous to be on

| • the winters were hot and the summers were cold ,, temperatures would get quite extreme but for the most part humans could somewhat live on there

| • you were sent with a team of two other scientists ,, along with an android ,, to examine and study the planet more

| • it was on one of your more routinely walks and expeditions around the more countryside of the planet that you stumbled upon something that hadnt been picked up before by scanners or drones

| • abandoned and trashed ,, a lab that was quite dark and gruesome to look at stood in the middle of nowhere on the barren planet

| • you werent too sure of what happened there ,, though it was evident it wasnt anything good judging by all the dried up liquid stains ,, the broken glass and scratches all over the wall

| • some of the furniture and walls looked melted ,, like somewhat poured lava on it and left it there

| • alone on this expedition ,, you took your notes and marked the location on a map of the planet ,, making a mental note to come back soon

| • the more you looked around the more frightening and on edge you became ,, finding skeletal remains of creatures you werent too sure what they were

| • vials were stored away in a broken down freezer ,, or you assumed so based on their labels in an unknown language and strange color

| • there were vials with many strange colors ,, making you second guess if it even was blood inside them ,, vials storing blue and green and orange

| • none looked indigenous ,, as the most the planet had to offer were these strange rodents that burrowed in the ground most the time ,, almost like those naked molerats from your own home planet ,, except these ones werent as terrifying to look at

| • though the more on edge you became the more curious you got ,, wondering what happened here exactly

| • documents were spilt on the ground ,, scattered about and dirtied up ,, some ripped apart and some with strange prints on them

| • without much of a second thought you took them ,, hoping that maybe you could decode the foreign language and figure out what was happening in this place before it became abandoned

| • you gathered what you could of the place ,, taking a few of the vials and gathering photo evidence of the area

| • while doing so ,, you werent aware of the fact you were being watched ,, stalked and observed by an unknown creature in the vicinity

| • when you got back to the base and showed your findings your crewmates were interested ,, the android apart of your team quickly recognizing the language in the documents

| • it belonged to these creatures called 'yacht-ja' ,, or something of those sorts ,, but he wasnt able to provide much else about the documents other than that

| • you planned to go back to the lab the next week ,, wanting to gather as much information on the area as you could before you left the planet and headed back to the mothership

| • after all ,, you were here for only research and study ,, all your findings on the planet would be taken back aboard the mothership for examination and peer review from other scientists aboard

| • the goal was to gather as many samples as possible ,, document as much as you could ,, and return to your station to head to another planet and repeat the process

| • packing a large lunch in case you stayed longer than expected ,, or did too much running around and had little food ,, you headed off back towards the lab with storage for as much information and to store as many samples as possible

| • your camera was ready ,, taking as many pictures as you could whilst also grabbing more vials from the lab itself ,, storing them away in your vehicular device to take back

| • you didnt pay too much attention to the time ,, more focused and fascinated with the lab around you ,, documenting all the rooms and trying to map out exactly how big it was

| • though something about the place did feel uneasy ,, almost like you werent meant to be here at all in the first place

| • not focusing too much on the feeling you continued ,, going through all the documents and photographing the bright green stains on the wall from who knows what

| • there were a few times you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye ,, almost like a figure yet when you looked there was nothing there ,, like a ghost was playing tricks on you

| • the longer you stayed ,, the more uneasy and skeptical you became of the place ,, not feeling the once comforting and interest as last week

| • when you had finished you gathered your equipment to head back to the base ,, noticing how cold and dark it had gotten and hoping you'd be back in time before the base was put on a lockdown for the night ,, usually for safety precautions as not much was known about the nightlife on the planet

| • unbeknownst to you the scene you would come back to ,, a foreign ship not of any human making was perched ontop of some of the houses whilst the rest of the place was up in flames

| • those yautja creatures you'd been told about earlier had visited ,, wreaking havoc wherever they went as they quickly went through all the humans living there ,, killing them quickly

| • with the base nowhere in sight you didnt bother sticking around ,, heading away from the place and into the countryside once again

| • though it wouldnt help ,, being followed by one of the creatures as they latched onto your vehicle and slashed at the metal and tires ,, quickly putting an end to your escape a few miles away

| • dark skin clashed well with his bright purple stripes ,, large scar over his eye and covering his body in general ,, with a bright colored chest

| • he didnt stare for too long before trying to get at you ,, chittering something in his language as he slashed away at your windows

| • adrenaline filled you ,, now positioned in a fight or flight situation and your gut told you to flee at that moment ,, crawling over the passenger seat and exiting out the door as you made a run for it into a nearby forest

| • it wasnt too difficult for the yautja to keep up ,, right on your tail as he ran after you

| • though his chase would be cut short ,, a large creature coming from out of the bushes and tackling him

| • too worried you'll be next ,, you didnt bother to stop and look back ,, continuing to run even though your legs burned and your lungs were on fire from how much cold air you were breathing

| • somehow you ended up at that same lab ,, almost like it was tied to you now that youve discovered it

| • it felt like a scene from coraline ,, where she walks away from the house and towards where the old well would be except it all turns white

| • though there wasnt no white barren land here ,, just the same abandoned lab

| • you weren't complaining though ,, as you'd rather be somewhere sheltered than out in the open ,, making your way through the maze of rooms and hallways before settling in a far away one

| • you collapsed to the floor ,, panting heavily as you shivered ,, sweat gathered at your forehead from the running and sudden near death experience

| • your eyes felt heavy ,, drowsy and exhausted yet you stayed awake ,, keeping guard and not trusting yourself to sleep in this place ,, not when there was too much happening

| • without your knowing ,, you had fallen asleep and left defenseless in the room ,, the creature that had taken out the yautja had followed you there

| • it gazed at your sleeping form ,, noticing your unconscious shivering and making a decision in its mind

| • curling its tail around your body ,, warmth slowly started to surround your body ,, somewhat ceasing your shivering

| • it could only wait for you awaken ,, resting its head on the cold ,, harsh ground as it kept you company through the night

[phlurrii]

It’s finally time to introduce the secondary project I’ve been working on >;Dc

I’ve had this queued for sometime in June, did not check when, so hello on [random date in june] ;D

I’m also here to explain how I’ll be posting this stuff going forward! Everything will be posted here, on my main account before being reblogged over to Soul’s Anchor a side bog with the place holder title. Unless it deals with more adult/suggestive content or heavier topics, of which will be exclusively posted to Soul’s Anchor side blog. As I don’t want certain themes alongside AM! I’ll also be referring to this series as Anchor for short! I will encourage any and all Questions, Mentions, and Thoughts to be directed there for those interested and those who are not, dw! You’ll only see the initial posts here, no asks or follows up, but this is still my art account and I shall enjoy it as I please ;3

Brief Synopsis about the Story:

A queer love story following a cursed pirate and a cult refugee implanted with a god’s eye as they combat the reality of living in a world which was created solely to feed the gods that govern it. All whilst a sapphic couple attempt to help guide the pair along a path to to a better future, one that’s validity comes into question. A dark fantasy story that aims to represent the disabled community, the LGBTQIA+, and SA survivors written by fellow members of these communities.

Also brief disclaimer, I, Phlurrii, am simply an ally to the disabled community, my partner in crime writing alongside me, ArtJunco on Instagram, is our resident community member ;]

Anyways onto the meat of this!

Below is a collection of some, emphasis on some, of the concept art and processes I went through to develop and create one of the two main characters, Lumae.

Here are some of the earliest ideas, the basic thoughts I had in my brain when developing this goober after a 3 hours pacing in my kitchen at 1 am when that inspiration struck. His hair was the HARDEST bit for me to figure out. Which sucked as usually the hair is one of the first things I figure out because of how much I love it, so it was Agony while brainstorming that part.

I also briefly considered a goatee, however it was so cruelly shot down by my dear friend. So in stead we compromised that he may get one later down the line story wise… and see how we feel then. However, upon finally figuring out his hair I was bloody elated, still has some tweaks now and then, but the base is there.

As for this next concept, this was actually the FIRST thing created for Lumae and what started everything else about his character/design! His eyes! They are still my favourite but about him and something I adore whole heartedly! They are the core of his character ;3c

These next few are early refs and mock ups of his full design, testing our colours, experimenting with shading, getting used to drawing humans again, and general concepts I had for him as a character! Also a sneak peak at Ayric, our second main goober for this story! Who was lovingly designed and created by ArtJunco!

And finally his most recent WIP ref! The only thing currently bothering me about his design is the colour for his boot covers, I have no idea what to do with them so I’d you have suggestion or ideas, sincerely, feel free to shoot an ask to the Anchor blog! I’d genuinely love outside opinions!

As for the main curiosity of why I’m doing this, for those that missed the last post, I’ll give a brief explanation below ;3

To help with burnout so I can hop between fixations, help to avoid losing interest in AM in the future!

Keep up practicing humans and critters alike.

To take a break from story telling to do story building! Give the telling part of my brain a break, while still making cool stuff ;]

To have a more interactive blog with ya’ll! One where I’ll likely be asking advice and discussing a lot more hypotheticals, doodling asks, and general audience interaction given I am not bound by any updates! Purely just “ooo… shiny-“ and anyone is welcome to join me ;D

Last thing I request is to please read Anchor’s blog bio/description before you follow, as this story will deal with subjects not suited for all audiences posted/discussed exclusively on that blog.

Anywho, that’s all for now folks, hope you enjoyed this brief intermission to kickoff the second project being public!

[thought--bubble]

Right Place, Wrong Time Pt 2/3

Dark Aemond X (Out of World Reader)

Warnings after the cut

This is the second half of the story based on THIS request.

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Right Place Wrong Time Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

A/N: Meant to post this last night but got caught up working on school stuff and didn't have time to edit. My apologies! enjoy!

Warnings:: dubcon, mentions of controlling behaviors, isolation, Breeding kink, rough sex, domination

You attempt to remain patient, but as each day passes, you find yourself growing more and more restless. Since your little foray into town with the prince, you have tried your best to stay out of his way in an attempt to not annoy him into "taking care of the problem," the problem being you.

Yet over the last two days, he has begun to seek you out. He never mentions any updates regarding your return back to your world and you haven't been able to muster up the courage to ask him, but today your impatience got the better of you and you had to ask for an update something to put your mind at ease.

So, when you were requested to his chambers for a morning meal, you hyped yourself up in the mirror.

"He wants you gone just as much as you want to be gone," you tell yourself. "He won't get mad. Not if you ask him the right way"

You shake out your limbs before being escorted to Aemond's chambers. Upon entering, he is sitting at his table, Sir. Simon stands beside you.

"You may leave us," Aemond says sharply.

"I am not to leave you alone for ... for her honor, your grace." Sir. Simon stammers.

"Her honor shall be respected and intact. If anyone asks, you stayed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, your grace," Sir.Simon bows his head and takes his leave.

"Sit." Aemond gestures to the chair across the table from him.

"Thanks," you say gently, bowing your head as you slowly sit down in the chair.

"How are you adjusting?" He asks as he pours himself some tea.

"Oh, ummm. Ok, I guess." You pick at the small biscuit in front of you. "Not too worried about it..... since I'll be leaving soon"

Aemond puts down his tea cup harshly, the clanking of the cup against the dainty plate it sits upon causing you to jump.

"That is....... delayed. So you would do well to attempt to assimilate. " He pours her tea, his jaw is clenched tightly, and the tension can be seen in his neck and shoulders.

"Oh... may.... may i ask what the delay is?" You play with your fingers nervously.

"Missing ingredient." He lifts his cup to his mouth, sipping his tea.

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Just one?"

"Yes, but it is a very important one. Incredibly difficult to obtain, " he smirks. "Please, eat your biscuit." he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs.

You pick at the biscuit briefly before looking back at him. "That woman, Alys? she's your lover, isn't she? She was in the books anyway"

"We had a brief tryst, yes, but I had to break it off when i realized my interests lay..... elsewhere"

You panic at this revelation. "Will she still help us? Since you cut her off or whatever?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, you sweet naive little thing." He gets up from his chair and walks around to your side of the table, standing over you. "Stand up"

You gulp audibly as you slowly rise out of your chair.

"I wish not to play this little game with you anymore." He brushes his thumb over your lower lip. "You are not going back"

"What?!" You shriek.

He pulls you into his chest and strokes your hair. "Shhhh sweet girl"

You push against his chest, trying to break from his grasp as he just pulls you tighter to him. He kisses the top of your head and sighs.

"The missing ingredient is the witch"

Your entire body goes rigid at his words, and you look up at him. "Alys?" You whisper.

"Mmmmmm," he strokes your hair some more while he looks down at you. "When I decided that I wanted to keep you, I thought it best to rid myself of the one person who could send you back" He leans down and smells your hair while goosebumps travel their way up your arms and up the back of your neck.

"W-w-where is she?" You ask the question while being terrified of the answer.

"Oh sweet girl, there is no need for you to be concerned about such things. All you need to know is that there is now no way for you to get back. " He rubs his thumbs over your cheekbones, cradling your face and angling it up towards him.

A surge of fear shoots through your entire body as you feel your legs grow weak beneath you.

"Oh, you are speechless, one of your best attributes, I must say." He holds you tightly against his body, gently swaying back and forth with you in his arms.

"Why?" Your voice is broken. You look up at him like a wounded animal that was just injured by its own master.

"Oh," he coos, gently stroking your face. "Because i want to keep you. Here. With me. As my wife. I will be the only one to know the true you." He gently pokes your nose. "The only one you can rely on completely. I will have you, and you will have nothing but me. " He rubs his cheek against yours. "You may be scared right now, but your loyalty will come with time when I am the only person in all the realm you can speak freely with"

You look towards him in shock. "My family? they must be worried. " You start to pull back tears pooling in your eyes.

"We are to be married, we will make you a new family." He pulls you back to him. "Do not be sad, my love"

You attempt to push yourself out of his embrace, but he holds you tightly and chuckles. "Still some fight in you, I see .... we can fix that"

He takes you tightly by the waist, just lifting you off the floor, walking you from his main chamber into his bed chamber.

You wriggle your body, trying to break free from his grasp. "Let me go!"

He chuckles as he continues to carry you into the bedchamber and then tosses you on his bed before quickly climbing on top of you, pinning your hands down on either side of your head.

"This is what you have wanted since you got here. You said it yourself." He leans down and starts to bite and kiss your neck.

A jolt of excitement runs through your body. This man is insane but he is also still very hot. So while your brain is screaming at you to stop him, your body is heating up, and a tingling pleasure is starting to build in your core.

he hums into your neck as he starts to unlace your dress. "You will be such a cute little wife, completely dependent on me." As he got the laces undone, he starts to pull the dress down and off your shoulders.

You sigh, the feeling of his hands on your skin as he slowly pushes the dress down. Your body is sending ripples of pleasure through you, but the prospect of being stuck here forever is frightening. "Aemond," you whisper softly. "I can't stay here"

He stands up, pulling the dress over your hips and down your legs, tossing it to the floor. "Oh, but you have no choice, sweet girl." He pushes your legs apart with his knee.

Tears start to stream down your face when the reality of your situation starts to set in.

He wipes a tear off your cheek and then kisses down the side of your neck, trailing down to your chest. You feel warmth spread through your body at his kisses, your crying starting to subside as you allow yourself to just feel physical sensations in this moment pushing your emotions far into the recesses of your being.

He continues kissing down your body, leaving a trail of kisses from your chest and over your chemise on your stomach. Once he makes it down to your thighs, he pushes your chemise up around your hips, bringing his mouth directly to your sensitive skin.

You begin to tremble with anticipation as his kisses trail lower and lower. He bites into your thigh, not very hard but hard enough to give you a jolt before he quickly pulls back and kisses the injured flesh.

He hooks his finger around the centerpiece of your small clothes, slowly dragging them down your legs as he continues to sprinkle kisses along your thighs.

He pushes your legs apart and places gentle kisses along your folds, and then lifts himself up sitting on the heels of his feet. "See? There's no reason to cry. " He smirks before lowering himself to you again and licking one long strip along your heat, lapping gently at your pearl.

Your eyes shoot open and stare directly at the canopy above you as the heat and pleasure build up inside you. He continues to swirl his tongue around you as he slowly brings his hands up to your hips, moving you against his face in a gentle rhythm.

You bring your hand up to your mouth and bite down on your thumb to stifle the noise that is aching to burst its way from your chest. As he increases his pressure and speed, he grips tightly on your hips.

"Oh god," involuntarily spills from your mouth, and you can feel Aemond smirk against your skin for a brief moment before continuing his movements until he brings you over the edge.

You lay back on the bed your entire body pulsating, but Aemond has no plans of letting you rest. He quickly strips himself down to nothing and pulls you up.

"My turn." He grins and kisses you harshly on the mouth before quickly turning you over and pulling your backside up towards him. This all happens so quickly that you are bewildered, your body still shaking from earlier.

He slowly slides his hands up your back, tracing the curve of your spine. He pushes himself against your entrance and groans as he slowly enters you.

"Knew I had to keep you." He grips your hips tightly, his fingernails lightly digging into the soft flesh there. "Scared, lost little thing," He bottoms out with a loud groan. "You will make a perfect mother." He slowly starts to move against you.

You start to breathe heavily as you feel your cheek slide against the soft sheets with each thrust, the pressure of which gets harder and more aggressive with each movement.

"I'll fill you up" He continues to increase his pace as he runs a hand down your back and slides it into your hair pulling your head off the mattress as he wraps the strands around his hand.

"Every. Single. Day. " He pulls your hair tighter as your back starts to arch from the pull.

"Until you are bursting with my babes" He suddenly pushes your face back down and into the mattress and his pace becomes punishing, the loud smacks of skin on skin contact filling your senses your own sounds muffled by the mattress.

He pushes your face further into the mattress as he smashes his body into yours, the force of his movements pushing you further and further into the soft sheets.

He moves faster and harder against you than you thought humanly possible as you lose all sense simply drowning in the experience. Your movements are not your own, and while you feel powerless in this situation, you also feel a sense of relief.

As his movements become sloppy and uncoordinated, he growls loudly like an animal pushing you down harder into the bed until he is spent as he rubs his hands up and down the sides of your waist.

He chuckles and leans over, kissing you gently along your spine.

"You will be happy, here, sweet girl"

He places a few more gentle kisses on your skin.

"You can trust me"

Part 3

To be added to taglist click here

[phantoms-world-and-more]

An idea came to me reading a fic where Danny was a kryptonian. What if Amity Park instead of being a city in the USA on Earth was once a city on Krypton (in what would be a kryptonian version of early 21st century or at least about 100 years before the planet blew up). Basically almost everything that happened in cannon DP happened and everything is mostly the same but with a more alien then earth tone to it.

After Phantom Planet Danny's parents except him being part ghost, the government overturn the Ecto Acts, and he able to finish high school and goes on to college after which he is happily welcomed to for work for KASA (Krypton Aeronautics and Space Administration). He becomes an Astronautical engineer. Danny is in his early thirties when he is testing out a new experimental space ship engine for KASA. While doing a flight test Danny's ship losses signal and no one can find it (kind of what happened in the show Farscape).

100s of years go by Krypton explodes baby Kal-El is sent to Earth where he grows up to be Superman. The JL suddenly get a signal/warning about some alien tech on the edge of the solar system. They send one of the Green Lanterns to take a look, where they report a spaceship dead in space. They don't expect any life forms but surprise because of his ghost half Danny was in a sort of suspended animation. He is brought back and wakes up in the Watch Tower.

Just Random ideas...

Kryptonite is the crystalized form of ectoplasm because of this Danny is not effected by it.

Danny's kryptonian name is Daniel Fen-Ton

The phantom zone projector was originally called the Fen-Ton zone projector or is was based off a Fen-Ton gadget.

Years after Danny disappears Krypton starts turning on ghost again, so the town of Amity, which now has a symbiotic relationship with ghost, vote to pull the whole town into the Ghost Zone. So it is not blown up like the rest of the planet though Danny does not know this in the beginning.

Danny has an easier time learning to use Earth technology then he does the Kryptonian technology in Superman's Fortress.

Danny also has slightly easier time when getting the regular Kryptonian power set due to the yellow sun because he went through something similar when getting his ghost powers.

Danny adopts Connor almost immediately. Maybe during Danny's time there was laws about cloning and clone rights on Krypton. Also while Connor is not a replacement he sort of fills in the void of losing Ellie.

While Superman has no idea who Danny is, Kara/Supergirl has a faint idea because he was briefly mentioned in her Krytonian History class. Also she is happy to have someone who can natively speak the kyrptonian language even if it has older vocabulary. Don't get her wrong its great to speak it with Kal-El but he learned it later in life.

Holly char this is amazing!

How many people will have a stroke when they see Danny casually pick up a piece of kryptonite? Batman? His normal Kryptonian contingency plan won't work. Luthor? There's a version of superman IMMUNE to Kryptonite. Clark? What the hell do you mean you can touch kryptonite

I think after Danny explains everything about his past and species so many people are going to just...give up. Hahaha a stronger version of superman who isn't effected by kryptonite, goodbye world

Connor will be ecstatic, Danny will do ALL the dad stuff, teaching him their language, proper training, engineering lessons and you bet he's going to use jazz's psychiatrist stuff on this kid

Danny's probably going to get mega-depressed, all his hard work breaking the racism against ghosts only for that to come back a few years after he left? And he can't even fix it again because their world went bye-bye

Also- here me out

Co-pilot Valerie

[midnight-mourning]

Better Strangers. (Unless?)

Well it took a bit more time than I expected, wonder why THAT is (side eyes the wizard that put a curse on me, currently tied up in the corner) but it's here now, so I hope you enjoy! She's long, and I had to cut some stuff because it wasn't working, but such is life

If you've never read Confused Spirit, this will make a lot less since to you lol, so I recommend reading it first (though it's not a requirement). Again, this bad boy is canon to the story, but will never be directly mentioned in it

Word count: 7500

Song rec: Tommy's Party - Peach Pit (ignore the lyrics, it's the vibes that matter here)

Also posted on Ao3 if you prefer reading that way.

Content warning: Mentions of self-depreciation, self-gaslighting, depression, bits of yelling, etc. Small bits of using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Additionally, if you've never experienced what it's like to be anxious-drunk, you're in for it. Reader discretion is advised

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

"Okay, money's on the counter, Lisa needs to do her math homework before cartoons, and if you could do some flashcard practice with Gabe that would be super great but no worries if not, okay bye!" You say in a rush before opening and closing the front door. 

You lean back against it briefly, take a deep breath, and force yourself to march over to your car. 

It's your least favorite day of the quarter, second only to your least favorite day of the semester.

Parent-Teacher Conferences.

Comparable to Report-Review day at work, or tax season. The reason it was your second least favorite was because the other Parent-Teacher Conference day usually landed on a Friday, meaning you had one more night of the week you had to go out. 

This one was just a bit more bearable in that yeah, you had work afterward, but at least you could use all of tomorrow evening to recharge. And you certainly intended to. 

The school parking lot is filled with parents coming and going, chatting with those they know. You briefly greet anyone who says hello, but keep on your way, you want this to be quick, you've only got an hour or so before your late shift.

The meeting goes about how you'd expect, Lisa's the perfect little angel at school, it's just with you that she's a complete and utter menace. You'd considered the evening to likely being end on a high note based on this, but you'd be wrong. 

Very wrong. 

It's as you're walking out that you run into what would be your catalyst. 

"Oh, funny seeing you here, dear!" Helen says as she approaches. 

Inside you're saying every swear you can think of, outwardly you smile, "Hi Helen. It's parent-teacher night, of course I'd be here."

"I know, I know, merely joking." 

You stand there, awkward, head nodding once, "Well if that's all then I'll be on my way then-"

"Well it's just, how do I put this," She tutters, shaking her head, "I can't imagine what your meeting must've been like. And I won't speculate of course, I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you, is all."

Your brows furrow briefly, but you try to remain neutral. Chill, you're chill. You can kick Helen's ass in a fight if you wanted, it's fine. 

"The meeting went well, actually. Lisa's a good kid, I only stopped by because Mrs. Isley's been wanting brag on her in person."

This doesn't deter Helen, which you'd been, actually you can never tell what to expect with her. Doesn't matter, she keeps that sad look on her face, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "Well, I wasn't sure if she was aware of the tumultuous situation with your family is all. It sounds like something that would greatly be affecting Lisa's performance. But I'm so glad to hear that's not the case."

"What, what do you mean?"

"Well, I ran into your aunt, Hannah's her name, right?" Helen tsks, "She told me all about your situation. Just awful to listen to, you know."

It occurs to you to glance over to where Helen came from, her typical group of parents she gossiped with. They're looking at you now, that same, bullshit look on their face. And you can just catch some of the things they say. 

"To think someone like that's taking care of Lisa."

"I know, could you imagine, being so cruel to your family?"

"Typical twenty something, has no regard for anyone but themself."

"It is selfish, isn't it? Their parents would be ashamed."

You freeze then, something in you shutting down. You don't know what to say, how to react, how to even, think, for a moment. 

This is possibly one of the worst case scenarios you could ever imagine. Helen knows an exceeding amount of information about you that you've done your best to hide for the sake of your siblings. Stuff that would otherwise be harmless, where you work, where Lisa goes to school, what daycare you use, etc. But could be incredibly dangerous when the wrong person find out about it. And at this point, you have no idea one way or the other if they have. 

Has Rick's family tried shit in the past? Of course. Have they ever taken it that far? Debatable. You'd done your best to keep your personal life unknown to them for a reason however. But did you really know what their limits were? You had absolutely no clue.

And that terrifies you.

And it's your fault in the first place.

"Are you alright?" Helen asks, in a tone that is so fake you swear you can taste plastic. 

You snap out of it. Not here, not now. Instead, you beam, "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

This throws her for a loop finally, "I, well I-"

"I appreciate all the concern, Helen, really, I do. But we're doing just fine," Your hand pats the one of your shoulder and she flinches back. Ironic, you know. 

You laugh, it's loud and fake as hell but it does what you need it to, "I don't know what you've been told, but let me assure you, there's a reason we're not on great terms. Didn't file that police report for nothing!"

At this, people start to turn towards you both, muttering quietly. Usually, such a thing would embarrass you. But you're channeling your rage to smother your panic. Your shame.

Hannah and the rest of Rick's family lives on the complete other side of the city. Helen would have had to go out of her way to manage to run into any one of them. And it sounds like she had. 

If you had to guess, it was probably incidental, you have no social media, they all do. All it would take is a bit of profile browsing to find the connection and if she ever came across any of them, could easily strike up a conversation. Still crazy, but slightly less crazy than other options.

"Is everything okay over here?" Looking to your side you see Mrs. Isley, glare on her face, pointed toward Helen, before sharing a concerned look briefly with you. 

You nod, "We're just fine, but I do have to get going now. Thanks for the, words of encouragement, Helen."

Her face has grown red, and can't even muster a response. Satisfied, you lean in as you pass her by, voice low, but still loud enough for the teacher behind you to overhear, "Hope you got what you wanted from that. Because next time, I won't be so nice and just say outright how the PTA president goes out of her way to find someone's toxic family members and delve into their personal life for no damn good reason."

You give her a rough pat on the back, and march out of there. Behind you, you can hear Mrs. Isley start to lay into the soccer mom who had so much free time on her hands to try and upset the 23 year old who, apparently, must be doing a better job at parenting than she was, as that what the only explanation you could come up with for her vendetta against you.

Once you make it out of the building is when you allow the facade to start to break down. You're panicked, you're freaking out. You're trying to determine if you're going to have to switch school districts now or what. You really don't want to uproot Lisa because of a mistake you made, which was believing that Helen Chase would mind her own damn business and-

Someone is calling after you. You look up from unlocking your car to see it's Mrs. Isley. 

You raise a hand as she makes it over to you, out of breath, "It's fine, Aubrey. Just the typical bs. I'm okay."

"I'm sure you are," She says, pointing back to the school and shaking her head, "But that, was unacceptable behavior on her part and I am not going to let it fly by, rest assured. She's the head of the PTA, she's well aware of the school's 'no-contact list'."

"I-"

She raises her hand now, "No. Not this time. I get it, you don't want to make waves. But this was too far, and it's not fair to you in any which way to just leave it lie. She will be reprimanded, and if anything happens because of it," She shakes her head, "Well, I'm not going to let it."

"Thanks," You manage to choke out. The stress and relief both getting to you in that moment, due in large part to her firmness on the matter. 

The teacher hugs you then, squeezing tight, "We have rules in place for this kind of stuff. And I'm sure once her husband hears wind of this he'll do his best to make sure nothing comes of it," She pulls back, hands on your cheeks, "Okay?"

You nod, hoping she can't see the tears pricking your eyes, "Okay."

Aubrey lets you go, "You're sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," You shake your head, "Just the words of someone who doesn't know how to mind their own business. I've had worse."

She nods, "Alright. Have a good night, and be safe."

You say goodbye and she walks off. You have to grip your wrist with your free hand to keep the one that's shaking steady enough to grab the door handle. 

You drive in silence to the Plex, both hands tight on the wheel. 

You're not going to let it get to you, you're not going to let it get to you, you know she's wrong, she's always wrong, she's just an asshole and you know that you're doing your best, you're doing great! Lisa's proof of that, Gabe's proof of that. You're fighting and you're trying, you're trying, you're trying-

The doors to the Daycare shut behind you, interrupting your thoughts. 

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you look around for your beanbag, finding it absent. 

"What are you doing here?"

You turn, finding Sun cleaning up art supplies across the room. 

You shake your head, "Not in the mood for this tonight, Sun. If you didn't want me around you could've just said so."

His rays flick back and forth, "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, my beanbag?" You nod to the empty spot, not ignoring the confusion he also displays, "Not the end of the world, really, but still."

He just stares over at you. 

Then, "Bright Eyes, it's Friday."

Shit. It is Friday. You'd lost two days. Too caught up in work and stress and so on, to the point you'd hired Clara for the night and hadn't even realized. Not that it was her fault, she had no reason to question your foolishness. Your fault. Your mistake. Your fuck up. 

Like always.

"I, right, yeah."

"Now, as much as I'd be thrilled to continue to entertain you, I have a preparations to be making," He walks over and starts to guide you, not gently, towards the door, "You understand I'm sure."

You shrug him off, embarrassed, not helping your already growing negative feelings and thoughts, "Yeah, I got it. Night."

You walk out, a bit aimless now. You're frustrated, you're upset, and you really, really, are feeling a bit shitty. There's tears pricking your eyes again, and honestly, you don't know what you need right now to fix it.

"Boss? What are you doing here?"

You turn, "Pete? It's eight o' clock on a Friday, why aren't you home?"

He puts both hands on his chest, "I'm here for my best buddy Jacob's birthday. See the hat," He points to his head, where indeed, he's wearing a party hat, "Did you want to join?"

"I, you know what? Yeah. I would."

"Great! Come on," He slings an arm around your shoulder, changing your direction to the West Arcade, "Some of the gang's upstairs. Savannah was busy, and Jesse's out of town, like a loser, but you'll know most everyone I think."

"You're not going to question me anymore?" You ask. 

He shrugs, "Well no, not my business what you get up to. Unless you want it to be?"

You shake your head instantly, you didn't need to embarrass yourself by telling your coworker you let a middle-aged woman's words make you cry.

He nods, looking forward again, "Besides, you looked like you needed a distraction. For a bit anyway."

"Thanks, Petey," You sigh, "I do."

The atmosphere inside the West Arcade hits you instantly as you walk inside. 

People are chatting, dancing, drinking and making fools of themselves, what you'd typically expect from a Plex party. Or really, any party with a bunch of burnt out twenty-somethings. 

You meet up with Liv and Tyler, and are given a party hat and a drink shortly thereafter. 

You stare down at it for a moment, briefly, and check the time, you have Clara until 11:30, you can have one and sober up in time. 

You say the same thing after the second, and after the third argue that you can just, pick up your car tomorrow, grab an Uber. 

After, drink four, you take the time to sober up for just a moment, which ends up being a mistake. Because now you're alone with your thoughts, and after the night you've had, that's the worst place for you to be. 

The words said to you by a bunch of women in their 40s should not upset you like this, they're the ones choosing to pick on someone half their age. Sure, maybe they weren't wrong but that didn't, that didn't give them the right to talk like that, right? 

You weren't just thinking about yourself, right?

They wouldn't be disappointed in you for not trying to make ammends.

Right?

Fuck, you really should sober up, sober up and go home. 

"Hey, you alright?"

Liv's sitting next to you now. You give a practiced smile, "Just need a little more water. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" She waves over the bartender to get you another water and order another drink for herself.

You nod, "Positive. If I wasn't I wouldn't be here."

Lying through your teeth is somehow so much easier when you're drunk. 

You drink another water, and don't feel any better. You just feel more, aware. Aware of how you don't fit in, how you're here because Pete took pity on you, how awful of a friend, a sibling, a daughter, a partner- No, not that last one, we're not getting into that mess tonight. 

Has it really been that long since the last time you drank this much? You check the time, it's been an hour or two. You still had time. Fuck it, have another drink and try to have some fun. Something's gotta distract you from this feeling eventually, right? 

When you check the clock again and realize it's 10:40, and it'll take at least twenty for an Uber to get here, you fumble for your phone and call Clara.

"Hey, I'm uh, gonna be home a bit later, is that okay?" You ask against the loudness of the room. You should have went outside instead of going to the quietest corner you could find, but you're kind of losing your logic. 

You have to strain to hear her response, "Yeah, not an issue, I'm mid breath of the wild playthrough so time has no meaning to me."

"You've got breath of the wild? Jealous," Focus, you need to focus so you don't sound stupid, "Anyway, I'm guessing another hour or so, and if it gets too late you can stay over so you're not driving home so late."

"As long as you don't mind me gaming in the living room into the late hours of the night that's cool with me. What are you up to out of curiosity?"

You swallow, "Birthday party."

"Oh, Jacob's yeah? Savannah told me about it but since I was busy I couldn't swing by."

"Oh?" Why does that make you feel bad? Why do you feel so excluded now? That your coworker's sister got an invite and you didn't? Or did you get an invite and you forgot? Why do you care? You're not friends with Jacob. You’re not friends with these people out of work, really. Right?

"-speaking class."

You don't know what she just said, "Gotcha, gotcha. Well, I'll see you later tonight then."

"You got a ride?" You can just make out her button-mashing, followed by a sigh, "Sorry, if you've been drinking I mean."

"Yeah, I'll be good. Thanks."

After hanging up, you just stare down at your drink, then out to the dancefloor. You see everyone having such a great time, so why can't you? Why do you have to be like this? Why can't you just let yourself be happy? What does it take to make you relax and just, chill the hell out? 

You haven't relaxed in months you realize. Not after what happened that night. Ironically, at the last Plex party you attended. If anything, you think being here, doing this, has just made everything that much worse. 

You need to get out of here. You need to go somewhere else, do something else, be someone else. 

Too bad you can't make that last one happen.

You finish your drink, and after a small head rush, walk over to where your friends? coworkers? are and say your goodbyes over the music. 

"Hey, it was really good seeing you tonight!" Pete says, then nods to where Jacob's at on the dancefloor, "Jacob appreciated it for sure."

He's lying. He's just being nice because you're his boss. 

Liv gives you a quick hug, "We should hang out outside of work more often. Maybe somewhere a bit more quiet."

She doesn't mean that. She's pitying you. 

"Yeah, that'd be great!" You smile. 

Tyler raises his fist and you bump it, "See you Monday, broski. Stay safe out there."

"Can do, have a good night guys."

"See you!" And "Be safe!" are shouted out behind you.

You believe the genuity of that. You may know that they hate you, but they're nice people. 

Your feet walk you in the direction you don't want to be heading. Split between this impulse decision and just going home. But you can't make yourself go home, you can't go home, home just remind you of everything, and everything you're not-

The Daycare doors feel heavier than usual, which makes sense considering how much you've had tonight. Inside, you find it's, pretty much the same as usual, you don't know what all the fuss was over on Sun's part. 

Speaking of, where is he? 

You shuffle in, taking note of the small plastic tea cups and saucers sitting on a table that's been moved to the center of the space. Along with... snacks? Right, Chica's supposed to be here. Seems she hasn't shown up just yet.

You're trying to remind yourself why you came here as opposed to calling for a ride, when you hear the doors open again. 

"Oh. You're back."

You turn, Sun is holding a tray with a teapot, and there is indeed, steam coming out of it. Now you know. 

"Did you want something or are you just here to bother me?" He swiftly walks past you, setting the pot and tray down with pointed showmanship.

Something about his tone sets you off. Not unusual. But because you're not sober, you speak your mind in a way you otherwise wouldn’t. Unfortunately unusual. 

"You know, starting to wonder that myself."

"Really now?" He speaks with a bored enthusiasm that grates on you.

"Yeah, really. You know, I don't sleep at night because of you," You shake your head, "My dreams are just, filled, with nothing but that night. Over and over again, it plays in my head. And you see, the worst part is that it's not even the idea of seeing him in that stupid machine. You know what keeps me up? You. And what you did to me," You take a deep breath, looking back to him, "And what I did to you." 

Sun's rays tick a few times. 

Then, "You're intoxicated."

"Yeah, no shit, glad you finally got up to speed."

"I'm just rather surprised you'd be interested in taking such risks again considering what happened to you last time."

You scoff, "Don't even try to pull that, I wasn't wasted, I had a concussion."

"I was referring to being at the Plex so late alone, Starshine," His gaze narrows, "But rest assured, you're increasing my concern the more you speak."

"Concern for what? Because we both know it isn't for me. And that's fine, shouldn't expect, don't deserve it. Even if I-" You stop yourself, you're not out of it enough for that, "I'll just give it to you straight; you have no reason to be concerned. For my siblings? They don't need me, Clara sees more of them than I do and she does a hell of a lot better job. My work? Someone else would fill the gap when I'm gone, my team's more than competent without me. My friends? They've got each other, or, or partners. And our little investigation? You," You slow down for a moment, "Well, I'm sure with that charming personality of yours you could trick another sorry sucker into helping you with ease."

You throw up your hands, laughing, "So, no need for concern here, Sunny. If something happens to me no one will notice!" Your face feels wet, "No one's going to fucking care. So, you can take your concern and shove it."

You bring a hand up to your face, confirming that you are crying, "Fuck, exactly what I needed to top off the night."

You sniff once, and then turn around, you seemed to get everything you'd wanted to say out of your system, maybe you can go home and be happy now. Or something. 

"Why did you come here tonight?"

You pause, then laugh quietly, hand coming up to run through your hair, "Hell if I know."

A hand is set on your shoulder, one that makes you spin around. The motion slightly jogs you.

Sun's gaze is down at you, rays spinning once or twice but otherwise motionless. 

"Stop that. I don't like being analyzed," You mutter, averting your eyes. 

His other hand comes up to guide your focus back to him, "You're in no condition to go anywhere. Not right now."

You manage a half-hearted chuckle, "Give me some credit, Sun. I'm calling an uber as soon as I'm out of here."

You think if he could frown he would, instead, his eyes narrow and grip tightens just a tad, "Not wise. Not if you're alone. I suppose there's other options. Hold still. And don't look down."

"What are you-hey hey hey, what are you doing?" You argue, anger flaring momentarily as he takes hold of you, your feet coming out from under you as he lifts you into his arms. 

Before you know it, you're up in the air, having to squeeze your eyes shut so you don't get dizzy from the change. You feel Sun land on solid ground again several seconds later.

"You say a word about anything and I'm putting you in the theater instead," A brief pause, "Or on a naptime mat down below."

You open your eye, "Wha-Oh."

"I mean it. Not. A. Word."

You put your hands up, "Okay, okay."

He didn't say anything about making private observations to yourself. 

The Attendant's room is somehow exactly what you expected and not at all. Your first thought is organized. Your second thought is empty. 

Clean also comes to mind, there's not a speck of dust in sight. You take note of the different standout features. An old, Hollywood style dresser with matching mirror and lights, string lights hang from the ceiling among the rafters. There's a set of cubbies containing spare toys, and some seemingly ongoing craft projects. 

You spy your bean bag in a corner with a few others. There's also a large pile of blankets and stuffed animals, almost like a bed. Lying nearby you see a charging port. 

The most interesting thing to you, however, is the green tube in the left wall, leading obviously to somewhere, you just don't know where exactly. 

You don't get to find out, Sun sets you down on the blanket pile, and if you weren't so hypervigilant you'd sink right in, exhaustion is starting to hit you after the combination of drinking, yelling, and crying. 

You hear a click and realize he's left the room. It's the perfect opportunity to snoop, but the desire for rest outweighs this urge. Besides, it's rude. And you're not that rude.

You feel like all you did was blink and he's back again. You rub your face and pat it a few times to try and wake up, glancing over to the bot.

"I've already taken the liberties of informing your babysitter that you will be home after several hours of sleep. And agreed upon compensation." Sun answers your look of concerned confusion by raising his hand with your phone, "You dropped it when I picked you up, she had asked about your well-being. You can check to confirm I did nothing else if that eases you."

The fact you can't recall that happening proves it's probably for the best he did that.

"God she's going to hate me," You groan, rubbing your face with both hands. 

Sun sets your phone down beside you, and sits down in front of you, glass of water in one hand, "She does not. Drink."

You eye the glass with suspicion.

"Are you seriously debating whether I've tampered with it?"

"Should I not?"

A scoff, "It's a glass of water, I've done nothing to it."

"Sound like something someone who did something to it would say," You muse.

Another scoff, and he leans down, rays clicking, "If I was going to do something, Bright Eyes, it would have already been done. And need I remind you, I can't cause harm even if I wanted to."

"Fine," You huff, taking the cup and muttering as you sip, "I'm surprised they let you have glass."

No answer. You look over, eyebrows raised. 

Then it clicks, "Ah. Contraband. Noted," You finish the glass and wipe your mouth, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

No words for a bit, your head hurts, but this helps. That might be a good thing to bring up, you're not a fan of this kind of silence.

"Why did you help me? Or I guess, why are you actively, helping me?"

Sun shrugs, hands clasped in his lap. You expected a snarked out comment that you're strangely not receiving.

Then, "I'll get you another glass. You should rest in the meantime." He stands up, and in your current state the action panics you. 

"Wait," You reach out, grabbing his arm, "Don't go. I'm, I don't want to be alone. Please." God, you sound pathetic.

You also realize what it is you're doing, and to whom, and you let go, "I, shit, sorry. Just, yeah just go get the water. I'll be fine."

You pull your knees up to your chest, controlling your breathing. You didn't need to start crying again. You're fine, you know you'll be fine.

A soft jingling sound interrupts your thoughts, and looking up you see Sun unwrapping one of the ribbons from his forearm, then his wrist. Once he's finished, the ribbon and bells piled in one hand, he holds it out to you. 

You furrow your brow, but take the offering. 

"It's the best way I can think of to assure you I'll be back. I'd look rather silly if I went around like this, right?" He waves both hands up by his face. 

You sniff, "Yeah."

"And if you're truly, concerned, just ring, and I'll be here," He stands straight again, taking the glass, "I'll just be a moment."

"Ok."

He leaves the room, and you're alone.

Having nothing better to do, you lean back against the numerous pillows and stuffed animals behind you, hands clasping and resting on your chest. 

You take note that the ceiling has a few glow in the dark stickers you recognize from the Daycare proper. Someone must've snatched the extras when they had the chance. The thought makes you laugh softly. 

It also occurs to you then that Moon is additionally assisting in this, mess, you've created, given that the theater is probably dark, and you don't believe that door leads anywhere else. 

You close your eyes, shame welling up in you. This is pathetic on your part. Truly and utterly. You're an adult, and you can't take care of yourself after a night of drinking? You can't manage to drink responsibly, avoid the typical stereotype and make a fool out of yourself saying shit you shouldn't? God, you're so-

You're being gently jostled awake, "You can't sleep like that, friend. You'll regret it." More quietly, "And he won't shut up about it, for that matter."

You open your eyes, they feel a tad heavy from the short nap you got. Your senses perk up however, when you smell something greasy yet heavenly. Pizza, currently in Sun's hand, soon to be in your stomach if you have anything to do with it.

"Thought you were just getting water," You say, as if you're not two seconds away from devouring that pizza whole. 

He scoffs lightly, setting the pizza in front of you and handing you the water, "I had a feeling if I told you what I was doing it would only make things worse."

"You'd be right," You take a brief drink of water, then open the pizza box and grab a slice. It's divine. And you don't say that lightly when it came to Fazbear pizza. 

You groan mid-bite, leaning back against the plushes behind you, "God, I wish you could taste how good this is right now. Like," You take another bite, "So frickin' good."

You're too focused on eating to overhear Sun laughing quietly at your antics. You managed to scoff down three slices before he takes it away from you. 

He places it over on the dresser, "You'll get sick. And preferably, I'd rather not be cleaning up vomit at 1 am, if it's all the same to you."

"Just one more! Come on," You whine, then pause, eyebrows shooting up, "Oh I am not sober, that's for sure."

You realize Sun's staring at you, and your face heats up.

"Don't look at me like that, it just makes it worse," Your hands come up and cover your face.

At that Sun laughs. And maybe you're a bit out of it, but it doesn't sound mocking, or pretentious. It's genuine. 

You feel a compulsion to right your wrongs from earlier, or at the very least, try to.

"I'm, I'm sorry for what I said. You didn't deserve that."

"I don't accept." Sun states. 

You cringe, and nod, "Fair."

He chuckles, "I don't accept, because it wasn't directed at me. You may have said those words at me, but I think we both know their true target."

You think for a moment, nodding solemnly, "Helen."

"Who? I-" He shakes his head, "Starlight, I meant yourself."

"Oh. That makes a bit more sense." You decide to give him a bit more context to save some trouble, "She runs the PTA. My third worst enemy, behind you, and Grab Ass. You got a Katie Chase in that little directory of yours?"

"Yes? But-oh. That one." 

Your brows raise for a moment, "Wow, I've never heard you speak with that much disdain before."

"We all have limits, friend," His tone shifts, like he's about to boil over with rage, "We all have limits..."

You yawn, and his attention shifts. He motions for you to take off your shoes and the likes, and you get the hint. You lay back into the bed-you're pretty sure there's a mattress buried under here somewhere, feels like it-letting loose another yawn.

Sun takes one of the blankets and tosses out over you, it falls slowly down on top of you. Then, he bends down and presses his smile to your forehead, pulling back after a moment and patting your head.

"What was that for?"

His rays spin, eyes widening a fraction. Seems he's just now realizing what he did, "An unfortunate matter of programming. One I'm hoping you'll forget by morning."

You scoff, smile on your lips, "That's not how being drunk works, you know. Only if you've drank a lot."

That seems to relax him.

"So explain it to me then," He sits at the end of the blanket pile, "I'm curious."

You sit up slightly to make eye contact with him, "Really? All the stuff you could learn about and that's what piques your interest?"

He nods.

You stare at him a moment, then lay back down, "I mean, alright. Do my best here."

You explain. Sun asks you a question every now and then. You just, talk. You talk to each other for, awhile it feels like. You talk until your throat starts to get sore. You, you haven't spoken with someone like this in a long time. Long enough you can't remember when the last time you did was. 

You start to get tired and Sun notices immediately. He mutters a brief goodnight to you, and the lights are shut off soon thereafter.

You roll over to your side to watch Moon appear. 

"Thank you. Both of you," You say, as he walks back over to you, "You didn't have to do all this, it's, appreciated."

He nods, "You are welcome."

A sudden realization hits you as sleep begins to take over. 

"My stuff..." You mutter, "I, left my stuff back in the West Arcade, if it's not stolen already."

Moon stands, "I'll retrieve it for you. Will you be alright?"

You sleepily raise your hand, bells jingling in your grasp, "Got these. And I'm a bit more sober now. I'll be okay."

Moon nods, "Then I'll return shortly."

"I might be asleep by then," You yawn, "So I'll preemptively say thank you, and goodnight."

"Goodnight, Diana. Sweet Dreams."

You huff lightly, "What, no goodnight kiss?"

It takes you all of 0.5 seconds to realize what you just said.

"Oh goddammit-"

Moon leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead, his tone cheeky as he pulls away again, "Is that satisfactory, your highness?"

Your face is hot with embarrassment but you refuse to lose. 

"'Twas," You turn over and away so he can't see your wide-eyed 'holy shit' stare, "But I'll have you know that I'm not that demanding when I drink. This was a one-time thing. Won't happen again."

"Of course not."

You snuggle further under the blanket, mumbling, "It won't. I mean it. It was a stupid mistake. One that's going to haunt me for a while."

Quiet. You feel him sit down beside you, "Everyone makes mistakes, Icarus. It's how we learn from them that matters."

"Trust me, I know."

A hand on your shoulder presses down and makes you lay back on your back. You stare up into red eyes, narrowed with concern down at you. The gaze makes you uncomfortable. You try to brush it off.

"I don't need a pity party, Moon. I gave myself enough of one earlier."

He tilts his head, "It's funny how you always assume care to be pity. I wonder why that is?"

You're about to say it, and play it off as a joke, but he beats you to the punch. 

"Well, it's not fair to speculate. So I'll just tell you, you don't have to suspicious of such with me. Or either of us for that matter," His focus goes back on you, "We mean what we say."

You raise a brow questioningly.

"For the most part, I should say."

You chuckle, "Yeah, I know."

"Your friends mean what they say too, you know. They care about you. As does your family. It's obvious to anyone that sees it. You just simply need to allow yourself to." He pokes your forehead. 

You sigh, looking up to the ceiling briefly, "Oh, that's a lot harder than it sounds, Moon-man."

"I never suggested otherwise. I merely intended to remind you."

"I've been reminded," You smile slightly, "And I'll do my best to continue to do so."

"You'll have assistance." You can't tell if that's a tease, a threat, or a promise. You'll just be on the safe side and assume all three. 

You smirk, "Goodnight, Moon. For real this time."

"Goodnight, Andromeda. For real." He rises from the bed, giving a quick two-finger salute.

You snicker, shake your head, and close your eyes. 

A few moments later you hear the jingle of bells fade out into the Daycare itself.

Your hand clutches the bells and ribbon in your hand a tad tighter, and you feel yourself start to drift off into sleep.

You find yourself awake some time, you're guessing, much later. Your head isn't nearly as heavy, and you feel as if you slept for at least a decent amount of time. 

Groggily, you fumble for your phone, finding that it's been about three hours since you fell asleep. 

You become keenly aware of someone staring at you, and scanning the room find Moon staring down at you from the rafters. 

Normally, this would be an alarming sight at 4 in the morning, for you and your half-asleep mind, it arouses mild surprise. 

"Why are you awake?" He asks. 

You sit up, fumbling for the glass beside you, "I become very awake in the hours after drinking," You gulp down the glass, "For a very short period of time. I'll probably start feeling tired again in a few minutes."

You wipe your mouth and look up to the Attendant, "Why were you watching me?"

Moon shrugs, "Bored."

"Yeah right," You scoff, "Not with the amount of shit you get into on the regular. What's your real reason, sport?"

"Sport?" He asks.

You wave your hand, "It's a combination of sleepiness and leftover drunkenness, just ignore it and save me some embarrassment."

"Noted."

"You didn't answer the question. Don't think I didn't notice," Your arm moves jankily as you point your finger at him. 

His faceplate spins, "We simply wanted to ensure you were alright."

"We? That's a shocker. I'm surprised he isn't having a hissy fit about you making such an implication."

There's a bout of binary before Moon answers with a sigh, "He is now."

You giggle, "Sorry."

Quiet for a few moments.

"Your belongings are located beside you," Moon points to where your bag sits on the floor not too far from the bed, "They appeared to be in order, though I can't say for certain."

Your eyes widen for a moment before you nod your head slowly, "Oh yeah, forgot about that. Thanks."

Moon nods.

"Sorry if I um, ruined your evening plans."

The Naptime Attendant chuckles, "Plans? What is it that you think we get up to, Pandora?"

"You know what I mean, I know you don't just sit and stare at the wall for hours until open," You shrug, "You explore, fuck around with your mechanics, which I don't approve of still," You send him a scolding glare, then continue, "Sun has gossip night with Chica, seems to be a bit crafty as well."

Moon whistles, or plays the sound, at least, "Impressive."

"Yeah, yeah," You wave him off, yawning.

"Seems you've expended your remaining energy."

You settle back into bed, "Getting there."

"Anything I can do to help?" He asks, shifting position to hang upside down from the beam, feet hooked over the other side. 

You scoff lightly, "You, aiding those in desperate need of rest? I don't buy it."

"It's my specialty." He insists, and you both quietly laugh.

"Want me back to bed that bad, huh?" You ask, hands clasping on your chest while you stare up at him, thinking.

"Have any good bedtime stories?"

His faceplate spins, "More than you'd imagine."

"Pick one for me then, and I think that'll do the trick," You nod once, affirmingly.

"Very well."

He starts, voice smooth, soft. Really, perfect for storytelling if you're being honest. It helps your mind to settle again, and well before the end, you're asleep again.

Waking up the next morning, you find yourself face to, back? with a yellow animatronic. 

Sitting up, you see Sun is slouched beside the bed, facing away from you. Examining him more closely you see there's a charging cord plug into the back of his head. 

Curiously, you reach out to poke him. 

"I'd appreciate the ability to recharge in peace, friend."

You jump back, cursing under your breath. 

Then, you huff, "There's no way you could tell what I was going to do."

"No, but a bot can have his suspicions," He turns to look back at you, "And plenty of mine have been right about you."

"'Plenty of mine have been right about you.'" You mock quietly. 

"How are you feeling?"

You sigh, shrugging, "Fine. Maybe a little hungover. I'll live, if you were worried."

"I wasn't," He retorts as you snicker, "But good to know."

You nod to the charging cable, "Thought the two of you switching kept you from using that too often."

At this, Sun flusters. Taking a moment to articulate himself.

"Typically. However, Moon felt-" A bit of binary, before doubling down, "Moon felt it would be unfair to have the lights on in any manner of speaking while you slept. So they remained off throughout the night."

You muse on the words for a minute, nodding thoughtfully. Inside, part of you is overjoyed, and the other is a mixture of shocked and maybe touched? You're not going to think on it further. Point is, Sun gave up his hours-willingly or unwillingly-to give you the chance to sleep. 

"Well, it's appreciated," You reach up and flick his forehead, narrowly dodging around him to grab your phone as he shoos you away. 

He grumbles a response you don't catch. 

Checking the time, it's around 8 am. Looking at your messages, Sun told Clara you'd be home by 10. Yikes. Good to know how little faith he had in you. Well, best not waste it. 

You stretch, giving a final yawn, "This place have a breakfast special? Feel like I swear I've heard about it at least once."

"It does, but I'll inform you it's not one that's served in bed."

"Relax. I can take care of myself just fine now," You throw off the blanket and stand up, "I'll be back. Hold down the fort in the meantime, yeah?"

Sun sputters, a "What?" As you pat him briefly on the back and march out of the room, on the prowl for food to satisfy your hunger. 

Once you find it, you sneak your way back into the Daycare. The Plex is still pretty much abandoned at this point in the morning, but you don't want to have to explain yourself if you don't have to. 

Walking in, you plop down on the bed beside Sun and dig into your breakfast sandwich. Either you're much more hungover than you thought, or this is delicious. Potentially, both. 

"Sorry you missed out on your shit talking session," You say between bites, "As a fellow disgruntled employee I know how important those can be."

Sun scoffs.

You turn to look at him, "And thanks for taking care of me. It's appreciated."

This appears to surprise him, rays ticking to one side, "You're welcome."

"You're not the worst person I've ever met, you know," You take another bite, "Up there, but you have your good qualities."

"That means the world coming from you," He says, hand on his chest and voice syrupy sweet.

You nod, "I know."

He huffs, it turns into a laugh after a moment.

"You're not the worst person I've met, either," His gaze meets yours, "Not as much as you believe yourself to be."

You pause, surprised. Then, you swallow, coughing, "T-thanks."

He turns away again. You continue to eat. 

A thought crosses your mind. 

"You know, if you were really worried about the light, you could've just closed the curtains."

Sun freezes. Then, he sighs, heavily. Hand coming up to run down his face before falling into his lap. 

"Yes. I suppose that would have, been an option."

You burst out laughing, which only grows as the two attendants seem to argue back and forth with each other. 

As you bask in the moment, you find yourself thinking back. 

Yeah, you weren't perfect, but you cared. A lot. And you think that says a lot. Means a lot.

To someone, at least.

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

Well, you can probably see now why this bad boy was scrapped as a chapter. Believe me I had the full intentions of saving it, but I'll admit once I saw an out by using it as a one-shot I jumped on it lol 

I don't know if it's everything that I wanted, but I think I hit the main points I'd originally set out to. 

To those who wanted affection with the CS boys, you got it! Just maybe not how you were expecting :) Ah, who am I kidding, you knew it was going to come at the price of angst

Sorry that I went awol for a bit, the antibiotics DID knock me on my ass and it was, rough, to put it plainly and I'm still going to have to get a scan lmao

idk man, I just want to be better already, I gotta propose (MY THESIS, I MEAN MY THESIS, I AM SINGLE) in a few weeks I don't have time for this >_< (she says, as if this hasn't been a 3 month saga)

Gahhh, anyway, hope you enjoyed! Have no idea how I'll feel from one day so you may or may not see me but know I'll be writing in the meantime (and enjoying it i promise, it's my hobby afterall) thanks for reading!

Tag list (hope I did this right, if you did not want tagged simply let me know and I'll remove you!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @eternal-soup (IT WON'T LET ME @ YOU I'M SORRY)

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse

If you want to be added to the tag list, or check out my other stuff, see this post here for more information, bye!

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (make the danger feel good)

(~11 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

there's a bunch of things in this one that might make some people want to skip it. please be aware this tips into suggestive stuff (ok maybe a notch beyond the line, but nothing too explicit). there's certainly intimacy, nudity (that was there all along but now we Pay Attention To It) and more prominent cws would probably be... everything around vex instincts. so mentions of: blood, biting, consensual violence, blood/fear-play, prey-play?? they're deranged. i tried to keep it as tame as possible lol but be aware those are the topics and tones.

in case you skip this one, just know this is when scar and grian start to be truly intimate, and this is when grian gets the mating bite from scar (neither of them are aware that's what it is; there's a whole bunch of bites.) (dEranged.) also, there's more wing touches.

rp based, so wordy. <3 this follows directly after the wing spiral so we're still in the hotspring cave

---

The moment slowly tips into something else as they both lay on the spread-out cloak, fire crackling behind Grian’s back, his still somewhat-damp wing slung gingerly across Scar.

It all drags at Scar’s heartstrings, watching as Grian navigates his way through the maze back to something sensible, something more like himself. Freckles barely show in the flickering light, eyes dark and shiny from recent emotions, a bruised spot on his lip from nervous biting. Grian’s hair falls around him in soft, golden strands, fire painting over them with copper.

“You’re…” Scar stops, almost scared to finish the sentence. It feels like they’ve reached a comfortable silence after what felt like literal hours of agony. But he’s already broken it, so— He tucks his head into Grian’s hand, smothering the words into his palm. “… so beautiful.”

He looks at Grian’s eyes when he says it. No part of his wings, even though he means to include every bit of him. But he needs Grian to know he means it whether the feathers are included or not.

A swell of emotions rushes through Grian at that; he isn’t sure how to react, all he knows is he feels heat and tingling, and it’s so, so very different from the tingling of that numbness from earlier. This is nervous, skittish, warm, present. He feels rooted to the moment, to the softness of Scar’s eyes and his breath against Grian’s palm and—

And he feels like Scar is a hot spring and Grian is floating, melting into it.

“You can’t— You can’t say that,” he sputters, not quite able to pull forth any better quips than something stumbling and lost and irredeemably flustered. “What do you even mean.”

As soon as he says that, he realises those words might be a mistake. He doesn’t want Scar to answer.

Grian’s mind spins for something else to jump to, and he blurts out, ridiculously: “It’s because you washed my hair.” (He doesn’t quite remember that either. He regrets falling asleep so fast, although he can’t deny he slept so well, even if only briefly. He… really needed that.)

“Mm,” Scar mumbles into Grian’s palm again, buzzing his lips there. “No, I thought that before I washed your hair, too.” He was meaning not to say something embarrassing again, but failed completely.

Grian’s mind snags on the way Scar’s words feel against his palm, a riveting, delightful experience that he wishes to relive a million times. His thumb gingerly brushes across the heated skin of Scar’s cheek, but he keeps his palm in place, ready to catch any and all words that might spill out of Scar’s lips. 

“You’re silly and sappy,” Grian accuses, but it sounds so achingly soft and fond.

Scar changes his mind almost instantly about not saying embarrassing things, seeking out more of that softness Grian’s voice holds— that simplicity and affection. He’ll keep saying embarrassing things if he gets that. It’s worth it.

“This is true,” he admits easily. “But I’m also right.”

Craning his neck, Grian leans in to place a kiss against Scar’s face, tender and loving. (He’s weaving all the gratitude into it, all the affection, all the apologies and forgiveness all at once.) “You’re also ridiculous,” he adds, a little bit cheekily, but it again carries no bite, words made of cotton and warmth.

His wing shifts higher, covering their upper torsos and faces, dunking them into more darkness—something that instantly makes Grian sleepy. The fire crackles behind his back, somewhat still keeping up, although definitely in need of more fuel. 

Grian doesn’t want to move.

“Also true.” Scar nods. “Thank you for noticing.” 

There’s an unsaid thank you for so many more things in the way Scar delivers the line so seriously: Thank you for speaking to me. Thank you for shielding us with your wings. Thank you for going along with my shenanigans. 

Thank you for being here. 

Scar wants to fall asleep then and there, unperturbed by the mess of remaining concerns that still plague them, but he tries to be the strong one here. “…I should fuel the fire. Maybe set up a small perimeter so we can both get some sleep?” 

He wants to sleep beside Grian. He doesn’t want to take turns keeping watch.

And isn’t that a wonderful thought? For both of them to be able to sleep at the same time, curled up together by a warm fire?

They don’t get that often.

Grian latches onto that hope, pushing his fatigued body up as he gingerly releases Scar from the cocoony hold of his wing. He offers to help even though his mind still feels a little slow, body a little off; if he can assist Scar and make this happen, then he wants to do it.

Scar gets up reluctantly, but he’s pleasantly surprised how little his muscles protest after the nice soothing bath they received. That’s a rarity. He directs Grian to check up on the fire while he’ll make some walls, promising cuddles at the end of it. 

The idea of that sort of reward makes pushing through their exhaustion and putting in the effort worth it.

Tending the fire isn't a skill they needed on Hermitcraft, but through trial and error, they learned the best ways to distribute fuel materials for the most efficiency and the least smoke. It comes to Grian easily now, automatic, and notably it takes much less time than wall building.

Once satisfied, Grian looks over at Scar, asking if he should help with the wall. After all, the faster they're done, the faster they can cuddle. 

Scar nods, noting he’s sleepy and he might miss spots. A second pair of eyes to check after him would be good, and any help is certainly appreciated, especially since it’s their safety at stake here. He’s using a bit of a hodgepodge arrangement of materials, just doing the minimum to keep mobs out, but it’ll do, as long as they do it properly. 

Grian pushes himself to his feet; his wings feel a little strange, and he can't quite tell why, but he swerves away from thinking about it. His muscles feel weak, wanting to go back to blissful resting, looking forward to sleep. A faint lightheadedness hits him at the first step, but a short pause and a deep breath is enough to chase it away.

He slots himself next to Scar, reaching to take some materials from him. As soon as he's in his orbit, Scar can’t help but reach over and lightly touch him on the waist, pulling him in for a brief, only slightly-awkward kiss. He smiles, toothy and real, before handing off some of his materials, whistling to himself like it didn’t happen as he turns back around.

Grian can't help but adore and crave the easy intimacy; the way he's reached for and tugged and kissed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He gravitates towards Scar in return, peeking at him and quietly studying his expression as Scar whistles and works.

There isn't terribly much needed to do with the walls, and Grian fixes up his end to the best of his capabilities given his energy level, then makes sure to look over Scar's work as requested, too, making sure they don't miss something due to fatigue. (Mistakes are too costly here. They can’t afford them.)

When they're done, Grian clicks his tongue appraisingly. "It's not a terracotta shack, but it'll do."

Scar snickers, highly amused by the callback. “Yeah, it might actually be uglier. I should put up a sign for any googlies to leave a review.” He slips in behind Grian and kisses the top of his head, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Mmm, warm clothes?”

Grian shifts his wings gently out of the way, but he itches to press himself against Scar, so he clumsily turns around in his loose grip, trying to maintain some space for his feathers as he goes. 

Somehow, now that this is all very intentional, without the mental fog and fresh tears and jumbled cravings, this feels more intimate. Their bare chests are near each other, reverberating with heartbeats and moving with their breaths, and there's so much skin and—

Timidly, Grian's fingers find Scar's waist, a featherlight touch exploring upwards, fingertips counting across the lower ribs.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Scar's jaw. "Mm." His head tips and he rests his forehead against the spot he's just kissed. His hand travels higher, across Scar's chest, to his shoulder, mapping out his skin. "Warm clothes," he agrees, even though nothing about his actions suggests that.

Scar shivers at the drawn out touch over his bare skin, ears flicking wildly as his heart stutters in his chest for a moment. Sure, he’s no stranger to walking about without a shirt, but people don’t typically touch— 

He rather likes it when Grian does, however.

Not nearly as bold, Scar settles for tracing small shapes over Grian’s sides, gentle and reverent.  “And warm cuddles,” he adds, also not making any move to do so.

Grian hums at Scar's touch; on nothing but wishful instinct, he moves closer, trying to get deeper into Scar's hold. (He wants Scar's hands to wrap around him. To envelop him fully and properly.) (He wants to be held.) (He wants to be wanted, in a way so wholly different from what this world demands.)

He tips his head and presses a kiss to the side of Scar's throat as his fingertips dance from Scar's shoulders across his collarbone. He likes this. Being able to trace paths across Scar's skin. To, hopefully, provide him with something that can touch him without causing pain and scarring. 

The air is cold on the back of his neck, and he figures Scar is not any better off, without having the extra fluff of feathers shielding his spine. He tucks a small sigh against the hollow of Scar's throat, because he knows he should pull away. He knows they should get dressed. His legs feel weak underneath him, craving a bed. (There's no bed here) 

"Yeah... Yeah. Let's go get some rest."

He's still not moving to make any of it happen.

Scar really doesn’t want Grian to let go of him right now (nor does he want to let go), so he’s glad Grian is yet to make a move to leave. He’s tired and cold and wants to go to sleep, but after the absolute rollercoaster back and forth of emotions, Scar is too attached to this moment of serenity. 

In a spur of stubborn refusal, Scar strengthens his grip and lifts, hoisting Grian up just enough so that maybe he can walk them both over. He pulls the avian tight, letting him secure his balance onto him.

And it’s silly, because they’re really not even that far from the fire— and they still need to separate to put on their clothes. They’re still only in their underwear, which makes Scar’s ears twitch again when it occurs to him.

But it’s worth it.

Just a little more contact.

He needs it so bad.

Grian lets out a delighted chirp in surprise as Scar's hold on him tightens, and then— then he loses contact with the ground. He tips forward, easily trusting Scar with his weight, and he giggles quietly against the crook of Scar's neck. His wings unfurl, instinctively seeking out balance. (He doesn't remember when was the last time they felt free to do this; to give in to instincts.) (He isn't even paying attention to them, not really aware that it is happening.)

Without complaint, he presses himself against Scar, and oh, this is different. This is skin on skin. This is—

“Mhm, off to sleep with us!” Scar cheers as he presses Grian close to his chest.

Grian wraps his arms around Scar's shoulders and stays close, heart hammering against his chest in a way that Scar's surely bound to feel, right against his own ribcage. He coos in a flustered encouragement at Scar's statement. Off to sleep. (He'd go anywhere Scar takes him right now. He'd stay anywhere Scar puts him. He'd be anywhere Scar wants him.)

Maybe the earlier struggle was all worth it if Scar gets to hear those sweet little chirps pressed into his neck and feel Grian’s heartbeat against his own fluttering chest. Past anxieties forgotten, Scar is entirely smitten. He feels warm even though logically he shouldn’t. He hums a jaunty tune while he walks them both back over to the fire, pleased with himself and the entirely unnecessary decision to carry Grian. 

And Grian happily lets himself be carried, even though he could’ve easily taken those four steps himself. He isn’t carried out of necessity (for once). He’s being carried because Scar wants to carry him, wants to hold him, wants to keep him pressed close. It warms Grian, too. It makes him feel cherished and safe.

But he’s always been made of mischief, and he can’t help it. He tips his head, lips brushing over the skin of Scar’s throat, and then he’s baring his teeth, letting them come into the gentlest contact with the skin. (Just to tease.) (Just for the reaction.) (His hold on Scar tightens just in case he’s about to be dropped in response.)

Scar’s legs wobble as he muffles a tiny yelp, but he’s been trained to deal with Grian’s tendency toward menace, so he does manage to stay on his feet and keep his grip. 

If he dips just a little and lightly pinches at Grian’s sides though? Deserved. 

“Youuuu…” Scar warns, attempting to growl even though it comes out purely silly. “You love to tempt fate, don’t you?”

Grian takes a sharp breath and squirms as Scar dips, holding onto him. (Even if Scar did want to drop him, Grian refuses to go easily.) At Scar's light disgruntlement, Grian huffs out a breathless laugh, all of it right against Scar's pulsepoint. His teeth are back on Scar's skin, still gentle, but he does apply a little bit more pressure this time, cheekily. 

"Maybe I do." He sounds entirely too cheerful and unbothered, another quiet laughter broken against Scar's throat.

“Mmmm,” Scar grumbles, holding back a full-body shiver. It’s definitely the chill. Definitely.

In retaliation, Scar takes one large step to finish their path to the fire, then dips Grian even lower, threatening to plop him back down on the cloak. “Then accept your fate, you rascal!” Scar cackles, wriggling his fingers at Grian’s sides to try to get him to forcibly let go and fall the rest of the way down to the floor.

Grian laughs openly now—at Scar's attempts to get him off. At his grumbles. At being called a rascal. He delights in it and stays stubbornly clinging to Scar, wrapping his legs around him for extra security.

"I like to tempt fate, Scar, not accept it," he informs him all too giddily, voice still heavily tinged by laughter. "And you can't get rid of me."

Scar snickers, amused by his new clinging bird accessory. “Ah, I wouldn’t dream of it, but—“ He exaggeratively sways from side to side like he’s trying to shake Grian off (he’s really not). “—pesky birds deserve retribution!”

Grian still holds on, unwilling to lose. He cranes his neck, on his way to the next mayhem. "Well then you're going to have to try harder," he lectures. And he lightly squeezes Scar's earlobe in his teeth. (It's not his fault it was so perfectly within reach.) (It's not his fault he has zero impulse control when he gets pesky.)

Scar opens his mouth to say something in return, but all that comes out is a flustered squeak. His face properly flushes as his ear attempts to flick out of reach. ”Griannn!!” he whines, embarrassment obvious in his tone. He’s released his hands at this point, but Grian’s grip is all too secure. So now his hands wave about in the air pathetically, unable to decide on exactly what retribution is in order for Grian.

Grian laughs, a bright, joyful, unbridled cackle pressed against the sensitive patch of skin directly under Scar's ear. His wings flap lightly (the fire flickers momentarily, sparks sent flying, explosive like Grian's soul) at the loss of Scar's hold as he rebalances himself, but remains clingily wrapped against Scar, not budging. "Yes, Scar?" he hums innocently.

Scar finally settles on some form of revenge, bringing out his claws and trailing a very long drag of his nails up Grian’s spine, careful not to actually scratch— just a graze, just a tickle, just a suggestion. He can’t go too far without risking touching the wings, but he does what he can. Grumbles again in response to the innocent hum from a very not innocent bird. “Menace,” he breathes out, still somewhat dazed.

Grian doesn't even try not to shudder under the graze of Scar's claws; he's sure Scar can feel the way he took in breath, then held it in, too. The uptick of his heart rams against Scar's ribs as Grian presses closer, an instinctual back-arch to the sensation.

He still manages to laugh again, a breathless little thing. "Your menace, though."

And it's surprisingly easy, to give himself over to Scar, in a world where everyone wants to own a part of him.

Scar stops that slow drag of claws, settling somewhere in the middle of Grian’s back and instead tapping them there as he hums out what comes across a bit too much like a low growl. It’s not meant to be threatening— it’s not even meant to come out at all, really— it was supposed to be an exaggerated groan, but it instead comes off as a deeply satisfied confirmation. 

“Mine,” Scar concedes, voice barely a whisper, before remembering they’re meant to be teasing. “… Lucky me.” 

Except he’s still not kidding.

And yet despite the fondness with which Scar means it, there's an instant swell of something ugly in Grian at the words lucky me, a razor-edged impulse to make Scar regret those words, to show him just how wrong he is— but he swallows it all down, in a moment of uncharacteristic quiet after all the giggling. He presses himself closer to Scar, takes a deep breath, tries to claw his way back to that pesky playfulness from just seconds ago.

Instead of more teasing, he tips into tenderness. His hold loosens, and he presses his lips to the side of Scar's neck. 

He isn't sure Scar understands just how his Grian is. 

A breathless half-chuckle leaves him despite himself. And he can't help but ask, quietly, edging shyness. "Does that mean you're mine...?" He's okay with the answer being no. He'll still be Scar's, heart and soul. But... He just wants to know. To hear Scar say it. "My ridiculous person?" These words come easier, softer, more playful.

Scar’s hands shift back to holding Grian, claws fading away into harmlessness. He tries to lean his head back to see him, to look at him as the words fall into place so easily. But Grian doesn't let him pull away, doesn't let him move to see his face; he burrows, hiding himself in the crook of Scar's neck. His wings fold—still loose, instead of what they're used to—feathers slotting over Scar's skin without a hassle. 

Scar doesn’t mind Grian’s insistence on keeping his face pressed close. He likes that as well. In fact, he gives up on dropping Grian down at all and plops himself onto the cloak with Grian still attached. 

“Always,” he replies, voice still low and grainy, but filled to the brim with affection. “Always yes.”

"Always," Grian echoes quietly, and the word leaves his tongue like something precious and fragile.

Feeling sappy, as usual, Scar tacks on, “… Have been for a while.”

Words line themselves up in Grian's mind like poison, things to fight back and argue with, to explain that this is not going to be good for Scar. That he really, really isn’t lucky for this.

He swallows them all down. This isn't about that. This isn't and shouldn't be about that.

Scar is saying something incredibly fond, and Grian shouldn't try to destroy it.

His wings press tighter, feathers still slumped right over Scar's arms. 

"... Can we keep it that way...?" he asks in the end.

“Mm, I’d like to, yes.” Scar nods, teeth clacking as he grows a big grin. He takes one hand to fumble for Grian’s sweater.

"Okay." Grian pauses, and then adds in a soft murmur: "Me too." He feels Scar move, but doesn't process what he's reaching for. Grian just stays clinging to him, placated by Scar's words and his hold.

Scar brings the warm fabric over to their bare skin. It makes him giggle slightly at the heat, because it means at least one of his ideas tonight was good. “Here,” he says as he pushes the sweater in between them for the warmth. “As much as I’d love to offer to help you dress—“ he clicks his teeth again in amusement. “—might be a little difficult.”

Taking the soft, warm fabric, Grian puffs his cheeks in an overdramatic pout. "Don't need help, I know how to dress myself." That being said, he still doesn't let go of his wrap around Scar, even though this isn't the best position for putting clothes on.

“Oh I know, but I like to touch you,” Scar goads, grinning innocently.

Grian's cheeks heat up, the words spurring him enough to pull away just to be able to look at Scar, wide-eyed and flustered. "You wh—"

“Hm?” Scar continues to grin, innocent as ever. He looks over Grian, seeing the red trickle over his cheeks. “Oh I think you heard me, but I can repeat myself if you want?” Now that he has the chance, he leans his face in close to Grian, even completing the act with a goofy wink.

"No!" Grian immediately says as his hands fling up, covering Scar's mouth just in case he'd do it anyway, and oh, it's good that Scar is sitting down and holding Grian, because if they were still up, Grian'd definitely fall. His wings fling out anyway, just in case, gathering his balance. The sweater pools between them, a warm barrier between their chests. "That— You don't have to repeat it," Grian blabbers, red.

Scar kisses the palms that cover his mouth, several times like an attack to free himself from the hand prison. He muffles into them as well in between kisses: “But I want to!”

"Scaaaar," Grian groans, and he releases Scar from his hold, only to bury his own very red and very warm face in his freshly-free palms.

Scar follows those hands despite just being freed, kissing them again now that they cover Grian’s face. “I mean you’re not making a lot of progress putting on your sweater— are you sure you don’t want help?” His hands find their way to Grian’s chest, pressing lightly right in the middle.

Grian's heart positively skips a beat, a tiny squeak leaving him at the offer. He's dissipating, too flustered to really form words. 

He wants to scold Scar again. 

He wants to tell him he's fine, he can dress himself. 

He wants to tell him that, actually, yes, Scar can help, whatever that help would actually mean.

Instead he just grumbles something incoherent and flustered into his palms.

Still feeling playfully devious, Scar slides his hands up Grian’s chest over to his bare arms, grabbing slightly and pulling them upward. His movements are needlessly slow and incredibly drawn-out. “Well it would help if you raised your arms like this…” he teases, far too pleased with himself for the shade of red that’s spreading across Grian’s skin

Grian's palms are still pressed to his face, the angle Scar tugs at slightly awkward, but it doesn't make the explosion of sensations rushing through him any weaker. Scar's touch is so delicate, so slow, Grian can't help but go insane under it. 

He makes more incomprehensible noises into his palms. His arms shiver under Scar's fingertips. The hold of his palms over his face relents a little bit, not because he doesn't want to be hidden anymore, but because everything in him yearns to give in to Scar's guidance, no matter Scar's goals.

Gingerly, the palms leave Grian’s face, his arms lifting the littlest bit. His eyes shine, flooded by some deep, rich and raw—and entirely flustered—emotion. His lips are slightly parted, cheeks flushed— and then his earwings fling to take the spot his hands occupied just a moment ago, hiding him away from Scar's gaze in a flash.

Scar’s entire plan comes to a stumbling halt when he sees Grian’s face. His eyes are shamelessly drawn to Grian’s lips, the way they hang open ever so slightly, framed by reddened cheeks and accented freckles. 

He’s momentarily stunned, enamored by the gorgeous sight before him, but it’s stolen away all too soon. And with the earwings no less, so he can’t exactly pry them off. 

He decides to drag his hands back down to settle in the dip of Grian’s shoulders, no longer fooling either of them into believing this has anything to do with helping. “Hey—“ he starts, unsure of what to say exactly, but gosh does he want to see Grian’s face again. “Don’t hide from me,” he croons, voice low and sultry.

Scar's touch is electrifying, sending sparking signals across Grian's body, something culminating in the pit of his stomach. He's asked not to hide, but his embarrassment only rises, at the implication that revealing himself would mean being plunged straight to being seen, Scar's eyes surely intense and scrutinising.

He whines a little, breathing deeply but shakily against Scar's hands.

And then he shifts the earwings, just a little bit, half-obliding, peeking through the feathers.

Scar is about to complain, insist Grian show his entire face, but this is even cuter and he can hardly handle it. His expression shifts into something softer, adoring. Instead of his drawling voice from before, confident and insistent, Scar speaks timidly, an easy smile spread across his face. “… Hi, pretty.”

Grian huffs against his feathers; his earwings twitch, wanting to go back to shielding him as embarrassment swirls in between his ribs, spreading incessant warmth through his face. 

But he is drawn to Scar, like a damned moth to a flame, and he can't pry his eyes away from the soft fondness in Scar's green ones. "Hi," he returns, voice cracking.

Scar leans down to place a kiss on Grian’s chin where his feathers don’t quite reach. He wants to say so many things, keep showering Grian with compliments, but he spares him. He lingers close to Grian’s lips with a sly smile, eyes flickering up to meet his. “… Your sweater’s gonna get cold.”

With Scar this close, Grian's earwings twitch a little bit more out of the way—not out of unwillingness to brush against Scar, but because— Well. Grian's tightening stomach has something to say about Scar hovering so close to his lips. 

"Don't care." it's hushed, but entirely dismissive. Grian’s eyes roam across Scar's face, returning the favour of lingering at the sight of his lips, taking in the curvature of them, remembering how soft and warm they feel pressed against his skin.

Scar grins when Grian doesn’t take the out, so he doesn’t waste any time capturing those lips from him, desperate and yearning. His fingertips dig into the soft skin directly next to his neck, pulling Grian in as close as he can.

Grian leans in easily, without resistance, meeting Scar back. His earwings fall completely away from his face, his eyes closing. His own hands find their spots on the sides of Scar's face.

Without breaking the kiss, Scar grabs at the sweater and places it next to them and the fire, not necessarily with the idea to keep it warm, but simply so there’s nothing in their way— Scar likes it when their skin brushes together. It’s vulnerable and exciting all at once, something satisfying about baring yourself for someone in a world that would normally punish such foolishness. 

His hands are back on Grian in an instant, and he closes his eyes as he traces over more of that skin, exploring and teasing all the same.

Entranced, Grian hums against Scar's lips. He shifts, tracing kisses from the corner of his mouth down across his cheek and jaw, until he finds his spot right under Scar's ear. One of his hands slides back, fingers dragging over the back of Scar's neck until they reach his hairline and dip in. 

It's tantalising, to be this vulnerable and open. To have his skin, soft and defenceless, right under Scar's fingertips to map and do whatever he pleases with. To trust Scar fully, boundlessly.

He doesn't want to stop.

"Scar." He breathes his name right there, on that sensitive patch of skin that he so adores. Right under Scar’s ear.

Intimacy wraps around them, tiny step by a tiny step and then suddenly all at once. 

They give in, drunkenly following its lead, forgetting all about the world that wants to relentlessly hunt them down, take apart their bodies for nothing more than bloodied trophies that will gather dust. 

Instead, they take each other apart in a completely different way. Entranced by their closeness, their skin heated, they familiarise themselves with a whole new vocal range of sounds that draw out of their throats, exploring what they have to offer. Giving and taking and unravelling.

Somewhere amidst it all, early on in this game they’ve invented for each other, Scar runs into the wall of impulsiveness that buzzes underneath his skin, begging for more. Because Grian is a daring menace, insinuating Scar should put him in his place if he doesn’t like his pesky retaliations. Telling him to do something about it if he finds it unfair, while his wings lift, half-unfolding. 

It’s a gesture made on instinct of Grian’s dazed mind, coaxing him to put his feathers on display in a situation where he feels completely safe and equally completely besides himself. The violet hue, freshly cleaned, dances with various shades in the firelight.

Scar’s eyes are instantly drawn in by the lifting feathers framing Grian, firelight dancing across Grian's skin and wings alike— Scar is so doomed. He feels entranced, so entangled by the myriad of sensations and desires that he almost doesn’t register how his fingers gravitate to the feathers. 

He stops himself quickly, breathing out a wisp of blue, and refocuses on a patch of freckles that spread across Grian’s chest as he processes what he almost did on instinct alone.

He wanted to touch. He wanted to touch so badly. He hasn’t seen Grian’s wings shine so brightly in months, or seen him bare the undersides like that to him ever before. He’s not sure what that means in bird body language, but he was almost certain it was an invitation.

But he would never forgive himself if he messed this moment up.

If he messed that up again. 

(It’s not fair that he can’t unravel Grian the same way Grian can with a nip to his sensitive vex ears. Scar wants to hear what kind of sounds Grian would make if he raked his fingers through his wings. Would it feel as good as Grian’s hands do in his hair? Better?)

Scar shudders, expelling those thoughts before he entirely spirals. The treacherous hand finds its way to Grian’s chest, tracing a pattern into those newly discovered freckles. His eyes flick back up, meeting Grian’s with a complicated expression— it’s one of slight conflict, immense adoration, but more than anything, intense desire. 

“…careful what you wish for there, G,” he says, restrained.

Grian hums, shuddering slightly under the touch of Scar's fingertips mapping out patterns on his skin. A purr-like coo makes it out of his throat, and his wings lift the littlest bit again, positioning themselves so perfectly within reach. 

His head is muddled, thoughts dragged through velvet that so softly covers up rationality and leaves behind something gently ravaging, able to pull the string and let him unknot into a puddle. But even through that, he is able to catch that torn expression Scar has, something not quite right in his eyes, the words almost a warning.

He can't decipher it.

He leans away; his wings stay where they are, half curled around them, a brillaintly violet feathery offering. His hips don't move either; it's just his upper back, making his spine arch. (He wants Scar's claws to rake over that curve—) He's watching Scar carefully, even though the firelight continues dancing across his dark irises in endless, unspooling want. 

"If it's unfair," he says, voice low, quiet, a purring string for Scar to follow. (He's always been good at pressing buttons. At not knowing limits. At trying and testing and teasing.) "Then do something about it," he suggests, because he doesn't know why Scar is looking so horribly conflicted, and he doesn't want this to be unfair; it should be mutual, and he's welcoming Scar to take, to even out the playing field. (He'd even let him tip the scales completely, if that's what Scar wants.) 

Scar does drag his other hand up that curve Grian’s making for him, although with no claws involved. He feels the dip in Grian’s back, that divot where he can rake his fingers over his spine. 

Another breath, another wisp of blue smoke. 

Scar’s claws emerge and he has to actively pull his fingers up to avoid scratching. 

It’s not fair because while Grian can lean into his instincts, use them as a familiar crutch, a display of trust and warmth— Scar’s not nearly so fortunate. Letting his vex urges surface would mean violence and danger and taking and— god Scar wants to take. 

And Grian is egging him on. His fingers twitch with want, tapping their pointed nails against soft, bare skin. If only Grian knew what he was asking for right now…

Scar’s hopelessly pulled along by that alluring string, that low purr that escapes from Grian’s throat. He thinks, dazedly, that maybe Grian does know. 

Especially since the drag of Scar's fingers—that moment of them shifting into claws—makes Grian arch more. Not away from it, but into it, encouraging, needy.

He knows what Scar is. He knows he's made of sharp things, claws that can tear and teeth that can bite.

He doesn't care.

He wants Scar, and he wants all of him, and—

His thoughts are slipping from him, dazed and lost in some deep, raw want that pulls him under. 

“Always a fan of the resistance, huh?” Scar’s tone is rough, not unlike a low, warning growl. 

Grian can’t help but grin, ever so cheeky, mayhem running wild in his veins. Scar was always the first one to witness this part of Grian. Whenever there's a spark of mischief, Grian feels drawn to him, wants him to see it, to catch on fire together with him.

And maybe Scar is. Catching on fire together with Grian. Because the next thing Grian knows, he's pushed back, he's pushed down, and—

He's a fan of resistance, but he gives to this so willingly. His eyes never leave Scar's as he lets Scar's hands dictate the way gravity shifts around him. His thighs remain wrapped around Scar even as his back lowers, wings spreading across the ground. (He spares one mindful thought to shift his wing to avoid the campfire. The feathers flutter, instead, near Scar's skin, wing curved upwards, almost brushing his shoulder.) 

He lays down, and he wonders, does this make it fair?

Or is there more?

He looks up at Scar, his heart wild in his chest but expression calm and endlessly fond. Waiting for the next step. Licking his parted lips, waiting to see what happens, wordlessly inviting Scar to do more. 

Scar’s eyes dart from the wing that curves around them back to Grian’s face when he sees Grian’s tongue slide over his lips. Shamelessly, he finds himself mirroring the motion, green gaze hungry.

"It felt good, you know," Grian murmurs, and it's the quietest thing. (He means the claws. The growls. The way Scar pushes and skirts taking more.) "It all does."

Grian’s words scream at Scar to let go, to let loose and see what it is exactly that he wants so desperately from Grian right now. 

Although he’s pretty sure he knows. 

He plants one hand firmly beside Grian’s head, using it to hold his weight, then uses the other to cup Grian's chin, two claws tilting his head while the others graze across his throat. 

Scar leans in closer, ghosting their lips together. “Still good?” he asks, though his voice seems so far away, like he’s floating astray as his resolve grows ever thinner. Instead of kissing him, Scar ducks down lower, pressing his lips just above Grian’s collarbone, kissing roughly enough to threaten a bruise.

The way Grian succumbs to Scar's touch is so simple. Through all the resistance in his soul, none is reserved for Scar right now; he's surrendered, a willing participant in the fate Scar strings up around them like a sticky, inescapable spiderweb. Grian's baring his neck, not shying from the claws; the most he does is let out a shaky breath, a tingle of promising excitement shooting through him like fireworks. 

He feels lightheaded in the best of ways.

"Good," he confirms, more a coo than a word, but the fraying string of vowels still makes sense.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, and they’re both aware of it. And they’re both still choosing to continue hurtling down this path.

The rein Scar has on his vex side demanding he takes more slackens, falls out of his grip at Grian’s goading tug. He lets out a low hum against Grian’s throat before slacking his jaw and biting. His fangs hook into the skin above his collarbone, threatening to break skin, but not quite yet. No blue magic escapes Scar’s mouth this time, only hot and heavy breath in between roughly teething at Grian’s soft skin, reeling at the feeling of blood coursing so close to his fangs. Instead the haze trickles across his irises, eyes flickering blue as he indulges instead of resists.

Grian's head is quickly becoming a mess, but it's a mess in the best of  ways. There's not a smidge of fear under his skin, and oh, isn't that something. It's entirely replaced by craving, by this submissive need to push Scar over the edge and take everything Scar gives him— and, equally, let Scar take everything he wants. 

Intoxicatingly vulnerable, Grian offers no defences, leaving himself wide open, tempting Scar to continue. The pain sparks, but it translates to pleasure; it says good good good, it makes Grian want to press closer to Scar, it makes him want to keep his neck bared, it makes him want to sink his own, dull fingernails into Scar's skin just to let him know that this feels wonderful.

A dizzying thought hits Grian, a hazy wondering if Scar knows Grian is giving him everything, right now. All of himself. Every little bit. He's putting himself completely at Scar's mercy. 

But maybe Scar knows.

Maybe he knows, because when Scar lifts up, looming over Grian, what he chooses to say is mine.

The word reverberates through Grian, shakes something at his core, but it feels warm. It feels tingly and like a precipice, but one he wants to fall over.

Breathless and defenceless, he chirps in affirmation, before he vocalises it in a hoarse half-whisper, and despite the pleased haze that coats every letter, something in his tone is almost daring: "Yours."

Scar loves that little chirp — he loves the confirmation, however daring it may be posed. In fact, he likes that particular detail a lot, because he's happy to oblige.

His fingers trail across the curves and freckles, exploring again now that he can shamelessly stare and watch for Grian's reaction. He meets Grian's gaze, vision still somewhat foggy, and he realizes he needs to say something now before he's too far gone to resist. Because he's slowly losing himself to the boundless desire to consume, whatever that may entail, and his skin is practically sizzling and singing every spot where feathers overlap…

Grian meets Scar's gaze back, equally dazed and indescribably present; a scalding, endless pool of emotions reflected in his eyes, open yet unreadable. He makes soft noises at Scar's touch over the tender skin, fingernails lightly dragging against Scar's back in response, but none of him is running away from this.

He's staying put, an obedient little prey, ready to be consumed.

"Grian," Scar forces out, leaning back in so his breath is felt over Grian’s cheek.

Grian's breath hitches instantly in response, eyes falling shut. His name sounds so sweet yet strained on Scar's lips, and he wants to take it from him, to unshackle those restraints around it.

But Scar's leaning over his cheek, not his lips, and Grian is nothing but obliging, baring his skin, whichever part of it Scar happens to desire.

"Scar," he returns in a hoarse whine, the need to call him back scalding hot in his veins. 

"You're—" Scar’s voice cracks, but it's different than before. It's like he's interrupted by a needy growl, teeth bared. But Scar recollects himself, eyes still blazing, alight with wild magic and yearning. "You're toeing a dangerous line here, y’know..." He's trying to be delicate about it, merely allude to the burst of primal emotion he's fighting to control. "... toying with a vex." He says it like it could just be a joke, a simple tease, but he's so entirely serious about it.

Ah.

There it is.

Grian suddenly understands all the complexity swirling through Scar's expression.

And he takes it without flinching. He hums, bringing one hand up, to brush through Scar's hair, fingertips reaching to the back of Scar's ear, teasing lightly. A featherlight touch.

"I know." 

It's so simple to admit.

His lips are slightly curved. A miniscule grin, something knowing, tender, welcoming.

He cranes his neck, leans in, steals a quick kiss.

"I know, Scar." 

And he's still right here. Still so willing. Still absolutely surrendered. One wing draped over Scar, the rest of him pliantly underneath him, neck tilting to regain its bared position, not a shred of survival instinct left on display.

Scar still swallows hard, nerves alight. He's certain his desire is practically a tangible thing now, magic thrumming across his skin and driving him crazy. 

"If you—" he starts, hoarse, still so very strained, speaking through his teeth as they involuntarily press tightly together. With a shaky breath, he admits it, timid, but determined to be entirely transparent by just how much his instincts are running wild: "I'm gonna want to touch them— you, your wings—" He wants it to be clear it's only because it's a part of Grian that he wants this, and he prays that's coming across, but words are so difficult to form in his dizzying haze. "... so if you don't want that, you need to tell me now."

Before I can't control myself, goes unsaid.

The conflict is so clear now, the way Scar is trying to hold back, for Grian, always for Grian.

Grian thinks maybe he wants Scar to let go. 

Thrill runs across his spine, delving into downy feathers that coat his back, as Scar says the word wings. It's not often Grian hears it on his tongue, with Scar always carefully skirting around it. And what would at other times make him uneasy, now makes Grian perk up—some bird instinct that's taking deep root in him, tangling into myriad of desires. 

Because, yes. Wings. Wings.

The feathers draped over Scar's bare skin move lightly, brushing against him. repositioning. Not leaving that point of contact. Not shying away.

The possibility looms in Grian's mind, something set ablaze at a deep dark precipice, and as he swallows thickly, all he can think of is: want.

Scar needs an answer, and Grian thinks maybe he can give him some. Maybe he can— Maybe they can—

He licks his lips and his fingers tenderly brush through the hair behind Scar's ear, trying to soothe him into this. "I can't promise it'll be okay..." he starts. And it's true. He can't. He's aware he's riddled with countless barely-buried triggers right under his skin (under his feathers—), all of it linked to a horrible terror, always just half a step from dreadfully raw, spiralling panic. But this, this feels different. This feels like maybe he could be something else, too. Like it doesn't have to be that.

He feels it, that glowing, intense desire to give himself over to Scar fully. A prey to a predator, shameless, fearless, unabashed. Untamed, both of them. Wild. 

He tilts his head. Strands of hair shining with shades of gold in the firelight shift, fall across his forehead and out of the way, soft and clean, thanks to Scar's careful, loving hands. 

The pause is there, hovering.

Grian is going to break it.

"But... Scar."

He lifts himself up, reaching for Scar; his hand tugs lightly at Scar's hair to aid him in his movement; his wing presses against Scar's back, too, helping Grian reach Scar's lips. He presses a tender kiss there, affectionate and pleading, and it tips into unbridled craving as he finishes with a flick of tongue and a gentle bite of his teeth.

"Make the danger feel good," he whispers, a half-purr half-growl tucked against the corner of Scar's mouth, breath hovering over the bitten spot on Scar's lip. 

And then Grian's hand falls away from Scar's hair. All of him falls away, as he lets himself lie back down, his gaze flickering with warmth and desire in the hot, glowing light of the firelight. He's putting himself here willingly, underneath Scar, defenceless, skin bared, chest lifting up with breaths as his heart hammers against his ribs.

"And then you can touch," he finishes hoarsely, so very quietly. Soft and inviting, equally as hopeful as it's needy, his eyes never leaving Scar's.

And it's still so very different, a craving driving him insane—he wanted Scar's claws on his feathers not too long ago, but that was for destruction, and this— this isn't that. This is something completely different, miles away from whatever that spiral from before was; something that leaves Grian's throat dry, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

He's playing with fire, and he fully intends to let it burn him. To consume him. He yearns desperately for this kind of intimacy, for Scar, Scar, Scar, for things to be something else for a moment. (Hands in his feathers and teeth on his skin and him amidst it all, willing, pliant, giving.)

Make the danger feel good, echoes throughout Scar's increasingly emptying mind— he's slipping further, those words are driving him wild. He blinks several times, trying to process the roundabout permission he's been granted, the chance to try if only he can fulfill the promise of pleasure amidst danger. He hopes to clear his vision, lift the haze for a moment to provide a coherent response, but each blink only serves to hide the swirl of vibrant blue that dances across his eyes, glowing brighter each time he opens them.

Grian watches, patient and silent, lips parted in invitation, as Scar processes what he's just said. He sees the brightness of his eyes, the blue wisps that dance around. He knows how fraying and thin Scar's self control is.

He wants it to snap.

Scar opens his mouth, but no words come out, just a needy, shaken huff before he's leaning down and devouring, barely even a kiss, more of an open drag of teeth that's pressed into Grian's mouth, nonsensical and demanding.

There are claws and fangs and a bright blue fog swirling around the both of them, fighting against the vibrance of the firelight and winning.

Despite the initial apprehension, it’s a wonder to Scar how he ever doubted himself, because of course he wouldn’t irreparably hurt Grian— protecting him is as ingrained in his instincts as anything else. It’s a spiral of both sides of his vex urges— to please and to devour— a dizzying mesh, a thrilling fusion of desires. 

They let themselves slip into this. Into controlled violence and hovering threats, into claws and fangs and blood, into nails dug into skin and bodies pressed close. Into danger that feels mindbogglingly good, stripping them of sanity as they keep, all too willingly, sinking deeper and deeper.

(Listen they’re little freaks they definitely should’ve negotiated a safe word before this all went down.) 

"Mmm." Grian groans, a drawn out sound. There’s a fresh bite wound at the side of his neck that throbs, overcome with sensations as the tender, broken skin meets air and Scar's mouth, the fresh, warm blood smeared around in the process. 

Deliriously, he tips his head to the side, eyes closed and hands trembling, giving that whole side of his throat to Scar. (He'd give him anything now. Anything.) 

Scar grins, teeth bared and lips slightly smeared with blood, when Grian cranes his neck even more, allowing for even further abuse. He presses in close again, kissing the spot using his wicked little smile. "You'd really give in so easily?" he murmurs against the bruised skin, tone as crackly as it is velvety, a contradictory blend. His words are playful, but his voice drops as he adds, pensive: "... only for me I'd hope."

There's a small spur at the words, a reminder that Grian's soul should be made of resisting, stitched through with endless, mischievous fights. And yet it leads nowhere, a dead end against Scar's breath at his throat, the velvety rumble of his voice. 

Grian whines, nonsensically, fingers weakly pawing at Scar's back without any real intention to sink in for now. His wing brushes over Scar again, a restless little motion of soft feathers, vulnerable prize caressing a vicious predator.

"For you," he echoes on a whine, barely remembering how to speak. And then he adds, laying himself bare and pliant, stripping all the defences and pressing control solely into Scar's palms (into his claws, into his teeth—): "Anything for you."

Scar practically keens at the admission, the surrender and for a second his voice is incredibly lucid as he lets out a quiet and almost incredulous, "gosh," words interlaced with a small chuckle. 

The chuckle anchors all of Grian's attention for a searing moment, a different kind of delight rushing wildly through him, curving his lips heedlessly into a triumphant smile. Knowing he's making Scar feel things tastes like victory, like a reward in itself, and he wants to gloat, taking it in, before he throws himself off the precipice and gives Scar more of himself, to exacerbate that, to make Scar tip into this  fall with him.

There's a more gentle, fond and intrigued touch down one of Grian's sides, a little less claw as Scar drags down his bare chest, but the tether snaps again as Scar licks over his lips, still hungry for more. The touch grows more purposeful and intense as he maps out his prey, testing the skin, seeking something. 

He spots whatever it is in the center of Grian's chest, the dip of his ribcage, something vulnerable and alive as he feels the rush of blood and a battered heartbeat under his fingertips. His claws tap there eagerly as his grin once again grows toothy and wild, presenting his expression to Grian and drinking in the sight of his own.

Grian shudders under the touch Scar traces across his chest, something soft and exploratory. Grian can feel his breath stutter against those fingertips, wonders how Scar feels about that; but his answer is right here, as his gaze meets Scar's at the attention-calling tap of his fingers. 

Breathlessly, Grian takes in Scar's grin, and oh, he's in trouble. His heart beats wildly against his ribs, somewhere under Scar's claws, as his eyes hang on Scar. Grian's irises are glowing with reflected blue, gaze as intense as it is hazed, vulnerability fighting with desire. His neck still throbs. The rush of urgent craving is ceaseless, drumming through his veins. 

With a pang of ache that travels all the way down to pool below his stomach, Grian leans up, not minding that there are claws in the way on his chest, reaching to press the smallest brush of his lips against Scar in an almost-kiss, reverent puff of breath tingling in its wake.

"Yours," he murmurs, pushing Scar on.

Scar has to reel in his claws so as not to break skin when Grian moves— that's his job to do— and he purrs lowly against Grian's lips, smile turning devilish when Grian's speaks, the word music to his happily-flicking ears. 

As pleased as he is by the gesture, he pushes Grian right back down where he belongs. 

With a tantalising, toothy smile Grian obeys without struggle, cooing in encouragement, a praise, an affirmation that Scar's doing what he should here.

There's a searing awareness of their roles tearing a path through him—something about Scar's ability to tear him apart at the slightest whim; something about his own helplessness; something about how he's essentially pinned down. The flush of dizzying, quivery pleasure he feels at the thought is disintegrating all of his rationality, rendering him into an all too willing prisoner of any and all of Scar's cravings.

Scar’s claws drag down Grian’s chest, enough to mark but not to break skin. He's toying with the idea, letting the thought of drawing blood dance across his mind, set something ablaze in his eyes. (But he shouldn't— not here— not too much…)

Grian shudders; his rapid breaths tremble right underneath all that sharpness, his fluttering heartbeat rabbity beyond a cage of ribs that suddenly feel all too brittle, paper-thin, a protection that means nothing if Scar decides he doesn't want it there.

And still, Grian pulls up no protections.

He’s a willing participant in this bloody abuse, letting Scar claw and bite, lost to the deliriousness of the sensations it brings. Like sea dragging him under, beckoning him to let it happen. 

And at some point down the line, soft feathers of Grian’s earwing brush across the back of Scar's hand that’s cupping his face. Grian wants him to know how much he's at his mercy, and how much he wants to be at his mercy.

Scar extends his fingers, no longer curling around Grian's cheeks, now experimentally carding through the feathers of the earwing that's been offered. He almost doesn't consciously register his decision to do so, he just feels something soft and knows he wants to touch, to claim, to pull, but no— No, he won’t. 

He is not going to harm Grian. Not like that.

He has other ways of claiming him after all. 

And while Scar might only be dazedly, barely aware of the shift and touch of his hand, it shoots across Grian's senses—the fingers burrowing into the soft feathers of his earwings.

It's got nothing with a conscious decision; Grian’s body is controlled by a nonsense of instincts, and they dictate him to go limp, drawing a low, soft sound of out him. His earwing twitches, at first away, then towards the touch, giving itself over just like the rest of him.

Scar feels the moment the earwing gives into him, and he's instantly thrilled, sliding the longer feathers in between his fingers and releasing a low purr. His other hand does the same, mirroring the touch on the other side. 

The earwing touches are enough to drive Grian insane, triggering something in him that's been dormant for too long, drawing out a spillage of pleading bird noises out of him. His wing that was lying sprawled across the ground lifts somewhat, curves, just to show off the feathers; they glisten with brilliant shades, reached both by blue wisps of magic and the warm glow of the campfire.

Scar shifts to more gentleness over the bruises, then reverently kisses the tips of Grian’s feathers, a soft little gesture he’s never been allowed to offer. His claws trace circles over the indents of his latest bite, and he leans to kiss and lightly suck on it, dazed from the taste of blood on his tongue.

And then he notices the wings.

The beautiful, multicolored span outlined by his own spectral glow— a breathtaking sight. Scar’s eyes dilate as they lock onto the delicate hues that are normally so hidden away. They shine, freshly-cleaned, and although perhaps the method wasn’t preferable, Scar still feels his soul catch fire with the knowledge that he was the one to wash them. He’s the reason they sparkle right now and simultaneously the reason they’re on full display. 

His eyes are wide and eager, scanning the feathers and grinning wide at the sight— his expression a mixture of ravenous and adoring. 

Almost brainlessly, Scar mutters a string of nonsensical phrases under his breath: ”mine, pretty, my pretty bird, so good, so good—“ before leaning down and properly kissing Grian, the words still slurred against their lips. 

At the string of praises and possessive words, Grian coos, equally as incoherent. His wing stretches a bit higher, delighted, feathers shining against the multicoloured glow. The muscles ache, unused to the motion, but it feels good, something in him tingling and telling him that this is right. The vulnerable underside of the wing is there, perfectly within reach, not trying to hide or tuck away, a state they haven't been able to achieve once in this world before this moment.

Grian's gaze snags at Scar's grin, at that expression that tells him Scar's treading the thought of devouring him whole. It tugs at his guts, tightens his stomach, sends his breath out of rhythm, but none of it feels bad. He revels in it, shivers and sinks into it, the feeling ultimately warm, slinking around him like a spiderweb, making him hold still, dazed and unaware of the imminent danger.

"Yours, yours, good, yes, all yours," he echoes back at Scar, words half-coos, melting into the kiss. He hums against Scar's lips, a pleased, needy little noise. His hands travel higher up Scar's back and press, tugging at him, telling him he wants him right here, over himself. 

When the kiss breaks, he follows, nipping at Scar's lips, trying to elicit something more yet again, playing into Scar's instincts in a way that seems deliberate, but is just a hazed jumble of incomprehensible cravings, something deep and richly yearning that doesn't take no for an answer. 

Grian refuses to let Scar retreat in the slightest, and it’s that utter willingness and provocation that’s keeping Scar just barely tethered to reality— because surely his prey shouldn’t be this pliant. Shouldn’t be urging him on.

Because Grian isn’t his prey, nor or his meal—

But isn’t he? 

Once again, Scar’s head spins, dizzied as the line between mate and prey becomes muddled in his vex brain. And somehow through it all comes laughter of all things because— because this started with a bath and now Grian is underneath him trilling and begging to be manhandled. It’s borderline absurd and the sheer irrationality of both their behavior right now results in a sudden, throaty chuckle emerging from Scar as he teases Grian’s lips with his teeth. 

It’s almost silly, but more than anything, it’s electrifying, thrilling, exciting. There’s blood smeared over Scar’s fingers, and yet he’s having fun. 

Scar's laughter sends a wave of warmth through Grian, so very different from the scorching heat of everything else. It's a sound he basks in, slotting it somewhere next to his wildly beating heart, treasured amidst the inferno that ravages the rest of his body. He hums quietly against it, reveling in the way the sounds merge, even as it tips into a whine at the tease of Scar's teeth on Grian's lips.

With struggling clarity, Scar continues to giggle, although it morphs into an alluring purr. “Always said no one can have ‘em—” Scar’s hands frame Grian’s face, tucking his earwings over his cheeks. “—well what if I want them?” A careful drag of claws through those tiny feathers and heavy breath over Grian’s lips. “What if I want you?”

Grian’s breath hitches, noises falling silent for a moment as Scar's claws lightly rake across his feathers, tucking the soft fluff of the earwings against Grian's cheeks. Grian's gaze holds onto his, dark and intense, and his throat bobs as he swallows emptily. 

He feels dizzy, like he's going insane. His brain bounces the sharp thought of danger against his feathers, but he's holding still for Scar, expression hot and adoring and desiring. It feels explosive, like sparks of a live wire, and he wants it, all of it, a tinge of fear crashing into safety of this being Scar, the trust at the dazed awareness that he's in good hands, and he wants those hands to be clawed and at his skin—at his feathers. 

A part of Grian’s brain that's made of pure instinct trills in happy victory, telling him this is what he wanted, that he succeeded—he showed off his feathers and his mate now wants him. It's intoxicating, a jumbled mess of agreements thrashing underneath Grian's tongue while he fights to figure out how to express any of them. 

In the end, he coos, a small whine pressed against Scar's hovering lips. His earwings twitch, sending a spike of sensation though him as that creates a gentle drag against Scar's claws, eliciting a tiny mewl from his throat. 

And through it all, he's still here, still not running.

When he finds his voice, it's equally soft and pleading; it sounds like gentle affection and like deep craving, all at once. It's showing boundless love to the beast while tempting it to devour him. "You can have," he murmurs, low and hoarse. "You can have me." All of me.

Scar feels as if he could howl with excitement and triumph, but instead what comes out is a hushed purr, a rumbly thing pressed right up against the corner of Grian’s lips. 

“Won’t hurt,” he whispers, in spite of all the damage he’s already wrought. But even in a haze of delirious bloodlust, Scar still draws the line there. He doesn’t want to harm Grian’s wings. He has no intention of breaking those gorgeous feathers or of taking them for himself. He doesn’t need to. He has Grian, all of Grian, and all Scar wants to do is to admire his lovely possessions.

To give them the love they deserve. 

To give Grian the love he absolutely deserves.

Scar tucks a promise against the corner of Grian's lips, and Grian quietly coos back. A hushed, I know, tender and loving and trusting. 

There’s still slight hesitation in Scar’s movements, months of ingrained resistance still fighting his every motion, but Scar’s hand finally leaves Grian’s cheek and those soft, tiny feathers to embrace the real prize. Dozens of greedy hands have tried and yet Scar— fangs and claws bared— is being offered them willingly. His lips curl in satisfaction.

Grian hums quietly at Scar's hesitation, hands tracing light patterns into the skin of Scar's back. Mapping out all the scarred tissue there, the edges of which he's seen many many times, memorised, and now they unfurl under his fingertips. His to touch. His, his, his. 

He's going to be gentle with Scar's wounds, like he is with Grian's wings.

— and then his thoughts dissipate, his breath hitching shakily, as Scar's hand makes contact with his wing. A confusing onslaught of feelings rushes through him, and he both wants to look and doesn't want to see it. Some deep-rooted part of him tells him that he should be scared, that this should be dangerous, but the rest of him pushes against it, whispering soft and pliant I know, I know, I know. 

He wants Scar's hand right where it is, and more. He wants—

Claws sink in between the feathers harmlessly as Scar trails his fingers down their length, positively entranced by this allowance. There’s a soft hum of appreciation, of reassurance, and Scar’s other hand stays, just as content with raking his claws through Grian’s hair.

Grian shudders, his emotions a tangle that tips into pleasure as Scar's clawed fingers drag across the tender underside of his wings, caressing the feathers that have been untouched for months. He tips his head into Scar's other hand that's tangled in his hair, nuzzling as a spillage of coos makes it out, a nonsensical string that is very, very far from distressed. 

He takes one deep breath, that's meant to be steadying but instead quivers all the way through, and he pushes his wing into Scar's touch.

Eager to get access to every bit of what’s just been offered to him, Scar drags Grian up, settling him once again in his lap. His other hand snakes around Grian’s waist, searching for a spot he was never allowed to touch, travelling to the base of Grian’s wings, claws running over the smaller feathers. He sinks his fingers into their length, revelling the softness in contrast to all his sharp edges.

And Grian is doomed. So completely, utterly doomed.

He shudders in the best of ways, the coo that makes it past his lips vibrating with it as his back arches and wings blissfully push into the touch. The hands in his feathers are driving him crazy. He's pressing himself against Scar, a babble of purring, whiny, defenceless bird noises spilling out of him unbidden, any semblance of self control left.

Neither of them wants to stop here.

And so they don’t. 

[there’s somehow 10k more rp words to this debauchery. just use your imagination we now fade to black <33]

[petitelepus]

I can imagine Gyomei being so excited about how kindergartens work. If he ended up in the modern world he would definitely try to apply for a job as a teacher. One of the strongest, largest teachers there is.

Summary: You and Gyomei are roommates after he gets sent to your world. Luck is on your side, you find his dream job.

Warnings: None

A/N: Isekai, Reverse Isekai, Gender Neutral Reader, Gyomei Himejima

You and Gyomei, your recent new roommate from another world were on your way back to your humble home you shared together. The two of you had been walking around the town, picking up the best deals from different stores and with heavy shopping bags, you were done and ready to head home.

You first met the Gyomei when you were on your way home from work one late evening. It was raining heavily and there were barely any people on the streets…

Except for the huge wet blind man wandering around cluelessly, lost like a small puppy.

You admit you were staring, he was that huge, but his clothes were uncommon also. You briefly wondered if he was a monk but when you approached him, you noticed his milky eyes and realized that he must have been blind.

You had asked if there was anyone you could call to come and pick him up, but when you mentioned your phone he was confused.

"Namu Amida Butsu… Thank you, but… What is a phone?"

Okay, he was certainly a monk, but he didn't know what phone was?

"Do you have a place to go?" You asked and he shook his head, "No, it looks like I'm far from home…"

"Oh…"

"You aren't some crazy killer or a rapist, right?"

"Namu Amida Butsu… I would never harm innocent…"

He sounded sincere… You may have been too gullible, but you trusted him.

"Would you like to come to my place? Even if only until the rain ends?"

"I…" He nodded humbly, "Thank you…"

Who knew that would be the start of your beautiful friendship. At your place, Gyomei told you everything he could recall before finding himself in this alien town and you soon realized what had happened.

Based on his story of dying after defeating the evil Demon lord, he must have been isekai'ed! You were pretty familiar with the trope, having read many books and comics and watched many shows related to them.

Of course, Gyomei could have been lying or a crazy person… But he didn't feel like one. He was genuine as were his tears and you felt sympathetic towards him and his situation in a strange world where he knew no one or had nowhere to go.

"Gyomei, I know my home is small… But would you like to stay here until we figure something out?"

"You're offering your place for me to stay at…?" He asked quietly in wonder and you nodded, but realizing he couldn't see, you quickly added, "Yes. I believe you and your story, and you seem like a nice decent guy."

"Namu Amida Butsu…" Gyomei prayed as he pressed his palms together and lowered his head, "Thank you… You're far too kind…"

And so the two of you became roommates and you had been living together for a couple of months already. It took a moment to teach the blind man about how the modern-day stuff worked, but he was eager to learn.

You and Gyomei had a good healthy friendship, the best even what you ever had. He was kind, a good listener and so thoughtful, it was nice spending time with him.

That took you to the current time. It was a nice day, the sun was shining and you and Gyomei were on your way back home from the earlier grocery shopping when he suddenly froze on the spot.

"Gyomei?" You stopped and turned to look at him, "What's wrong?"

"There are… Kids here?"

"Huh?" You blinked as you registered his words before you understood that he must have heard the kids playing outside just next to you."

"Oh yeah! Those sure are kids!"

"There are so many…" He frowned, "They are… They aren't orphans, are they?"

"No, they are kindergarten kids," You replied and Gyomei turned his head towards you, "What are those?"

"Little kids that their parents leave here for a day while they are usually working and can't look after their kids themself."

"Parents can leave their kids to others to look after?"

"It's more common than you would think. Heck, I think I was in kindergarten when I was small."

"I see…" Gyomei nodded as he started to pray silently under his breath.

You hummed as you looked at the kids playing on the other side of the fence and then back at your friend, "Do you like kids Gyomei?"

"I…" He started crying, "I do… I used to take care of orphans…"

"Ah, I see…" You nodded and fell silent, not knowing what to say or do-!

"Look! It's a giant!"

You and Gyomei both blinked and turned to see small kids gathering at the fence to admire your friend and how huge he was.

"Are you a giant?"

"Like a real one?"

"Why are your eyes white?" Kids asked one after another and you were panicking a little, wondering if Gyomei would be okay with these questions, but when you turned to look at your friend, you saw him smiling gently at the kids.

"Why, yes, I'm pretty big, aren't I?" He chuckled and the kids were in total awe. You couldn't help but smile since you weren't used to seeing your friend smiling the way he was doing now.

"Kids, kids!" Came a woman's voice and you looked up to see an older lady approaching the little herd of kids, "Kids, the bell rang, back inside!"

"Look, Miss Cranapple!"

"He's a real giant!"

"He told us so!"

"Ah-!" The woman yelped as she saw Gyomei and he must have heard her because he lowered his head and apologized, "Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you…"

"O- Oh, it's alright!" Miss Cranapple nodded and you assumed that she was a kindergartner responsible for the kids.

"Kids, it's time to head back inside!"

"Aww!"

"We don't want to!"

"Can the giant come with us?" Kids after another started to whine and beg and you felt a little sorry for the older lady… And then you had an idea.

"Excuse me, Miss Cranapple was it?" You asked and the woman turned to look at you, "Yes, can I help you?"

"You seem to have a lot on your plate right now, am I right?"

"You don't even know the half of it!" She sighed, "My usual co-worker just gave birth to her first child and I haven't managed to find a replacement yet…"

"There was a baby in Miss Raven's belly!" One kid added helpfully.

"Well," You smiled as you pointed at Gyomei, "My friend here really likes kids and actually has experience when it comes to looking after them!"

"Really?" Miss Cranapple looked at your companion who nodded humbly and you quickly added, "Yes! He used to work with kids in the past and they loved him!"

"I see," The woman nodded, "If I may ask, why he isn't still working in his previous place?"

"Ah, that's because the kindergarten was closed due to insufficient funds!" You lied. It was a small lie but a white one so it should be okay?

"And how about your…?" Miss Cranapple grew quiet and you wondered if she wanted to ask about Gyomei's blindness but decided against it.

Finally, she nodded, "Normally we do a very thorough background check… But I trust you. I can't pay much, but if you want the job then I'll take you on a practice run and we can see how we continue from there."

"Namu Amida Butsu…" Gyomei prayed, "Thank you, Miss Cranapple…"

"Thank you," She said right back at him and the kids cheered, unable to hold back their excitement, "Will the giant become our new teacher?"

"Kids, he has a name!" The woman smiled as she looked at your huge friend who nodded with a smile of his own, "My name is Gyomei Himejima, but you can all call me Gyomei."

"Miss Cranapple, can Gyomei come with us?"

"I don't know…" The kindergartner looked at you and your friend, "If you aren't in a hurry, would you like to come and see the kindergarten and how children act?"

"Oh, uh, sure!" You looked at your friend, "What do you say Gyomei? We didn't buy anything that would melt and I believe there is a fridge in here where we can put our groceries?"

"Yes, we have a fridge you can use," Miss Cranapple smiled, and you all looked at Gyomei who could feel your, Cranapple's, and the kids' eyes on him.

"I would love that." He smiled and the kids cheered and you and Gyomei walked around the yard and entered the kindergarten from the front door.

"Kids, since Mister Himejima is going to start here tomorrow, do you have any questions for him?" Miss Cranapple asked as you and Gyomei stood in front of the room full of kids.

"How are you so big?" A boy asked and Gyomei smiled, "I ate a lot."

"What did you eat?"

"Fish and all my vegetables my grandma would put in front of me."

"Do you like animals?"

"I love cats."

"What is your special ability?" A girl asked and the huge man raised a confused brow, "Ability?"

"Like, Pikachu can use electric moves and shoot out lightning bolts!"

"Well, I can't shoot out lighting bolts…" Gyomei smiled, "But I can play Shakuhachi?"

"What's that?" Another kid asked.

"It's a flute made out of bamboo."

"Are you good at it?" One kid asked and Gyomei chuckled, "Good enough that my grandma would smack me with a broom for playing too long."

The kids actually laughed out loud, holding their tummies as they imagined a man as huge as Gyomei being chased by a small grandma with a broom.

You were so happy for Gyomei as you watched kids ask him questions and such. He truly loved kids so this was his dream job.

"Congratulations." Miss Cranapple smiled at you as she walked next to you, "I know this is a little early, but I think your friend would make a great addition to our kindergarten."

"Really?" You asked, and she nodded, "Yes, he is wonderful."

"Thank you, Miss, you won't regret hiring him!" You said cheerfully as you shook hands, "He is my best friend and I will guarantee that he will look after kids like his own!"

"I trust your word and him."

[ladyzirkonia]

Until your song is written.

I must shamelessly take this opportunity to thank you all. Yesterday I reached 100 followers and I can't believe that there are so many people who enjoy reading my stuff. I would like to take this opportunity to open my question and request box. Don't be shy to send me questions or ideas you want to discuss, whether it is Dinbo stuff or something about Mandalorian culture.

This is the way.

The scene starts with a completely shattered Bo-Katan. You can tell that she has to pull herself together not to burst into tears. Her confession about the night of a thousand tears and the memory of it seem to torment her. She hears Din approaching and tries to compose herself by briefly closing her eyes.

I think Din apologizing to Bo is one of the most beautiful things in this scene. He admits once again in this season that he was wrong. Din Djarin knows no false pride and has no problem admitting mistakes. And he admits what's been said about her being selfish and uncaring isn't true. It seems to have touched him that Bo-Katan gave up the darksaber for her people, gave up the claim to the regency.

Din steps up to her after she repeatedly blames herself for everything. He tries to build her up, not downplay what she did or what happened, just making sure that he wants to help her. He says: ''WE will rebuild it.'' A foreshadowing that you both should bring the future for Mandalore?

She doubts herself, still. She has made so many mistakes, mistakes that are unforgivable, that she cannot undo. How is she supposed to be the one to hold her people together in all the animosity?

Din repeatedly makes it clear that this weapon means nothing to him and his people. I think it's really ironic that so many have a problem with Din giving up the darksaber. He just doesn't care. It's just a story, a legend that doesn't matter until people believe it. And he also makes it clear what really matters to him, he basically tells us what it means to him to be a good Mandalorian.

When Din mentions the term honor, she seems to sigh slightly and raises her head. She's heard those words from him too many times. For a short break it seems that his words are bothering Bo-Katan. Honor... This is the way. It seems to be a constantly repeating mantra.

Din appreciates Bo-Katan's loyalty and character. These things that have been most important to him since we saw him first time in season 1. And Bo seems to appreciate his words as you can see a very faint smile on her lips. It's good to hear such words after years of being reminded of her failure by others.

That's why I serve you Lady Kryce. After this words I really think Din Djarin's love language is act's of service as he showed many times to different people who he cared for. He is not a man of many or fancy words, but of deeds. So what's a better way to show his affection than to offer his services to her. She doesn't have to go through this alone, he wants to stand by her side.

Bo-Katan turns her head to him after his words. It's obvious that she wanted to hide her feelings before and remained with her back to him. Now she shows him her face for the first time in this conversation. Din Djarin has managed to amaze her time and time again, and her expression softens because of his words to her.

Din gives her hope. Your story is not over yet. Her song is not yet written. The Mandalorian's main musical theme sounds in the backround. He begins to weave his fate irreversibly into hers.

I know some people have wrote, more or less jokingly, that this could be Din Djarins wedding vow. But it's not that exaggerated and ridiculous. We must not forget that the Mandalorians are based on a clan system of warriors. If Mandalorians are one thing, it's very pragmatic. Marriage is consummated between the two partners alone and in any place. Just before or after a fight, the couple doesn't even have to be in the same place. The marriage can even be consummated via voice or text messages. (if you are interested in this kind of topic, please tell me!!)

Honor and loyalty means everything to Din. He would not lightly pledge his life to someone. It means exactly what you suspected, he stands by her side until death.

Screenshots are mine. Gifs made by the wondeful @itberice. Please go and leave a follow and some love there!

[wandaspetal]

Late Night Talking

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Marvel/MCU

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬)/𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬): Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff (past), Carol Danvers x Natasha Romanoff

𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞: Friends to Lovers, College AU

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.6K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Cursing, flirting teasing, mention of insomnia, anxiety and stress, jealousy, and huge fat warning college, some angst with happy ending

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: If you’re feeling down Wanda wants to make you happier baby

𝐀𝐍: Reader uses she/they pronouns. Loosely based on Late Night Talking by Harry Styles and my insomnia (surprise surprise). This was written at 3 in the morning and is unedited. Enjoy! :)

At first it was passed off as a quirky trait they had by their friends and family members. Now they were starting to acknowledge how much of problem it is for Y/n to deal with. Hopefully Professor Harkness wouldn’t be on her ass about it. The last time they were here the professor showed an immense amount of concern at the lack of livelihood in them due to their insomnia.

She was becoming somewhat of a concerned mother figure towards her while still maintaining her professionalism.

Thankfully she wasn’t at her desk yet and it was still 5 minutes before class started. As Y/n plopped down into their seat they barely spared the person they sat next to a glance. It wasn’t an auditorium styled classroom it was one of the smaller ones. Only 20 people were in this Psychology class and it was the smallest one the professor had (she has joked about it multiple times).

Wanda couldn’t help but stare. The droopiness in their eyes and bags underneath raised so much concern. The Sokovian cleared her throat and debated giving the gift she had for Y/n now or after class. Her utensils and items she uses for class were all perfectly laid out in front of her.

She quickly reached into her bag deciding she could use Professor Harkness as a distraction in case Y/n didn’t like what she gave them. Wanda removed the plastic bag and slid it towards them.

“What- oh good morning Wanda, don’t forget your stuff.” Their voice was laced with tiredness.

Wanda giggled. Even when they were sleep deprived they were cute. “It’s for you baby.” The pet name slipped out causing both their cheeks to burn.

Y/n cleared her throat and sat up in attempt to straighten their posture but still hunched over the desk a bit to grab the bag. They untied it and looked inside to see an assortment of snacks, a water bottle and two different brands of melatonin. Their cheeks flushed for another reason. Y/n had no clue Wanda had been paying this much attention to her.

“Oh Wanda I’m sorry I- do I bother you during class? Because I can move–”

“None of that.” Wanda shook her head immediately cutting her rambling short. “Whenever I’m sleepy during class it helps me to stay awake to eat or drink in between writing…and because it helps me stay awake, I thought it might help you too…I also used to take these melatonin brands when I had issues sleeping during finals from all the stress and they worked pretty well unless you blatantly ignore the tiredness they cause you like I did at the start of taking them…” Wanda scratched the back of her head, she could not read Y/n’s expression. “Point is, I got this stuff for you because I wanted to help.”

Y/n could not fathom why someone she rarely sees outside of class would do something so kind for them. Kate, Yelena or one of their other friends would do this but Wanda and her only interacted because she briefly dated Natasha until the two decided they were better off as friends. And even then Natasha and her never got that close due to the overwhelming crush Y/n had on her in highschool. But that can be reminisced on another time.

Y/n placed her hand on Wanda’s wrist immediately feeling it relax under her touch. “Wanda, thank you, seriously.” The two shared a smile. “You’re sharing them with me throughout class though.” Wanda began to protest. “I wasn’t asking, Maximoff.” Y/n smirked when her cheeks flushed and a shy “okay.” Reached their ears.

The two shared the snacks during class and Y/n carried the melatonin around with them for the rest of the day. After eating dinner with her roommates she laid in bed for two hours until she glanced at her night stand and saw the melatonin mocking her. Melatonin usually doesn’t work, she’ll feel drowsy then immediately begin to doze off then wake up and be awake for the rest of the night.

They sighed and reached for the melatonin, ripping the package open. “5 milligrams per fruit gummy.” Y/n popped in 4 and hoped for the best.

Their phone buzzed on the bed signaling a text message coming in. Y/n grabbed it without looking and unlocked her phone. The time read 1:20 in the morning which was less worse than usual.

Wanda :D | 1:20 AM

You up?

Y/n forgot Wanda had her number after they (her friends, Natasha and Wanda) all went to the arcade together. Seems Wanda didn’t forget though.

Y/n <3 | 1:23 AM

Yup! Just took the melatonin though so let’s see if it works.

Not even 30 seconds went buy before Wanda’s name popped up on her phone, signaling she was getting a call. Y/n answered, propping herself up against the head board with her pillow for support.

“Hi.” Y/n sang.

“Hello.” Wanda’s accent was pronounced as ever. “I…sorry I called you I just- I wanted to talk to you and hear your voice, I also don’t feel like typing any longer.”

“That’s alright, not like I’m asleep.” Y/n joked with a hint of amusement in their voice.

Wanda chuckled deeply. “That’s true, which one did you take?”

“I’m too lazy to grab it and look but it has a clear packaging with the label on front.”

“Purple top?”

“Yeah.” Y/n grinned.

“Oh cool, I figured you would like gummies more.”

“And what made you think that?”

Wanda twirled her hand between her fingers as she sat at her desk inside her room at her brother’s apartment. “I sort of remembered how you said you enjoy fruit flavored things so…yeah.”

Y/n nodded even though Wanda couldn’t see them. “Yeah well you are what you eat.”

Wanda giggled. “Shut up.”

“Oh okay well I’ll just hang up now.” Y/n said with mock offense and their hand on their chest.

“Stop, no teasing.” She chastised playfully.

“Me tease? Like you weren’t calling me nicknames in class earlier.” Y/n’s chuckle was deep and raspy. After not hearing a response they pulled the phone away from their ear. Then put it back as it said the call was still going. “Hello? Wanda.”

Wanda muted herself and screamed into her pillow then calmly moved her hair out of her face as Y/n questioned where she went. She picked the phone back up and unmuted herself.

“Wanda you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay just wanted you to see how empty your life would be if I hung up on you.”

“You are so–”

“Pretty, smart, amazing–”

“And also annoying.”

“That’s rich– you think I’m pretty?”

Y/n responded without hesitation. “What? Of course you are! Natasha only dates pretty girls and you’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen– dating her aside.”

Wanda’s smile faltered at hearing Natasha’s name. Then returned at full force as Y/n reassured her right after making that comment. Nat and Wanda being in the same friend group was a decision Wanda regrets but also loves. Her friends are some of the best people she has ever met. Once Carol and Nat started dating soon after they broke up Wanda avoided speaking to Natasha as much as possible.

“Sorry, did I make things weird by bringing up the ex…I didn’t mean too.” Y/n was now laid down in bed, snuggled under the covers with her phone to her ear.

“No you didn’t, baby.” She cleared her throat. “Are you feeling sleepy?” Wanda asked, physically resisting the urge to write notes on their current state.

Y/n swooned at the nickname for the second time that day. “Yeah.” She sang. “Are you– wait why are you still up?”

Wanda grins. “I stay up late sometimes when I don’t have plans the next day, it’s like a reward for getting through the day or week.”

“And you decided to use your reward time to call me? Such a sweet girl.”

Wanda giggled, shut off her lamp and laid down in bed under the covers. “I try.” She glanced over to see the clock read 2:30 in the morning. “We both have to try going to sleep now though angel, get some rest for me okay?”

Y/n hummed in response, her heart fluttering at the nickname. “Okay…night.”

Wanda grinned knowing the melatonin was kicking in. “Goodnight angel, sleep well.”

They both hung up and for the first time in a while Y/n got a full eight hours of sleep. Wanda sighed happily and held her phone to her chest. It was clear Y/n needed some guidance, someone to take care of them. Wanda just so happened to have her favorite love language be acts of service, what a coincidence.

Two weeks go by and Y/n’s sleeping habits start getting better at the same time Wanda and her become even closer. Unfortunately some habits take a while to stick.

“It’s not working.” Y/n cries out of stress, feeling physical tears start to come to their eyes. “Finals are right around the corner and I need to have this together or–”

They’re sitting outside in the court yard near the student center. This was the first time Wanda and Y/n have hung out outside of class without their friends around. Wanda places her hand on Y/n’s wrist effectively stopping her speech.

“Yes you will, everything’s gonna be fine baby.”

“But Wan I–”

“Baby? Didn’t know you two were that close.”

Y/n groaned and dropped her head on the metal table at the sound of another persons voice. They were already having a break down outside it’s worse that another person had to come and perceive them. Wanda forced herself to relax instead of snapping at her friends for interrupting. She understands how emotional Y/n feels as it’s how she felt during the summer semester not too long ago. Wanda turned her head to greet them as politely as she could to see Carol’s concerned expression but see Natasha’s eyes bouncing between them both with an emotion Wanda did not like; jealousy.

“Yes we are, that close. In fact I adore Y/n with everything in me and I’m trying to comfort them so now is not the best time–”

“Y/n/n what’s going on baby girl?”

Wanda felt like a hypocrite at the sound of her exes voice. Now she was jealous and looking at Y/n to avoid glaring daggers at Natasha. Her shoulders tensed up at the hand she placed on their back. Wanda nearly smiled as Y/n’s whole body tensed up at the contact.

“Ask Yelena.” Came Y/n’s muffled voice.

Natasha smiled playfully. “I will if she could answer her phone.”

Y/n sat up right and took a deep breath, inching closer to Wanda. She wiped her face as she spoke. “She’s in class today doing a double to catch up and make up for her grade so she won’t be out of class until 5:30 and I made sure her and Kate are doing a buddy system so that they won’t be around after sundown by themselves because we are women on a college campus be fucking for real and use the buddy system whenever you can and however you can….Yelena is also the size of five stacked up toasters, black belt or not buddy system always works.”

They all laughed in a various octaves at her rant.

“That is very true, the buddy system is what works best.” Carol agreed gesturing towards them with her can of soda.

“Can I have some?” Y/n asked with a pout.

“Did you have soda today already?” Wanda asked softly, scooting closer to her.

Y/n shook their head. “No, I want a sip.” She pouted.

“Okay, baby.”

“What’s with the nickname seriously,“ Natasha passed off her comment as a joke with a forced chuckle. “are you two dating?”

Wanda opened her mouth to respond but Y/n beat her too after handing Carol back her drink. “And what if we are?” They asked.

Wanda beamed at the protectiveness on their voice. “Yeah what if we are.”

“So what if Wanda is the air that I breathe and the water that I drink.” Y/n added with a shrug, pulling the brunette into her side. “I adore her just as much as she does me, if not more.” The sleep deprivation was definitely talking but so what Wanda didn’t seem to mind. Natasha looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact with them both.

The brunette giggled and kissed her cheek.

“Well congrats.” Carol added with a grin.

“Thank you fellow lesbian.” Y/n beamed.

Carol threw her head back and laughed. “You’re welcome fellow lesbian.”

They all laughed at the exchange.

The day left and night began, as the clock hit 8 Y/n took their shower and did everything they needed to be done before bed. By the time they took their melatonin it was 11 at night.

They laid down in bed with all the lights off and the quiet thrum of voices coming from the living room as Kate and Yelena worked on a project for a class they had together. Y/n’s phone began to buzz on the night stand. Knowing the only person’s notifications she had on at this time of night she answered the phone without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey.” Y/n said.

“Hi.” Wanda sung.

“How’s my pretty girl doing?”

Wanda’s cheeks burned as she left her bathroom and moved to lie down in bed. She was stunned into silence and Y/n knew it. They began to laugh.

“Sorry, too much?”

“No, not at all just a shock that’s all.”

A few minutes of silence passed as Wanda got settled down into bed with the lights in her room off and her brother out for the night.

“About that conversation earlier…”

“My breakdown or Natasha’s jealousy?”

Wanda rolled her eyes so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if Y/n heard it through the phone. “Oh god don’t get me started, that was so annoying! And I hated when she started touching you like you two are close and that she speaks to you outside of you and Yelena practically being sisters like don’t touch her!” Wanda huffed.

Y/n giggled so loud she knows her bestfriends heard it. “I didn’t realize she got you so riled up my love.”

“Tell me about it.” Wanda sighed then bit her lip at the sound of their laughter. “But no, before they walked up I wanted to tell you that I understand how you feel and I’m here for you, you’re going to get through this.”

Y/n wished the Sokovian stood in front of her so that she could give her a hug. “Thank you sweetheart.”

“Of course angel.”

“You wanna stay on the phone with me tonight? I like the sound of your voice.”

“Well you have to I am your girlfriend now.”

Y/n chuckled. “Yeah…” Silence passed between as they both thought over that part of the conversation. “I would actually like for you to be my girlfriend in the future Wanda…I feel like you want the same but I could be wrong–”

“You’re not. I like you so much. Our nightly talks are something I’ve been looking forward to every day since they’ve started….can I take you on a date?”

“Absolutely.”

[fangirldreams101]

Coming Home pt. 1

DBF! Daryl, Rick, Negan, and Shane x F!Reader

You come to your dad's hometown for college and meet some very very attractive individuals.

TW: None for this chapter (I think?)

pt. 2

Your mom and dad met in college up in Washington and ended up having you as an accident. They tried to create a happy household for you to grow up in but they soon realized that a one night stand was not a good base for a sudden marriage and decided to part ways. While you and your mom stayed up in Washington, your Dad went back down south to his hometown near Atlanta, where you would go and visit him for the summers and holidays. Eventually, it was decided that the trip back and forth was too taxing for you especially for the important high school years, but you wanted to spend college in Georgia so it was decided that your mom would get you for 4 years, and your dad would get you for the next 4. Holidays were shared and you would always call and chat. As unorthodox as this may all sound, you had a great relationship with your parents, so you were excited to spend the time with your dad.

You drove down with all of your stuff for college packed into your car. It was an old piece of junk but your mom was a mechanic so she managed to prolong its life as long as possible. You arrived in your dad's town and decided you should pick up some of his favorite foods as a gift. Pulling into a neighborhood grocery lot, you noticed some shady looking guys leaning against their motorcycles and arguing. Deciding to ignore it, you parked and grabbed a few bags to carry your items in. Spotting one of the arguing men, you took note of his fun vest, angels wings sewn on it. He was rugged looking, and if he wasn't yelling right now, you would have thought he was rather attractive. You didn't pay much attention to the actual words being exchanged, just enjoying the view as you made your way inside the store. After grabbing a couple of things, you made your way to the home supplies aisle, looking to see if they had the wrench your dad mentioned needing in passing on your last phone call.

"Dang, only one left, talk about lucky," you said, dropping it into your cart before continuing to browse.

Suddenly, you see the man in the vest from before make his way around the corner, grumbling under his breath. He stopped a little way from you as you pretended to not pay attention to him, his eyes sharply moving from object to object.

"Where the 'ell is it," he grumbled, "he said it'd be here."

At this point you were pretending to read the back of a glue stick, wanting to watch the ruggedly handsome man for just a little longer. He called a clerk over, and his next words made you perk up.

"'Ey, do ya know if ya have anymore of these wrenches?" He motioned towards the exact spot you grabbed your own from.

"‘m sorry, sir," the teen clerk said, "that was our last one."

"Mind checkin' in the back fer me-" the man began to say before you practically bounded over.

"I'm so sorry," you practically purred, "I couldn't help but overhear about what you needed. Would you like mine?"

You fished out the wrench from your cart and handed it over to the man that caught your eye.

The man looked at you, briefly glancing down subtly before his eyes darted back up, "Ya don' wan' it?"

"No, it's okay," you smile up at him through your lashes, "Seems like you need it a bit more."

“Uh, alrigh'," he stutters under your gaze- you look so young -and he twists the packaging around in his clasp, "I can, uh, get ya sumn for the trouble?"

You perk up even more at the prospect of getting to know him a bit more, "Oh you don't have to!"

"Oh okay then, thank ya," he nodded, turning around and not seeing how your eyes widened that he didn't seem to catch the hint.

"Um! If you'd like to make it up to me, could I have your number?" you decided to make the leap.

You would never have been so bold back in Washington, but everyone was kind of ugly back there anyways. Not to mention that college was supposed to be the time for fun and adventure and the man before you was pretty darn hot. Seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Daryl Dixon had a damn near heart attack at your words. Such a young, pretty thing like yourself was not only giving him the time of day, but was actively showing interest in him? This had to be some kind of joke Merle put you up to. There was no way someone who looked like you would ever be into someone like him. An old, worn down hillbilly.

"Sorry, kid," he shakes his head, looking at you and trying to ignore the fire that lights in him and the way your lips form a small pout.

He quickly walks away, feeling a blush begin to heat up his ears and he speed walks to the checkout aisle.

"Aw man," you mutter underneath your breath. It was a good shot at least. You also made your way to the checkout aisle after grabbing a few more things, the man that caught your eye nowhere in sight. He must've left already. Such a shame.

Getting back to your car, you made your way to your Dad's house, the earlier rejection from the hot looking man now pushed to the back of your mind. Pulling up to the classic suburban looking house, you spot a familiar looking motorcycle parked in front of the garage. Parking, your notice your dad and the man in the vest from before conversing.

You hop out, carrying your offerings to them, "Hello!"

Your dad spun around with a huge smile on his face, "Sweetheart!"

He bounded over, crushing you in a hug before pulling away, "Why are you carrying so many things? Let me help!"

Your dad picked up some things from your straining arms before seeming to remember his guest, "Oh! Daryl! Let me introduce you to my daughter!"

You gave a coy smile at Daryl, introducing yourself, "Nice to meet you sir.”

Daryl felt his heart drop at the word, 'daughter', "Um, yeah nice to meet you to."

He turned to your dad, "Hey, listen, I just wan'ed to give ya that wrench ya had been hunting for the past few days," he set it down on your dad's workshop table in the garage, "I actually have ta, uh, head on home now. Bye."

Your dad and you watched him scurry away.

"Huh, haven't seen him act like that before," your dad mused, causing a wicked grin to light up your face before dropping it as he turned back to you, "I'll invite him and a few other buds of mine over for dinner some time so you can know who your old man is hanging out with."

"Sounds good," you smiled, thoughts of Daryl running through your mind.