#but at least it carries positive implications these days

[im-the-antonymph-of-your-mom]

The evolution of "filler" from "plot-irrelevant anime episodes made while waiting for the manga to catch up" to "plot irrelevant episodes in a serialized show" to "episodes in a primarily episodic show that do not affect the occasional overarching plot" to "plot-relevant episodes that I find boring" needs to be studied. Or has been studied and I haven't found writings on it. Or should just be the subject of a paper if I stay in school long enough.

[murdrdocs]

to forever always

description. LUKE CASTELLAN has never had any interest in relationships. but when he sees that look in your eyes, the same one he keeps buried deep down inside of himself, there's nothing more he wants than for you to be with him. except, maybe for you to be like him.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+ , heavy petting, grinding, making out, dark!luke, loser!luke, dark!reader, implications to maiming, luke is a professional at longing, reader has hair long enough to be pinned back, they play simon says, typical young adult awkwardness, drinking.

wc: 5.5k+

a/n: title from forever always by the driver era. ao3 link. art creds to yazed aljohani

You’ve been at camp for nearly three months when Luke sees it in your eyes. 

You’ve been unremarkable at best before then. A late arrival without a capturing story carried along with you, no captivating backstory to draw attention. You stuck to yourself mostly, only coming out of your shell when conversing during training sessions with Luke. He went out of his way to set them up, fueled by the fact that you were older than most, closest to his age, and he didn’t want you to feel left behind when some thirteen year old could easily disarm you in five minutes flat. 

Truth be told, he pitied you. 

As a result, he trained you four times a week, pushing your body to its limits and sharing anecdotes during your break periods to provide some sort of solace for you. Because at the end of the day, Camp Half Blood was your home. At least, that’s how it was supposed to be presented. 

During his share of anecdotes, practically each story starting on that fateful day when he was fourteen, Luke left out his true feelings about the area surrounding you both. He preferred to keep you blinded with things happy enough to make you laugh, with only enough hints of the truth to make you start asking the right questions. 

His attentive training has hardened you around the edges. He’s made you a little rougher, or perhaps he’s chiseled away at the stone encasing your true nature, and the person he stood next to was who you really were. 

A warrior. 

An animal. 

Teeth bared, sword raised over the kid lying helplessly at your feet, your chest heaving with effort and a dark look in your eyes. Darker than Luke has ever seen before. It’s victorious, with a hint of a challenge in there. As if you’re daring this kid to stand up, gather his sword, and attempt to best you once more. 

Surely, with the way Luke has trained you, if the kid did make an attempt he would end up in the same position in no time. 

The sight is exhilarating. It makes the blood rush to Luke’s ears and his fingertips start to buzz with the fuel he’d never been able to use. But he’s in control here. And he has an image to uphold. 

He calls your name, firm and demanding. The tone of a leader. 

He rests a hand on the shoulder pad of your armor, pushing you back from the kid with enough force to distance you two. He fills the space created, his back to the others and his eyes cutting down at you. It takes you a second to lift your eyes to him, and when you do, when you look up at Luke—at your leader—you’re seething. 

Luke really tries to hold his smile in and he’s glad that right now, you’re the only one who can see him. 

“At ease. You got ‘em.” 

You watch him pointedly, nostrils flared, and Luke lifts an eyebrow with a controlled movement, questioning you, daring you to challenge him. 

You take a step back and rid the tension in your shoulders as you adjust your helmet. 

You don’t say anything, instead sheathing your sword into its scabbard and watching Luke once more, waiting for orders. 

He has trained you well. 

‎

The energy around the campfire is palpable. It washes over the bodies of the campers surrounding the bonfire, settling over their skin and providing a glow.  Even some of the Ares kids appear to be beaming, although they were clearly sour about another loss. 

You, like everyone else, seem to be in good spirits too. A pleasant smile on your face as you watch the scene around you.

The fire burns a mesmerizing gold and Luke finds you watching it reach up toward the sky, your curious eyes taking in as much of it as you could. Your head is already tilted up, so you don’t adjust your position at all whenever Luke steps into perspective. 

He stares down at you for a moment, searching for that look in your eyes. The same one he saw during capture the flag a few weeks ago. 

Ever since then, Luke has developed a new fixation, one multiplied whenever he got a hit just a few days ago during training. 

He’d had you on your knees then. Your chest heaving with exhaustion as you were staring up at Luke with a look so threatening that he wondered what exactly you were capable of. You were definitely at your wits end by that point, but that wasn’t when he saw it. Deep within your eyes was sincerity, maybe a bit of worry, and Luke knew that if he drew his sword down to give you a critical hit, a final blow even, you would defend yourself. 

But that’s all. 

He hadn’t felt the need to prepare for an opposing attack. He knew you would defend yourself, but not go for the attack. You wouldn’t hurt him. And that wouldn’t do. 

So Luke laughed. He threw his head back and let out an exaggerated guffaw as he exclaimed that you looked perfect on your knees. As he insinuated that that was where you belonged. Beneath him. Beneath anyone. 

His teasing did the trick. And he has a healing scar on the outside of his forearm to prove it. 

Now, standing above you at the campfire, a setting so casual that it was almost sickening, Luke didn’t see any resemblance of anything challenging in your gaze. 

Instead, you appear back to usual, sitting alongside a few of the Athena kids yet not actively engaging in conversation, holding a burnt marshmallow on a stick with two hands, your elbows resting on your knees as you look up at Luke with that same pleasant smile. 

“This seat taken?”

He’s already sitting down as he asks it and if someone were to return, he knows they wouldn’t have attempted to reclaim their spot. 

You stare over at him with amusement written all over your face. 

“What if I said it was?” 

Luke shrugs. He reaches over, sliding your stick out of your hand and sticking the marshmallow back into the fire. He lets it ignite, turning it over to do the same to the other side, and after a second he removes the sweet treat, extinguishes the flames, and takes a bite out of it. 

You’re watching him, waiting for a response, and when you realize that he’d already given his response, you turn back to watch the fire instead. 

He lets you sit in silence, slowly chewing through the sticky food as he watches the side of your face. 

You look pretty like this. The amber glow of the fire illuminates your face, casting visually stunning shadows across your skin, highlighting places Luke has noticed but never appreciated until now. 

He has always known you’re pretty. He’s known it since you walked into camp, confused and stunned as demigods clustered around you. 

Luke remembers looking around at his fellow campers, noticing how judgmental they seemed. Because, in all honesty, you weren’t like the other people that came to Camp Half Blood. Not terrified, young, and lost in the world. 

Not only were you older, but you had a certain stance to you that told Luke you weren’t confused, just curious. Your head was lifted, your shoulders pressed back as you held up the thick straps of your stuffed book bag. You were faking to be unbothered, but as you eventually confirmed Luke’s prior assumptions, you were worried. 

Worried about the sea of young faces you saw. Worried that coming to Camp Half Blood at your age was a mistake. 

Until your eyes met Luke’s. His dark eyes were watching you, analyzing your form for potential. Trying to find areas that could be molded into a fighter, and aspects that didn’t have to be changed one bit. 

According to you, seeing Luke made you feel comfortable. Seeing Luke made you feel like coming to camp wasn’t a mistake at all. 

He is glad that you arrived as well. Because before you, Luke felt alone. 

He was looked up to, admired, respected, but rarely seen as just a peer. 

And even further, before you got here, he hadn’t seen himself being romantic with anyone. 

But now, sitting here with the gold of the fire affecting his mood in the same way he affects it, he has the sudden urge to intertwine your fingers with his or throw his arm over your shoulder. Maybe pull you into his side and plant his lips on yours, effectively claiming you as his and letting you claim him as yours. 

Instead, he knocks his shoulder against yours. 

“What’s got you looking so sad over there? We won today. You should be celebrating.” 

You laugh a little, but it’s not one of the big and genuine ones you give him when he cracks an impressive joke. 

“Give me something stronger than s'mores and maybe I’ll celebrate.” 

Luke faces back towards the fire as he tells you, “that can be arranged”. 

He notices you watching him from the corner of his eye. He can’t tell if you’re smiling, and if you are, if it’s one of genuine interest or one of amusement derived from misunderstanding his tone for a joke. 

Either way, you hum. “Don’t tease me like that.” 

He tilts his head a little. “Bold of you to assume that I’m teasing.” 

He stares at you and a moment of understanding passes by. 

Then, “but only if you tell me why you look so sad.” 

Luke knows he’s a brave person. Hell, he took on a dragon at just seventeen and lived with nothing but a scar as a reminder. (And the plaguing nightmares but what the others didn’t know won’t hurt them)

But he feels a different form of bravery find him as he reaches a hand out, plants his thumb at the corner of your lips, and tugs upwards. 

“You know what they say about turning that smile…” He lets the end of his sentence taper off, raising his eyebrows as if he expects you to finish the overdone phrase for him. It doesn’t surprise him when you swat his hand away instead. 

He thinks he sees you hiding a smile when you turn away from him for a second but when you return with another marshmallow, sticking it on the end of the stick in between Luke’s hands, your face is neutral. 

He thrusts the white into the burning gold as you begin to speak.

“Do you remember the first capture the flag win? When I was on defense with you?” 

One side of the marshmallow ignites and Luke turns it around so the other can do the same. 

“When you were taking down the others? Of course I do.” 

(Luke resists the urge to add a mention of how attractive you looked then. He doesn’t know how you would take the comment in general, much less when you seem to be going through some sort of moral battle)

“Yeah.” You take a moment. 

Luke takes the marshmallow out and blows on it. He lets it cool. 

“I didn’t feel like myself then,” you eventually admit.

“What d’you mean?” 

You shrug. “I dunno. I felt … meaner. Like–” 

“Like you wanted to hurt someone?” 

When you nod, you’re staring down at the ground, refusing to look up at Luke. 

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he lies. 

“That’s normal for demigods.” 

That gets your attention. You look over at Luke with hope in your eyes, the pair shining in the light as they flicker back and forth between Luke’s own gaze. 

“Really?”

Not allowed to back down now, Luke nods. 

“Yeah. That rage you have within you. The need to beat someone, to be better than someone. I feel it all the time.” And that, that right there, is the stone cold truth. 

He’s never admitted it to anyone else before, but with you, things feel different. He figures that this feeling he has around you is what some religious people feel in their faith. Maybe what some of the other believers at camp feel in regards to their parents. 

Luke pops the marshmallow into his mouth whole. 

You look relieved as you speak. He hadn’t noticed the tension in your body until it’s gone. 

“So I’m not messed up?” Your voice is small, weak, insecure, almost. 

Luke almost feels bad about lying to you. 

Almost. 

“Not any more than the rest of us.” 

What he doesn’t say is: not any more than me. 

As soon as his marshmallow is swallowed, he asks you to meet him later that night. 

‎

Luke feels like he’s been waiting ages for you. 

He’s paced a path in the dirt, twirled the small dagger he kept on him until his fingers could no longer grip the handle comfortably, and he’s started to gnaw on his bottom lip in anticipation that at this point he worries that they aren’t kissable anymore. Because no matter how much he tries to lie to himself, he invited you out to the clearing that you train in with one intention in mind. 

He digs into the pocket of his cargos, searching for a second before his fingers wrap around the small tube of chapstick he got from one of his sisters. Cherry flavored, artificially so, but it still smells pleasant enough. Whenever he’d received it from her it was fresh, the seal unbroken, but since then he has used at least a quarter of its contents. 

The balm glides over the broken pieces of skin, smoothing them out as best as possible, and then Luke recaps the tube and stuffs it back into his pocket. 

It’s no sooner that the lip balm has found a home again that he hears the thud of a shoe against the soft ground behind him. 

He doesn’t turn around, not yet. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Instead, he twirls his knife again, a little slower this time to prevent it from slipping and falling onto the ground embarrassingly. 

“Didn’t think I should’ve brought a weapon.” 

Just the sound of your voice makes Luke’s insides flutter. He feels stupid, silly even, to have such a crush like this. He feels juvenile. 

A smile briefly blooms across his face before he snips it off, turning around to look at you as neutrally as he can manage. 

“You should always keep a weapon on you. Don’t you remember rule number one?” 

Luke watches you reach behind your back for only a second before you brandish the dagger he’d given you for him to see, a triumphant smile on your lips. 

“I’m a good listener. Don’t you remember?” 

Proud, Luke tucks his dagger back into its holster and you do the same. 

He takes a step closer to you as he proposes his next question, a hand reaching up to flick off an imaginary lash from your cheek. He doesn’t know why, but as of today he’s found himself touching you more. Searching for any reason to justify feeling your skin against his. 

“How good of a listener are you?” 

Your head tilts a bit, eyes squinting, and he realizes that it’s an action he does often. The implications of you picking up things from him makes his chest bloom with something. Pride, maybe? 

“Try me.” 

You step back, giving Luke a full view of your body. 

He lets his eyes scan your frame once. Taking in your messy hair, pinned up for the night. Your sweatshirt with some school on it. Luke, not knowing much about the outside world, doesn’t know if it’s college or high school, much less its location. But it’s well worn in, clearly loved by you. You’ve paired it with a loose pair of pants, and Luke has suspicions that if he were looking at you from behind, the flowy material would perfectly outline your ass. 

He clears his throat and meets your eyes again. 

“Okay…” he thinks for a second. “Simon says: touch your nose.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes, but then you lift your right hand, single out your pointer finger, and press it against the tip of your nose. 

“Simon says: touch your toes.” 

Luke watches, seeing if he’ll catch you, but you keep one hand situated on your nose and use the other to reach down to press your hand against the beat up end of your sneakers. 

“Hm, okay,” Luke nods as if he’s impressed. Like you would struggle at a kids game. 

“Simon says you can stop.” 

You stand back up straight. 

“Simon says: spin around twice.” 

You spin around twice. 

Instantly, without giving you a second to rest, “spin around a third time.” 

You jerk for a second, but stay still in the end. Luke points, smiling a bit as if saying I almost had you. 

You don’t respond but your lips curl up into a little embarrassed smile. 

Luke continues giving you orders for a few moments, letting you get comfortable with the preface of “Simon says” just before he gives the final blow. 

“Kiss me.” 

There’s no order from Simon before it. Just Luke. He gauges your reaction. And when he sees you stay put, he tries to move on. 

“Simon says–” 

But then you’re walking towards him, and you’re reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders, and you’re pulling him down to reach you better, and then you press your lips to his. It’s light, a barely there touch, and then you’re pulling away, walking back to your spot, and standing straight, waiting for your next order. 

“I didn’t say Simon says.” 

Proudly, you tell him, “I know.” 

There’s a moment where the only noise is that of nature. Of the harmony of the world existing around this possibly unharmonious moment. The brief balance could easily be thrown off by your reaction to the next bit. If Luke were being dramatic, he would claim that your reaction determines the fate of the world, and maybe even of his mission. 

He takes a breath, and then takes the plunge. 

“Simon says: kiss me again.”

This time, your kiss is firmer. You’re standing on your toes a bit, overcompensating for Luke who still stands tall with his shoulders back and his head up. 

Eventually, he dips his head down at the same time that he finally gets to touch you. 

It’s small, nothing but a hand on your hip, but the context of it changes everything for him. He’s touched you before, brief presses of his fingers against a part of your body to emphasize a point, or correct your posture, and then earlier when he reached out for the delicate skin on your face. 

Those things were friendly, that of a mentorship even. 

Nothing to this degree. 

You tilt your head and deepen the kiss, opening your mouth wider as you start to take control. And Luke hands it to you. 

He grips the loose fabric of your pants, takes the tiniest step forward, and presses himself against you. In return, you nudge closer to him, holding the sides of his head and keeping him steady to allow yourself to explore his mouth. 

He’s a little lost, he’s never gotten to this base with anyone before. Besides the time he kissed one of the Aphrodite kids as part of truth or dare years ago. But that kiss was nothing compared to this, not even on the same scale. 

In this field, he’s inexperienced. 

For fear of making a complete fool of himself, he simply mirrors in the form of reciprocation. 

When you press your tongue into his mouth, he does the same, meeting you not quite in the middle and simply doing what you do. 

There’s a moment there where you leave Luke’s lips, and he’s preparing himself to be upset when you pull away, but then your lips pucker and you suck his upper lip for just a split second, and you return to kissing him like his knees didn’t just get a little weak. 

Fortunately, the slight lapse presses his crotch against yours again, and you suck in a breath when Luke accidentally grinds his boner into you. 

Sensing that it’s something good, and satisfied that he’s not the only one as aroused as he is, he does it again. This time intentionally. 

He frees his grip on your pants to move his palms around, pressing into the top of your ass and the end of your back, pulling you closer to bump your crotches. 

This time, you do peel away from his lips completely, but it’s to let out the prettiest sound Luke has ever heard. 

Your eyebrows are pinched together a bit, your lips shining in the torch light and parted. 

You’ve only been apart for a couple of seconds, but Luke is on you again. 

He sacrifices the grip he has on your lower half to stretch his hand along the connection of the back of your skull and neck, fingers spreading as far as the tip of your spine to an inch into your scalp. 

He lets go of the insecurities he has in his lack of experience and just kisses you. His immediate intention isn’t to take control from you. Rather, it’s just to have you as close to him as possible. 

You respond eagerly. Arching into him, slinking your arms over his shoulders, pressing your hands into the muscles along his back. At one point, you lift your leg and nudge your knee against Luke’s side by way of getting even closer to him. The position change allows the first real touch of your centers together and your head falls back, exposing the pretty sight of your jugular to him. 

There’s a moment there where Luke has the urge to wrap his hand around it. But he fears what your reaction would be so he flexes his hand, and lets the thought evaporate into the stiff night air. 

Luke knows that he feels as he does because of the hormones swirling throughout his body, but he has the feeling that he can trust you. Really trust you. Enough to tell you everything he’s ever wanted to tell anybody. 

“Do you trust me?” He says it to you, his hand pulling your head back towards his, your lips mere centimeters a part. 

You nod, the tip of your nose nudging against his with each movement. 

Luke kisses you once, then tells you, “the gods, they–”. 

He doesn’t have a spiel planned, but his need to tell you everything has him covered. He knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Not until you understand your parents as he does. 

You put an unexpected dent into Luke’s poorly conceived plan when you shake your head. 

“Don’t wanna hear about the gods right now, Luke. Just wanna kiss you.” 

And the way you say it, like it’s something you need rather than just want, makes Luke abide completely. 

His free hand slips under your shirt, pressing his palm flat against your torso, and giving himself the first real press of skin on skin. He sighs, pulling away from your lips to knock his forehead against yours.  

He slides his hand up until he finds where your bra would sit. But he doesn’t run into any more material. Instead, he reaches a hill, one he nudges his thumb against, reaching up until he finds the beginning of your areola. Then, as if he’s realizing that he’s going further than he should be, he pulls his head away and looks at you. 

“Is this…?” The question makes him feel vulnerable. If he finishes it, he bares his wants out to you. And he knows that you have done the same for him already, but he doesn’t feel ready to invite the possibility of rejection. 

So instead, he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to catch on. 

You nod, biting down onto your lower lip. Your hands begin to search, too, leaving behind the sides of Luke’s face to tickle through the grown out hairs at the back of his head. 

What follows is the most carnal display of want that Luke has ever been part of. 

He starts by tweaking your nipples, applying light pressure and then smoothing it out when you moan. He watches your reactions to try and figure out what to do next, but luckily you end up pulling his hand away yourself, leading it to the elastic waistband of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, not needing to say what you want for Luke to take initiative. 

Luckily, the favor is returned. 

You unbutton his jeans, pull them down just enough, and reach a hand into the fabric, touching along the gingham pattern of his briefs. 

There’s not much coordination to it at all, but it doesn’t seem to bother either of you. From how Luke sees it, you’re equal amounts of eager, pressing against each other in multiple areas as if you’re both attempting to fuse your bodies together. 

In the excitement of it all, Luke accidentally bumps the heel of his palm against your center. He assumes that it would have hurt you, so he’s close to apologizing. 

Until you moan. 

That’s all it takes for Luke to push away the rest of his pride and insecurities. He takes a breath. 

“Will you … can you show me what to do? How to make you feel good?” 

Your reply is instant. “Two fingers.” 

He singles out his pointer and middle finger. 

“And then go...” You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling his touch up to find something that his fingers catch on, a bundle of nerves that apparently feels good for you. You nod, sighing out a small “right there”. 

He feels a little dumb when he asks, “What do I do now?” 

“Rub. Circles are best, but side to side works too.” 

So that’s what he does. 

He starts slow at first, the circles a little wide, but they feel good for you. You’re nodding, eyes fluttering shut a bit. You return your hand to Luke, pressing over his dick, and then sliding a little further down until you reach his balls. 

He tries to hide his sound, but a hitch of his breath comes out anyway. 

There’s a tree stump just behind you, a product of an accident Luke has yet to tell you about, but you direct him towards it, standing over him for a second when he falls back to sit on it. The two of you have sat on the stump a few times before, but never in this capacity. 

Luke watches you climb over him, straddling his hips, and pushing your crotches together.

Then, you grind. 

One of Luke’s hands finds your ass, the other reaches back to connect with what’s left of the tree, reclining his position just enough to provide more room. He lets you do the rest, spurring you on with little nods and small breaths. 

It’s not like you can see him, not when your eyes are pinched shut. 

Luke wants to join you. His eyes threaten to close and submerge him in a void that would enhance every single feeling. But closing his eyes means getting rid of this sight. And he never wants to forget what you look like right now. 

There’s sweat beading along your hairline and running down the side of your face. Your face is one of relaxation, save for the tiniest crease of concentration between your eyebrows. Luke can tell that you’re warm, and not just by the perspiration. But clearly his training has been paying off because your body doesn’t show fatigue. Your muscles are still taunt, your movements are still languid. You don’t show any plans of stopping anytime soon. 

And at first, that’s what Luke wants. 

There’s a few moments where he’s lost in oblivion. Where he pictures the worst thing in the world happening, and it’s you getting off of him. The feeling is so delicious, your centers grinding together, bumping clumsily yet still working in both of your favors. 

He doesn’t want it ever to end. 

And then he cums. 

Again, he tries to hide the sounds he makes. But a groan rips through his throat, jumping out of his mouth and falling directly onto the fabric of your shirt when he rests his forehead against your chest. 

He uses you as an anchor, his big hands gripping any part of you that he can find. He grips your clothes as he attempts to tether himself to the here and now. 

He’s huffing, spent even though he did none of the work. Eventually, he lifts his head to search for your lips, but then he winces when you keep going. 

He’s speaking in fragments. He’s trying to communicate his sensitivity. But you only shake your head, speeding your hips up a bit more. 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry. I’m almost there. Swear, Luke. I swear…” and it’s just then that Luke is presented with the prettiest image he’s ever seen. 

When his lips are numb and there’s a wet patch pressing against his sensitive cock in his briefs, Luke remembers the alcohol he has stashed within a bush. 

He presents it, feeling that same sense of pride spread through his chest whenever you seem delighted at the options, even though it’s just a box of hard seltzer one of his brothers snuck in at the beginning of the summer. When you ask him what it took to secure it, Luke brushes it off, not wanting to remember the poop scooping he’d doomed himself to. 

But the sight of you grinning before bringing the first sip of a cracked open can to your lips makes it all worth it. 

When you pull it away a bead of clear liquid snags on the corner of your lips. Luke’s eyes watch it glide down your chin, and before he can stop himself he reaches a hand out, once again feeling that bravery, and swipes his thumb at the liquid. 

He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, surprisingly pleased at the flavor. 

You both make your way through multiple cans, and it’s only when there’s a slight slur to your words and a sway to your frame that you ask Luke about your parents. And not about the stories you’ve been told throughout school, or the glorious recounts about how they’ve helped their kids. But the truth. About how Luke feels. 

And he turns to you, smiling gently, and begins to tell you, becoming more and more pleased as you begin to express the same outrage as him. 

He doesn't have to question if you'll be a valuable ally. He doesn't have to feed you carefully worded lines to twist your mind into siding with him.

With you, it's natural. The same as it is with him.

‎

It’s exactly a week later. Another capture the flag day created a certain buzz that flowed throughout camp. 

Earlier this morning, Luke was concerned about winning. That was before he found himself in a similar position as he did weeks ago. 

Standing next to you in a clearing, no other campers around to witness something that will certainly be a sight to behold. 

Just like before, you’re standing over a camper with your sword raised over his frightened frame. He’s pleading, but his words are useless. They fall to deaf ears. 

“No maiming!” He exclaims. “It’s the rules, remember?” His words are spoken with a stutter, the tremor in his voice extremely obvious. 

Briefly, Luke looks over to you only to find you already looking at him. 

You’re waiting, body tense, ready to attack. All you need is the command. 

“Do it.” 

There’s a rip and a scream, and Luke’s eyes don’t leave your frame. 

He watches the splatter of blood meet your cheek and for once, Luke doesn’t reach over to wipe it away. He leaves it there, leaving the evidence behind as he cups your face delicately, spreading his fingers to miss the crimson, and then using his hold to pull you close and press his lips to yours. 

Easily, quickly, you submit to him. 

You two haven’t shared things in the most intimate form, not yet at least, but he doesn’t need that with you. Looking in your eyes, seeing that same look that he sees in himself, Luke knows that having your legs spread around his hips with euphoria isn’t the most necessary thing in the world. He would love for it to happen, and he will revel in it when it does happen, but he knows that fucking you isn’t needed to guarantee your loyalty to him. 

As you submit to him, smelling of musk derived from hard work, the evidence of your effort on your face, Luke knows that he’s already secured it. 

He has your loyalty. 

And he can’t shake the excitement he feels towards your potential. Because he knows that the fire blazing deep inside of you can’t be contained for much longer. 

He just hopes your internal fire continues to work in his favor and never against it.

[godsfavdarling]

sitting pretty 2

part of my sitting pretty (one-shot series), my masterlist

+18!

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You seem to be unable to follow instructions which ends with Spencer punishing you. words: 2,5k warnings: cockwarming, soft!dom!Spence, unprotected sex (don’t do that), female masturbation, blowjob, facefucking, reader is being needy + can’t follow instructions = gets punished, bodily fluids, aftercare, praise <3 a/n: this is part of my 1000 followers celebration! thank you for following me!

It had been a long day, and all you wanted was to relax in Spencer's arms. But with his cock buried deep inside you, pulsing with every slight movement, it was impossible to think about anything else.

You were straddling his waist while he lay on his back, still clothed - at least he was, not you. You were completely naked on top of him, just as he wanted: facing him, holding still with his cock inside you.

You tried to relax; the position was quite comfortable for you, but the pressure of his cock pressing inside you made it hard to focus on anything but the growing tension.

His hands were resting on your hips, keeping you in place.

Your nipples hardened as they brushed against his dress shirt, the slight friction sending shivers through you. You craved Spencer's touch, longing for him to tease them between his fingers - but he held back, leaving you wanting more.

Everything was intoxicating - his warmth, his scent, the way his clothes felt against your naked skin, teasing you as you sat still.

Well, mostly still.

Spencer’s voice was soft but firm. “You need to stay still, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb gently stroking your hip. “Just keep sitting pretty for me, okay?”

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you tried to follow his instructions. 

But the way he filled you, stretching you so perfectly, made it hard to focus. 

You felt yourself getting completely drenched, possibly more than you ever have before. The wetness was pooling inside you, and you could feel it beginning to overflow and drip out.

The slow, steady throb of his cock inside you was maddening, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t resist the urge to move - just a little.

You shifted your hips slightly, and it was enough to send a wave of pleasure through both of you. 

Spencer’s breath hitched, and his grip on your hips tightened slightly.

“Angel…” he warned, his voice low and commanding, though there was an edge of sweetness to it. “What did I say?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though the apology was half-hearted. 

The need between your legs was growing, and you couldn’t help the subtle roll of your hips as you sought more friction, more of that delicious sensation, more of him.

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as he watched you struggle to obey. He was patient, but he could see the bratty streak in you tonight, the way you were testing his limits.

“Are you being needy tonight, love?” he asked, his tone soft yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. His hand slid up your side, fingers ghosting over your ribs as he watched your reaction.

You nodded, unable to hide the desperate look in your eyes. “I just… I need you, Spence,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing over the stubble there. “Please…”

He inhaled deeply, looking at you with a tremendous amount of love and awe, but there was also a sternness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You were supposed to stay still,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “But you can’t seem to follow instructions tonight, can you?”

You pouted slightly, trying to play innocent, but the growing tension in your body betrayed you. “I’m trying…”

Spencer’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “But you’re not trying hard enough, are you? And now you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the implication sending a rush of heat through you. “What do you mean?”

Suddenly, he was sitting up with you still in his lap. The abrupt shift made you whimper.

"Look at you. So desperate, so needy," he teased with a playful grin, his hands rubbing your thighs.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "If you can't sit still like a good girl, then you'll have to take care of yourself."

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. 

Spencer suddenly pushed you off him and shifted you to lay back on the bed while he sat on the edge and turned towards you.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed, his voice unwavering. “Make yourself cum. But I’m not going to touch you. That’s your punishment for not listening.”

The words sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core, but also a pang of frustration. 

You wanted his touch, craved it, needed it, but the thought of pleasuring yourself while he watched - so close yet untouchable - made your pulse race.

You hesitated for a moment, but the need between your legs was too strong to ignore. 

Slowly, you let your hand slip down between your thighs, your fingers brushing against your clit, already soaked, swollen, and sensitive from your earlier movements and his cock.

Spencer’s eyes followed your hand, his gaze darkening as he watched you begin to rub slow, teasing circles over your clit.

His cock was still out of his pants, and you looked at it - still hard and pretty, with a blushing pink tip you wished you could lick. You knew he did that on purpose. He wanted you to see what you can't have.

You saw him twitch under your gaze, clear that he was affected by the sight, but he remained steadfast in his resolve not to touch you.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that bubbled up as you circled your clit faster, the pleasure building with every stroke. 

But it wasn’t enough - you needed more, needed to feel Spencer’s hands on you, his lips on your skin. 

The frustration of being so close to him, yet denied his touch, only made the need stronger.

“Spence…” you whimpered, your hips starting to move, seeking more friction, imagining him there, more of that exquisite pressure.

You spread your legs even further allowing him a better view and inviting him to move there. To be there. To feel you there. 

But he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, love. You should’ve listened,” he said. “Do what you’re told now, and maybe you’ll get more later.”

You groaned, the tension in your body reaching a fever pitch as you tried to obey. 

Your fingers worked faster, circling your clit with desperate intensity as you chased your release, but the denial of Spencer’s touch made it feel just out of reach.

“Please…” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Please touch me…”

But Spencer just shook his head, his expression one of firm resolve, though you could see the strain in his eyes. 

“You’ll cum on your own, angel,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “That’s your punishment. And you’ll keep going until you do.”

The authority in his voice sent a thrill through you, and despite the frustration, you couldn’t help but obey. 

Your fingers moved faster, pressing harder against your clit as you focused on the building pleasure, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter.

Spencer watched you intently, his breath coming quicker as he observed the way you writhed beside him, desperate for release. 

His cock twitched again, but he held himself perfectly still, his control unwavering.

Finally, the pressure became too much, and with a gasping moan, you felt the orgasm crash over you, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. 

Your fingers slowed, trembling as you rode out the last of the sensations, your chest heaving with the effort.

Spencer’s hand finally moved, brushing over your hair as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing now. “You did so well, angel.”

You leaned into his touch, your body still trembling in the aftermath. “Spence…” you whispered, your voice weak with exhaustion and relief. “I’m sorry…” You grabbed his hand and snuggled into it.

He smiled, his expression full of warmth as he cradled your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks. “I know,” he said gently, kissing you softly on the lips. “And you’re forgiven.”

You sighed, melting into his embrace, your body relaxing as his arms wrapped around you, his touch finally providing the comfort you had been craving.

"I can make it up to you," you whispered softly, your voice tinged with hope as you gazed up at him.

He looked down at you, a gentle but resigned smile on his lips. "There’s nothing to make up to me. It’s okay. We’re done," he replied, his tone soft but firm.

Your heart tightened, a wave of desperation washing over you. "I don't want to be done," you confessed, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation.

He sighed, his expression torn. "Angel..." he began, trying to find the right words.

"You just felt so good," you interrupted, your voice trembling as your hand moved down to his hard cock, feeling the heat and tension beneath your fingers. 

"You're still hard," you added, a hint of desire creeping into your voice.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotion. "I'm okay," he said, but his voice was strained, betraying the struggle within him.

"Please, let me," you begged, your voice soft and pleading as you looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. "Let me taste you."

He hesitated, searching your face for certainty. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," you replied, your voice steady, leaving no doubt in your mind.

You slowly moved yourself lower, trailing kisses down his chest and abdomen until you were face to face with his hard cock. 

Your mouth watered as you wrapped your hand around his base, feeling the pulsing heat under your fingertips. 

With deliberate slowness, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth, sucking gently as you started to move your head, savoring the way he filled your mouth and throat.

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tangle in your hair, gathering it to make it easier to watch you. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and steadfast, as you pulled off his cock to press a kiss to the flushed tip. 

You then dragged your tongue along the prominent vein on the underside, moaning softly when he tugged on your hair in response, the sensation sending a thrill through your body.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," he praised through gritted teeth, his voice rough with desire. 

He wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes with his free hand, the other holding your head steady.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position as he sat up. His strong hands guided you down until you were kneeling on the floor in front of him, your eyes level with his twitching cock. He was close.

The coolness of the floor contrasted with the warmth radiating from him.

He gazed down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he ran a hand through your hair, brushing it away from your face so he could see you more clearly. 

The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and you felt a shiver of excitement as you knelt there, awaiting his next command.

He gently guided your head, positioning you so that your mouth was once again on his cock. 

As his tip brushed against your throat, he paused, giving you a moment to adjust. His touch was firm yet tender.

His grip tightened as he began to fuck your throat, the pressure unrelenting but thrilling.

"My perfect little angel, always so desperate to please me, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and control.

You tried to nod, your heart racing at his words, but he slipped his fingers into your mouth, pressing it against your cheek and pulling to open your mouth wider. 

He groaned when a mixture of his precum and your saliva dripped down your chin, the sight clearly driving him wild.

The taste of him was overwhelming, filling your senses as he thrust deeper, his fingers still gripping your jaw, holding you open for him. 

You gagged slightly, the pressure at the back of your throat making your eyes water, but the way he groaned in pleasure at the sight only fueled the heat building inside you. 

He filled you once again. Your mouth was full of him and his taste.

His movements became more urgent, the rhythm relentless, as he pushed you to take him deeper, using your mouth as if it was made just for him. Fitted him perfectly.

More of your saliva mixed with his precum dripped messily down your chin, but you were too lost in the moment to care, driven by the desperate need to please him.

When he finally came, it was overwhelming. His hot semen flooded your mouth, and you choked and gasped as you tried to swallow everything he gave you. 

But he didn’t move. He stayed there in your throat covered in both of your juices.

You stayed there, cockwarming him with your mouth, savoring the way he filled you. 

Maybe this was where you excelled; the sensation of him in your mouth brought a unique kind of satisfaction. 

When he filled your cunt, it was overwhelming, leaving you disoriented. But this - feeling him in your mouth - was different.

You focused on drawing quiet moans of pleasure from him as he began to soften.

He gently pulled you off his cock, his touch tender as he guided you to sit back on your heels. His expression softened as he leaned down, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. 

Each kiss was like a soothing balm.

"You're incredible," he murmured softly, his voice filled with genuine affection. 

He helped you to your feet, his hands steady and supportive. You swayed slightly, still feeling the lingering effects of everything that happened.

He guided you toward the bathroom, his hand warm and reassuring on your back. "Come on, let's clean you up," he said gently, his voice tender and caring.

In the bathroom, he turned on the taps and filled the bathtub with warm water. The gentle sound of the running water was soothing, and the steam began to fill the room, creating a comforting warmth.

He slipped out of his clothes and approached you with a soft, affectionate smile. 

Leaning in, he kissed you gently on the mouth, his touch tender and loving. "You did so well for me. I'm proud of you," he murmured, his eyes filled with admiration.

You smiled up at him, and he responded by pressing another tender kiss to your lips.

He helped you step into the bath, his hands steady as he guided you into the soothing water.

As you settled into the bath, he took a soft sponge and began to wash you gently, his touch careful and attentive. 

He worked slowly, making sure every part of you was cleaned and cared for, his movements tender and considerate.

He occasionally paused to look at you, his eyes filled with affection and concern, making sure you were comfortable. 

His touch was delicate as if he was handling something precious.

[eevees-hobbies]

This One's for the Dads!

Authors Note: This was originally going to be a spicy one-shot with Satoru Gojo, but then it turned into something else.

Synopsis: Father’s Day is among us and it impacts Gojo, Geto, Toji and Sukuna (yes, even him) differently. 

Content Warning: There is some smut below. None in Toji’s and it’s kind of angsty. Female ReaderXCharacter, Mentioning of fathers day, breeding kink, implied child abandonment, reference to spitting in someones mouth, playing with nipples, almost getting caught, making out fingering, sex, etc. Minors DO NOT Interact.

Likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated!

The Dads Who Stepped Up

Satoru Gojo

“Happy Father's Day, Satoru!” You shout while simultaneously setting off a loud party popper. The red party string erupts from the boisterous instrument and floats to the floor onto the accented rug. The love of your life and least funniest person in the world, Satoru Gojo—who had just walked into the door of your shared home—looks at you in surprise. 

Truth be told, it was the end of a particularly long and stressful workday, and he was looking forward to coming home and collapsing into his king-sized bed without further thought of carrying the world's weight on his shoulders. But here he was, being accosted at his own front door—by you. 

“Happy Fathers D-?” His voice trails off as his eyes wander down your frame and settle on your midsection. Your face grows hot as you follow his eyes; instinctively, your hand shoots down to cover your stomach. You scold yourself quietly for not thinking of the implications behind your gesture.

“Yeah, I should have thought this through. Don’t worry, I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh”

You make a mental note of his change of tone. He sounded disappointed, but you can’t imagine why since pregnancy scares have always stressed you both out in the past. 

“Then, why are you wishing me a Happy Father's Day? I’m not exactly a dad.” Gojo closes the door behind him and opens his arms, allowing you to approach him and melt into his embrace. His familiarity calms you, as does the scent of his cologne and the way he rests his chin on your head. For all the things that Gojo is for you—and he is a lot of positive things—he also is a sense of security, comfort, and unconditional love. 

“But you are, Satoru. I know I joke about you having an army of secret kids out there-“ 

“I meaaaaaaan-”

You pinch his bicep playfully, earning a pained chuckle from him. 

“You’re a father figure to Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji, to only name a few. Think about how much you’ve stepped up and mentored them in their darkest moments. I want you to consider where those kids would be without you, Satoru.”

While you’re talking, Gojo lifts his blindfold from his eyes and rests it on his forehead. His usual playful gaze is gone, replaced with something more reflective as he considers your words. It’s almost enough to unnerve you, but you continue in an attempt to convince your partner that today is a day for him, too.

“I know you’re always bragging about being the strongest, to the point where you’re downright annoying, but please accept that you serve in this capacity, too. Look,” you break free from his embrace, walk over to your dining room table, and pick up several envelopes. 

Gojo follows behind you, peering over your shoulder. “What are those?” 

“Signed Father's Day cards from the boys.” You hand them over to Gojo, who then opens the one on the top of the pile, which just so happens to be Megumi’s

Gojo can’t help but smile as he reads it aloud: “Thanks for everything. If I had to choose between being sold off to the Zenin clan and you, I would choose you every time.” 

He looks up at you, his voice soft and devoid of his usual arrogant tone. "That’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.”

You smile as he reads through the other cards. Yuta’s is the sweetest and tugs at your heartstrings as he describes a point in which meeting Gojo meant not having to live in fear anymore. 

Yuji’s card makes Satoru chuckle with the use of an inside joke that doesn’t sound too appropriate for a student-teacher relationship, but you don’t press it. 

You watch Gojo, enjoying this moment in which he feels valued, something his thankless job often fails to offer him. 

After Gojo places the cards on the refrigerator via the picture magnets of you two, he turns to you. “Baaaaaabe!” 

There he is, you think as he throws his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your hair, “I’m not gonna’ lie. I kind of wish you were pregnant, though.”

Suddenly, the arrogance is back, his voice absolutely inundated with it, “I like the idea of a little Gojo running around, and you make me sound like a perfect dad.”

You recall your conversation from minutes ago in which he sounded disappointed when you said you weren’t pregnant, “Gojo, we’ve talked about this. When you get horny, you start talking about making a family.”

He whines, “Come ON! It’s Father’s Day! MY day! Humor me.”

You laugh and nod, not entirely sure what you’re consenting to, but he’s right. It is Father's Day, and it was your intention to make him feel like this was a day for him, so what was the harm in playing along? 

Gojo picks you up and places you on the counter, his fingers gripping the edge of your skirt and hiking it up. He’s on you in an instant, attaching himself to you as if you’re his lifeline.

You loop a finger around the hem of his blindfold, removing and flinging it across the room. His white hair falls into his face, adding a breathtaking contrast to his sky-blue eyes. 

“Would it be so bad, Y/N?” 

“W-would what be so bad?” Gojo’s warm mouth is on your neck, leaving a trail of kisses but still somehow managing to speak against your skin.

“Making me a dad,” he pauses. “Letting me make you a mama.” Gojo leans closer to you, allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. You’re situated on the counter, but his proposition makes you feel like you’re falling. And what he says next shakes you to your very being.

“Let me put a baby in you, Y/N.”

You open your mouth, ready to list why you both shouldn’t even be entertaining this conversation—but, to your surprise, you can’t find the words to say no. And perhaps it’s because it’s something you actually want, or maybe it’s because Gojo is now positioning his cock at your entrance, and when that man pulls his dick out, you get a little dumb. Honestly, your only flaw.

You have follow-up questions. You’re unsure if he’s being serious; he often talks like this during sex, a consequence of a man with a breeding kink, but this sounds different. Feels different. So, is he serious? Your second question is, how did he pull his dick out so quickly?

You don’t get much time to ask as he smacks the fat tip of his dick against your sensitive clit; the sound of his meat hitting your already moist cunt echoes through the kitchen. The action sends shockwaves through your body, and you arch your back, pressing yourself further against his body, which almost doesn’t feel humanly possible. 

Gojo smirks, “Mmm, so receptive for me, baby. What if I juuuuust put the tip in, like this?”

He’s a man of his word as he presses the head against the entrance of your tight cunt, watching as it does what it does best and welcomes Gojo’s dick. But he doesn’t push in any further, only allowing you to feel moderately stretched and not as full as you’d like.

“Don’t tease me, Gojo.” You attempt to make your demand sound menacing through gritted teeth, but it comes out more like a whine. Pathetic. 

He wraps a hand around your chin and pulls your face within mere inches of his. “I will if you ask nicely.”

You huff. God, for all the reasons you love this man, he can be fucking exhausting. But your body deceives you; your cunt grasps at the head of his cock, part of you enjoying his little games.

“Please, Saturo, make me a mommy.”

As the last syllable leaves your lips, he pushes forward until his dick is flush against your pussy. The momentum of the push bounces you back, and some of the appliances on the counter tip over. Gojo’s hand shoots over your head to get leverage, resting on the cabinet while the other wraps around your waist. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he slides in and out of you. “I swear to GOD I’m getting you pregnant tonight. You want that? To carry my babies?”

Fantasy or not, you’re into it. You tighten your grip around his neck and moan into his ear, your honeyed voice only making him thrust more aggressively. 

“You’re going to be a great Daddy, baby!”

The arm that was around your waste is now in between you both, his long fingers rubbing your clit, the friction making your inner thighs clench—a telltale sign that you’re getting close.

“You’re going to look so fuckin’ beautiful pregnant. How many are you going to give me? Cuz once we start, I won’t be able to stay off ya.”

You moan in approval; Satoru is a pervert, a menace, but never a liar. You know that if he promises to keep you barefoot and pregnant, he fucking means it. 

“Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You happily oblige as his mouth absorbs your tongue, sucking harshly on it. Kissing while fucking is something you both often do, but you and Satoru are just so comically bad at it—taking intermittent pauses, too caught up in the pleasure you’re both feeling to move your lips. But he never allows your tongue to retreat back into your mouth, sucking on it while he continues to pound your core.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, realizing that he never removed his shirt—he was so horny that he only had time to drop his pants down to his ankles and fuck you right there on your kitchen counter. And the thought alone has you grabbing his hair and gushing on his dick.

Gojo lets out a whimper as your cunt spasms, sending him over the edge, and shooting ropes upon ropes into your sex.

You’re both left panting, forehead to forehead.

“Happy Father's Day, Satoru.”

Suguru Geto

“That’s the last of it,” you say as you dump an endless supply of glitter into a trash bag. The living room was a mess.

For this Father's Day, Mimiko and Nanako begged to be in charge of the activities. You were touched. The girls were obviously happy to hold this responsibility, so you willingly passed the baton to them.  

And you had to admit, you were impressed by the itinerary. They planned a trip to some of Seguro’s favorite places, including a Soba restaurant that typically had an extensive waitlist. Tonight was no exception, but the girls had made reservations months in advance. 

You all concluded the day at home with home movies, cake, and a poster board with bright red glitter proclaiming that Geto was the “World's Best Dad.” 

Hence, the mess.

The girls were now tucked away and asleep in their respective bedrooms. You and Suguru were taking the time to clean up the living room, but a quiet lull had settled between you both. You looked back at him as you tied the trash bag closed. 

Geto is sitting on the couch, a smile on his face that you can’t help but return. He looks perfect like this, you think to yourself. He is wearing black jeans and a loose grey sweatshirt, and his signature hair, which is often tied up, flows freely past his shoulders. 

“Y//N, this is the happiest I’ve ever been, and I owe a lot of this to you. This wouldn’t be a home without you.” He gestures to the room around you both, and you take it all in—it’s not the most luxurious of homes, but it belongs to your family of 4, and it’s brimming with character. 

You can clearly see what he’s referencing—the pencil marks on the walls indicating the measured inventory of the girls over the years, the pile of shoes near the door (the girls have far TOO many, you often say to no one in particular) and the framed family photos of you all on every wall.

Suguru interrupts your thoughts as he pats the vacant seat on the sofa beside him. You accept his invitation, sitting down and draping your legs into his lap. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying underneath him, his dark eyes penetrating your soul.

His voice is soft, and his touch is even softer as he slides a hand up your shirt, your bra removed hours ago, “I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t want to do this without you.”

His deft fingers circle your nipples, making them unbelievably hard and earning a moan from your lips, “Suguru, the girls could hear us!”

“Sounds like you better be quiet then” His head disappears under your shirt, and while you can’t see what he’s doing, you can feel his hot mouth on your nipples, rolling them around his tongue, sucking and teasing the flesh, making the heat between your legs grow exponentially stronger.

You begin to grind against him, trying to rub against any part of him to feel some semblance of relief. He chuckles, slipping a hand into your waistband and past your underwear. He lets out a murmur of approval as his hands dip into your needy sex, immediately stroking the soft-spongy spot deep in your core that drives you crazy.

Geto’s fingers are a godsend as they curve, stroke, and scissor you, adjusting to different motions depending on the sounds you make. His mouth still hasn't left your nipple, his suckles getting more aggressive as you feel his teeth nibbling. 

Suddenly, you both hear a door open from within the hallway and freeze. You hear someone—one of the girls, but you aren’t sure which—pad their way to the bathroom.

You both stay as still as humanly possible, knowing that if you duck down enough, whoever crosses in the hallway won’t be able to see you on the couch. 

Suguru pulls his hands out of your pants, which you assume means that your sexual escapade has concluded until those same fingers, which are covered in your essence, are now pressing against your lips.

He doesn’t give you much of an option as he pushes them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on your tongue, swirling his fingers around to mix with your saliva.

The bathroom door opens, and you hear the footsteps back into their room.

“Good job,” Suguru coos, pressing his lips against your stomach and pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“And thank you for an excellent Father's Day, my love.”

The Dad Who Stepped Out

Toji Fushiguro

“Here’s what you asked for.” Toji enters the kitchen and drops a grocery bag on the table. You glance over your shoulder at your stay-at-home boyfriend, who seems grumpier than usual today.

“Thanks. Hoping to try this Carbonara recipe out.” You rifle through the bag and pull out the ingredients.

Toji lingers in the kitchen—-unusual for him as he never offers to help cook, but you don’t press it, not wanting to catch the strays from whatever has him pissed off.

“I forgot…I forgot what day it is,” he mumbles softly.

Oh, you look over at the calendar on the refrigerator and nod. The date is circled in bright red marker. There’s a note to yourself that reads, “Father's Day!” 

“There were so many brats at the store today with their moms pickin’ out dinners. Barely could find anywhere to park.” 

He’s rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes look anywhere but at yours. You can tell that this is bothering him as Toji wears his stress on his shoulders, which are now hunched in a way that looks far from comfortable.

You learned early in your relationship not to bring up Father’s Day; it’s a sore spot for him. Much of what you know about Toji and his relationship with his son was shared reluctantly as a result of an ultimatum by you: open up or get the fuck out.

You choose your following words carefully. “Do you want to talk about it, or is this you venting?”

Toji sighs and shrugs, “Let’s hear it.”

“I think you should call your kid, Toji. He’s probably thinking about you, too.”

He holds his hand up, signaling that he doesn’t want to hear anything else about the topic, and exits to the bedroom. You glance sadly at your ingredients and conclude that dinner is going to have to wait as you follow Toji.

He’s lying on your bed almost as if asleep, but the scowl on his face and the way he’s biting his bottom lip gives him away.

You sit on the edge of the bed, “what do you need right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, but within reason, Toji. Because it seems like you don’t want to do what makes the most sense which is to pick up the fucking phone and call your son, so yeah, what do you need that I can give you right now?”

Toji’s face goes slack, and he opens one of his eyes. “Just sit here with me, yeah?”

You nod and crawl beside him, laying your head on his bicep as he wraps his arm around you.

Dishonorable Mention

Ryomen Sukuna

“Woman! Isn’t there something that you’re forgetting?”

Sukuna taps his foot as he sits at your dining room table. You would think that a modest two-bedroom apartment would humble the king of curses, but it doesn’t.

“What is it now, Sukuna?”

“I was watching the news, and every segment specified that it’s Father's Day?”

You nod, not entirely sure where he’s going with this.

“Well? Where’s my gift? My words of adoration? Your mouth on one of my cocks?”

You blink slowly, “Sukuna, Father's Day is for those with children. Are you telling me that you have-?”

‘He waves his dismissively at you, “Don’t be absurd, woman. You know how I feel about those disgusting creatures.”

“Then?”

Suluna’s patience with you is running thin. You sometimes like to play games with him to get a rise out of him. He’ll remember to spit in your mouth when he beds you tonight.

He speaks through gritted teeth, “you call me daddy every chance I have you split open on my dicks. Now wish me a happy fathers day.”

You consider your options here; on the one hand, pissing off Sukuna could be fun; on the other hand, he is right, you do call him daddy in the bedroom, so you relent, “happy fathers day, Sukuna.”

His chest swells in triumph. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

[eu-nicola]

"Between visions." Paul Atreides x Princess Irulan (different ending)

summary: In a world of political intrigue and prophecies, Paul, Irulan, and Chani find themselves caught in a triangle of love and betrayal. As Paul grapples with his visions of the future and his relationship with Irulan transforms, Chani clings to hope for a family. As tensions escalate and secrets are revealed, the three struggle to find their place in the world.

warnings: eithout correcting, loss of a child, manipulation perhaps, and I think nothing else, if I forget something let me know.

From the moment Paul took Princess Irulan's hand, things certainly didn't improve, at least not for the princess. True, she was part of her husband's council, but what good did it serve her if her life was miserable and devoid of a shred of love or even attention to console her?

Paul's promises to Chani still echoed in Irulan's thoughts, whether she wanted them to or not. The princess was strong in mind and soul, that was what still kept her standing, and what was even more important was that she was very intelligent. She took all of this in stride, refusing to be affected by the fact that she was destined for a loveless marriage and without children.

Paul, on the other hand, began to have visions involving Irulan. Not just any visions, but rather of the princess with a swollen belly. Paul's interactions since then were more cautious and suspicious, simply from the thought that Irulan's belly might be carrying another man's child, perhaps an enemy's.

He didn't want to dwell on the issue any further and simply pushed it aside, but at the same time, he couldn't help but pay attention. Or at least that's what he wanted to do. The visions actually tormented him with possible futures, especially those in which Irulan's face reflected joy and wonder as she held a child, whose eyes gleamed with the same golden intensity as his own.

From that moment on, Paul made sure to make Irulan's life miserable, no matter how bad it made her feel, but he never planned to have children with her, ever. The only mother of his children would be Chani, the only woman he loved would be the true mother of his children.

Fearful of the implications of his offspring, Paul retreated into a distant and disdainful attitude towards Irulan. This distancing only fueled resentment between them, creating an emotional chasm that threatened to destroy the princess's loyalty. The princess sank into dark resentment. Amid whispers of the court, she pondered plans to weaken her position and undermine her confidence in Chani. Secret intrigues were woven in the palace corridors as the princess explored the possibility of winning the loyalty of those surrounding Paul. Jealousy and envy drove her to consider conspiring against him and Chani, seeking to undermine the connection that seemed unbreakable. An aura of betrayal hung over the princess, who delved into the shadows to reach her own dark objectives.

Despite the dark conspiracy weaving in her mind, the princess could not escape the internal conflict that enveloped her. Among the whispers of betrayal, an echo reminded her of the love she still felt for Paul, albeit distorted by ambition. Every step toward conspiracy was marked by hesitation, a shadow of doubt wavering in her heart.

The idealized love for Paul was perhaps even greater than her desires for betrayal. The princess sought a balance between her dark desires and the fragments of affection that resisted fading away completely.

•••••••••••••••••••

Paul, lost in his own world as the wind gently blew, delved into the depths of his visions, still trying to decipher the future. However, a shroud of uncertainty loomed, challenging his prescient abilities. In his heart, he began to doubt the certainties that had once seemed unshakable.

Days later, when the princess had vanished from his sight and retreated into her own world, Chani, in a moment of solitude, approached Paul with news that would change his beliefs about destiny. The bond between them had borne fruit, and she carried within her the gift of life. Paul, surprised by the news, momentarily thought that perhaps all this time his visions had been wrong and that what he desired was actually going to come true. That's what he wanted.

Poor Irulan had no choice but to remain silent in the face of the news, not even having words to say; she simply accepted the fate she had once already accepted.

The light in Paul's eyes intensified as he interacted with Chani, and his laughter, a rare presence until then, became more frequent. This change even extended to his relationship with Irulan. Impending fatherhood softened the sharp edges of the intricate political web that surrounded them.

The princess took every part that Paul offered her to feel complete, no matter what it was, even politics, something she truly loved and enjoyed doing.

As political tensions and future expectations converged in the Palace of Arrakis, the relationship between Irulan and Paul underwent a subtle metamorphosis. Moments of shared humor and complicity arising from Chani's pregnancy slowly transformed into a deeper connection between Irulan and Paul.

On a starry night, with the dunes illuminated by the moonlight, Paul and Irulan shared a singular encounter. Far from the political intrigues and responsibilities weighing on their shoulders, they found themselves in a quiet corner of the palace. The conversations that were once only held in council now flowed with an authenticity neither had experienced before.

The physical proximity between them became palpable, charged with unexpected energy. Comfortable silences intertwined with meaningful glances, revealing layers of mutual understanding that went beyond their predetermined roles. In that moment, Paul and Irulan realized the humanity they shared, regardless of the circumstances that had brought them together.

Under the cover of night, Paul and Irulan, propelled by a newly discovered emotional connection, shared an experience that defied expectations and the constraints of their world. A night that, in its intimacy, marked the beginning of something unexpected.

From Irulan's perspective, the night was an encounter with the naked truth of emotions. The walls she had built to protect herself from the complexities of love and vulnerability slowly crumbled. Each prolonged gaze was a step beyond the predefined limitations of her relationship with Paul. The physical closeness was an echo of the emotional connection that was developing, and in the stillness of the night, Irulan found herself contemplating the possibility of a different future than she had imagined.

For Paul, however, the night brought a profound revelation. Irulan's company, which had previously been confined to political duties and formalities, transformed into a source of comfort and understanding. The princess's warm laughter and sincere conversations were like a breath of fresh air amidst the intricate web of his responsibilities. He felt like he was betraying everything he wanted. But in that moment, as strange as it felt, he enjoyed the company of his wife.

The calm that had enveloped the night abruptly dissipated the next morning when Paul, engulfed in a mixture of confusion and anxiety, decided to withdraw early. His thoughts, usually sharp and prescient, became entangled in the uncertainty unleashed by the previous night. Without explanations or farewells, Paul departed, leaving Irulan alone with the morning shadows.

Hours later, Irulan, bewildered by Paul's absence and not fully understanding the reason behind his sudden departure, learned the tragic news. Chani, the bearer of new life, had lost the baby.

The devastating news enveloped the palace air with a veil of sadness. In their grief and confusion, Paul, prey to the irrationality of mourning, found a target for his frustration: Irulan. In his affliction, he blamed Irulan for the disconnect he felt between his visions and reality, a connection that, in his mind, could have altered the course of events.

Irulan, surprised by the unfair accusation, found herself caught in Paul's emotional storm. The tragedy had triggered a series of events that defied any logic, and while Chani mourned the loss of her child, the relationships between Irulan and Paul became fragile, shrouded in the pain and weight of unfounded guilt.

As the days passed, the relationship between Paul and Irulan grew increasingly tense. The shadows of accusation and loss cast a dark cloud over their connection, eclipsing the moments they had once shared. Miscommunication and distrust erected insurmountable barriers.

At the height of their estrangement, the princess found herself facing news that would completely change everything. She learned that she was pregnant. The uncertainty of the child's future added to the burden of her fractured relationship with Paul.

Upon confessing the news to Paul, the room filled with a heavy silence. The revelation unleashed a storm of emotions in both, as they faced the decisions they now had to make. The life growing in Irulan's belly became an unbreakable bond between them, despite the challenges they faced as a couple.

The news of the pregnancy acted as a catalyst, forcing Paul and Irulan to confront the complications of their relationship more directly. The weight of past accusations momentarily faded, making room for deep reflection on the meaning of life and the crucial decisions they had to make.

For her part, Irulan experienced a mixture of fear and hope. The responsibility of bringing a new life into the world forced her to confront her own dilemmas. The life growing inside her served as a constant reminder that all of this shouldn't have happened, yet it did.

Though content with this, the days of pregnancy passed in silence. Paul's absence, immersed in his own struggles and political responsibilities, left her to face the emotional and physical challenges of pregnancy alone. The loneliness became palpable in the silent nights and in the moments when doubts and fears enveloped her.

Although Irulan immersed herself in writing and reflection to fill the emotional voids, the lack of emotional support became a constant burden. The absence of a support network affected her maternal experience, leading her to question the decisions that led her down this solitary path.

Over time, the visions Paul had about Irulan had become reality. When the day came, Irulan, accompanied by the silent murmur of palace medical staff, gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The room resonated with the emotional tension that hung in the air, while life flourished amidst the shadows of the past.

The little one, wrapped in the warmth of blankets, bore an astonishing resemblance to Paul. His presence in the room illuminated the space, dissipating the shadows that had darkened the path to this moment. Every familiar feature, from the deep eyes to the strands of dark hair, testified to Paul's legacy in the new life that had come into the world.

Irulan, holding the baby in her arms, found herself captivated by the expression of innocence on his face. The connection between mother and child transcended the complications of the past, and in that moment, she plunged into unconditional love that illuminated her own face, reflecting hope and the possibility of a different future.

••••••••••••••••

With the passage of time, Paul, facing the responsibilities of his office and the prescient visions that continued to guide his path, made a painful but inevitable decision to end his relationship with Chani. The deep connection they shared was overshadowed by political decisions and his life.

Irulan, always on the periphery of Paul's life, found herself transformed into the main companion in his life. The reconciliation born at the birth of their first child evolved over time. Paul, after overcoming the shadows of the past, found in Irulan a solid support and genuine connection.

Together, Paul and Irulan decided to expand their family, welcoming more children who filled the palace halls with laughter and joy. Each new birth represented an opportunity for redemption and the building of a united family. Though power and political intrigues persisted, the home Paul and Irulan built became a refuge.

As the family grew, Paul found in Irulan not only his life companion but someone to share joys and sorrows with, and a loving mother to his children.

Life led Paul down paths that transformed his feelings towards Chani. The pressures of leadership and constant political struggles created emotional distances between them. Responsibilities created a chasm, and political reality overshadowed the light of love that once flourished between them.

Chani, in turn, found in her loneliness and lack of emotional connection the need to seek comfort elsewhere. The emotional distance from Paul led her to explore new connections, and eventually, she fell in love with someone else. The search for understanding and affection led her to a relationship that filled the emotional void that persisted in her life.

The severing of ties between Paul and Chani was not simply a consequence of individual decisions but a complex dance of circumstances that life presented to them. Political designs and the inevitabilities of power transformed the nature of their love, leading them down separate paths.

Thus, amidst intrigue and change, both Paul and Chani found themselves on paths where life, with its unpredictable twists, led them to seek new forms of love and connection, leaving behind a story that was once the center of their lives.

Lastly, Irulan, far from being just a distant witness to Paul's life, became the protagonist of her own destiny. Redemption and love intertwined in her story, demonstrating that, despite some difficult moments after suffering, the good part always comes in the end. Both were committed to building a shared future, and so it was until the end of their days.

[timidxtempted]

I am hunched over my desk in my home office, working on things that are taking up all of my concentration. I smile when I feel your presence in the room; my smile growing when I feel your hand reach from behind, grasp hold of my neck, and pull me up from my awkward position over the keyboard.

That's some terrible posture you're exhibiting there, isn't it?

My eyes close and I press my lips together against the littlest of whimpers at your tone of voice.

That. Tone. Of. Voice.

The one that makes my stomach flip. The one that makes my cunt flip, too.

I feel your hand tighten on my neck, just enough to make me inhale very sharply.

Daddy can fix that. I have just the thing.

Your hand slips from my neck. I hear the unmistakable sound of you unbuckling your belt and my mouth drops open slightly, already imagining your hard cock slipping past my lips.

Then I hear you remove your belt completely and feel the soft, worn leather slipped around my neck.

Not what you were expecting?

I feel you buckle the belt at the back of my neck. Not too tight. Not restricting my breathing.

At least not as long as I am sitting up straight.

I hear noises that I can't place, and feel slight movement in the belt on my skin.

That should do it.

I try to turn around to face you and realize that I can not. I can not move my head very far at all. In any direction. You've attached the belt somehow to the chair so that I am stuck sitting up very, very properly for you.

Fuck.

Your hand comes around from behind once again, this time to slip two fingers into my still open mouth.

You understand now, baby?

I nod, and moan on your fingers as my cunt clenches hard.

Such a smart girl.

Your fingers move slowly in and out of my mouth, and my hips start to grind in time with the movements, thighs pressed tight, cunt already throbbing at all of the sensations in my body. At all the thoughts in my mind.

Now, I'm going to carry on with my day. I will be close. In fact, you'll be able to see me out your window. When you need to use the bathroom, send me a message, I will come for you... I'll need a piss by then anyhow.

Trembling hard at the implications of all you just said, I feel your fingers slip from my hungry mouth and trail a wet, drooly path down between my breasts. I whimper as I feel your warm breath on my ear.

Have a lovely morning, baby.

I can hear your fucking smirk.

I nod as much as is possible while your belt is keeping me in place.

That's my good girl.

Hands shaking, cunt slick with dripping need, I try to remember what I do for a living as I feel you leave the room.

[kinkandkreep]

Yandere Alphabet: Ken "Draken" Ryuguji (Tokyo Revengers)

A/N: Hey hey y'all! I decided to also do the Yandere Alphabet for my husband, Draken! I'm considering also doing one for Baji and maybe Hanma. 🤔 Let me know if that's something y'all would like to see! Alright, hope y'all enjoy! 👋🏾

⬇️

CW: mentions of s**cide, general yandere themes

 Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Ken, very similarly to Mikey, expresses his affection in a very physical, tactile manner 

He's more of a shower than a teller 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it to you all before (though I've definitely thought it numerous times 🙃) but Ken's primary love language is Acts of Service 

He loves to do things for you, whether that be carry you when you're tired, tend to your hair for you or tote your groceries into the house 

I wouldn't say he gets too too intense, but his desire to do everything for you can potentially lead to you feeling a lack of autonomy after some time

Unless you're fine with that, in which case it's a non-issue 😂

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Another one who likes making a mess for you 🤭

While Ken may be more composed than some of his other TR counterparts, he does still take pleasure in a good fight, and he positively revels in the opportunity to put a jerkoff in his place should he approach you crazy 

Although, with how…skewed Yan-Ken’s judgement can be in regards to who exactly is a jerkoff and who isn’t 🙃…

Let’s just say he gets into quite a few fights even as he grows older and more mature

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Yan-Ken actually has the capacity to be quite gentle and accommodating should he kidnap you

The implication being that Yan-Ken kidnapping you is not a given

It depends on how you behave really: if you listen to his instructions and comply with his demands, which are usually not too unreasonable, then he’ll believe he can trust you, and will see no need to abduct you

If you can’t however…weeeeeellllll 👀…

If (and depending on your personality, when) Yan-Ken kidnaps you, he’ll try his darndest not to mock you, to make you feel more comfortable and forthcoming with affection and understanding, but sometimes he can’t help himself and can be pretty cruel in the things he says

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Yan-Ken will probably figure out some way to track your daily movements without your knowledge

He’s pretty crafty, and I would imagine knowledgeable about complex systems, so I think it feasible that he hooks up like a spy cam or something in or on your car to follow you as you go about your day

That’s pretty much it though- Yan-Ken, unlike the older iterations of Yandere Mikey, would never noncon you, and he tries to be as gentlemanly as possible, less than pure desires aside

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Yan-Ken’s not as much of a hardass as some other Yanderes, but he’s still not the most forthcoming with details about his mental and emotional states

Still, he loves you a frankly unhealthy amount (hence the title ✨ Yandere ✨) and he wants to be able to grow closer to you and bond with you, and he feels that one of the most effective ways to do that is to be more open and less closed off and tight lipped about…well, himself

I would say out of 100% of his heart, Yan-Ken probably bares about 60% of it to his Desire 

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Frustrated, to say the absolute least

I don’t particularly think Yan-Ken would find you fighting back to be amusing, mostly just annoying

He’s just doing what he’s doing to keep you safe and express his love, can’t you see that?!?

Ugh, you’re being so difficult and for what? It’s not like you could ever hope to overpower, or even outsmart him, so it would be best if you just quietly complied and made things easier for everyone involved

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No, this is not a game to Yan-Ken 

A heart is not something to be trifled with, especially not his

When Ken loves, he loves hard, and his love is all encompassing 

It would break his heart to see you try and escape him, or avoid him if he’s not abducted you

If he did notice you were growing distant, that would only serve as motivation for him to take you and hole you up somewhere to ensure you couldn’t leave him

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Ken tries his darndest not to hurt you, in any way, but should you push him past his limit, his grips can become bruising and his words particularly scathing

With that in mind, I’d say your worst experience with him would probably be something like being manhandled and degraded, followed by being locked up in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room for a few days with minimal contact and little provision

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Yan-Ken wants you to be his wife and he your husband, in an official capacity

He doesn’t necessarily care whether the government acknowledges that you’re bound to one another, but the thought is nice 🙃It also makes it more difficult for you to separate from him should you ever think to try something like that

If I’m being honest, Ken also wants kids, and while he’d never force you, he will, in essence, pester you about it and throw very obvious hints that he does until you, in all likelihood, relent and give him what he wants

Yeah, comin’ from a good day of doin’ what he loves to a big house full of mini yous and hims runnin’ around? That’s about as close to Heaven as Ken thinks he’ll get

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yan-Ken tries not to get jealous, and for the most part he doesn’t, since he knows he’s good looking, strong and capable, but sometimes he envies those who can more easily express themselves and, subsequently, naturally have a stronger connection with you

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Yan-Ken can actually be quite cold when around you

Trust me, he’s not doing it on purpose, but he just has difficulty lowering his guard and opening up, as mentioned previously 

He’s still sweet though, offering you snacks and taking care of any issues you might encounter, it’s just that he does it with, admittedly, a pretty deep frown 🙃

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Yan-Ken would try for as long as possible to court you normally

He would agree to take you out on dates and other excursions, bring you gifts and food and generally spend one-on-one time with you

He tries to be cautious in his approach, since he knows he has an intimidating aura and reputation, but he wants you to recognize that he’s not just a brute

After a while though, should he sense that things aren’t progressing as quickly as or in the direction he hopes, he would be more inclined to resort to kidnapping you

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Hmm, I would say yes and no

Yes, because the Ken that you see is often very sweet and gentle, though he can also be cruel to a degree

No, because well, that’s also exactly how Ken is all the time, it’s just that people don’t often pay attention enough to see it

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Similar to OG!Mikey, Yan-Ken would probably punish you by isolating you and saying really nasty things to you, to try and break you down some

But only so that he can carefully and lovingly build you back up!

He would try to avoid doing anything that would cause any permanent damage, but as I also mentioned before, he may inadvertently hurt you physically should you test his patience too much

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Yan-Ken doesn’t necessarily like the thought of robbing you of your autonomy, but he can’t help but want control over who you speak too, where you go and with who and what you wear

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Ken can be and really is very patient 

As I said, he won’t force himself on you, and he gives you plenty of time to adjust to your environment and new circumstance should he abduct you

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you ever managed to escape Ken’s clutches should he decide to kidnap you, he’s doing everything in his power to retrieve you

It’s a dangerous, dark world and you are too pure and precious to be exposed to such things without someone to guide and protect you

Which, of course, is him

If you manage to escape and Ken does successfully bring you back, you’ve officially lost your going out privilege

For like, ever

If you somehow died while under his care, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself

He’d feel like a total failure and I could feasibly see him taking his own life

There is no just up and leaving him, Ken’s grip on you is much too tight for that

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yan-Ken might feel a little guilty towards the beginning, but that feeling dissipates rather quickly once a little time has passed and he gets to enjoy more of you constantly being beside him

No, Yan-Ken, if he can help it, is never going to willingly let you go

The only way you leave him is if he’s like dead and gone or he physically or mentally no longer possesses the capacity to care for you

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Ken has a fear of abandonment

He was abandoned as a child, and he never quite felt wanted during his time living in the brothel 

He’s also spent his whole life exposed to gangs and violence and negativity, so when he encounters the shining light in the darkness that is you, he immediately becomes unhealthily attached

Initially, Ken’s not even aware that he’s capable of feeling the way he feels about you, but once he comes to terms with it, he accepts that his yandere tendencies are just a part of who he is

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Not great, to say the least 🙃

Yan-Ken really desires above all else for you to return his affection, just like most yanderes, and to see you be so vehemently against even accepting his love, assuming you are, breaks his heart 

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

 You know, I honestly can’t think of anything too out of the ordinary (well, ordinary in the yandere sense 🙃) that Yan-Ken would do, other than maybe the fact that he would definitely put a tracking device on you or your vehicle should the opportunity present itself

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Yan-Ken is another one who I don’t think has that many, if any, exploitable weaknesses

Aside from the obvious obsession, Ken has it pretty together emotionally and mentally

Which probably sounds impossible given the circumstance but it’s not, trust me 😂

He’s not sensitive enough to the point where you can emotionally manipulate him and he’s not stupid, so basic tricks aren’t going to work on him

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Unintentionally, perhaps, but never on purpose

Yan-Ken really wants you to love and obey him willingly, and he’s smart enough to know that hurting you is not the way to go about getting you to do that

So, he does his best to refrain from hurting you, though if he really is near his wit’s end, he may accidentally grab you too hard or push you too roughly

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

While Yan-Ken isn’t very apt to admit it, he practically worships the ground you walk on

He adores you so much, you represent everything right and fair in a world full of unjust and wrong

I haven’t mentioned it up to this point, but in order to win you over, I could feasibly see Yan-Ken eliminating any potential rival love interests you may have

He probably won’t kill them, ‘cus that would be a little too extreme given how, y’know, permanent death is (🙃) but he would definitely not be afraid to beat someone up for you

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As I mentioned before, Ken is very patient, so it could be a while before he “snaps.”

Assuming you push him to that point

When I think “snap,” I think abduct or something like that

Yan-Ken won’t necessarily do that unless you provoke him

If you’re kinda just going about your business and don’t do anything drastic, he won’t snap

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yan-Ken would try his very hardest not to, and to be fair, he doesn’t really do anything extreme enough to warrant breaking his Desire, but if say he did kidnap you and you remained combative and uncooperative, he may feel the need to take more extreme measures and that might include breaking you

[colliholly]

do you have more chip x reader headcanons i loved the first one so much i need a sequel ;_;

Ask and ye shall receive, anon

Putting them under the cut as per tradition

🌲 Chainsaw Consultant/Chip Revvington x Reader 2: Revvington's Revenge

• I imagine if Chip caught feelings for someone, his work performance would suffer just a little bit due to distraction. Just enough for his coworkers to notice something’s off with his work output, which is rare for him.

• I think he’d also become noticeably nicer at work once he’s in a relationship. He still has to deal with the override of course, but when it’s just him, his coworkers would notice a change in him. He has someone to look forward to after work now. <3

• Chip would never be the one to confess first, especially not with the threat of the override looming over both of you. But, just to play with the idea of him doing so, if he WERE: He would be nervous and awkward when confessing, tugging at his cuffs and shirt collar and stuff like that. He’s also way too formal and stiff to straight up say “dating”, so he’d ask you if you wanted to “enter a partnership” with him or something.

• I think this can be pretty much applied to all Cogs, but Chip would be fascinated by your body. He'd like how soft and graceful you are, considering how bulky and not-soft (and sharp) he is.

• Chip has a hard time asking for affection. It’s half due to him worrying over accidentally hurting you (being a 12-foot-tall chainsaw robot) and half due to him feeling way too awkward to ask (again, 12-foot-tall chainsaw robot). That being said, if he does, it’s a sign of him putting aside his embarrassment as well as trusting you.

• Speaking of which, he’d really appreciate any kindness after an override at work. It’s days like those he’s especially exhausted.

• Since Chip isn't good with words, and his love language is very much action-oriented, I think he'd be a surprisingly good caretaker. If you were sick, he’d check in on you often and bring you anything you needed. If you fell asleep at your desk, he would pick you up and carry you to bed. However, he wouldn't realize the romantic implications of his actions, it's simply him trying to help you. But it is very affectionate and thoughtful regardless.

• This would also extend to more mundane daily things like reminding you to hydrate or take your meds. He wants you to be operating at your best so you can work your best. :)

• I think Chip is self-conscious of the enormous blade on his face. He would not openly talk about it but he is, at least on occasion. The closing remarks section from his interview is super telling of how other cogs view him:

"With that chainsaw apparatus, he'll be a great candidate for the position. Well, y'know, so long as he doesn't scare off his co-workers..."

• He’d be a little worried (and sometimes frustrated) of his inability to kiss you, too, and that he can’t provide in that aspect. But I think if you reminded him you like him just the way he is he’d get over it pretty quickly. 🤎

[electricbluebutterflies]

Cala and Tenax, things you said in the dark

Post-s1, PG-ish, also on ao3.

It’s just safer this way. This is how Cala convinces herself to reassess boundaries.

Just two people, who have acted respectably towards each other for nearly a year, sharing space in a closer way than before because one of them runs a bit paranoid and has also gotten on the wrong side of a few too many people recently over things he’s not exactly telling the other one and-

Nothing will happen if she doesn’t make it happen. That doesn’t make the situation any less awkward.

She has been a willing participant in these evolutions, let her at least have that justification. The suggestion that it might be easier if they share a bed – the implication that she’s been used as collateral damage before and there are unfortunate odds that could happen again – did not carry any implied weight, and… there are still days she’s unsure if she likes this man, but she at least trusts him. Their lives have become entwined and nothing indecent has happened, and-

“You should try to rest.”

“As should you.”

Her mind is too heavy for that, she wants to say. This is the closest she’s been to someone since… oh, she’s had interest, but always other priorities, always something stopping her, always-

“You know I don’t if I am unsure-“

“If something is wrong-“

“Too used to being alone.”

She doesn’t talk much about her life before. It’s not like anyone asks, but… she’s compartmentalized beautifully, left her past where it happened, threads she may or may not ever get the chance to tie off and-

“This doesn’t have to mean anything more than it is.”

She knows. They are not touching, on opposite sides of this bed. She knows her past tendencies and how likely it is she’ll move closer in her sleep, but even that will not be-

“And if it does mean something for me?”

“What would you want?”

She could say anything and he’d do it. She could ask him to tend to her body and he would be as thorough in that as anything else. She’s half tempted to, just to see if she’s right, but-

“I was starting to think you might… care for me. I wonder-”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

She wonders sometimes if anyone else has seen him vulnerable like this, armor down and self-aware. A line has been crossed but she’s not even sure what it is, if there’s any going back from this, if-

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

She could touch him if she wanted to. The effort it would take to move her body and take what she wants is so minimal, and she could, and she would if she was more certain it was wanted but right now-

“You’re more patient than most men would be,” she murmurs. “You’d wait forever for me.”

“Perhaps not forever, but-“

“I will let you, when you decide to-“

“I won’t hurt you.”

He’s said that enough times that she can hear echoes of it whenever her mind wanders, but it’s different in their current positions, different in the vulnerability of night and still as safe as she’s ever felt and-

“What more permission do you need?”

“Awareness that you want the same.”

Hell with this, Cala thinks. She knows the slight shift of domestic arrangements was meant to be temporary but it won’t be; she knows, as she turns her body and hopes to whatever gods are listening that kissing someone is still natural even if she hasn’t done it in ten years, that there is an inevitability to them and-

First the shock then the want of it. She has already assessed his nature and found nothing against what she would tolerate in a lover, and there is something almost sacred about this moment, desire shifting and-

“Is that clear enough?”

He responds with another kiss, pulling her down, hands moving on her like he’s not sure where to put them, like this is new and beautiful and-

“Tell me what you want.”

“Nothing more than this, for now. I don’t want to push you.“

“It’ll be alright. You’re… safe.”

She will untangle that later, she decides as she rests her body against his. Right now she doesn’t have the energy for it; right now she doesn’t-

“I need time too. Is that-“

He kisses the side of her face and next time this happens will be in better light, she decides, next time she will see the way she is wanted and-

“You don’t have to do anything. Yes.”

[noknowshame]

started reading Foucault's Madness and Civilization today

text from above:

“Thus we better understand the curious implication as-signed to the navigation of madmen and the prestige attend-ing it. On the one hand, we must not minimize its incon-testable practical effectiveness: to hand a madman over to sailors was to be permanently sure he would not be prowl-ing beneath the city walls; it made sure that he would go far away; it made him a prisoner of his own departure. But water adds to this the dark mass of its own values; it carries off, but it does more: it purifies. Navigation delivers man to the uncertainty of fate; on water, each of us is in the hands of his own destiny; every embarkation is, potentially, the last. It is for the other world that the madman sets sail in his fools' boat; it is from the other world that he comes when he disembarks.

The madman's voyage is at once a rigorous division and an absolute Passage. In one sense, it simply develops, across a half-real, half-imaginary geog-raphy, the madman's liminal position on the horizon of medieval concern-a position symbolized and made real at the same time by the madman's privilege of being confined within the city gates: his exclusion must enclose him; if he cannot and must not have another prison than the thresh-old itself, he is kept at the point of passage. He is put in the interior of the exterior, and inversely. A highly symbolic position, which will doubtless remain his until our own day, if we are willing to admit that what was formerly a visible fortress of order has now become the castle of our conscience.

Water and navigation certainly play this role. Confined on the ship, from which there is no escape, the madman is delivered to the river with its thousand arms, the sea with its thousand roads, to that great uncertainty external to everything. He is a prisoner in the midst of what is the freest, the openest of routes: bound fast at the infinite crossroads.

He is the Passenger par excellence: that is, the prisoner of the passage. And the land he will come to is unknown-as is, once he disembarks, the land from which he comes. He has his truth and his homeland only in that fruitless expanse between two countries that cannot belong to him. Is it this ritual and these values which are at the origin of the long imaginary relationship that can be traced through the whole of Western culture? Or is it, con-versely, this relationship that, from time immemorial, has called into being and established the rite of embarkation? One thing at least is certain: water and madness have long been linked in the dreams of European man.”

[monstersdownthepath]

Got a bit inspired by the WotR CRPG's Lich path, but what changes, if any, would you make to the Lich template to fit an Archlich, from DnD's older editions (Forgotten Realms wiki indicates they were first mentioned back in 2e, and last in 4e, not very common though)? It may not entirely fit Golarion's cosmology of Undead = Bad, but I find the idea of a spellcaster going into Lichdom for altruistic reasons (like, say, needing an emotionless, painless, nigh-inexhaustible army to stem the tides of the Abyss) fascinating. If nothing else, it might get the Church of Pharasma more interested in a particular cause to get this Lich to up and die peacefully and willingly. And I mention 'changes' since apparently the process of becoming an Archlich was both more difficult, but could yield greater power. Although I can't really find anything to support this claim otherwise, can't find any pages on stats on the topic and searching up 'Archlich' just makes Vecna show up.

-----

Oh wow that's bizarre, I had no idea there was a Good-aligned Lich equivalent in older editions! I'm a little baffled by the fact they didn't think to name themselves anything more creative than just "Better Lich," but the implications of their existence and their creation process sort of does make them Better Liches. If what I'm reading here is correct, the primary difference between becoming an Archlich and a normal Lich is that a normal Lich takes shortcuts in their paths to power, forcing other creatures to bear the brunt of the trauma of their transformation, draining life and soul from others away to sustain themselves. Meanwhile, the Archlich must undergo a quest to discover a 'secret spell' and must learn every single spell required in the ritual; they cannot skimp on any detail, their ascension cannot be done another way, and carries a very real and very intimidatingly large chance that all their preparations are rendered meaningless and the ritual fails by pure bad luck.

Interesting! There's something to be said about the rewards that come from rejecting the path of least resistance.

Also, I wouldn't say Undead are always Bad And Evil, but as we've discussed at length on this blog, in the Pathfinder universe it's very difficult to be an undead that's Good-aligned and especially difficult to STAY good once the transformation is finished. Becoming undead for altruistic and good reasons doesn't change the fact that your soul will now itch to cause destruction and entropy. The urge can certainly be steered in acceptable directions, and in fact in the very video game you've mentioned it's one of the more powerful and useful Mythic paths for doing exactly that in the way you've suggested... but in-game it doesn't stop Pharasma from leering at you, and to complete your transformation into a full-power Lich in WotR you do in fact have to purge Good from your soul. Even your mentor, Zacharius, became a lich for an ostensibly good reason, only for undeath to slowly warp him into something ruthless and pragmatic.

... anyway, that wasn't your question. You asked what I would do to make the Archlich! The good news is that I do happen to have the book their stats appear in (Monsters of Faerun), stats I apparently never read or never found interesting enough to retain, but the bad news is that they're not especially different from a regular Lich, with a few notable exceptions:

--Archliches cannot be Turned by Good-aligned Clerics and are immune to channeled positive energy.

--Archliches have a constant Water Walk effect on themselves.

--The Paralyzing Touch of an Archlich sets the victim in a death-like state of suspended animation, during which the creature does not need to eat, breathe, or drink.

--Archliches can send their spirit outwards from themselves 3/day in a manner akin to, but not quite, Astral Projection.

There's apparently some more details in even earlier books, such as the ability for an Archlich to destroy any Undead being they create with a touch (presumably to end their service), immunity to the attacks and spells of any creature with 6 or less Hit Dice, and perhaps most impressively the ability to passively regenerate spell slots, but I do not have access to that particular book (Lost Ships) at this time to confirm for certain.

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! Ten chapters already! Woohoo! Thank you to everyone who had read, liked, rebloged or left a comment! I appreciate each and every one 💕

I don't want to disregard Birdie's feelings about Harriet but I need to progress the story along so that's what this chapter is. Birdie still carries some guilt and most definitely does not cope in a healthy way.... but who does???

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Mentions of assault, emotions (tears are shed)......

Made of Glass

Chapter ten: Nickname Basis

When dinner rolled around, Birdie had begun to perk up. She spent most of the day sulking and then wondering why the guys were treating her differently. She came to the conclusion that it was her attitude, they were all being delicate with her because she was acting like a moody teenager, stomping everywhere she went and zoning out when people talked to her. 

It registered that she would be going to war and losing a lot of the friends she was making in Camp Toccoa and that made her realise how childish she was being. She soothed herself by reasoning that, at the very least, Harriet was going to live through this war, her discharge was keeping her from a bullet on the front lines. 

Bernadette bottled up the guilt she felt and pushed it to the back of her mind, she would have to get used to doing this after they were deployed. There would be no time to mourn or grieve while actively fighting the enemy. 

Sobel hadn't spoken directly to her that day, she noticed he purposefully stepped around her or veered from looking in her direction and she supposed it was his way of giving her a break or sympathizing. 

She had almost missed him yelling at her. 

Almost. 

It seemed Colonel Sink had been dishing out promotions that day, Birdie noticed Sobel's shiny new Captain bars when he presented her Corporal chevrons in the mess hall that evening. She also noticed Winters had earned the position of first lieutenant and weirdly enough, a spot in the kitchen. 

Dick watched Birdie receive the patch and give a genuine smile for the first time that day. Once the new Captain left her side, Richard found himself wandering over to the Mississippian. 

“Corporal Coldwell.... It suits you. Congratulations.” He had heard Nixon gossiping about the girl all day. Rumours of her speaking up and advising Colonel Sink had made their way around the mill and of course Lewis was spreading it to anyone who would listen, like a housewife with nothing better to do. 

“That's exactly what Sink said... You been in cahoots, sir?” Bernadette tossed him a sly look paired with a smile, “And shouldn't I be congratulatin' you, First Lieutenant Winters?” 

Richard smiled at her comment before leaning in a little closer, she caught on to the fact that whatever he was about to tell her was secret by nature and leaned in too. 

“Someone came forward.” It was whispered, Dick didn’t want any of the men over hearing. Nixon had informed him as the two walked in solitude to the mess hall, one of the men involved had gone to Sink directly and signed a statement admitting what had happened. 

It clarified who was involved and how they had planned the assault for that night especially because Bernadette was meant to be on duty. Richard wouldn’t share that part with her though. 

Birdie let the words churn in her head for a second before they became clear. The implication of all four men being caught because of one's admittance was the only coherent thought Bernadette had. Her wide russet eyes found Winters icy blue ones and he nodded as if to confirm her theory. 

“Be proud of yourself, Bernadette.” 

“It's Birdie.” She replied absent mindedly, her focus was on the new information regarding the punishment of Harriet's attackers, but she did recognise the subtle favoritism the lieutenant was showing her. It deemed them friendly enough to share nicknames and drop some formalities. 

“Birdie.” Winters tested out the nickname before departing, finding his place in the back room of the mess hall. Sobel had strongly suggested spaghetti for lunch the next day and Dick overseeing kitchen organization for the next two weeks. So, he had begun counting tins of tomatoes to keep his mind busy and away from the obvious show of authority Sobel had shoved in his face. Richard huffed to himself thinking about the COs evident superiority complex. 

“Ya know how to sew those on proper?” Bill broke the girl out of her trance as she traced the outline of the thick fabric patches. She nodded and joined him at the table their growing group had unofficially claimed. They all watched tentatively, unsure if her small smile was an invitation to talk to her or if Birdie would continue to disregard them. 

She didn't. It may have taken a minute, but Bernadette was smiling and adding remarks to the conversation, slowly letting her sunny personality warm up and shine through. 

Every man at the table noticed the change but no one dared to make a comment in case she shut off the light and clamed back up. 

“Congrats, Little Bird.” Bill spoke to her softly after a few moments. Guarnere's sincerity seeped out of his tone and echoed in the look he gave her. It was a quiet moment shared only between the two, sincere and delicate. 

“Thanks... Syphilis.” She smirked at him, enjoying the face he pulled, breaking the moment of genuine fondness and she laughed at the playful eye roll he sent her. 

By the time she had finished eating, she was ready to retire to her beloved cot and sleep the night away. Bernadette scanned the room, but she couldn't find Sergeant Lipton anywhere. 

“He went to the toilet.... Here, I'll walk you back.” Johnny Martin offered up, he had witnessed the girl searching the room for her escort and figured she was ready to get away from the testosterone and back to the safety of the women's barracks. 

Birdie was about to wave him off with some nonchalant comment stating she could walk by herself but the chilling thought of the uncaught men still wandering about made her rethink. The sun was going down, it would only be getting darker, and she didn't really want to be alone right now, so she agreed and the two exited the mess hall together. 

The evening air was cool, and the camp was quiet, its occupants winding down and getting ready to welcome the night. Johnny hadn't struck her as a conversationalist, so when he spoke up, she was mildly surprised. 

“Why are you taking it so personal, kid?” He paused, “It wasn't your fault, ya know?” He was referring to Harriet. 

He had seen her emotions on her face all day and took note of the way the guys had ignored them. Martin wanted to let her know someone cared enough to say something.

But in her mind, he didn't know what she knew, and it killed her inside. If he knew the truth, he wouldn't be trying to comfort her or telling her not to blame herself. 

“It was. It was my fault.” Birdie's voice was sharp but held no malice, only sadness and bitter disappointment. She truly believed it. 

“Just cause she took your shift?” Johnny was trying to get her to understand that what had happened was circumstantial and she shouldn't blame herself so much. 

“It's not just that...” Her voice was whispered, and she looked down shamefully, there was more to the story and Johnny was curious. 

“Did something else happen?” He feared he already knew the answer, but he had to hear it from her. 

Bernadette sucked in a shaky breath and told him everything. 

She told him how those men had approached her. How they scared her and how she froze in fear, allowing them to get close to her. She told him how he had whispered a threat to her and how she covered it up and told no one until now. She admitted how guilty she was feeling and explained that if she had spoken up and said something to someone maybe Harriet wouldn't be recovering in a hospital bed miles away from them. 

Johnny listened patiently to her every word; he didn't interrupt her. He had a feeling she needed to get all of this out and he would gladly stand there and hear it all if it meant she might feel a bit better. 

By the end of her rant, she was nearly in tears. Her eyes were filled to the brim and her bottom lip wobbled. 

Martin reached out and pulled her frame towards his, he embraced her in silence, arms encircling her upper body. He felt the moment she realised what was happening and curled into his hug, her arms wrapped around his waist and her fingers tightened on the back of his jacket. 

Bernadette willed herself not to cry but the watery tears slipped down her face anyway. She sniffled, attempting to regain composure but made no move to release her grip on the man holding onto her. 

Johnny would have stood there forever if she'd needed him to, but a few minutes into their touching moment and she was pulling away, swiping her sleeves against her face to remove any hint of the emotions she could not control. 

He waited for Birdie to be calm enough to continue their stroll back to her barracks and he let her lead the way, staying by her side and mulling in the quiet. 

“I'll be here at 05:50. Walk you to breakfast.” He informed her once they arrived at the steps leading to her sleeping quarters. She nodded, hopping up the wooden stairs and reaching for the door handle. 

Martin watched her, making sure she was safe inside the building before he turned and made his way to his own. 

A/N: Hope y'all liked this one!

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter eleven

[poxei]

i see you creating and planning and Thinking. you’ve made characters with attention and uhhh scrutiny, with so much care that they feel real, less like a tale with a lesson, and more like an account recorded long ago. i see your work, and i see so many places where you made distinct and thoughtful choices—in color, lighting, shape, but also in positions, and perspectives, and shots, to the point where your pieces evolve into a sort of choreography. there’s motion and movement and apparel, elements that communicate so much nuance and greatly carry some implications, and i feel like that’s an incredible sort of attention, a quality of skill most marvelous. there’s an emotion and mood in your pieces (especially with avery and/or ansel) that i feel is very unique and distinct, and whether it’s intentional or intuitive, it always seems very… thorough. so fleshed out and multitudinous. i’m sorry for being incoherent, but i mean to say that your work is full of depth and creative thought, and it’s a depth and creativity that is so elegantly suffused into your work that i often miss it, but has suddenly become so apparent to me. there’s that piece with avery with his head on the table with a cup of water in front of him (heat wave?); the expression on his face, combined with the positon of his folded arms and head slumped on top of them, create a figure who exudes exhaustion (which sounds oxymoronic), and then you placed a cup of water in front of him, and let our sight of his face pass through it, so that his eyes not only look at the cup with a mixture of misery and desperation, but also to the audience with a plea, for reprieve from his anguish. and you did all the lines in redder hues and used a warm yellow for the tile and water (instead of a blue!!) and surrounded the work in a red frame, which (alongside the red lines) well communicate that feeling of relentless heat. the entire work is like an ode to misery of those hot summer days where the sun is trying to bake you alive and the air is trying to crush you with a weight of a boulder, and it’s so succinctly captured with one person, one object, and a bare setting. which is just super awesome!! that skill, of creating a picture that captures the atmosphere of the moment like that, is just in such great quality within you. it’s true of all your pieces, and i feel that there is a great amount of deliberation for these productions, and i feel that it comes together all so nicely! with such grace and completeness do your pieces appear, that an observer would first believe a piece to be a real moment in time before a choreographed design. i can see your genius in your art, and i find it tremendously impressive. your art captures and displays a range of themes and moods, and each one can stand singularly with a thematic might. i feel somewhat abashed for not recognizing i your creative process before now, but i hope that you know that the depths and multitudes within you, and which you have put into your work, indeed reach the eye with profundity and impact, and that your works are something i remember, and keep in mind when doing my own works of art.

i saw this in my inbox this morning and have been debating whether to even post it, because it somehow feels selfish to post it (it's incredibly positive towards me), but also selfish to keep it hidden in my inbox and never let you know how i felt reading it. but i think i need to post it after all, since you took the time to write all this, and i want to show my appreciation. thank you for truly looking at my art through such a thoughtful lens, and writing such beautiful prose and analyses. you made me notice things about my own art that i probably wouldn't have noticed, artistic decisions that i may have subconsciously made. i'm going to come back and read this message again whenever i feel bad about my art in the future, or when i feel cringe about posting my oc work again, and remind myself that there's at least one viewer out there who is understanding it 💛

(heat wave)

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Part 5

The Murphy family of Milo Murphy's law is in my opinion the least developed of the main families, due to the shows focus on school shenanigans and a time traveler subplot, not helped by it’s relatively short run time (H&G is already at 23 to MML 40)  But the Murphy family, tied together with the hereditary Murphy's Law is an extremely important element of the show. How the family bonds because of it and how even those who don't suffer from it make allowances in their life for those who do.

Milo values his father's advice immensely (as a fellow sufferer of EHML). Sara, while often a bit paranoid, and sometimes plans events around avoiding her father and brother, loves them dearly and makes sure to include them in things important to her. Brigette is shown to enjoy extreme sports and change, but still finds her husband and son exhausting at times.

While most of the extended Murphy family only features in the Christmas special. Beyond Milo's parents, sister and dog, he also has grandparents, an aunt, uncle, cousin and ancestors. These characters are all delightfully charming in their own right. His grandparents are constantly talking over each other so they are incomprehensible unless you're focusing on one, his aunt and uncle are somehow more positive than Milo, and his cousin is in denial about the whole thing. Sheriff Murphy’s attitude. Each member of the Murphy family showcases a different way of approaching the Law. Grandma Murphy is a bit of a badass, presumably necessary when raising two sons with Murphy’s Law. Martin became a safety inspector and chooses to be a bit more cautious, using his condition to his advantage all while managing it to the best of his ability so it causes less damage otherwise. Joey chooses to frame everything going wrong in the most positive way possible, as it can’t be things going wrong if you refuse to acknowledge the events as negative. Meanwhile Nate ignores it and tries to live his life out as best as he can without acknowledging that the things going wrong actually aren’t more than normal troubles and therefore easily manageable. Grandpa depends on family traditions and taking pride in Murphy’s Law to give it meaning, to make him feel empowered in living with it.

There's also a cousin Reggie who Milo mentions once as having painted the Mona Lisa that's hanging in the Louvre, but he's unseen and probably on his mom's side. (The Louvre is in France and there is kind of an implication of French heritage on one of his grandmother’s sides, so he could have family in France. It could easily be Grandma Murphy, which would be funny if she, a Danger married a Murphy. But there really isn’t enough information to make any assumptions and it’s probably more coincidence than anything).

Many of the episodes are about the family. For instance, there’s the family vacation episode, the roller disco derby episode and the episode where Sara and Milo go after shirts they believe to be important to their mom. And even in episodes not just about the Murphy family they still often make appearances, such as in Picture Day, Goulash, or Love Toboggan where the Murphy family may set the scene, providing motivation or the goal.

There’s something to be said about how despite the Murphy family being inherently unusual, and carrying that label with pride, how normal they really are. Brigette is shown to want normal mom things, like half-decent pictures of her son, or beating other mom’s at Goulash competitions, while knowing full well what she was getting into when she married her husband (and even otherwise may even like the excitement Murphy’s law may provide). Sara just wants teenage girl things like her date not going totally wrong, or getting to enjoy a movie premier. Even Milo and Martin are shown to be rather normal and annoyed by their condition at times. Martin likes lattes, and gets worried about their insurance premiums. Milo worries about his future and getting held back in school, gets excited when meeting celebrities or about learning. And of course Diogee may be the best dog in the world, but other than his penchant for getting himself anywhere in the world when Milo needs him, is an extremely ordinary dog. And both Milo and Martin at least are shown to enjoy skiing and really the whole family seems to enjoy just getting out and doing things. So much of Milo Murphy's Law is the Murphy family doing ordinary things just with Murphy's law throwing some curveballs in. The Murphy family is at their core, a normal family.

Even when Milo isn’t spending time with his family, he carries his family in a lot of what he does. Milo constantly brings up his fathers extremely specific sayings, and constantly making references to the wild stories his family has lived through. Milo goes out of his way to invite the Murphy’s to Christmas, he brings up his family as the thing he loves most immediately when asked. Sara carries her family in her love of Dr. Zone, a fan because of her father, and making space in her fandom for her brother and his condition.

The Murphy family is more defined by blood than the families in Phineas and Ferb due to the fact Murphy’s Law is a hereditary condition, and thus the blood relations is something that brings them together rather than relationships forged in absence of it. In Phineas and Ferb family is the similarities despite surface differences, and love despite relationship tensions. In Milo Murphy’s Law it’s the differences despite surface similarities, and love despite external problems. But that doesn’t mean that blood is the end all be all in Milo either. Far from it.

[dumdumsun]

Break and Mend

A/N: The beginning of this chapter is a very long flashback, so be prepared for that

Warnings: guns, implications of suicide attempt and a still-born baby, mentions of suicide, murder, blood and death/dying

Word Count: 8552

—————————————

Chapter Thirteen: The Lost Sister

Carrie wasn’t sure if she could do this any longer.

For nine months of her life, she had prepared. Half of her home became someone else’s. She bought bigger clothes for herself, she took her vitamins, her medicine. She ate as regularly as she could, she worked through the nausea and the pain to afford what they needed.

She cleared out her guest room and replaced the bed with a crib, she tidied it up with stuffed animals and storytime books. She even painted the walls yellow. All by herself. She had the baby shower that only a couple family members attended, but she was grateful for the things she received.

Carrie was ready. She was ready as ever to be a mother to her dear, beautiful (Y/N). She wanted nothing more than to hold the small child in her arms and cherish her for everything she was. A new best friend, a saving grace, a miracle. Carrie truly felt that she had no purpose in the world until those three pregnancy tests all appeared positive. She had no strength or even desire to keep going until she saw the small blob on the ultrasound that was her child. (Y/N) would be all she needed and more.

She would have everything Carrie didn’t. While (Y/N) wouldn’t have a father, she still had a mother that cared, which was already more than Carrie ever had. She wouldn’t ever have to worry about anything in her life. Carrie would take care of everything. (Y/N) would grow to be the brightest and most beautiful girl in the world, and it would be her doing. Her influence. (Y/N) would be perfect, not because Carrie wanted her to be, but because she had already accepted her child for who she was before she was even born.

Even as a still-born.

She was at least told that her daughter was beautiful. That she had a nose just like hers. That she came out with a head full of hair. That she was born seven pounds, eight ounces. These were all questions Carrie had tearfully asked a nurse after awaking in her hospital bed. Each answer widened the bittersweet smile on her face and broke her heart even further. (Y/N) was perfect.

But now she had no reason to carry on. (Y/N) was supposed to be her reason, and Carrie couldn’t even safely bring her into the world. She wanted to blame Dr Martin Brenner. He had lied to her. He said the experiments wouldn’t harm her unborn child in the slightest. She was told that everything would be fine. Carrie had every right to sue those scientists pigs running Hawkins Lab.

Every right except for the fact that she never hesitated to volunteer. She had found out about her pregnancy two days after volunteering and she called nothing off. She took the risk, even if she was told there was none.

Even if Brenner were telling the truth, how could he have been positively certain that nothing would happen to (Y/N)? He couldn’t. He was a scientist, his life work was testing a hypothesis and proving or disproving a theory. He didn’t always know. And it was Carrie’s fault for getting involved while knowingly carrying a precious life in her womb. At least, that’s what she told herself.

(Y/N) made sure Carrie wasn’t alone. Every day that she felt she was alone, that there was no one else in her world, she would get that morning sickness. She would feel the fluttering sensation of a kick. She would feel a contraction. (Y/N) was all she had and all she cared about. But ever since the birth, Carrie felt empty. There was no longer a child in her body, but it also wasn’t in her arms. She wasn’t sleeping soundly in her crib or playing with the stuffed elephant Carrie had fought a woman in the toy store for. She was alone once again. No one cared for her and she cared for no one else.

“Just… Just give me the blade, Carrie. We can talk this out.”

Carrie shut her eyes and slowly raised the hand that held the blade up to her sunken face, using the back of her wrist to wipe away the streaks of tears lining her face. Her face that used to be more full. “Terry, I don’t want to talk. I’m so done with talking-”

“Carrie! I know where she is!”

Carrie blinked, her face falling into a blank look. “W-What?”

“You just have to trust me.”

Her heart rate increased with a new-found hope. “You know where my baby is?”

“Do you trust me?”

Carrie swallowed. “Yes.”

Terry nodded. “Then give me the blade.” She stretched her hand out again. She released a very deep and slow exhale when Carrie hesitantly gave up the weapon. “Don’t worry, Carrie. We are going to get her back. They’re gonna come home.”

Carrie’s eyes flickered down in thought. “What are we gonna do?”

“I… I have a gun.”

“A gun?”

“I need to find the combination for the safe it’s in, but-”

“Why do you need a gun? W- What are you gonna do, shoot someone?”

Terry’s expression hardened. “If that’s what needs to happen.”

Shaking her head wildly, Carrie stumbled to her feet with Terry cautiously holding her arms to her sides in case she fell again. “Terry, what did you think your plan was? You… You walk into Hawkins Lab, who you just tried to sue, and… you demand your daughter-”

“Our daughters-”

“Our daughters… And they’d… just give them up? Because of one woman with a gun?”

“Carrie, I will obviously have to shoot someone if I need to,” Terry watched as Carrie approached the mess on her bedroom floor and started to organize her many first-aid kits. “But I’m not just gonna go in there like a crazy person. Trust me, I know what I am doing.”

Carrie rubbed her forehead in frustration. “I do trust you, Terry. I just…” She looked up at her with a softened expression. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I just want my baby…”

“I will be fine,” She brought her companion into a warm hug, Carrie immediately reciprocating. She couldn’t remember the last time she was given a real, true hug. “Don’t worry about me. You just wait here and get that room ready for your (Y/N).”

The thought of Terry recklessly storming into that lab with only a single gun hidden in her pocket kept Carrie up all night. She and Terry had never considered each other friends, but she was the only person Carrie had thought of caring about. She couldn’t let her do this, not on her own.

Terry planned to walk into the lab in two days, so Carrie just had to beat her there a day earlier. She had no gun, but that was because she didn’t plan on hurting anyone. It was risky, but not as messy as racking up a body count in a highly-guarded facility. With a costume change and a few modifications to her work badge, she was ready to go.

Arriving at the lab in the morning, Carrie released a slow breath from deep in her lungs. This cursed place was where these monsters were hiding her baby, according to Terry. These bastards were… Well, Carrie wasn’t sure what they were doing with (Y/N). But if it were anything like what she had gone through, then that was plenty more motivation to march right in there and pluck her baby right out of that hellhole.

She was thankful that the guards hadn’t examined her badge. Carrie was crafty, but she was no miracle worker. These men were just checking whether or not people entering the lab even had a badge. With a tight smile to the guards, Carrie began down one of the halls.

“(Y/N)?” She whispered out, peeking into rooms as quietly as she could. “(Y/N), baby. It’s Mama.” She spoke a little louder. “I’m taking you home.”

One room in particular had caught her eyes, for the name plate just outside displayed the name ‘Martin Brenner’. A small smile of triumph graced her features as she strode past a room with a rainbow printed in the doorframe. Checking if the coast was clear, Carrie slipped into the office and shut the door behind her. She was in deep waters now.

Searching his file cabinets was her obvious first try. If there were any information on her daughter stored away in the office, it would be in the filing cabinets. She knew Brenner to be a very meticulous man. He always needed order to function. If not, then he wouldn’t have anything under control in his life. And if he didn’t have order, then what was he? Just a man with a crazed obsession.

Carrie noticed that the files of different people were numbered. The order didn’t start with the number 001, but there was also a file placed between number 010 and 011. Curious, Carrie reached in and picked up the file. “PRIVATE”, it read. She frowned in confusion. If this person, this test subject, was a private subject, then why was it placed with the others? And why interrupt the number order unless…

She opened the folder and visibly swallowed when seeing the photo in the top left corner. “(Y/N)...” She sobbed. There, right in the file, was her sweet baby girl. She knew it had to be her. She had Carrie’s nose, her ears. And she looked oh-so perfect. How could this not be her child? She was so beautiful, and there was no doubt that she was smart and caring and funny and…

Not in this facility. Carrie frowned at the column in her daughter’s file titled ‘LOCATION’ and then beside it read ‘LAB B403’. Her stomach dropped at the knowledge of another lab existing. She couldn’t help but wonder what could be held there, besides (Y/N). She thought she knew what she was getting into here, but this was brand new territory.

After digging for a few more minutes, Carrie was able to find the address to Lab B403. The drive there was long and agonizing. Not a single song on the radio had succeeded in calming her nerves or slowing down her racing thoughts.

She should have looked for Jane. Terry was planning on looking for both their daughters, but Carrie hadn’t even thought of the other child. She told herself that any parent would do the same, that they would be blinded by the need to protect their child. She wasn’t a bad person, and Terry was going to find Jane on her own. Carrie knew she was. That woman went after what was hers, and she would never go down without a fight.

She had no choice but to park a long ways away from the lab. There was no doubt this place would be just as guarded as the first. Maybe even more heavily, considering it was a secretive location. The speed walk to the lab was killing her back and her feet, but she pushed through until she came upon it.

From the outside, it appeared no life even went on within. It looked abandoned, if anything. It was darker, not just because of the fallen night sky, but in a way that was hollow. Carrie had absolutely no good feeling about this. Either the building was truly no longer in use, the address in the files was a cover up, or the entire lab was a cover up.

Taking in a deep, slow, needed breath, Carrie approached the doors. Peeking inside, she saw that the lights were shut off inside, but when she tried the door, it was unlocked. As silently as she could, she pushed the doors open and walked inside. The interior was almost identical to the original lab. Meaning she might just have a good idea of where everything was.

First thing was first, though. She needed to check if anything even worked in this place. Heading to the right, she came up to an elevator. Unlike the original lab, it appeared that the floor she was on was the lowest level. There was no option to be taken under the level she was on. She knew that the original had underground levels where their most important work was done. Could Carrie be in the heart of it all?

Her eyes widened when she realized the elevator was coming down from the fifth floor. It was in use. Thinking quickly, she hid around a corner in case anyone would be getting off on this floor. She heard the ding of the elevator and then the quiet rumbling of the doors opening. Her chest rose and fell irregularly as she waited for someone to speak, for someone to walk out. She now felt foolish for not bringing a gun. It was a smart safety precaution.

When no one walked out, Carrie peeked around the corner to find the elevator empty. She cautiously stepped inside and watched the doors slide closed in front of her. Her eyes scanned the buttons beside the doors indicating the different levels of the lab. Carrie dreaded the thought of checking every single floor of this place and almost groaned out in irritation until she saw it.

The ground level button.

If there was a ground level, why wasn’t it available to move lower than the lobby? If people were to wait on an elevator, they would assume there was nowhere else to go but up. To Carrie, this level was hidden and whoever created it knew that no one was observant enough to pay attention to this button. But she was no fool and she was not one of those people. Her hand shot out and smashed the ground level button.

When the doors opened once again, she was met with an empty hallway. It was dimly lit, the lights flickering as if they were on their last leg. Carrie stepped out and carefully looked around. There were no guards. Odd, she thought. There were always, always guards.

One of the first things Carrie noticed was that there were no other rooms down the hallway before her except for one single door at the end. There was another hall on the left that held many doors, but this one… This one felt different. A pressure weighed in her chest and a pain settled into her temple the further she walked down. She didn’t even realize she was sprinting until the door to the room was suddenly in her face. Her shaky hand stretched out and gently touched the cool metal doorknob.

No backing out now.

The door was silently pushed to a crack before she peeked in. Inside was a figure in a white lab coat. The person had mid-length brown hair, but that was all Carrie could see with their back turned to her. The person was standing before a large glass window, observing whatever was inside. Carrie flicked her eyes upward, finding a camera looking right at her.

“Shit.” She cursed barely above a whisper. Her head ducked in defeat at what she knew she had to do. She promised herself she would never do this again, but this was her daughter’s life she was here for. And she would do anything for (Y/N). Looking up at the camera, she could hear a distant, high-frequency ringing in her ears and the pain in her temple burned brighter and brighter until the red light of the camera dimmed to nothing. Carrie released the tension in her body and held her head in pain.

Absentmindedly, she reached her other hand up and wiped away the blood trailing from her nose.

No more prying eyes.

With that, she very slowly and very silently slipped into the room, taking her time to shut the door without any noise. The woman before the window still hadn’t noticed, which Carrie thanked the stars for. Beside her was a table that seemed to act as a secondary desk. There was a notebook, some pens and pencils, opened envelopes and a letter opener. Safety precaution. Reaching out, she picked up the letter opener and tucked it in the sleeve of her jacket.

Her steps towards the woman were stealthily slow. She knew that the crouch she was in would bite her in the ass once she stood back up, for she was not getting any younger, but she couldn’t risk the woman seeing her reflection in the window. The grip she now had on the letter opener was lethal once she was right behind the scientist. Carrie bit her lip and counted.

3… 2… 1.

At lightning speed, Carrie stood up straight and tightly wrapped an arm around the woman, pressing the letter opener up to her throat. “Where is she.”

“Please,” The woman whimpered. “Please, do- d-don’t kill me.”

“Where is your private subject. Where is my daughter.”

At Carrie’s demands, the woman stiffened. “Carrie (L/N)... Y-Your daughter, sh-she-”

“Bullshit. She’s alive and she’s here. If you won’t tell me where she is, I will kill you and look for her, myself.”

“No! Wait! No!” The woman sobbed out when she felt the letter opener press further against her, threatening to break skin. “It doesn’t have to be this way!”

Carrie shook the woman a bit. “Shut up!” She harshly whispered. “I know you have guards here somewhere. Now listen closely. I’ve disabled every camera in the area. No one would even know what happened to you. Do you know where my daughter is?”

“Y-Yes… Yes, I know where she is,” The woman sniffled. “I-I’ll take you to her, just please… Don’t hurt me.”

“Go.” Carrie let go of her and shoved her forward. The woman slowly turned to Carrie as she wiped the tears from her eyes under her glasses. She had brown eyes light enough to match her hair color perfectly, which complimented her tanned skin. Releasing a breath, the woman turned forward and opened a door that led elsewhere.

Without hesitation, Carrie followed her. The walk was filled with sharp turns and the woman turning on lights to reveal more hallways. Every time Carrie spotted a camera, she turned it off. Her hand was becoming stained in the blood she was continuously wiping away.

“Who are you?” Carrie asked. “And why are you the only one here?”

“I’m not,” The woman looked at Carrie through the corner of her eyes. “There are guards, but they aren’t supposed to disrupt my work. Guess… we should have them stationed outside of the room.”

The woman’s small laugh died down at the glare Carrie sent her way. “Who are you.” She demanded this time.

“Dr Sonia Hill. I-I was appointed the private subject’s observer.”

“Is she the only one here? The only subject?”

Sonia smiled fondly. “There are many things about your daughter you don’t know about. She’s very extraordinary. Having the entire team know about her could put our work in jeopardy. It could put her in jeopardy. So, we have her stationed in this sister location.”

Carrie gulped. “I-Is she… Is she perfect?”

Sonia’s smile widened. “I would say so, yes.”

The two sharply turned a corner and walked through a door. Inside was a room much like the one they had just left. Carrie could have accused Sonia of walking her in a circle, but she noticed that the camera in the room was positioned in a different place. Instead of it watching the door, it was watching the glass window. After disabling the camera, Carrie walked closer to the window. Sonia followed her with a sad smile as she watched Carrie lay eyes upon her daughter for the first time.

She was perfect. She sat at a small table, focusing intently on the drawing she was coloring with crayons. Carrie tearfully grinned and cooed at her daughter’s adorable little (s/c) hands maneuvering the crayons, her cute little socked feet that kicked under the table, her beautiful little face that concentrated on the task at hand. She was more than Carrie could have imagined.

“(Y/N)...” Carrie cried as she pressed a hand to the glass. “My baby.”

Sonia stepped closer to her. “(Y/N)... That was what you were going to name her?”

“Yeah.” She nodded without tearing her eyes away from her child.

“Her favorite color is yellow,” Sonia’s attention turned to the little girl as well. “She likes coloring books more than drawing her own art. Recently, she’s taken a liking to puzzles, preferably ones with more than one hundred pieces. She does the cutest little dance whenever she is fed, she is fascinated with bandaids and… She has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen.”

Carrie frowned and turned to Sonia. She was staring at (Y/N) with so much warmth, so delicate. She could have sworn it was love. This doctor loved her daughter as if she were her own. Just as much as Carrie did. A part of her resented this woman for stealing her daughter from her, for building a bond and a love with her. But another part of her couldn’t blame Sonia. (Y/N) sounded like the perfect child.

“There can be an arrangement,” Sonia looked back at Carrie again, her face dropped into a grave expression. “For you to see your daughter.”

Sonia didn’t know why she was doing this. It could get her killed if anyone were to find out. This could get the private subject killed. But she truly felt for Carrie. Sonia wouldn’t know what to do with herself if anything were to happen to this child. There was no doubt that Carrie felt the same way, maybe even stronger.

“What?” Carrie was now staring at her in confusion.

“There is another entrance to this level of the lab. You can sneak in during security rotation. They’ll never notice you. But it would have to be on certain days. Dr Brenner visits twice a week for updates on the priv- on (Y/N). You cannot be here on those days. It could put all three of us in danger if he, or anyone for that matter, were to find out.”

Carrie slowly nodded in understanding.

“I-In fact…” Sonia nervously continued. “I-It would be wise of you to… cease contact with everyone in your life.”

“What?” Carrie widened her eyes. Sonia was quick to respond.

“I know. I know. Believe me, I do. But… we can’t risk it at all. A-And I’m deeply sorry, but… I know you’re her mother, but if you plan to put her in any danger… I will stop you.”

At that, the two of them fell into a stare-down. Carrie believed every single word of Sonia. The doctor was no longer threatened by the measly letter opener still in Carrie’s hand. In fact, she wasn’t afraid of anything besides the thought of Brenner catching them and harming (Y/N). And Carrie could tell in the way Sonia looked at her. It was a mother’s wrath. It was protective.

Carrie had no one. Sure, she had a few cousins and an aunt who supported her pregnancy, and they did call to check in every now and then, but they weren’t as important to her. No, their significance in her life couldn’t have even competed with (Y/N). Her miracle, her everything. Her life. If cutting them off would aid in the success of this arrangement, then she would snip their thread of communication in a heartbeat with the letter opener in her hand.

Her eyes flicked down to the hand Sonia held out. “Do we have a deal, Ms (L/N)?”

Carrie glanced at her daughter, who was now staring at her in curiosity with those big (e/c) eyes. She waved at the child, who shyly returned the greeting. God, she was so perfect. With a smile, Carrie turned back to Sonia and firmly shook her hand.

“Deal.”

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

“Suicide?”

Doc shook her head as she continued to flip through Carrie’s file that El had presented her with. The two were now taking public transportation to the girl in the rainbow room, as El had explained. She had successfully located the girl while Doc had been reading her mother’s information, but now Doc had broken the silence between them.

“I-I just don’t get it…” She sighed and closed the file defeatedly. Her saddened tone had El opening her eyes and staring at her in curiosity.

“What is… Sue-iss-eyed?”

Doc blinked up at her in shock, forgetting that El didn’t have the most extensive vocabulary. “Suicide. It’s when someone dies, but… they do it to themselves.”

El tilted her head. “Why?”

“There’s lots of reasons. I-It depends on the person, I guess. But the thing is that people who do it or want to do it, they feel alone. Completely alone. They’re broken and they feel like nothing can fix it. They don’t want to live anymore. So…”

She closed her eyes in exhaustion. Doc had never been suicidal, but for the past year, there had been times when she felt she deserved to be dead. She had taken so many lives in a matter of seconds, and she got to move on. Yes, the bad men were going to take her away, but nothing in her mind could have justified the slaughter she committed.

There were many, many times when Doc felt she was broken beyond repair, like she had no chance of redemption and no chance of ever going back to the way she was. There were times where she felt completely alone.

Ever since El had disappeared, she couldn’t bear to face her friends, to face Mike. She couldn’t tell her parents the truth of what she had been through. She couldn’t tell Sheriece and Brenda, the two people she wanted to tell the most. She could never be her true self around the people she loved. And now that she had finally revealed herself to Mike and to the Party, she only felt like a monster around them. Even more of an outcast.

But with El back in her life, she didn’t have to feel that way. She didn’t have to hide a single thing from her because El was the one person who could understand her. Doc could feel her spirits lifting when El clasped her hand with hers, a small smile on her face. Doc reciprocated, but not for long before another thought crossed her mind and left her lips. “Why would she commit suicide if I was here? If she had a daughter? She was there at the lab for as long as I can remember. I-I know that’s not saying much, but…”

“Maybe something happened,” El whispered. “They told Mama I was dead. Hopper told me Mama was dead.”

She still couldn’t believe that El had been right under her nose this entire time, living with Hopper in a cabin in the middle of the woods. A part of her was angry at the Chief for keeping this information from her. Her, of all people. But another part of her knew that he had no choice.

It was dangerous for either of the girls to be around each other at that time. They were both being hunted and Karen and Ted could only be a shield for Doc for so long. If the bad men could fake Will’s corpse and turn Terry’s brain to mush without a question from anyone, it was only a matter of time before they could take Doc away from her family.

Perhaps it was a good thing that she ran away. She couldn’t be a burden to her family or friends. If she and El were gone, no one in Hawkins would be under the bad men’s watch. But that didn’t mean Will wasn’t still in trouble. That was the only thing keeping Doc from making the foolish decision of never returning. If this girl from the rainbow room had answers to Doc’s many questions, she could possibly use them to go back to Hawkins and help Will. Then she would figure out what she wanted from there.

The hustle and bustle of the city was a culture shock for El. She had never been in such a busy environment with so many people she didn’t know. All her life, she had been isolated and kept a secret, but now she was out and in the open.

The city wasn’t too familiar to Doc. The majority of her life had been in a small town with only the countryside and some beaches as occasional family vacations. She had never been in a city like this before, and certainly not without Karen or Ted at her side. It would have frightened them both, but they had each other for comfort and safety.

As the two admired what was probably one of the tallest buildings they had ever seen, a man rudely shoved into El, which forced her to stumble into Doc. The two quickly stabled themselves and turned around to face the man, who was throwing a dirty look over his shoulder. “Watch it.”

“Mouth breather.” The girls spoke simultaneously. They bursted out into giggles as El grabbed Doc by the hand and rushed away before the man could react. They found that the farther they walked the city, the smaller the population on the sidewalks were and the more run-down the buildings became.

As the two turned into an alleyway, they stiffened at the people that littered the area. The walls were graffitied all over, dirtied people lounged against each other or cozied up beside barrels of fire for warmth. The looks the girls were getting didn’t exactly make them feel any less anxious. Especially not from the man who was creeping up to them, his body odor wafting through the alcohol-cigarette-smoke air.

“They’re dead.” He laughed hysterically. “They’re all dead! They’re all dead!”

Doc could feel El shudder, so she wrapped an arm protectively around her. “Just ignore him. It’s alright.” She whispered. El nodded and continued forward, making sure to take deep breaths as she quickened her pace. It wasn’t long before the two came upon an abandoned warehouse. The door was eerily lit by a light above it, the small window displaying a flickering light from the inside.

“Is this the place?” Doc asked when El had stopped in her tracks. “Is this… where she is?”

“Yes.” She whispered.

The door quietly creaked as they entered. They could hear distant voices, but whoever they belonged to hadn’t yet noticed them. The inside of the warehouse was decorated in barrels, dim lighting and graffiti. But in the center of the room was a group of four huddled around a barrel of fire, happily talking amongst each other. They were all dressed in loose, ripped and layered clothing that had a bit of an edge to their style.

“Hello?” El called out. The conversation ended as they all turned to the young girls. A man with a large orange mohawk smirked as he slowly rounded the barrel.

“Well, well… What do we have here?” He and the others moved from their spots to menacingly approach the girls.

“What’s she wearing?” A brown-skinned woman with a large afro scoffed and pointed at El. “What are those, overalls?”

She laughed as another girl with a makeshift bow loosely tied in her wild hair locked her eyes on Doc. “And look at this one with the sunflowers. There aren’t any cows to milk here, girls. Go on back to the farm now.”

“What’s with the skates, Speedy Gonzales?” The mohawk man chuckled, receiving a glare from Doc.

“We’re looking for our sister.” El quietly spoke up as Mohawk circled them.

“Awe…” He faked a pout. “Shirley Temple lost her sister. So sad. What about you, Speedy?”

Doc reared back when she saw his finger about to poke her. “Don’t touch me!”

Mohawk whistled and held his hands up as Afro and Crazy Hair laughed aloud at the young girl’s hostility. El gently held her sister’s hand and turned her attention back to the group. “I saw her. Here.”

As she began to reach into her messenger bag, the last of the four, a burly dark-skinned man quickly straightened his posture and dropped his arms from their crossed position over his chest. “Uh-uh. Hands out of pocket. Slow.”

El did as she was told and pulled a piece of paper from the bag very slowly, holding it out to them. Mohawk snatched it out of her hand immediately. “Give me that shit.” He hissed. As his eyes scanned the photo of the young Indian girl, his face slowly dropped. His eyes moved up to the two as Afro took the photo from him.

“Is that Kali?”

“Kali?” They whispered in curiosity.

“How did you find us?” Mohawk stepped closer. “Who else knows you’re here?”

“No one.” El answered.

He shrugged. “So, what then? Poof! You just show up like magic with that picture?”

“Stay calm,” Afro spoke up. “They’re just kids.”

“Kids who could get us all killed!” He barked before brandishing a knife. At this, Doc instantly put an arm in front of El. “If I have to ask again, Shirley, you and Speedy here’ll start to lose things. Starting with those pretty little locks of yours. Yeah?”

“Come on, Axe. Put down the knife.”

“How did you find us?!”

El stared him in the eyes even as he backed the girls up. “I saw her.”

He grabbed a tight hold of her arm and angled the knife closer. “That’s not an answer!”

“Back off!” Doc snapped. “Get your hand off of her!”

“Shut it, Speedy, before I cut that tongue right out of your mouth!”

Suddenly, Mohawk’s eyes fearfully widened as he stared at his hand. “Jesus. Jesus Christ!” He threw the knife to the ground and yelped as he swiped at his clothes and hair, desperately moving around as he did so. “Get off! Shit! Shit!”

Everyone moved out of his way as they stared in confusion, for there was nothing on him. Nothing that they could see, anyway.

“You’re a terrible dancer, Axel.”

They all looked to the stairs at the sound of a British accent. Leaning against the railing was a girl. She had to have been older than Doc and El by a few years. She had brown skin, the side of her head was shaved, the other side was her dark hair dyed purple. She was dressed like the other four of the group. Mohawk, or rather Axel, glared at her as she descended the stairs to meet them on the floor.

“I told you, stay out of my head!” He slapped the side of his head.

“So, we’re threatening little girls now, are we?”

“They know about you.”

“They had this.” Crazy Hair handed the photo to the girl, who looked up at the two after examining it.

“Where did you get this?”

El took the photo back and glanced at Doc, who was having a stare-down with Axel. She returned her gaze back to who she assumed was Kali. “Mama.”

“Your mother gave this to you?”

“In her dream circle.”

Axel broke his glare from Doc and rubbed the back of his neck as he moved toward his knife. “Dream circle. I think she’s a schizo or something.”

“Said they’re looking for their sister.” Afro told Kali.

“Yeah. Like I said, schizo.”

Just as Axel bent down to pick up his knife, it flew from the ground and into El’s hand. The room was filled with stunned silence as El folded the pocket knife with a confidence that surprised Doc. “I saw you,” She handed Kali the knife. “In the rainbow room.”

Kali walked around El, who turned her body in order to always be facing her. “What is your name?”

“Jane.”

Doc blinked and furrowed her brows. She knew that Terry Ives had given her daughter that name at birth, but El had never told her that she identified with it now. At her response, Kali hesitated before reaching out and pulling back El’s sleeve to reveal her number on her wrist. El gently grabbed Kali’s wrist and held it next to hers, revealing an ‘008’. The two gazed at each other in wonder.

“Sister.” El trembled.

“Sister.” Kali whispered.

The two embraced each other in a heart-warming hug. Doc felt a tear build up in one of her eyes and she wiped it away. The sight of El reconnecting with Kali was beautiful to her, but it also broke her heart. She remembered what it felt like to find out she wasn’t alone. When she had woken up on the couch in her basement with El staring at her with a warmth in her expression was such a liberating feeling. She should have found a bright side for herself in this, but she was reminded that these two shared somewhat of a life in the lab together. Doc was alone. Even when she found someone else like her, she was still alone in some way.

“And you? What was your number?”

Doc looked up to see that Kali and El had detached and were now staring at her. She shifted and cleared her throat.

“Uh, no number,” She shook her head. “They just called me Private…”

Kali rapidly blinked as a small smile of hope graced her features. “The Private Experiment…”

Doc choked on a sob as she slowly approached her, her heart piecing itself together again. “Y-You know who I am…?”

“(Y/N) (L/N). Daughter of Carrie (L/N),” Her hands came up to gently caress her face. “I have wanted to meet you for so long… sister.”

(Y/N) grinned as Jane came up to them. Kali pulled the two of them into a hug that they both reciprocated immediately. After going through an entire year in solitude, (Y/N) had finally gotten her sister back, but she also found another. Another person to understand her. Another person to connect with on a level no one else in her life could. Another piece of a family that could be.

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

The honking of the traffic below filled the very brief silence between the three superpowered sisters. Kali had taken Jane and (Y/N) to the roof of the warehouse to speak with them. (Y/N) told her short story of what she could remember of her past, how she was adopted, how she hid her powers for so long, how she and Jane found each other, how she had been suffering from nightmares and visions for so long without telling anyone.

She had to admit, it felt amazing to get all of it off her chest. Especially to someone who wouldn’t pity her, but to someone who would understand wholeheartedly. The smile Kali had given her forced tears to (Y/N)’s eyes, which she blinked away before they could fall. Afterwards, Jane gave her entire story about her time in the lab, how she escaped, how she met (Y/N) and her friends, saving them, the Upside Down, Hopper, her mother. All of it. Jane’s story seemed to be a bit more for Kali to process, which sent her into the aforementioned silence.

“And this memory your mother shared… that is your only memory of me?” She asked.

“Yes.” Jane answered.

“And how long have you been with this policeman?”

“Three hundred and twenty-seven days.”

“And this policeman, he thinks he can work out some sort of deal with these men to set you free?”

“Yes,” Jane nodded. “He says soon.”

“He’s naive, then,” Kali frowned, her eyes moving between the two girls. “We’ll always be monsters to them. Do you understand?”

Jane nodded as (Y/N)’s gaze flickered away hesitantly. “Always…?” She whispered. Kali placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her nod.

“Always… Now, let me guess. Your adoptive siblings are the only ones in your household who know about your gifts?” Her hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder tightened when she nodded. “Meaning you have to hide your gifts from your adoptive parents?”

“Yes, but… they’re dangerous.”

“That is not true,” Kali turned back to Jane. “Does your policeman stop you from using your gifts?”

Jane nodded. Kali sighed and reached her hands out, taking one of the girls’ hands in each of them. “What you can do is incredible. The both of you. No matter what anyone thinks or says. It makes you very special.”

“Wait,” Jane furrowed her brows. “Do you have a gift?”

“Different. I can make people see, or not see, whatever I choose.”

(Y/N) smirked. “So, that’s what was wrong with the mohawk guy?”

Kali chuckled. “Axel is not so fond of spiders, so…”

“You made him see spiders?” Jane widened her eyes. Kali smiled with a nod, the two girls smiling right back.

“But it doesn’t have to be scary,” She opened her hand to reveal a butterfly. Its color changed from blue to green to pink to yellow and so on. (Y/N) and Jane watched in amazement as it flew out of Kali’s hand and into the air above them. “This butterfly, it isn’t real. I’ve just convinced your mind it is. Think of it as a kind of magic.”

Jane reached up to swipe at it, but it moved away. Kali smiled and snatched the butterfly in her hand. (Y/N) flinched back a bit, wondering if she had hurt it. But when Kali opened her hand again, there was nothing in her gloved palm. Jane narrowed her eyes at her.

“Are you real?”

“Yes, I’m real.”

With a small smirk, Jane reached her index finger out and poked Kali in the face. The three of them chuckled when Kali moved her hand away, but Jane kept poking her. She then turned to (Y/N) and poked her in the face as well. This led to a poke fest between the three, their quiet giggles floating through the air.

When their laughter died down and their hands fell back into their laps, (Y/N) felt a frown pulling at her face as she stared down at her knees. “I… I wish my gift could be beautiful. I’ve… killed people,” She closed her eyes, the corpses and the blood flashing through her mind. “I killed them horribly.”

Kali tilted her head at her sister. “You said they were going to take you and Jane away. You saved your brother and your friends. You saved Jane. That is the beautiful part,” (Y/N) opened her eyes, meeting Kali’s stare. “If your gift cannot heal directly, you must find a way for it to heal. By taking away what is causing the pain. That is the beauty in your gift. You were just forced to think otherwise because you were always kept a secret.”

(Y/N) inhaled deeply, afraid to ask what she had been wondering her whole life. She wasn’t certain if she was afraid of the answer, or because Kali might not have one. “Kali… Why was I in a different lab? Why do I have no memories of you or Jane?”

Kali shook her head and released a breath. “I have to be honest with you, (Y/N), your story was always one that horrified me. But it had nothing to do with you,” She gently took both her hands into hers and stared her in the eyes. “An orderly at the lab told me your story. I don’t know why, but he did… I don’t want to scare you, (Y/N), but… when you were born, you killed many people. Many. He said your cries were enough to shatter glass. Several people that helped deliver you bled from their eyes and ears before they all collapsed dead.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched as she blinked rapidly.

“They tried to keep you in the same lab as the rest of us, but you threw temper tantrums on a daily basis and they only got stronger by the day. It caused distress to the other children. Dr Brenner was afraid you would hurt them, too. So, you were transferred to another facility. Not all of the other doctors knew of you, not all the guards. Only a select few that were involved in the safety and progress of your gifts. Because Brenner was busy with us, you were given a private observer who stayed with you at all times. Her name was Dr Hill.”

“Sonia…”

“Yes, that’s right,” Kali’s hands tightened on (Y/N)’s as she prepared herself to continue the story. “They didn’t know how, they didn’t know when it started, but they found out that Dr Hill and your mother, Carrie, worked out an arrangement for you to see your mother. So, that you two may have a relationship with each other. Guards stormed the building and your mother was killed on sight.”

The young girl covered her mouth with one hand as a shudder left her lips.

“Dr Hill took you and fled the building. It took a few hours, but when the men found her, you were nowhere to be found… They killed Dr Hill right there.”

Jane couldn’t stand to see her sister this way, her body shaking with the sobs she was holding in. She placed a hand on her back and gently rubbed up and down her spine in comfort. (Y/N) removed her hand from her face and rid herself of the tears Kali hadn’t yet wiped away. “B-But Carrie’s file said she committed suicide…”

“According to the orderly, it was very easy to cover up your mother’s death. For some reason, she had ceased contact with everyone in her life. When you were first born and taken away, Carrie was told you had died at birth, just as they told Jane’s mother. A depressed mother shutting down after the death of her newborn child… there wasn’t much question as to why she would commit suicide… That is all I know of the situation. I’m truly sorry, (Y/N).”

A few moments went by of (Y/N) setting her sobs free and Kali and Jane silently comforting her. She thought that learning more about her past would lift a weight from her, but she was feeling just as crushed as ever. Sonia and Carrie, the two people she wanted to find, were dead. All because they wanted to keep her safe.

She supposed she had them to thank for the life she found herself with the Wheelers. A safe home with a loving family, but she couldn’t help but wonder what life she could’ve had if Carrie had taken her away from that lab. (Y/N) didn’t find herself important enough to die for. She had killed people at birth, she was a danger more than she thought before. She wished Carrie and Sonia hadn’t sacrificed themselves for her.

She looked up when she felt a hand on her head, meeting Kali’s soft gaze. She held (Y/N)’s face in her hands and used her thumbs to wipe her tears away. “I have always wanted to find you, (Y/N). I knew you couldn’t have been dead, that you were hiding. That you just needed the right person to find you. I’m sorry I wasn’t that person. But you’re here now. With people who care.”

Through her tears, (Y/N) smiled up at Kali before the three of them embraced.

After their talk on the roof, she led the girls to her room. They were told that they could sleep in her room for the night. So, the two were sitting side-by-side on the edge of Kali’s bed as she stared at them with tears brimming her eyes. Jane and (Y/N) gratefully accepted the blanket Kali had given each of them before she slowly sat down in a chair in front of the bed, taking a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” El asked.

“Nothing is wrong,” She shook her head. “I just feel… whole… now. Like… a piece of me was missing, and now it’s not. Does that make sense?”

They nodded.

“Jane, I think your mother sent you two here for a reason. I think she somehow knew that the three of us belong together. I think this is your home.”

“Home…” Jane whispered, but (Y/N) didn’t know how to feel.

For so long, she called Hawkins her home, she called Mike her home. But Kali was different. She knew that with Kali, there would never be arguments like the last one she had with Mike. There would be no more pity, no more secrets, no more loneliness. For the past year, (Y/N) felt like she didn’t belong anywhere. But here she was now with her true sisters. Not by blood, but by past trauma and by broken souls. Just like Kali, (Y/N) felt a piece of her had inserted itself into her heart the moment she had been called ‘sister’.

So, maybe this wasn’t a nice and quiet cul-de-sac, so these people didn’t wear the cleanest clothes, but maybe it could be.

“Home.” She smiled.

Kali left the two to sleep not too long after. She descended the stairs to meet her friends on the main floor. The four of them were going about their business with knife-throwing and playing cards. When Axel caught sight of her, he smirked. “How’s your little farmgirl sisters? You tuck them in real tight?”

Afro left the window she had been sitting by and joined her friends. “Yeah, what about a lullaby? Did you sing her one of those-”

“Ole MacDonald had a farm.” Crazy Hair sang. Afro laughed before the rest of them, minus Kali, joined in the singing.

“E-I-E-I-O! And on his farm he had a cow-”

“They found me with only this.” Kali slammed the photo of her onto the table.

“What’s that mean?” Afro shrugged.

“It means Jane can find people without moving. With nothing but an image.”

Axel shared a look with Afro before he rolled his eyes. “You telling me Shirley’s a human radar detector or some shit?”

“And (Y/N) is a killing machine.”

“Come on. No way.”

Kali straightened her posture. “We’ll find out soon enough. I want to do one. Tomorrow.”

“You serious, Kal?”

“We’re way too hot right now.” Afro protested.

“Paranoid.” Crazy Hair sang.

“Realistic,” She shot back. “You don’t kill their men and expect them to look the other way. If they find us, they will unleash hell.”

“So, we give into fear?” Kali raised her brows, knowing she succeeded when her friends sagged their shoulders. “They’re in pain. They need this. We go out tomorrow.”

She picked up her photo and left the room. Axel watched her go with a shake of his head, clenching his knife in his hand tight. “Swear to god, Shirley and Speedy’s gonna get us all killed.” He growled, sending the knife forward and wedging it into the board on the other side of the room.

—————————————

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[quohotos]

I'm assuming you've played some ttrpgs based on your posts so what are some of the characters you've played?

It is true, I have played a lot of TTRPGs, however most often I was the forever DM, so a lot of times the characters I was playing were NPCs or villains.

Here's a set of some villains from from one of my first campaigns. They are a species called "Nocturns" and are based on bats. These ones have all had their wings amputated which sure as heck made it easier to draw them. I don't post a lot of these guys because, again, they're part of unpublished works that will get a big art drop if I ever manage to find a publishing solution.

In order from top to bottom:

Commander Symeraks is a flamboyant diva who writes and directs plays when he's not busy leading armies. He's incredibly skilled and incredibly dangerous, but easily distracted. Commander Glyph is cunning, ruthless, pragmatic, and not actually that skilled. He's a mediocre commander, but he attaches himself to Symeraks and keeps him out of trouble as his handler. He hopes that he can ride Symeraks' coat tails into a higer ranking position. Don't ship them, Symeraks is gay for someone else and Glyph would rather die than kiss anyone. Lomedia is a burning spirit of chaos who everyone hates, including herself. She's been demoted a million times but always finds some way to cling on and make everyone's lives a little bit worse. She's constantly betraying, backstabbing, and lying and yet somehow the rest of them always give her another chance.

Those are some memorable villains from one of my campaigns, but here are some more memorable characters I've played, in order of most favorite to least favorite.

Bradly Arbor is a 19 year old who's just out of highschool. He was captain of the football team, but also got all the lead roles in the play by virtue of being one of the few guys who enrolled in the school plays (he was not a good actor). He did that all to get closer to a girl who he was infatuated with... unfortunately she came out as a lesbian and his heart was crushed. Rather than go to college he got a deadend job at a little emporium that reopened in town and accidentally got embroiled in the supernatrual.

It was a monster of the week game, and his class was "Professional", interpreted very sarcastically and very loosely. That sword he carries is The Phoenix King (a perk of the job). It can speak and has deep lore implication that he's just too much of a dumb himbo to really grasp or care about. What's important is that it lights ablaze when he says "Hey, do the thing where you're on fire".

Other notable parts of his character design are his Marry Poppins briefcase (another perk of the job), and his cracked iphone 5 (not a perk of the job). He's dumb as rocks, but his heart is in the right place, specifically in his rib-cage

Morgan is a Dragonborn barbarian that I made for a friend's campaign set in a homebrew setting. I was feeling lazy with character designs that day so I adapted the character of Morgan from my unreleased serial to the 5e setting, thus she has hair instead of a frill.

Same backstory though, an exhiled princess who refuses to work out her feelings and instead cuts people's heads off while moralistically spouting about a religion that basically no one but her believes in. She has some cool homebrew heart-eating mechanics that my DM gave me because no one wanted to play a healer in that game, so this interpretation of Morgan also gets up to some Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom shenanigans.

Of notable importance, I was basically done with the drawing and then asked my DM "Hey, where do you stand on the lizard boob debate?" after a hilarious conversation in which they lost all respect for me, my DM decided that, yes, lizards have boobs in his setting, so I haphazardly added some cloth to her chest to be compliant with his lore.

Lastly is Rythian, an elf Monk that I threw together for an ill-fated game that only lasted like one session. He's an elf monk, named after a yogscast member because I really struggle with originality sometimes. His body was horribly burned in an incident so he wears these cool wraps to cover it up... why he doesn't wear just regular clothes is beyond me. He's special like that I guess.

It's been a while so I don't remember much more of his lore, but I do remember how much I miss adobe illustrator draw... fuck that was a good app. Why the fuck did they have to shut it down? Is there anything else like it?

Some of my coolest characters for ttrpgs were from games that I played with a close group of friends who never want to speak to me ever again... so out of respect for them I'll omit all the cool art I made for those games.

Thank you for the ask!