#but i like the idea that he can see that she is trying and learning bit by bit

[pooksgetspooked]

Thesis such a chore that it reignited my passion for writing fanfic. Procrastinating writing to focus on writing 💔

Anyways! Thinking about:

Deaf!Doctor getting involved with Huntrix and Saja Boys

Note: part 1 because I got lazy! I have lots of ideas roughly fleshed out with 2 chapters done, but we’ll see <3

Deaf!Doctor who’s actually too soft, but has walls tougher than the Trojans. She’s about as pleasant as an aggressive cat with only the dying wish of vengeance and spreading hate.

Her anger management is channeled into slaughtering demons, armed with a bow and arrows so she can play sniper from vintage points. It’s not as effective as therapy, but it certainly makes her feel just a little better, even if temporary.

Speaking of anger management, she hate hate hates Huntrix due to undisclosed reasons pertaining to the construction of her impenetrable barb-wired walls. Absolutely despises them, almost as much as she despises demons. But she knows the necessity of them. Knows of their double life as demon hunters, and despite scowling anytime she so much as hears their name, she still keeps them alive and breathing because 3 hunters and an honorary support keeping the population afloat beats one.

First came under the radar of both entertainment groups after saving Zoey and Mira’s necks via arrow delivery to the heads of the demons who had them cornered. Both groups kept the doctor at the back of their minds, but nothing grand enough to go out of their way to act yet.

It was only when she proved to be a hindrance to the collection of souls, doing a little too much against the demon forces and their soul KPIs did the Saja boys decide to deal with her personally. One sad disguised grandma demon and a couple Saja boys in the shadows was all it took to take her down.

In a last minute impulsive decision, they decided against snatching her soul in favour of prying information out regarding Huntrix, keeping her in their overworld hideout that they insisted on having for ‘a place to practice and strategise,’ when really they just think the underworld is too hot and kind of drab at the best of times.

They initially tried to intimidate Deaf!Doctor to no avail. They tried threats, small injuries, even tried to mind control her with their unreleased song ‘Your Idol’. It didn’t work, oddly enough. It made Jinu just a little insecure that his singing wasn’t as great as he thought for awhile. But they got feedback that it was upsettingly catchy when they caught her humming the song to herself. During one sizing up session, the group learns of her hearing defect, and Abby breaks her hearing aids and that was that. She called them stupid, before settling for silence because they don’t get the pleasure of easy communication if she has to lip read all the time.

Soon after, she’s kept around for a little too long to justify as anything other than personal, and after one incident where they all discovered she could temporarily mute Gwi-Ma’s lull of whispers (purely accidental, she was actually testing out a theory and trying to poison them), they begin to see her in a different light.

Jinu calls her sweetheart. He finds her cute and silly in a trying and failing to be nonchalant sort of way. He believes she’s trying too hard to be something she’s not, and in a way, she reminds him of tiger. Way scarier from a distance and mostly all growls, but charmingly silly (opinion exclusive to him) when up close and too personal. It’s a little hard to take her seriously too when she couldn’t hear him enter the room, and he finds her napping with Tiger.

Abby whistles for his kitty. He finds it amusing when she’s feisty and agitated, especially when he talks down at her as though she didn’t know any better, lips deliberately slow so she could see what he was saying. In his eyes, he could see a pair of cat ears always tucked back like airplanes with a flicking tail to match. It doesn’t help that stature-wise, he’s the biggest, making it easy for him to loom over the doctor and size her up for the fun of it.

She avoids him like the plague and makes blatant attempts to make his life as inconvenient as hers. He likes to scare her at least twice a day minimum.

Romance purrs doll. He finds her cute like one. Fragile like a one too. He tries to disarm her with flirty winks and romantic gestures, but she always turns them down with a snarl, later worn down to a haughty huff. That’s fine though, he knows his way around people. All he needs is time, and time he has.

Mystery doesn’t fucking talk. He just trails after her like a shitty rendition of a shadow. Ever silent, somewhat forgettable until she turns around and slams into him, but otherwise tolerable. He taps her on the head to get her attention though. Sometimes, she can’t differentiate when he’s the one tapping, or if the bird was the one pecking. To reciprocate, she occasionally yanks his sleeve to get his attention before acting out what she wants him to fetch for her. She takes advantage of him the most.

Despite that, Mystery enjoys her company, and with time whittling her down, they actually end up sharing time together by reading occasionally.

Baby rotates between baby or sweets, depending on the time, place, and his mood. They actually kind of get along because Baby doesn’t talk too much. Just a comfortably small amount, which gradually grew after they both noticed their shared sweet tooth. It helps that Baby likes the sour sweets that the doctor doesn’t and vice versa, meaning they’re frequently exchanging candy.

Out of the five, she secretly goes to Baby for comfort in the dead of the night when the rest are out and about. Baby gets the highest of highs from it and has to actively resist being smug shit. The rest almost beat him up once in an attempt to get him to spill.

Out of everyone, she gets along with Tiger the best, though Crow and Mystery are the one that sticks with her the closest. The guys speculated her and Tiger has some way of communicating through unblinking, prolonged eye contact, but they could never decipher anything. Jinu tried talking to Tiger about it at one point, asking him what they usually discussed, but his furry companion simply blinked at him and sank into the floor.

[bottmless-pitt]

I'll Be Right There. 2/2

Content Warning: Talks of Dog Death, Jack Abbot x F!Reader, Neighbor!Reader, Anxious thoughts, Jack POV, Yearning, Smut, Oral (F receiving), PIV, Unprotected Sex, Magic Birth control, & mentions of Jack's past. LOTS of pet names, Sweetheart, Kid, Baby, etc. 5.8K words! Author's note: Ok, I'm back! I think I might've been super focused on the smut in this one and didn't really give you an emotional sequel. I hope you guys are chill with that! I really enjoyed this smut, and my next piece is going to be primarily smut! Let me know what you thought in my inbox! I appreciate any feedback! Enjoy! Read Part 1 here!!

It had been almost six months since you’d found yourself curled up in Jack’s trauma room. Since then, it’d been six long, slow months of Jack showing you what showing up looks like. Jack quickly learned that no one had ever graced you with that sort of compassion, and the look you gave him left him half-hard, half-aching for you. 

It wasn’t always easy to think about you, though. The first few weeks, hell, the first few months after your visit to the PTMC felt like Jack was moving at a crawl rather than a walk. Every step of trust gained was a new spike of your anxiety, and he had no idea what he’d be walking into. 

He tiptoed the line of showing up without overstepping with steadfast caution. He was punctual about his presence in a way that you had grown attuned to. Every layer of you that peeled back only served to bring him a peaceful hope. He struggled but ultimately tamped down the fire that threatened to spark.

 Don’t get your hopes up, Jackie.

His mom used to remind him when he’d get a determined way about himself. He was the perpetual knight in shining armor, always dashing headfirst into situations. He saved cats from trees, taught CPR classes on the weekend for the local Red Cross, and even mowed the lawn for the family next door when Mr. Handler passed away. His mom would get a sweet look on her face and remind him, “Don’t get your hopes up, Jackie. Don’t want you thinkin’ you can save the whole world by yourself.” 

When he was in high school, Jack rescued a dog he found in the gutter outside his house. He spent all night coaxing it out in the rain with little bits of cheese and hot dogs he scrounged up. When he finally managed to get the dog into the warm garage, he saw the extent of its life played out in injuries before him. He called out to his parents for blankets.

“Sweetie, he’s too cold.” His mom laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew the sight before her was pathetic, him frantically trying to warm the dog up. 

“Please, Ma.” He felt ten years younger. Surely, he could save this dog, surely, there was something they could do besides wait for nature to take its course. He would do whatever he could to keep the small creature from that fate. 

His mom’s arms wrapped around him, bringing him to her, running her hands through his hair while he cried. Just a small kid against the unfairness of life. It was the first time he ever felt like he might have a purpose, and it was taken so quickly. She opened her mouth to remind him, but stopped herself. She just kept her son in her arms. When he woke up the next morning, sporting a cold and a broken heart, she had already given the dog a proper burial next to the family’s fish from a year prior. 

Jack hadn’t realized back then, but that memory returns to him often now, as the beginning of a long line of failures. Failures to himself, to his fellow soldiers, to his patients, and now failures to you. He wants to see you in a way no one ever let him before. 

The first morning, his legs carried him up the stairs slowly, with his prosthesis rubbing against his bone all night, all he wanted was to collapse into bed. But when he reached the top of the steps and rounded the corner to your apartment, he was met with eerie silence that only served to spike his blood pressure. 

Maybe she’s asleep. He let himself think, but your read receipts didn’t lie, he knew you were awake. He gently knocked, giving you a chance to let him in. It wasn’t until after the 3rd knock, he received the text. 

Don’t want to talk, I’m fine. You can go. 

His lips pursed, and he let out a frustrated groan at the front door. He readjusted his posture before knocking again. He could’ve been fooled that you were alright if it weren’t for the obvious shuffling sounds coming from the other side. 

“This wasn’t part of the deal, sweetheart.” He called out through the door, letting his frustration out. “I’m not going away until I get eyes on you.” He huffed, raising his hand to knock again. 

“I don’t want to talk.” Your voice murmured. You sounded so small, not petulant like a child, but the desperation of one. He let his forehead lean against the door and took a deep breath. He reminded himself of the days he’d rather not get out of bed, ashamed of the way he looked, ashamed of the way he acted, frightened by the thoughts swirling around in his head.

He also remembered the first time walking out of a VA meeting, it was the first time in months that he said what he was thinking out loud. It may not have taken the feeling away; it certainly lifted some of the weight bearing down on his shoulders. 

“I know,” he admitted, sounding much calmer than he had before. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, you don’t have to say anything. 

There was a long pause before he heard the door unlatch, and just half of your face came into view. Your eyes, bloodshot and swollen, your face is red and blotchy, and your hands are shaking. He understood all too well what you must be feeling on the other side. He didn’t push the door open, even though he wanted to. He just stretched his head to get a better look at you. 

“Thank you,” He put a hand on the door to prevent you from closing it, “Can I come in?” 

You shook your head immediately, closing the door as much as you could without hurting his hand. He let out a conceded sound to let you know his disapproval. 

“It’s messy.” You said simply, shrugging the one shoulder he could see.

“I promise, I’m not going to look at your apartment, I just want to talk for a minute.” He speaks slowly, like trying to diffuse a bomb. “Can I come in and sit at least?” He gives you such an innocent look that you feel something balloon in your chest. You’re nodding before you even realize you’re saying yes. 

After that, you’d talked for a long time, and he could tell you were finally releasing some of the bottled-up emotion you’d been storing for god knows how long. He let you talk, even shared some stories of his own, before you stiffly dried up. 

It had gotten easier, you opened the door smoothly, you were more at ease with him in your space. You listened to him, most of the time, but on particularly rough days, Jack found himself on the outs again. It was hard for him to constantly be fighting back and forth with your own emotions, but he understood more than anyone, healing wasn’t a linear trajectory. 

His life, which had once centered on the work he did at the hospital, was centering more and more on the time spent with you. And despite your back and forth, as your life evened out more and more, Jack found his thoughts about you began to wander.

He had no right to feel the way he did about you. It did absolutely nothing to stop it. Old enough to be her dad. His brain liked to remind him when he’d get lost in your eyes, picturing what you’d look like half-twisted in your obnoxious patterned bedsheets. He never acted on them before, of course, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable! He wasn’t a creep, and you definitely never thought of him as anything other than a polite friend. 

“Earth to Jack?” You waved a hand around in front of his face. It had been a long shift, and rather than spending the extra energy climbing your stairs, he left the door unlocked and invited you in for breakfast. 

That was the newer development. After a particularly long night shift, Jack asked if you wouldn’t mind possibly meeting him at his place. You, half asleep, agreed only at the promise he made you a pot of coffee, which he was already in the process of making. 

When you arrived, in a comfortable, but well-worn set of pajamas, he almost shut the door in your face. It was like you were punishing him.

Your oversized boxy button-down top did little to conceal the fact that you had no mind to put on a bra before coming downstairs. He had to use all of his military training to keep his eyes from focusing on your nipples, which were poking through the soft cotton.

When you were distracted, he let his eyes wander down to your chest, slipping occasionally to admire your legs as well. He cursed himself when the blood began travelling south, trying to readjust his position.

“Is your leg bothering you?” You had asked him so sweetly, moving to kneel below him. His eyes nearly rolled out of his skull, and he had to take a long minute to control himself before nodding.

Then suddenly it was two routines in the morning. You would come downstairs, mug in hand, steal his coffee, and help him with his prosthetic. Which often left him aching in a far more dangerous place than his leg.

Your hands would peel back the different layers, being sure to keep his cane nearby, just in case he needed to walk anywhere. Not that he’d ever move away when your touch is the only thing he’d been looking forward to. When your thumbs massage over a particularly tender area, you look up at him sweetly. You were soft for him, and he had no choice but to melt in your hands.

You seemed oblivious to it, which he was eternally grateful for, but the morning routines lately have shifted more to be about him and his health than yours. He wondered if you were deflecting him from something, which made him anxious. Maybe she’s seeing someone.

His whole body shuddered at the idea that you might be spending your nights wrapped around another man’s body.

“Helllloooo?” You teased again, giving him another sweet laugh. This morning was just like any other, you were already on your knees for him. Jack’s already half-hard, trying to power through the morning until he can take care of himself in the shower.

“Sorry, zoned out.”

“Did you have a hard shift?” You gently brought his leg down before raising to join him on the couch.

“It’s always a hard shift these days.” He dropped his hand to pat gently on your knee. “Don’t worry about me, kid, how are you doing?”

You blushed at the nickname. “I’m fine, just tired.” You place your hand over his, and Jack has to take deep breaths to calm his heart that was suddenly beating out of his chest.

He cleared his throat. “You’re not sleeping well?” He started to assess you with his trained eye. He noticed you did look tired; there were small bags under your eyes. Your shoulders were tense, only slightly, but he knew you weren’t fully relaxed.

“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrug off, reaching for your empty mug on the coffee table before standing. “Just up too late thinking these days.”

“That’s not cryptic at all.” He snarks, turning his head to watch you move around his apartment with ease. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You sigh, clearly thinking too hard for your own good.

“I was honestly just thinking about your kitchen.” Jack flipped his body to look at you.

“My kitchen? What’s wrong with my kitchen? You spend more time in it than I do.” He quips, making you smirk at him.

“You only have one mug, Jack!” You’re feeling playful this morning, and part of him knows you’re deflecting still, but it’s been a few weeks since you had this energy about you. He wasn’t going to complain. “I’ve been to your place every morning for the last two months, and you still only have one mug!”

He never thought about it like that, he’d offered to keep some of your mugs down here once, but your face soured at the question, and you changed the subject. He couldn’t understand what the big deal about mugs was.

“I can buy you a mug if you really want me to, sweetheart.” He offered, slipping the sleeve back onto his calf.

“I don’t know Jack,” You blushed coyly, “Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever have room in your cabinet for another mug.” 

He snorts, “Kid, just move the glasses over, it’s not rocket science.” His head tilts back to catch you in his kitchen light again. Looking more like a cat now, trapezing through his space, claiming the sunspots as your own, nesting this image into his memory forever. You roll your eyes, and he savors the sass, breathing in the ease of his morning routine. He lets himself get comfortable, imagining coming home to this forever. 

“No, c’mon,” you huff, “You're so independent. You’re a one-mug compartment; I don’t want to disrupt your organization if that’s the way you want it.” You talk in code. He searches his memory for what you could possibly be talking about. He settles for a confused look thrown your way, before slipping his prosthetic back on. 

“You can redo the whole kitchen if you want to keep a mug here, sweetheart.” He finishes the sentence, and then suddenly you’re beside him, helping him through his usual routine. It’s quiet for a long time, and the frown that sits on your face makes his heart rate spike. Had he said the wrong thing? 

“What if,” You drop to sit beside him on the couch, just close enough to feel his body next to you without touching. “I wanted to bring more than a few things for the kitchen?” 

“Like pans?” 

You let out a soft laugh, and he feels the red embarrassment creep up his neck. He feels like a stupid old man, with you talking like this, he’d much rather lay it all out and address what you wanted head-on. 

“Use your words,” He mutters, reaching down to massage his leg. “I don’t know what you mean.” When he looks up at you, you look ready to combust, but you don’t say anything for a long time. He nudges you with his elbow to spill, and you bury your head in the crook of his shoulder and his neck.

It wasn’t that you never touched. It was just that you very rarely did it outside of your normal routine. Never anything more than brushes of the hand or reassuring pats. You both saved it for times when one of you was upset, and Jack never wanted to overstep, so he rarely initiated. You had never really cuddled, and you definitely didn’t normally do what you were doing. 

Jack brought his hand around to your back, patting you in placid comfort, not really sure what else to do at that moment. You had your fists curled into his scrub top, hiding your forehead in his neck, breathing in the smell of his detergent. You grumbled something he didn’t pick up. 

“Slow down.” He tried to pull you out of your hiding place, “Talk to me.” 

“It’s so embarrassing,” you mumbled. 

“Life’s embarrassing.” He rebutted, “I promise nothing you say to me is going to be something I haven’t heard a million times.” 

“I don’t want to talk to Dr. Abbot, I want to talk to Jack.” You ripped your head from your hiding place, frantic energy dripping off of you. “I’m afraid if I never say this, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what happened if I did.” 

Jack swallowed. All he knew right now was suave ER Cowboy Dr Abbot. Jack was good at talking to people, but he wasn’t so good at pulling the MD curtain back. 

So, he’s stuck, because he’s not entirely sure what you’re about to say. He’s not entirely sure how he’ll react. If you told him you were in love with someone else, it would kill him. If you told him you were thinking of moving back home again, he might crumble into a million pieces. If you told him you knew about his lingering, embarrassing crush and had no interest returned, he might just die on the spot. 

“I’m in love with you.” His mind goes completely blank. Your eyes are squeezed shut, bracing for the pain of inevitable rejection. You couldn’t possibly know how much pure relief mixes into Jack’s chest. Your fists that still twist in the scrub top begin to shake. “I don’t expect anything in return, I know I’m a total mess still-“You gasp for air.

Jack returns to Earth only after realizing it wasn’t your hands that shook, but your whole body. The fear had finally caught up, and your eyes pricked with tears. You couldn’t look at him, not until he said anything.

Every moment that passed was a knife deeper than the last. You thought this would be the end. Suddenly, the weight of the secret kept safely to your chest seems light, because the crush of nothing in return sinks your hope. You unfurl your fist and let the tears fall.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.”

His head snaps up in awe, mouth slightly slack as he searches you for clarity.

“Don’t be sorry,” He catches your hand as you drop away from him, bringing his other hand to brush the tears away from your cheek. “Don’t be sorry, Sweetheart.”

You shake your head, feeling the suffocation creep into your chest. You can’t breathe, why can’t you breathe?

“I love you, too.” He whispers, and your eyes shoot open. Your lungs were finally granted access to the air previously absent. “I love you, too.” He repeats, mostly for himself, as reassurance.

He wastes no more time, finally pulling your face over, slotting his lips onto yours.

You had spent an embarrassing amount of time fantasizing about what making a move on Jack would be like. You had more than a few late nights where the thought of finally kissing him was enough to satisfy you. You had thought yourself an expert on the topic, but the theory of kissing him was a speck of nothing compared to the practice of it.

His hands were steady and heavy, guiding you through the moment of passion. One hand slipping from your cheek to your hair, keeping you pressed safely to him. The other is creeping around your waist, allowing you to throw your hands around his neck.

His lips moved against yours with quiet peace. He was in no rush to make any moves. His only focus was on keeping you as close to him as possible. The stubble on his cheeks keeps you grounded in the moment, and the hint of what was to come sends a wave of arousal to your center.

He groaned against you when you pressed up into him. He could feel your chest pressing against his. He could feel you, only the thin material of your t-shirt and his between them, he could feel himself slipping into insanity.

“Kid-“He breaks the kiss, you take the opportunity to dive back in, not wanting to do anything but jump his old bones. “Kid.” He braces your shoulders, and you make a sound of protest before pressing your lips to his neck instead.  

“Don’t call me that.” You kiss slowly up to his neck. You swing your legs over his lap, straddling him. “Am I a kid? Or am I your sweetheart?” You whisper in his ear, before moving down and sucking a hickey into his neck.

He moans loudly before wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you, guiding your mouth back to his for another kiss.

This kiss was all heat, where the other was sweetness. Jack wasn’t holding back anymore, brushing his tongue into yours, not minding the noises either of you made. He kept you just above him, avoiding contact with the two most sensitive parts of you.

“Where the hell is this coming from, Sweetheart?” You smile at the name, pulling back to look down at him. His lips are swollen and candy pink. His eyes boring into yours, pupils blown wide, searching for relief.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, Jack,” You admitted. He smirked back. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for months.” He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Why don’t you get set up on my bed? I’ll meet you in there.” He sends you off. You comply almost too easily, only looking back once to give him a coy smile before disappearing into the bedroom.

He’s up quickly, but has to steady himself. He hadn’t been this pent up since he was in basic training. How is this happening? He’s been ashamed of the thoughts he has when he’s desperate for sleep, mind wandering in every direction. He never allowed himself to believe this was possible, and now here he was following you to his bedroom. He felt like it was his first time, too nervous to be of any use to anyone.

You, on the other hand, were propped up on his bed. You had just dropped your shirt behind you, leaving you completely bare. If Jack had thought you were the picture of lust sitting above him on his couch, he didn’t have words for the carnal pleasure he was experiencing just from your bare form on his bed. He reached down and rid himself of his shirt before rushing into bed and climbing over you.

“Jack,” You moaned when his lips crushed against yours. You’d never been kissed with this kind of precision. Jack was lusty and brash, but he knew exactly how to attack you so that your defenses all crumbled. The smell of his cologne, almost faded throughout the night, was heady, mixed into your senses.

The pressure of his body on top of yours, brushing, controlled, and almost out of reach, was driving you insane. You never needed anything more than you needed Jack pressed into you.

He pulled back, looking at you, bottom lip tucked under his teeth. He looked predatory, like a lion licking its lips before dinner. His body was thick under your hands, smatterings of scars and freckles brushed his skin. You reached your hand to trace the freckles along his shoulder, mesmerized by the formations.

He leaned over and kissed your sternum, looking up at you for signs of protest, before he moved to the right and took one of your breasts into his mouth. The feeling of his tongue against your nipple was an electric shock right to your clitoris. He was reverent with you, leaving no space on your chest neglected. His hips finally lowered just below your center, so you could press your core into the meat of his stomach.

You didn’t hold back your moans, threading your hands into the curls of your partner, and pressing your hips upward on a particularly hard suck. He popped off your nipple with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Are you wet for me, sweetheart?” He teased, pulling away to see the evidence of your arousal pressed to the waistband of his cargo pants. “Hmm, looks like it.” He teases, moving his body back.

“No!” You protest, reaching for him to come back. He smiles, taking one of your hands and giving your knuckles a sweet kiss.

“Don’t worry, just want to taste you.” He watches as your head falls back, a flush creeping up your chest. You take a few deep breaths.

“Please, Jack,” You look back up at him, “It’s been so long.”

He wastes no time getting into position and placing an open kiss right above your slit. “Need me to fix it, hm?” He teases, watching you whine above him. “Need your doctor to make it all better?”

You nod frantically, feeling waves of pleasure already pulse through you without his touch. “Yeah, need you.” You buck your hips trying to encourage his mouth. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping it planted on the bed. “Always make everything better, Jack.”

His chest puffs with pride. He leans his head down, keeping his eyes locked in on you, and licks your entire slit in one swipe. His tongue makes a sacred track through your pleasure. He’s an expert, listening to your sounds to find the places that have your toes curling.

He brings your hand to his head. “Let me know what feels good, sweetheart.” He winks from your thighs, and you feel a gush of arousal leak out of you. He smirks, lapping it up almost as soon as it appeared.

You can hardly focus on anything apart from the feeling of his mouth circling your clit. When his hand comes up, brushing one finger on your entrance cautiously, he doesn’t even need to look up to know your reaction. You pull on his curls, let your head drop back, and whimper with anticipation.

He wastes no time curling one finger in you, breaking away from your pussy to bring his thumb up to rub your clit. With his mouth free, he can finally let his mind wander with lust.

“So fucking beautiful.” He worships you, bringing another finger in slowly. Your head swims with the addition, there’s nothing in your mind except Jack, Jack, Jack.

He laughs, speeding up the circles of his thumb with quick precision. The coil in your belly tightens, and your walls pulse around his fingers.

“Gonna cum for me baby?” He teases, leaning over you to catch your mouth on his.

With a flick of his wrist, your orgasm crashes down over you. Your eyes squeeze tight, and you call out, still pressed against his lips. Your hips jerk upwards, caught against Jack, you feel yourself floating away. His hands slow, but don’t stop until you start to whine and twitch.

Jack moves up, satisfied at the sight of you ruined from just a few pretty kisses and his fingers. Your body was lax against the surface of the mattress, flush and sweaty from your first orgasm of the day.

He moves off of you for a better sight, he has half a mind to take a picture of you, to keep the image forever. His body sags with anticipation, pleasure mixing into his sore body like an antidote. You lift your head and furrow your brows, pulling him back to the bed before flopping over him.

With his back pressed against his bed, your hair creating a halo around your face. You brush your hand over his jaw, through his hair, and lean your lips over his.

“It’s my turn to take care of you, Dr. Abbot.” You crash your lips down to his, before bringing your hand to his chest to push him into the mattress again.

“Knew you had a thing for Doctor’s sweetheart.” He teased you. You crawled down his body, stopping at his zipper. You let your hand delicately trace patterns over the bulge he was sporting.

“Sit up for me?” You asked sincerely, and he obliged, maneuvering until he was sitting at the edge of the bed, with you standing between his thighs.

“You want to take care of me?” He asks, feeling your confidence waver slightly, with the newfound control. “You’re too sweet to take care of an old man like me.” Your brows furrow down at him.

“You’re not an old man.” You protest.

“Oh yeah? Want to remind me?” He flashes a flirty smile, and you return it, leaning down to kiss him again. He catches you, allowing you to kiss him as long as you please.

Once satisfied, you dropped away from his mouth and knelt between his knees, before him. You were already comfortable between the,m and the angle had his eyes dropping closed in satisfaction.

“You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to get you between my legs.” He confessed to running his hand down your cheek to your chin, tilting your head back up to look at him. You flash bright red, darting your eyes away. “What?” He caught your gaze again. You had a mischievous little smile planted on your lips.

“Well,” You giggle, “I maybe had a little idea.” Peeking a look down at his very clear boner, hiding nothing away from her eyes.

“Oh Fuck,” He throws a hand over his eyes in embarrassment. Of course, you noticed. He can’t believe you haven’t said anything. “I promise I’m not a creep.”

“Definitely not creepy,” You affirm, reaching for the button of his pants. “Flattering honestly.” You confess, and when you look up at Jack, it’s overwhelming. He was staring down at you with such adoration. It was so unfair how charming it looked on him.

“I hope so.”

You had to actively focus on getting his pants off without getting distracted. Taking the time to remove his prosthetic again, quicker, but no less gently than before.

Once, and only after, he was comfortable and free from the metal extension, did you allow yourself to focus back on the task at hand.

Jack was sitting, almost politely, waiting for you to decide what to do next. His black boxer briefs, tight against his hips, revealed every ridge and bump of his erection. It left your mouth dry at the size, but despite its obvious desperation, Jack remained calm and focused on your control.

You wondered if this was what he was like as a soldier. Quiet, contemplative, and obedient at his core. You straddled his waist pressing the heat of your pussy against the slick spandex material. Wasting no time in experimentation, you rock your hips forward over him and are rewarded with a responding buck of his hips. His breath is staggered with pleasure, but his hands are still pliant at your hips.

“I want to fuck you sweetheart.” He admits, taking the moment to flip you back over, his hips securing you to the new position with ease. His lips attack your neck with fervor, trailing down again.

“Jack, wait-“You’re cut off by a press of his hips to yours, still separated only by the thin material around him. You tug at the waistband. “I want to return the favor.” You expect him to peel himself away, but he only groans and pulls away.

“Next time, baby,” He concedes. You pout and bring your hands to press against his cock. “I’m gonna cum way too fast.” You tug at his briefs in protest.

“That’s kinda the whole point.”

“Not when I want to cum inside your cute little pussy.” He retorts, and suddenly you can’t remember what you were arguing for.

He finally tugs himself free, and you see him completely for the first time. Your mouth goes dry at the tidy cock that springs free from the underwear. Thick, not too long to enjoy, but ruddy and ready for pleasure.

Jack’s cock, like Jack, stood proud under your reactions. Your hips bucking up to press against the beast, and your sounds going even more breathless. He leaned over to kiss you again, looking in your eyes to check in.

“We’ll go slow, yeah?” You nod, opening your legs further. “Know it’s been a while.” He kissed your cheek sweetly when you scoffed at him.

Just as soon as he had lightened the mood, he brought the head of his cock to your entrance, pausing to look up at you. He pushed in, bouncing his gaze from your face to the opening stretching around the head of his dick.

His head seemed to push all the air out of your body with ease, your jaw dropped at how full you felt with just the small portion inside of you. His hand came down to reach for your clit, rubbing it in circles as some sort of added distraction from any discomfort.

“Keep breathing for me, sweetheart.” He encouraged, continuing his descent inside you. Your back arching off the bed, peaking your nipples back up to him, and he took pleasure in catching one of them while pushing in even more.

“Holy shit Jack!” You called out when the base of his hips finally pressed against you. He popped off your breast to catch you in another small kiss.

“You ready?” He pressed his forehead to yours, and you nodded.

Your walls pulsed around him as he pulled his hips back, and shook when they snapped forward again, gently. He watched you as his hips pulsed against you. The sounds are growing in volume, and when he brings your leg over his shoulder for a new angle, he knows he’s found it.

Pistoling into your g-spot, he allowed himself to slip into the pleasure of you completely wrapped around him. He felt his heart burst with joy, mingling in with the lust, you were completely surrendered to him. This woman, who had allowed herself so little trust and love, has completely surrendered to him.

His sole focus is your complete pleasure. He watched, keeping perfect time with his thrusts, he admired you on him. “You’re so brave, sweetheart.” He murmured, his mouth working faster than his brain could process.

“Jack!’ He presses into your G-spot, grinding down on it repeatedly.

“Such a brave girl, telling me how you feel.” He folds your body in half, continually rutting against you. “So proud of you.”

That’s when your body shakes, plucking out another orgasm at Jack’s praise. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can hardly feel anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. Jack’s hips steady against your body but growing sloppy with the grip you have on his cock.

“Where do you want me?” He asks, hands coming down to smooth the hair at the crown of your head. “Where should I cum, baby?”

“I-Inside.” You manage to get out before he’s thrusting wildly. He buries his face in your neck before releasing inside of you, painting you with his seed wildly.

You’re practically jelly by the time his hips come to rest against yours and he collapses on top of you.

He lifts his head, tucking one of the sweat-soaked hairs at your hairline back. “I’m gonna get you so many mugs to keep here.” He promised.

“As long as you’re going to be here to make the coffee.” You press a kiss to his cheek and rest your head against him.

“Told you, Sweetheart, I’ll always be there.” And you don’t even tease him about being such a sap, because you know it’s true. You know he’s always going to be right there next to you.

[thelittleastronautinspace]

KPOP DEMON HUNTERS AU, DAD!GWI-MA

I have Kpop demon hunters brain worms rn and I just can't stop thinking about this dad!gwi-ma au.

Alright, so gwi-ma used to be a human like 1000 years ago and was married, got turned into a demon somehow, probably the previous demon Lord and his wife dies, gwi-ma finds out humans reincarnate so he schemes and over throws the previous demon Lord and keeps sending demons to take humans souls to try and find his wife's soul and make his perfect world.

Fast forward to the first hunter trio that makes the honmoon and one is the reincarnate of his late wife, he fails to catch her and she dies, he is determined, fast forward and he finds her again as another hunter and instead of telling his demons to nab her he is able to take the form of a demon version of his original human form to go see her. She doesn't really remember him but is still interested in him, a win for gwi-ma.

Oops Rumi's born, the other hunters find out she's been with a demon and gwi-ma's physical form gets destroyed, gwi-ma freaks out and sends his demons to get his wife and Rumi out of there and to the demon realm. It does not go well, Rumi's mum dies in the altercation and the honmoon strengths and locks gwi-ma out. The story continues as normal with gwi-ma unable to gain access to the human realm so he keeps sending his demons to get souls to strengthen himself and to find a half human half demon girl and bring her to him. The honmoon is obscuring his ability to see and track Rumi.

The story continues to the fight in the bathhouse where Juni finds out Rumi is part demon. Juni goes back to gwi-ma to report he's found the half blood. Gwi-ma is pissed that the honmoon has turned his family against him. He promises Juni he will give him his mind wipe even if he fails against the Hunters as long as he brings Rumi to him. Juni goes to try and gain Rumi's trust and to learn about her to figure out how to capture her. Story continues as normal till we get to Gwi-ma appearing on stage, Gwi-ma doesn't insult Rumi just says things like "My my, aren't you tired of this hunter business, don't you want to rest and finally embrace yourself, love yourself. Have someone who loves you fully, come here child, come home."

But Rumi fights back and sings What it sounds like, Juni sacrifices himself like canon but in the final moments because Gwi-ma has consumed so many souls over the years he is just able to grab Rumi and pull her through before the honmoon shuts the tear. Gwi-ma drags Rumi into his flames in the demon realms and she doesn't burn but rather gets put in like a pocket dimension that puts her to sleep.

Gwi-ma makes a perfect dream world for him and Rumi where Rumi's mum is alive and her dad stays and demons and humans live in harmony, she can show her patterns freely, she can hang out with her girls all day and have fun with her dad and everything is perfect.

That's all I got rn, I'm tired but this has been ping ponging in my head non stop and I needed to post it.

Feel free to add onto this and if you make a fic out of this idea, tag me please

[aurumacadicus]

Hmm. I am considering.

--

Learning that the vigilante Iron Man was Tony Stark had really put a wrench in SHIELD's plans. The general idea had been to somehow sway Iron Man onto their side, get him to work with them. Natasha had even muttered that blackmail had been on the table after a particularly large Stark property was razed to the ground. When his identity had been revealed in battle, even Fury had looked shocked.

Steve had come to realize Tony Stark was not a man who could be leveraged. He had more money than God, could charm the right politicians, and had the military in the palm of his hand as they hoped for more Stark weapons someday. As a last-ditch effort, Steve had asked for a meeting with him to see if they couldn't come to some sort of agreement. It was dangerous for Iron Man to continue being a vigilante. With SHIELD, he would have some sort of protection. And he'd realized, watching Tony tap away at his phone, clearly only having accepted the meeting to see if they'd come, they had nothing he wanted.

"We could leak your identity to the media," Natasha had started with, and Tony had laughed, genuine mirth in his eyes as he asked, "Who would believe you?" And Steve had to admit, until the golden mask had been blown off and he'd seen Tony's bruised face underneath, he wouldn't have believed it himself.

"The insurance companies covering the damages of your blown up buildings might have something to say," Bruce had added, looking vaguely pained, and then had looked nauseous when Tony had replied, "I own the buildings. I don't put in claims." A quick text from Maria Hill confirmed that an agent had checked and it was true. Tony never made an insurance claim on any of the buildings that Iron Man damaged or destroyed.

"What if we started rumors that made Stark Industries stock tank?" Clint asked, genuinely curious, and Tony had simply clasped his hands on the table, smile friendly, even as he delivered a warning, "My CEO, Virginia Potts, might have something to say about people trying to mess with the stock market." Natasha had looked genuinely (if quietly) terrified at the invocation of Ms. Potts' name, so Steve took that to mean that getting on the wrong side of the business itself was the worst out of the three ideas.

"You have nothing I want," Tony continued, laughing, and spread his hands, gesturing at the room around him. "I'm set. I'm weeding out the weapons my ex-manager dealt under the table on property that I own without trying to make any money from insurance. No one has been hurt. In fact, Iron Man attacks when the buildings are mysteriously empty. You can hardly say I'm endangering anyone. Any other fights I get into, I make sure I don't attack first."

"You're good at goading people," Steve muttered under his breath, and grit his teeth as Tony just laughed again.

"And! I'm already contracted at SHIELD as a contractor," Tony added, crossing his arms over his chest smugly. "And Pepper has the terms of my contract ready for when you try to make me step one toe outside of it. She has been chomping at the bit to get back at you ever since she realized they'd sent an undercover agent into our company."

"...I thought Pepper liked me," Natasha said after a moment.

Tony gave a somewhat sympathetic shrug. "She's petty. It's not you she's mad at, just SHIELD as a whole. Well," he added before anyone else could say anything, looking at his watch. "Your ten minutes are up. Bye!"

"Seriously!?" Steve sputtered as Tony bounced out of his seat and began strutting out of the room. He found himself shoving his own chair back and standing.

"Steve, he's got us," Natasha sighed, but Steve ignored her. He'd dealt with Howard. He could figure out how to deal with Tony.

Steve followed Tony out of the room, lengthening his stride to catch up. Tony wasn't running, but he was clearly in a hurry, still checking his watch and looking around as he made his way toward the elevator to his private quarters where it was waiting, doors opened. Tony spared him an annoyed glance as he turned to face him, but Steve threw himself into the elevator before he could close the doors on him. He opened his mouth to say he'd known Tony's father.

"JARVIS, penthouse," Tony cut in flatly, and to his embarrassment, Steve tumbled onto the floor when the elevator jerked violently upward, as if on purpose.

"Ow," he wheezed, pushing himself up off the floor.

"Serves you right, Captain Trespass," Tony said, unimpressed. "And you will leave my penthouse after I do, or I'm having JARVIS treat you like an intruder and shooting you."

Steve sucked in a deep breath, then managed, "It's rude to outstay your welcome."

"And yet! Here you are," Tony huffed, raising an eyebrow at him. "I don't know what you expect to say. Natasha and Bruce dealt your strongest cards, and I've trumped them." He paused briefly, then added, "And don't try to bring up my old man. He's not the in you think he is. In fact, you're lucky I didn't punch you in your perfect teeth the moment I saw you."

Steve frowned, but before he could say anything or ask what that meant, the elevator slowed to a stop, and Tony was out the doors before they were even opened all the way. He lunged out after him before whatever JARVIS was could lock him inside and take him back down. He needed to figure out a way to get Tony to join them.

"There must be something SHIELD can do for you," Steve tried, stumbling after him as he walked toward the landing pad outside. "I can convince them. Just try me."

"I can get whatever I want," Tony sighed, turning to walk backwards so he could give Steve the full benefit of his rolled eyes. "I can buy it, or bribe for it, or even just hack in myself. Just face the facts, Steve. I'm not joining your stupid secret boy band."

Steve didn't know what that meant, because he hadn't gotten to boy bands on his list, but he understood the gist. "There's always something," he began, even though he was starting to understand that Tony was leagues ahead of him in arguments. He had an answer for everything. Steve couldn't expect to outwit him until he did some reading up on Tony and Stark Industries as a whole. "I have a lot of pull. Just try me."

Tony came to a stop and scowled at him. "Yeah? Then you better drop to your knees and bark like you want it."

Steve blinked, mouth dropping open slightly as he took the words in. He saw the corner of Tony's mouth twitch, and he knew immediately it was because he was ready to smirk in victory. He thought he'd won. Captain America would never go down on his knees, too proud, too powerful.

The last thing Steve found himself wanting was to give Tony that satisfaction, so he immediately dropped to his knees, jaw set. "How's this?" he growled, glaring up at him.

To his surprise, Tony froze where he was, mouth dropped open to gape at him. It was better than the smirk he'd almost given him, Steve figured grimly, but it wasn't giving 'I'll at least think about it' vibes like he'd hoped. Then he noticed that Tony's cheeks were quickly filling with color. He looked... embarrassed? Scared? Mortified seemed the only correct term. Steve blinked up at him, surprised. He'd read enough about Tony Stark to know that he was... quite experienced, he decided. But Steve had managed to catch him off guard. He felt... powerful, for a moment. Victorious.

Tony must have noticed, because he rallied quickly, turning on his heel to stomp toward the landing pad. "JARVIS, remove Captain Creep from the premises," he barked, even though Steve could see that his ears were now turning pink, and he couldn't help but grin viciously even as he stood and backed his way toward the elevator. This was something he could work with.

.-.

The next time Tony showed up at SHIELD for a contractors meeting, Steve managed to get himself assigned as his escort to the conference room. Tony started talking as soon as he saw him, apparently not willing to give him a moment to speak. He was going to try and ignore what had happened and his response to it. Steve swallowed back his urge to smirk as he paused to open the door for him.

"Well, good talking to you, hope to never see you again," Tony added as he moved to step through.

Steve leaned in so his lips almost brushed Tony's ear and murmured, "Woof." Then he pulled back, grinning, as he watched Tony's face flood with heat. He turned and left before Tony could gather his wits and punch him in the teeth like he'd warned him he should have.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

some stuck gambit au thoughts

“Papa? The prophecy?”

“The prophecy was like a lot of prophecies. It could be interpreted in a few different ways.

‘When the world is encased in shadow in the day,

And linages are secure to all Guilds,

A young one will come as a ray.

Their eyes will burn, 

Their hair flaming,

And will be ready to learn.

This youth will unite the Guilds,

In health, wealth, peace,

As a new age builds. ‘“

Remy tilts his head slowly, thinking over the prophecy's words. 

“Why do you think thats Remy?”

Victor asks, arms squeezing gently around Remy’s chest. Remy runs his hands over Victor’s arms. Jean Luc gives a small sigh.

“I didnt. There was an eclipse the day I brought Remy home. But I didnt think about it. And I and Marius the leader of the Assassins both had our heir born at the time. Then… well…”

“I can see how my eyes can be seen as burning.”

Remy murmurs. His stomach twists. 

“Papa how am I supposed to unite the Guilds? I… I know Im friends with Bella mais… that dont mean I can get them all to like me, much less our whole guild? You dont expect… marriage?”

Remy asks, the idea turning his stomach. Sure, he likes Bella. But… love her? No. Jean Luc’s calloused hand touches his face.

“Non. non. I didnt want that for you. I got to marry for love. All my children will get to marry for love too.”

Jean Luc softly says.

“Then… Then how am I supposed to unite the guilds??!!! I-I-Im just me!!”

He feels fear and anxiety rising up. Henri makes a noise from his other side and squeezes his shoulder. 

“Remy, I- little gods. Im not telling you this because I expect you to unite the Guilds. You never gotta do nothin’ that you dont want to. I… other people have seen these signs and drawin their own conclusions. And I felt it was time to let you know. Mais I dont want you stressing trying to figure out to bring peace and unite the guilds.”

“If there was peace you wouldnt be in as much danger!” Remy protests straightening. “I want to do something!”

Victor nuzzles his head gently. Jean Luc pats Remy’s cheek before oulling away.

“You dont need to feel pressured to do anything. The prophecy could be about someone else.”

“Or it's about me. Either way… I still want to be of use to the guild. I want to be helpful. I-...”

Remy trails off. He has a lot of emotions rolling around his chest and he is not sure how to express them all. He wants to help the Guild. He wants to live alone with Creed. He wants to make sure his family is safe. He wants a space where he does not worry about anyone intruding. 

“Remy… what do you think of becoming a seer?”

The question shocks Remy out of his thoughts.

“There hasn't been a seer in centuries, Papa.”

Henri says softly. Victor makes a noise, but Remy finds himself warming to the idea.

“Papa… why?”

He asks, curiosity swirling over him.

“Tante Mattie brought it up. She can read cards and bones, but prophecy makin’ is a harder skill for those who can see. We… we got old documents from the last seer, who got things transcribed. The last seer was shared by the two guilds, and while they were not… at peace it was an armistice. Some of the documents are with the Assassins Guild.”

Jean Luc states. Remy bites his lip. He wriggles out of Victor’s arms and starts to pace, his mind swirl with thoughts.

“You dont have to, Remy.”

Jean Luc softly says. Remy stops and nods his head sharply.

“Get the documents. And Imma make a call. Meet me back in the spare study when you got them. Victor?”

“Comin’ cub.”

Victor takes his hand and the two walk out of the room. Remy squeezes his hand tight.

“Whore you callin’ cub?”

Victor asks as Remy finds his way to the wall phone in the kitchen. Remy pauses.

“Bella. I gotta… I cant exactly become a seer for both Guilds if one of the Guilds dont trust me.”

[destinysbounty]

Okay I decided fuck it, I'm gonna try my hand at a mergeswap au with Lloyd and Zane swapped (Lloyd getting pod-coma'd and Zane being the new monastery keeper + second-gen teacher). Of course a lot of other characters are getting swapped around too, so here are my current thoughts on all that so far.

As stated, Zane wakes up at the monastery after the Merge. Zane doesn't take to the solitude well, and kinda comes unglued during the few weeks until someone shows up. Luckily, someone finally does show up -- but rather than Kai, it's Nya.

Nya took Kai's place on the Monstrosity Route. The original miniseries is about learning to balance ruthlessness and mercy, knowing when to fight and when to show compassion - and although Kai is absolutely the right person for that storyline, Nya absolutely *isn't*. She is way too bloodthirsty (affectionate) to make it out of the Land of Monsters with her humanity intact. I say this as Nya's biggest lover and defender. She would not hesitate to do whatever it takes to get home, even at the cost or her morals, values, and teachings as a ninja. She would recognize the monstrous, bloodthirsty ways this land is changing her, but she wouldn't care. She'd just keep fighting and pushing and striving to get home by any means necessary. She'd keep shoving down and bottling up all her guilt/shame...until she sees Zane again, and the full weight of her actions hit her at once. Seeing someone from Before and realizing that she has once again sacrificed her humanity, her sense of self, for the sake of her family....yeah, that would mess her up.

I've also seen some other posts commenting that it makes sense thematically that Bug Kai didn't happen, since his entire arc is about preserving his humanity. But Nya? She doesn't get that same luxury. My brain is telling me she comes out with some fun new centipede parts, but upon meeting up with Zane she begs him to remove them so no one can know of her shame. She asks him to never tell their friends, to especially never tell Kai or Jay, because she can't bear the thought of them looking at her differently because of it.

So it goes like this: Zane is at the monastery. He's been trying to recoup his long-atrophied sixth sense well enough to catch visions of where his friends are, when Nya stumbles into the monastery cold and bloody and with weird bug-like growths all over her body (I am at my core a lover of body horror). She collapses in his arms, and he spends several days nursing her back to health. When she awakens, she initially refuses to explain what happened and insists it's nothing. But after a while Zane gently encourages her open up, to which she breaks down and explains what happened/where the bug growths came from. She begs him to remove them and to never tell anyone else, to which he reluctantly agrees.

After Nya has healed, she decides to go back out there and look for the others. Despite Zane's insistence on joining her, she convinces him that one of them needs to stay behind in case someone else shows up looking for them. And with her so emotionally fraught and vulnerable after everything she's suffered, Zane doesn't have it in his heart to say no to her right now. Even though he thinks it is absolutely a bad idea to send her right back out into the Merged Lands so soon after her recovery.

Zane still guards his post dutifully of course, never resting or leaving the monastery out of a steadily worsening paranoia that his friends will show up the moment he has his back turned and then leave before he can meet with them (some kind of parallel to Echo dutifully awaiting Julien's return at the lighthouse).

In the meantime, Zane continues to meditate and cultivate his sixth sense, and once again begins receiving the visions and premonitions that came to him so naturally in his youth. And sure, he catches glimpses of a lot of things, just none about his friends. But of course that changes eventually, when one day his visions finally give him a flash of something important - a brief image of Lloyd's ninja hood, and the premonition that it's located somewhere in the Crossroads. But rather than the reunion he'd been expecting, he instead finds Arin, Sora, and Riyu - who, against his better judgement, convince him to train them.

As for the others:

Because I love making my favs suffer, Jay gets put into Pixal's coma pod. So Nya still has to wait a really long time for Jay to come back to her. Tournament of Sources NEEDS to remain in the realm of Sad Nya Hours and I stand by that. Seabound awakened the Jaya angst demons within me and there's no putting that genie back in the teapot now

Lloyd...okay, I'm of a few different mindsets about his situation. Option A is that he just does a standard swap with Zane - sleeps through the Merge, wakes up in the weird coma pod within the Imperium Gate, and promptly feels horrible guilt over not being there while all his friends were busy suffering. He becomes the Conduit, he and Zane bond over visions, and the story happens as standard from there.

Option B is that he is imprisoned by Imperium and used as a fuel source (he's the part-dragon son of a god with energy powers, what do you expect). Either he's just imprisoned alongside the other dragons as standard, or he gets a treatment similar to the Sourcr Dragon. I'm partly leaning towards the latter option, with the season 1 finale acquiring the extra goal of saving/freeing Lloyd. Now Zane is the Conduit, and his visions get super-charged, and things just kinda spiral downhill from there. Because as we all know, Zane has a fantastic track record with being a Conduit for absurd amounts of godly power (Golden Armor in s3, the Forbidden Scroll in s11, the Manifestation Gate in s12...need I say more?)

As for who gets the Administration/Rogue Route, I'm torn between giving that to Pixal or Kai. On the one hand, having Zane as the new focus by way of ninja teacher means making Pixal as the Rogue equivalent is the logical choice. It prolongs the fulfillment of Zane's quest to find all his loved ones by saving his closest companion for last, and putting them at odds in that way could add a fun spin to their dynamic. The only problem I can see is that Pixal doesn't have an element, and as such she has no reason to be in the Tournament of Sources/get recruited by Ras. Unless a new element awakens in her like it did for a lot of other people, I suppose, but I have mixed feelings about that.

On the other hand, giving it to Kai makes for some damn good RGB angst. If you were to rank all of the Merge outcomes based on how badly they'd fuck with Kai, the Administration is easily his worst outcome. His love for his family and his desire to protect them is his primary motivator, - and if Kai has no memory, not of his family or his friends or any of the things that push him forward, what does that leave him with? A dead-end office job with nothing to live for, nothing to lose, and no reason to keep going. Jay at least managed to find enjoyment in his status as a shitty manager, but I struggle to imagine a scenario where Kai would be an Administration operative and not feel deeply, profoundly depressed and aimless. Which is fantastic fodder for this AU, I love angst. I also love that it keeps the canon element of Nya facing off against someone she loves but who no longer remembers her. It might even be worse if it was her brother instead of her yang, leaving her as the sole witness to a lifetime of childhood memories. The boy who raised her, whose tender hands cared for her with all the love he had, is now the vicious and hateful man who would not hesitate to kill her on the spot. I'm feeling very normal about that, trust me.

Cole is another one I'm a bit hazy about. I think I'm gonna tentatively put him in Nya's place helping the Kraggling war, which gives me a great excuse for some good tsunami duo and glacier duo content. And also the yet unexplored trio of Cole, Nya, and Zane, which could be a fun dynamic! I'm gonna go ahead and call them the Titanic Trio for now, until a better name occurs to me (get it? Because glacier plus water plus ships -).

This does of course leave the Lost Things Route wide open. I think if I dont put Pixal in the Administration, it'd be interesting to put her here instead and see what happens. Although Geo and Cole do still meet and fall in love. That bit is non-negotiable.

Anyway, these are just a bunch of miscellaneous and generally haphazard thoughts about my approach to the mergeswap au premise. Let me know what yall think about this, and if you'd like to see me develop this concept some more!

[cosycryptid]

Preparing For Battle - Part 4

Eddie's bandmates are eager to know how things are going, Robin is curious about the source of Steve's sudden good mood and Eddie and Wayne help Steve learn something about himself. On AO3: [Here] Part: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

The band is gathered at their usual table, trays of mystery meat and soggy fries in front of them. All three of them are watching Eddie, who for once, is not talking. He’s just sitting there, chin in hand, pushing a frankly horrific amalgamation of potato and meat in slow circles around his tray.

Jeff becomes impatient. “So?” he asks.

Eddie looks up and seems to notice the attention on him. “So... what?”

“So wh-” Gareth launches a fry at him that lands perfectly in his hair. “So, what did Harrington say? You tested the waters with him yesterday, right?”

Eddie nods, detangling the fry.

“Well, does he wanna swim in them?” Gareth follows up with an eyebrow wiggle.

“Yeah, come on, man,” Grant chimes in. “You’re giving us nothing here.”

Eddie sighs dramatically. “You guys are relentless.”

“That’s because you’re being suspiciously quiet,” Jeff says, pointing his fork at him. “You’re never quiet. You once narrated everything you did for an entire day.”

“I was trying something new,” Eddie mutters.

Gareth leans in, eyes narrowed. “So? What happened? Did he sing? Did he run away screaming? Did you call him ‘sweetheart’ or something and immediately regret it?”

Eddie’s ears go pink. “I might’ve called him ‘Big Boy’ first.”

Grant chokes on his juice. “You what?”

“It just slipped out!” Eddie groans, burying his face in his hands. “I was trying to be cool and casual, and then he was saying he preferred my trailer to his place, and that Wayne’s stupid mug collection was cool, and I... sounded like a flirty trucker.”

Jeff is wheezing. “Oh my god. Did he punch you?”

“No! He laughed,” Eddie says, peeking through his fingers. “And then he laughed again later on when I accidentally called him ‘sweetheart.’”

He sits up straighter, suddenly animated. “Oh—and get this. He listened to Dio. Completely unprompted. Said it was awesome. Said he rewound ‘Rainbow in the Dark’ just to hear the solo again.”

The table goes quiet.

“And then he sang,” Eddie adds, softer now. “And it was really good. Like... really good.”

A beat.

“So,” Gareth says slowly, “is he in? And am I best man at your wedding? Because I will fight both of these other fuckers for the position if I have to.”

He gestures at the others.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Eddie groans, shaking his head. “He’s straight.”

“Sure he is,” Jeff mutters. “Because a straight guy lets another guy call him ‘Big Boy’ and ‘sweetheart’ and listens to an entirely new genre of music for him.”

Eddie ignores him. “And no, he hasn’t decided yet. He wants to try singing some of our original stuff first. See if it feels right. So, he’s coming over again tonight. But he’s open to it. He’s thinking about it.”

Grant raises an eyebrow. “And how do you feel about it?”

Eddie shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I think he’d be great. He’s got the voice, the stage presence—well, we’ll work on that part. But yeah. I think he could be exactly what we need.”

Jeff grins. “And you’re not just saying that because he complimented your home and your taste in music and made you blush?”

Eddie throws a fry at him. “Shut up.”

Gareth smirks. “You’re totally gone for him.”

“I am professionally interested in his vocal abilities,” Eddie says, nose in the air.

“Sure,” Grant says. “And I bet you’re also professionally interested in the way he would look in ripped jeans.”

Eddie groans and drops his head to the table. “I hate all of you.”

But he’s smiling.

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

For the first time in a long while, Robin has no idea what’s going on with Steve.

Usually, she can read him like a book—a slightly dog-eared, overconfident book with too much hair product—but today, he’s a mystery.

He’d shown up to pick her up for their morning shift smiling. At 6:30 a.m. Who the hell smiles at 6:30 in the morning?

Then there was the cacophony blasting from his stereo. Not his usual radio station or some Top 40 nonsense, but full-on guitar solos and screaming vocals. Robin had to veto it before her brain melted, but Steve? He’d just nodded along like he was enjoying it.

And the weirdest part? He stayed cheerful. Even the rude customers didn’t faze him. Normally, he’d be all sighs and dramatic eyerolls, hands on hips like a soap opera diva. But today? He just smiled, nodded, and moved on like he was floating through the day on a cloud of sunshine.

It was... nice. But also bizarre.

Especially when they hit a lull and Steve started humming along to the radio. That was Robin’s breaking point.

She slammed her book shut and turned to him.

“Okay. What gives?”

Steve blinked, looking up from the counter like he’d just been pulled out of a dream. “Huh?” he said blankly. “What do you mean?”

“What do I me—Steve, you’ve been floating around the store with this dreamy look on your face all day, and now you’re humming along to the radio?” Robin says, narrowing her eyes. “It’s like…”

She gasps, leaning dramatically into his space like she’s about to uncover a state secret. “Oh my God. You’ve been holding out on me. Who is she, Steve?”

Steve blinks. “Who is who?”

“The girl who’s making you act even more airheaded than usual.”

“There is no girl,” Steve says, frowning. “I’m just having a good day. Is that a crime now?”

“Steve, it’s the Friday shift. You’re never happy on a Friday shift—”

Robin cuts herself off, eyes going wide. “Wait. It’s Friday. Yesterday was Thursday.”

“Yes, Rob,” Steve says slowly, giving her a confused smile. “We’ve cracked the calendar. What does that have to do with anything?”

“No, no, no,” she says, pointing at him like she’s just solved a murder. “Thursday was your mysterious little hangout with Eddie Munson.”

Steve’s smile falters just slightly.

“And now here you are,” Robin continues, relentless. “All smiley and humming and weirdly chipper like some kind of cursed morning person. So something definitely happened. Spill, Steve. You’ve been vague about this whole thing from the start, and I’m dying to know what could possibly make you act like this.”

She softens her voice, tilting her head and giving him the full sad-eyes-and-pout combo. “I thought we told each other everything.”

“Fine,” Steve sighs, defeated. He really needs to build up a resistance to Robin’s manipulation tactics. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if I was actually going to go through with it. But... Eddie caught me singing along to the radio the other day—when I thought I was alone—and he asked me to sing for his band.”

Robin stares at him like he’s just told her he’s moving to Mars. Her mouth opens, then closes again. Steve keeps his expression serious, trying to look as genuine as possible.

“Wait—you’re serious?”

“Yup.”

“You can sing?”

“I guess so,” Steve shrugs.

Robin lets out a slightly unhinged laugh and shakes her head. “No, see, because Eddie is a musician. If he thinks you’re good, then you must be really good.” She smacks his shoulder. “How has no one ever heard about this? Why didn’t you tell me you had a secret talent?”

“I didn’t know I was good at it,” Steve says honestly. “And I didn’t think it mattered. So I like to sing. What does that have to do with anything? It’s not like I’m gonna run off and try to be famous or something. I’m not Tammy Thompson.”

“It matters to me, Dingus,” Robin says, exasperated. “I’m your best friend. I want to know the things you care about. That’s what friends do. How often do I talk your ear off about band stuff or obscure movies?”

“Yeah, but that’s different. Those are, like... your things, you know?”

Robin softens. “What if singing is your thing? When was the last time you even had a thing that was yours?”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again. He frowns, thinking. “Babysitting. Flirting. Great hair. Those are my things, Rob.”

Robin scoffs. “That’s not a personality, Steve. That’s a résumé for a teen drama side character.”

Steve chuckles, but it fades quickly. “I mean... yeah. I guess it’s kind of sad when you say it out loud.” He sighs. “I don’t really have a hobby. Not one I actually enjoy. Even my dad has a hobby. It’s collecting vintage spoons, which is weird. But still, he’s got something.”

Robin watches him for a moment, her teasing expression softening into something more thoughtful.

“So what was the last thing you really cared about?” she asks gently.

Steve thinks for a beat. ���Probably swimming. But even that I wasn’t really into by the end. It just felt like something I was supposed to do, and then the thing happened with Barb in my pool, which also kind of put me off.”

“Yeah, I can see how someone dying in your pool would be a bit of a buzzkill,” Robin says softly. She tries a different tactic. “How does singing make you feel?”

Steve shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—like he’s trying to find the right words and isn’t sure he’s allowed to say them out loud.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s weird. When I’m singing, it’s like everything else just kind of fades out. Like I’m not thinking about what I’m supposed to be doing or who I’m supposed to be. I’m just... there. In it.”

Robin watches him closely, her teasing gone, replaced by something softer.

“That doesn’t sound weird,” she says. “That sounds like peace.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. I’ve never really had something that felt like mine, you know? Not sports, not school, not even the babysitting thing. But this? It felt good. Like, really good. And I didn’t want to ruin it by talking about it too soon.”

Robin nods, understanding. “You’re allowed to have things that are just for you, Steve. But you’re also allowed to share them. Especially with people who care about you.”

Steve gives her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Rob.”

She bumps his shoulder with hers. “Anytime, Dingus. Now, tell me everything. What was Eddie’s place like? What was Eddie like? Did you guys do any more of that awkward flirting I witnessed the other day?”

Steve groans, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re impossible.”

Robin just grins, clearly pleased with herself. “And yet, you love me. Now spill.”

Steve leans back against the counter, fiddling with the edge of a VHS case. “Eddie’s place was honestly kind of great. It’s small, yeah, but it feels lived in. Like, warm. There’s stuff everywhere—books, band posters, mugs—but it doesn’t feel messy. It feels way nicer than the big empty place I live in.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “So, chaotic but cozy?”

“Exactly,” Steve says, smiling a little. “And he was... I don’t know. He was just really cool about everything. Made me feel comfortable.”

Robin watches him closely. “And did you sing?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. I sang. Just a Fleetwood Mac song to start with, but... it went well, I sounded good, I think. And he was so excited, Rob. I ended up singing more songs. At one point he started playing backing music on his guitar and he’s really good. Also, every time I finished a song, he was like full-on beaming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look that happy about something I did.”

Robin softens. “That’s because you’re used to people expecting things from you, not appreciating them.”

Steve shrugs, but he doesn’t argue.

Then he remembers other details and flushes. Because there’s no hiding anything when it comes to him and Robin, he blurts out the most surprising thing he experienced. “He also kind of called me ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Big Boy.’ And... I didn’t mind it.”

Robin chokes on a laugh. “Big Boy?!”

“I know,” Steve groans, covering his face. “He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

Robin is practically vibrating with glee. “Steve. Steven. He likes you.”

Steve peeks at her through his fingers. “I don’t even know if he meant it like that.”

Robin just smirks. “Oh, he meant it like that. Guys don’t just call other guys flirty pet names for no reason. When are you seeing him again?”

“Tonight,” Steve admits. “I’m going back over to his place to learn some of the band’s songs and make my decision.”

Robin leans back, arms crossed, but her expression is warm. “Well, you know I’m fully supportive of all your ideas—stupid or not,” she says with a smile. “But I don’t think you’d be stupid to say yes to this one. It sounds like it could be good for you.”

Steve nods slowly, like he’s still trying to convince himself of that. “Yeah. I mean... it’s scary. But it also feels kind of exciting? Like maybe this is something I could actually be good at. Something that’s mine.”

Robin smiles, softer now. “Then go for it. Worst case, you try it and decide it’s not for you. Best case? You get to invite all of us to go watch you perform because we won’t let you hear the end of it if you don’t.”

Steve groans. “We cannot tell Dustin about this. He’s going to ‘I told you so’ me to death about how Eddie is actually cool, and he knew I’d enjoy hanging out with him.”

The bell rang above the door. “Ah, Henderson gave me the same glowing review he gave you it seems.”

Steve jumps and twists to face the front where Eddie is stood grinning.

“Eddie,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “Hey.”

Eddie steps fully into the store, the grin on his face somehow both smug and genuinely delighted. He’s wearing a battered denim vest over a faded band tee, and his hair looks like it’s been freshly fluffed by the wind. Robin lies about needing to clean something in one of the aisles and Steve would be thankful that she’s giving them space, but he knows she’s listening in from behind the stacks.

“Hey, Stevie. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, clearly lying. “I just wanted to talk to you about our plans for tonight.”

Robin pokes her head out from behind the shelves and mouths ‘Stevie?’.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, trying to ignore both Robin and the way his heart drops at the prospect of their plans changing. “Are we still on for hanging out and going through a few of your songs?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Eddie says. “It turns out, my uncle Wayne is now going to be home tonight. I just wanted to check if you’re okay with that. Because I’m happy to reschedule or we could go somewhere else if you’re not. We can still practice just not with the microphone because he’ll probably be watching his shows.”

Steve’s shoulders drop in visible relief. “Oh, that’s totally fine,” he says quickly. “I don’t mind if Wayne’s there. I mean, it’s his place too, right?”

Eddie’s grin softens into something more genuine. “Yeah, he just likes his routine, you know? He’ll probably be in the living room, but he won’t bother us. I just didn’t want you to feel weird about it.”

“No weird feelings about it, I promise,” Steve says. “As if I’d pass up the chance to find out what kind of things you sing about.”

Eddie’s grin turns a little bashful. “Oh, you’re in for it now. I’ve got songs about everything from dragons to heartbreak to the time I accidentally set my amp on fire.”

“That last one better be a power ballad.”

“It’s more of a chaotic anthem, actually,” Eddie says, eyes twinkling.

Steve laughs openly. “Of course, what else would it be?”

Eddie smirks. “So, Henderson’s been talking about me? All good things, I hope.”

Steve grins, leaning casually against the counter. “Oh yeah. Nonstop praise. You’re basically a local legend in the Henderson household.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that so?”

“Apparently, you’re the coolest guy in Hawkins,” Steve says, mock-serious. “You’ve got the best music taste, the best hair—second only to mine, obviously—and you’re, quote, ‘An absolutely insane storyteller.’”

Eddie smiles, clearly delighted. “Dustin said that?” Steve nods and Eddie presses a hand to his chest, feigning emotion. “I’m touched. Truly. I’ll have to thank the little gremlin next time I see him.”

“You said he spoke to you about me too, right?” Steve asks.

“Oh yeah, the kid praises the ground you walk on,” Eddie confirms. “At first it was annoying and I couldn’t figure out why a nerdy kid would practically idol worship you, but now I’m starting to get it I think.”

“Well, I have yet to see evidence of your storytelling abilities, but I’m starting to think he was right about you too.”

Steve swears he hears a choking sound from Robin’s direction.

Eddie’s smile falters for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting that kind of compliment. But then it returns, softer this time. “Careful, Harrington,” he says, voice low and teasing. “Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Steve shrugs, trying to play it cool despite the warmth creeping up his neck. “Maybe I do.”

From behind the shelves, Robin lets out a very obvious cough-cough and Steve groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Eddie laughs, full and bright. “I like her.”

“She’s the worst,” Steve mutters, but he’s smiling.

Eddie takes a step back toward the door, still grinning. “I’ll see you tonight, Stevie. Don’t be late. I’ve got a whole setlist with your name on it.”

Steve watches him go, the bell above the door jingling as it swings shut behind him.

Robin reappears a second later, arms crossed, and eyebrows raised. “So. Stevie, huh?”

Steve sighs. “Don’t.”

Robin just smirks. “Too late. I’m adding it to my ‘evidence Eddie Munson has a massive crush on Steve’ list.”

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

Eddie’s well-loved lyric book trembles in Steve’s hands and the pages flutter. It makes the words that just won’t stay put on the page even harder to read.

On the opposite end of the bed, Eddie watches him with that open, expectant look. His expression is hopeful, and he’s being far too patient. Steve’s heart sinks

He had known reading was a problem for him. He should’ve known it would be an issue here too. For some reason, he had convinced himself that maybe this would be different. Maybe the words would somehow work with him for once because this actually mattered to him. But they weren’t.

He’s been staring at the same verse for so long that he’s heard Wayne’s TV cycle through at least two ad breaks. His head is starting to spin as he tries to force the letters to stay put. The quiet between them is starting to feel heavy with tension and something is starting to sneak into Eddie’s observant eyes.

Steve’s trying so hard not to make it obvious that he’s struggling. If he can’t learn the words, he’s going to set the entire band back. And there’s real money at stake here-money that could make a huge difference for Eddie and the band.

Maybe if he asks nicely, Eddie will let him take the book home so he can struggle his way through learning them over the weekend. Oh, but he has the kids on the weekend. He’s not going to have time.

It’s starting to feel hopeless.

“Sorry I’m taking so long, man,” Steve apologises, trying his best to keep his voice casual even as shame makes his face flush. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

“That’s okay. Take your time, sweetheart. There’s no rush,” Eddie says softly, but his eyes are shining with concern. “Are you sure that’s all though? Because you don’t have to pretend with me. You can tell me anything, I’m not going to judge you.” He pauses. “Well, I might judge you a little if the problem is you don’t like my lyrics because I know for a fact, they’re genius.”

“No, no. It’s not the lyrics. I promise!” Steve rushes to assure him, his stomach dropping at the idea of making Eddie feel bad about his lyrics. “I just,” he lets out a shaky breath. “There’s nothing wrong with the lyrics, but there is something wrong with me. I don’t think this is going to work, Eddie. You don’t want me in your band.”

Eddie’s expression is pained; he shifts down the bed and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Why not, honey? What do you think is wrong with you?”

The new term of endearment flies right over Steve’s head, unnoticed as he drops his gaze to the messy carpet.

“I find it really hard to read,” Steve admits quietly. “It takes me forever and I get these headaches from the words moving around. I think...” He hesitates, voice catching. “I think I’m just too stupid to get any of it to stick. So, I don’t think I can do this.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything right away, and Steve doesn’t dare look up to take a peek at his reaction. But Eddie’s hand on his shoulder squeezes a little, firm and steady.

“That day at Family Video,” Eddie says gently. “You were reading Lord of the Rings. Were you struggling like this then too?”

There’s no judgment in his voice. Just curiosity. Kindness.

Steve nods. “Yeah. I wanted to read it to surprise Dustin. He made some joke about how I wasn’t smart enough to get it. I’ve still only made it twelve pages in,” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “It’ll probably take me all year. But I have to finish it now, just to see the look on that little shithead’s face.”

Eddie chuckles, and the sound is warm, grounding. “Steve, I don’t think you’re stupid. Not even a little.”

Steve’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “You don’t?”

“Nope,” Eddie says, smiling. “We’re clearly hearing two different stories here. I heard that reading is physically difficult for you, but you’re still doing it. You’re reading The Fellowship of the Ring, for Dustin, even though it gives you headaches. That’s not stupid. That’s badass.”

Steve blinks, stunned into silence.

“And,” Eddie adds, eyes twinkling, “Dustin better watch his back next time his character splits from the party in my campaign for even implying it.”

Steve laughs, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Don’t be too hard on him. He can be blunt sometimes. Like, he doesn’t even realize he’s saying something kind of shitty. But I know D&D means a lot to him. If anything bad happened to his character, he’d probably act like it was the end of the world.”

Eddie’s grin turns devilish. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours, Stevie. I’m not gonna kill his character, but I might put the fear of God into him. Just a little.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Just a little?”

“He deserves it,” Eddie says with mock indignation. “He’s been questioning my calls way too much lately. Gotta remind him who the real Dungeon Master is.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling fondly. “I’ll never understand this game.”

“That’s a shame,” Eddie says, pouting dramatically. “I was hoping I could convince you to play one day.”

“Stop making that face,” Steve says, nudging him with his elbow. “I never said I wouldn’t.”

Eddie’s face instantly lights up.

“I will take that,” he gently nudges Steve. “C’mon. We’re going to talk to Wayne.”

Steve hesitates but stands and walks with him. “Why?”

“You said when you try to read the words move around, right?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t know where Eddie’s going with this, but he’ll go along with it.

Wayne’s sitting in his recliner, a mug of coffee in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He looks up as they enter, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, Wayne, this is Steve,” Eddie says, guiding Steve to sit on the couch and flopping down next to him. “He’s a new friend.”

“Hey, kid,” Wayne says, confused.

Steve waves awkwardly. “Hi, Mr. Munson.”

“Wayne’s fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve answers. “I like your mug collection. It’s really cool.”

Eddie turns to him with wide eyes, but it’s too late.

“Oh really?” Wayne perks up with a surprised smile, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Well, it’s nice to see ya finally brought home a friend with some taste, Eddie. Let me tell you where I got-”

Eddie groans and slaps a hand over his face, “No, no, no. We are not doing the full mug collection tour right now. We’ve got something important to talk about.”

Wayne chuckles, clearly delighted. “Well, I’ll give Steve the short version then. This one’s from a truck stop in Missouri, and that one over there with the raccoon? Got it at a flea market in—”

“Wayne,” Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Focus.”

Wayne smirks. “Alright, alright. What’s so important you’re interruptin’ a perfectly good mug appreciation moment?”

“Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

Wayne shrugs. “Sure, long as it ain’t about my chili recipe. That’s goin’ to the grave with me.”

Eddie grins, then turns serious. “Can you tell Steve what it’s like for you when you try to read?”

Wayne sets his mug down, eyes flicking to Steve. “Well… letters don’t like to stay still. They jump around, swap places. Sometimes I read the same line five times and still don’t know what it said. Gives me a headache if I push too long.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Wait. That’s... that’s exactly what happens to me.”

Wayne nods slowly. “Ain’t just you, kid. I’ve had it my whole life. Found out later it’s called dyslexia. Might be worth talkin’ to your folks about it. There’s ways to work with it, once you know.”

Steve sits back, stunned. “I thought I was just… dumb.”

Wayne’s voice is firm. “You’re not dumb. You just learn different.”

Eddie claps a hand on Steve’s knee. “See? Told you. Wayne’s one of the smartest guys I know, and he deals with the same thing.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Wayne teases.

“Well, you took me in,” Eddie replies with a grin. “That’s a wise decision if you ask me.”

Steve gives a shaky laugh, still processing.

Eddie leans in, eyes bright. “Okay, so here’s my idea. You’re having trouble reading the lyrics, right? What if I sing them to you, and you repeat them back? Like call and response.”

Steve blinks. “Like… learning by ear?”

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “You’ve got a good ear, Harrington. You remember melodies, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then let’s try it. We’ll go verse by verse. No pressure, no rush.”

Wayne smiles from his chair. “Sounds like a damn good plan to me.”

“And,” Eddie says. “I’m gonna help you get through the Lord of the Rings books. Mostly for selfish reasons, but also because I know you want to.”

“I couldn’t ask you to-”

“Well, I’m offering,” Eddie cuts in, firm but kind. “So there.”

“There’s no shame in acceptin’ a little help when you need it,” Wayne says. “Trust me, kid. You’re probably doin’ Eddie a favor anyway. The boy loves talkin’ about those weird little guys.”

“Hobbits, Wayne,” Eddie says, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply like he’s summoning patience. “They’re called Hobbits.”

“I know, kid,” Wayne chuckles. “I’m just pullin’ your leg.” Then he turns to Steve, who can’t quite shake the warm feeling blooming in his chest. “So anyway, Steve, this mug with the raccoon? Got it from a flea market in—”

[rickybobbydan]

13. The Spaces Between

Danile Ricciardo x Fem!OC Driver

Summary: Barcelona brings out the truth, the ugly, the good, and the bad. But for Solana, it's a measure of resilience against the speculations and the rumors. She has to rise above it in order to see through the haze and find Daniel.

Warnings: Misogyny, self doubt, avoidance

Previous || Next

Words: 3.3k+

Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya – May 8–10, 2015 Round 5 of the 2015 Formula 1 World Championship

There’s something about Spain that doesn’t let you lie.

Maybe it’s the grit in the air, the way it scours your skin and settles into the creases of your fireproofs like a second layer of scrutiny. Maybe it’s the track itself—a circuit that doesn’t flatter weaknesses, that punishes anything less than perfection. Every team brings upgrades to Barcelona. Every engineer whispers the same anxious prayer into their headset: Let the data be right.

Barcelona is the measure of truth.

The engineers call it a benchmark. The veterans call it a graveyard for false hope.

Solana calls it a mirror. Barcelona is both a reset and a reckoning.

After four rounds of long flights, champagne podiums, stolen glances, and whispered questions, Europe feels like stepping into the heart of the storm. The pecking order is starting to form. No more surprises. No more luck. Now is when reputations calcify—or collapse. Europe feels heavier. Closer. Realer. The margins are thinner. The questions sharper.

Is she still the fastest? Is she still focused?

Is she still Ferrari’s best shot at the crown?

Or has she already peaked?

The rumors haven’t stopped since Bahrain. The helmet tap in Bahrain. The post-race embrace caught on camera. The press conference where she didn’t deny it. The photo in the medical tent. The footage of Daniel brushing his thumb across her hand in parc fermé. The not-quite-kiss caught in a reflection on a hotel window. Solana has learned to live with noise. But this is different.

This noise has a name.

And that name is Daniel Ricciardo.

And as reigning world champion, Solana walks into the paddock under a microscope.

Not just for her lap times. Not just for the Prancing Horse stitched across her chest.

But because of everything else.

The helmet tap in Bahrain. The post-race embrace caught on camera. The press conference where she didn’t deny it. The kiss no one saw—but everyone now imagines.

Solana Villarosa and Daniel Ricciardo.

Not a scandal. Not yet. But something far more dangerous in the world of Formula 1:

A distraction.

She sees it in the way reporters word their questions now—carefully, but with sharpened teeth. In the way rival team principals offer smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. In the way Seb watches her—not with judgment, but with the quiet concern of someone who’s seen how easily this sport can chew people up and spit them out.

"Still focused?" one journalist asks casually during media day, pretending not to already know the answer he’s fishing for.

She smiles. The kind of smile she’s learned to weaponize.

“I never stopped.”

But it follows her—this idea that love might dull the blade. That a woman in love can't also be a woman in command. That caring deeply must mean she’s somehow driving with one hand on the wheel.

They’re studying her.

Trying to decode the equation of brilliance and distraction. Trying to decide if the girl who took the title last year is still the same driver today—or if she’s softened, blurred by intimacy and affection and vulnerability.

Because here’s the truth no one says out loud: Men in this sport are allowed to fall in love. Women are allowed to win. But doing both? At the same time?

That’s the real taboo.

They see her now.

But what do they see?

A prodigy holding steady?

A girl in love with her rival?

A media darling?

A marketing dream?

A girl playing champion until someone else takes the crown?

Or the real thing?

Someone who’s bled for every inch of tarmac. Someone who clawed her way into the seat of a Ferrari, and held it with grit, intelligence, and instinct. Someone who knows exactly what it costs to be here—and chose it anyway.

Solana feels their eyes, their doubts, their expectations like sand in her teeth. But she doesn’t shrink beneath the pressure.

Because Barcelona may be a graveyard for false hope, but it’s also where the truth survives.

And she’s still here.

Still racing.

Still writing her own story.

So Solana squares her shoulders. She straps herself into the SF15-T like it's armor. Because this weekend isn’t about silencing the noise.

It’s about rising above it.

Friday – Practice 1 Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya – May 8, 2015

The new floor upgrade is bolted onto her car before sunrise—sleek carbon panels reflecting the floodlights of the garage. A reprofiled front wing glints beneath the harsh fluorescents. A cooling package designed in a flurry of late-night espresso and Maranello panic hums softly under the bodywork.

Everything about the SF15-T feels sharper.

Tighter on turn-in. More forgiving on exit. The rake balance through the long sweep of Turn 3 is finally—finally—close to what she needs. Solana dances with the edge of oversteer like it’s an old friend she hasn’t seen since testing.

The Ferrari responds.

Lap after lap, the data stacks in her favor. She ends the session just 0.081 seconds behind Sebastian Vettel.

Again.

In the garage, the engineers barely hide their satisfaction. They shuffle between monitors and printouts with a quiet urgency that smells like hope.

And in the stillness between cooldown laps, there’s a moment.

Solana removes her gloves and looks up. Through mirrored visors and heat-shimmered air, her gaze meets Sebastian’s across the garage. Just a second. Maybe less. But it lands heavy.

Not a challenge.

Not quite.

But not nothing.

In the debrief room, the air is cooler but no less charged. Her telemetry flashes across every screen, her name circled in red on corner entry traces and throttle maps. Engineers speak in clipped Italian and English, comparing lift points and tire degradation models. Solana listens, quiet but attentive, arms crossed over her chest.

Then Sebastian leans forward, breaking the rhythm.

He flips a telemetry sheet between them and says low enough for only her to hear: "Let’s not play teammate games this weekend."

He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t have to. The words settle in the space like a dropped wrench.

Solana raises an eyebrow, tone deceptively light. "Then don’t treat me like I need a babysitter."

That gets his eyes. His jaw tenses, and there’s a flicker—irritation, maybe. Or pride. The line between the two is always thin when you’re talking to another world champion.

"I’m not," he replies smoothly. "But you have to decide if you're here to race me... or work with me."

She meets his gaze, steady and unblinking.

"I can do both. You’ve done it before. With worse teammates."

A pause.

Then a low exhale, a small chuckle. "Touché."

The conversation moves on, but the tension lingers—thin and coiled, like tire smoke caught under the fluorescent lights. Neither of them says what they’re both thinking:

It’s not just about Mercedes anymore. Not if Ferrari is truly back in the fight. Not if she keeps running like this.

If the title fight comes down to red versus red—

There won’t be room for polite teammates.

Friday Evening – Motorhome Lounge Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya – May 8, 2015

The Ferrari motorhome thins out as the sun dips behind the Catalan hills. The soft hum of generators and distant pitlane banter fades into a muffled lull. Most of the engineers are hunched over laptops in dark corners, cross-referencing telemetry and debating strategy on group calls. The clatter of utensils from the catering unit grows faint.

Solana slips out of a debrief meeting early—exhausted by numbers, not answers—and pushes through the quiet lounge door, needing space. Air. Something other than pressure.

She finds Daniel already there.

Sprawled on the red sofa like a man half-swallowed by fatigue, one foot resting on a crate of Red Bull, the other hanging limply over the edge. His head leans back, earbuds in, curls tousled like he’s been fighting the furniture in his sleep.

She crosses the room silently and pulls one earbud free.

He startles slightly, eyes blinking open. “If you’re not waking me for food, I’m staging a protest.”

"You planning to nap through quali tomorrow?" she teases, sinking down beside him.

"Tempting," he mutters, rubbing his face. "At least then I’d avoid another session of being outqualified by my own steering wheel."

She grins. "Still snapping mid-corner?"

"Yeah." He exhales, defeated. "It’s like the RB11 ghosts out halfway through Turn 5. One second I’m fine, next second I’m dating a poltergeist with commitment issues."

She chuckles. “Romantic.”

"You're just jealous you didn’t think of that analogy first."

She lets her head fall back against the cushion, legs stretched out next to his. They lay like that for a moment—two drivers in borrowed peace.

Then Daniel shifts, angling his body toward her. The lines of his face soften in the low light.

“You’re handling it all well,” he says. “The upgrades, the media, the... everything.”

Solana shrugs. “I’m tired of asking permission to be good at what I do.”

There’s a weight in the silence after that. The kind that lives between two people who’ve seen too much of each other to pretend otherwise.

“You worry they’ll think I’m your distraction?” he asks finally. “Or worse… your weakness?”

She doesn’t look at him right away. Instead, she studies the edge of the coffee table, the untouched mugs of espresso someone abandoned earlier.

“They already think it,” she says quietly. “But thinking it doesn’t make it true.”

Daniel nods slowly. “Still hurts, though. Doesn’t it?”

She bites the inside of her cheek.

“Sometimes,” she admits. “When they frame me as someone who only wins until love makes her soft. Or like I can’t want both—racing and you—and still be sharp enough to fight for this title.”

Daniel's jaw tenses. He leans forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. “I know I’ve been weird about it. About us. Like I can’t decide whether to protect it or pretend it’s not happening.”

Solana turns to him now, brows drawn together—not angry, but raw. “Then stop pretending. I don’t need you to protect this from the world. I just need you not to disappear when it gets hard.”

He looks at her like she’s the only real thing in the room.

"I care," he says again, slower this time. "More than I expected to."

She sits up, reaches over and nudges his knee, softer than before. “I know.”

For a second, it feels like he might reach for her hand. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up, leans back beside her, shoulder brushing hers in quiet solidarity.

Outside, the sky bleeds into deep violet. In here, they say nothing else. But the stillness between them speaks volumes.

Not everything has to be decided tonight.

But they’re getting closer.

Saturday – Qualifying Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya – May 9, 2015

The crowd roars beneath a blistering Spanish sun as Rosberg takes pole—sharp, surgical, unbothered. Hamilton trails close behind, his silver car ghosting through Sector 3 with terrifying precision. Mercedes is, once again, untouchable.

Vettel squeezes everything from his lap and takes P3 in the dying seconds.

Solana, jaw clenched behind her visor, forces the SF15-T to the edge of its grip. Her tires scream through the final chicane. When the checkered flag falls, her time slots her P4.

Another Ferrari second row. Again.

In parc fermé, the heat presses down like punishment. Her race suit is soaked through, her neck raw where the balaclava rubbed. She peels off her gloves, glancing at Sebastian. He catches her eye. Offers a terse nod. No words. Just acknowledgment. And then he turns away.

Later, the garages hum with subdued energy. Engineers squint at telemetry. Mechanics wipe sweat from their brows. The paddock buzzes, but it's a tired kind of noise.

She finds Daniel sitting on the low wall outside the Red Bull garage. His helmet rests in his lap like an anchor. His suit is unzipped to the waist, undershirt clinging to his chest. He’s staring at nothing, jaw tight, skin flushed from sun and frustration.

“Still fighting the rear?” Solana asks, voice low.

He nods, flicking sweat from his temple. “It’s like the car forgets what grip is mid-exit. I correct, I catch it, but by then I’ve lost a tenth.”

“You still beat Kvyat.”

He shrugs. “Barely. He had traffic. I had no excuses.”

She sits beside him and hands over a bottle of water. He takes it without hesitation, murmuring a thanks before drinking deeply. His fingers tremble just slightly as he lowers the bottle.

“You’re easier to read than your throttle trace,” she says after a pause.

He huffs a laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“I mean it,” she says, watching him. “You wear everything on your face. Your joy. Your doubt. Your hope. All of it.”

He doesn’t answer at first. The silence stretches. A breeze kicks up, carrying the acrid scent of hot rubber and brake dust.

Then, finally, he speaks—quiet, measured, like something he’s rehearsed in his head too many times.

“Then you already know the thing I’m trying not to say.”

Solana tilts her head, gaze steady. “Which is?”

He looks at her. Really looks. And she sees it—the weight, the wear, the loneliness that even his trademark grin can’t always cover.

“I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” he admits. “Not like this. Not when I feel like I’m chasing ghosts. Not when I’m starting to lose who I am just trying to stay relevant.”

Her chest tightens. Because she knows that feeling too well. The quiet erosion of self. The constant calibration between ambition and survival.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she says softly.

He reaches for her hand. It’s a brief touch—fingertips to knuckles, warm and fleeting. But it steadies them both.

“I don’t want to be another reason you’re questioned,” he murmurs.

She meets his eyes, fierce and full of fire. “You’re not. You’re one of the only reasons I can breathe.”

And for a moment, it doesn’t matter where they qualified. Or who’s on pole. Or what the world will say when the next headline drops.

For a moment, it’s just them.

Two drivers. Two hearts. One truth.

Sunday – Race Day

The lights go out.

Rosberg bolts off the line like a bullet. Hamilton shadows him into Turn 1, clean and ruthless. Ferrari holds its ground—Vettel in third, Solana just behind in P4, her launch smooth, no wheelspin. Bottas and Kimi hover behind like hawks waiting for the slipstream.

Solana is a wall—unyielding through the first sector, aggressive yet precise. She manages her tire degradation with the kind of grace that makes her pit wall second-guess their own numbers. Lap after lap, her throttle application is poetry. Her radio is quiet. Focus absolute.

By Lap 30, the podium fight has taken shape. Mercedes leads. Ferrari chases. The race strategy shifts—mediums to softs, a longer second stint. Solana conserves the rubber, eyes locked on the gap to Vettel. But the balance is tricky today, and every corner feels like a tightrope.

Then, through the background static of her team radio, Daniel’s voice bleeds through.

“Something’s wrong in the rear—brakes? No response on the paddle…”

She freezes for half a second. It’s not her car. Not her problem. But it is.

By Lap 41, his car is clearly wounded. The rear dances too much. Onboard footage shows him fighting the wheel like it’s a wild animal.

Lap 54: Smoke from the right rear. The paddock sees it before he does. The Renault engine gives out, again. Another DNF.

Solana doesn’t celebrate her P4. She doesn’t speak into the radio. As she parks the SF15-T in parc fermé, hands still gripping the wheel, the victory feels hollow. She unbuckles. Climbs out.

And looks—not to the crowd, not to the camera.

To the Red Bull garage.

Empty.

Post-Race – Media Pen

The press swarm like flies.

Microphones in her face. Lights hot against her temple. Every question layered with venom or condescension.

“Ferrari with another strong showing,” someone says. “But Vettel finishes ahead. Do you think you’re still being seen as the number two?”

Solana tilts her chin up.

“I think you should check the sector data,” she replies, smooth as glass.

Some reporters laugh. But not all.

“Ricciardo’s DNF is his second mechanical in three races,” someone else says. “Do you worry the imbalance in results will affect your relationship?”

She exhales slowly.

“Daniel’s had a rough weekend. But no one fights harder. He’ll come back stronger.”

“You sound confident.”

Her gaze narrows slightly.

“I am.”

She walks away before they can twist it. Before they can carve her words into something weaker.

That Night – Rooftop Bar, Montmeló Hotel

The city is quiet again. A blanket of lights over still air.

She finds him on the rooftop bar, alone. Hood up. Shoulders hunched. His drink sits untouched. A man-shaped shadow slumped under the weight of everything he won’t say aloud.

Solana crosses the space quietly, her arms wrapped in a hotel blanket. She stands beside him for a while before speaking.

“You always do this,” she murmurs.

Daniel doesn’t turn. “Do what?”

“Disappear after the race. Like you’re the only one bleeding.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just sighs, slow and heavy, like it’s leaking out of him.

“It’s not just the race,” he says finally. “It’s... the look they give me. Like I’m aging out of relevance. Like the sport’s already moved on and didn’t leave a note.”

She looks at him, startled by the honesty.

“Do you think they’ll remember me for who I was?” he asks. “Or just for how often I didn’t finish?”

Solana steps closer. “They’ll remember that you didn’t give up. That you laughed when it hurt. That you still showed up even when everything went wrong.”

He turns, his eyes searching hers.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispers.

“You’re not,” she says. “But I need you to stop being afraid of being seen with me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” he says too fast.

“I know,” she replies. “But I think you’re still afraid of whatever we are. Of what it means if people see you needing someone.”

Daniel’s mouth twitches—not quite a frown. Not quite a smile. Just an admission.

“I’ll try.”

Solana leans into him, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

“That’s all I ask.”

Before Departure – Barcelona Airport

She finds him in the terminal, boarding pass in hand, Max chattering beside him about tire deg and downforce like nothing else exists.

Daniel turns when she taps his arm.

Without a word, she leans up and kisses him on the cheek.

The flash of a camera catches it. She doesn’t flinch.

And for once, neither does he.

He just watches her go.

Smiling.

Let them talk. Let them write their headlines.

They’re not hiding anymore.

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[rauferes]

Emmrich Volkarin - vaginismus - other ideas

Girlie (gender neutral affectionate) what you got for this one? 🥰

(WIP ask game)

This is one of those situations where I trip and an embarrassing number of pictures fly out of my wallet 😂I've explored a Rook with vaginismus at length in my Healer's Touch series, but uh, that's kind of the tip of the iceberg.

1.

She's been meaning to tell him, she really has. But she's "selfish." She likes his kisses, the cute little dates, being held by him. He gets to the point of a hand down her pants and she's thinking she'll redirect him with a blow job and then tell him after-- and then he's touching her in a way that has her brain leaking out her ears, knees weak. Suddenly two fingers try to slip into her and she yelps. Emmrich is immediately sorry, oh goodness he's so upset he hurt her, is she ok?

This one would feature an Emmrich that has no idea about vaginismus or how to get around it, but very much a Listening And Learning sort of situation. A lot of experimentation that ends up bringing them closer.

2.

Emmrich is surprisingly easy to talk to. (And this Rook is like, so bad at having a verbal filter. ESPECIALLY around a face as pretty as Emmrich's). So one day it just kind of slips out that sex sucks, it always hurts, Rook doesn't see the point in it anymore. Emmrich makes some delicate inquiries, only to be flabbergasted that none of their previous partners had tried nonpenetrative options. "I'm probably not missing much," Rook says, trying to keep the mood light. Emmrich hesitates. "There are plenty of things in life to enjoy in other realms, of course." "...truly? None of them? I'm sure there are many who would be willing to--" "I'm not likely to find them," Rook interrupts. "Best not to think too hard about the things you can't have." "Would you like to? Experience it?" "I mean, sure, but nobody--" "I would," Emmrich says. Horror dawns on his face as he realizes what his stupid mouth said.

Platonic good time between two people who are already halfway into a crush on each other let's gooooooo catch feelings time. Featuring tender Emmrich and mutual pining due to being idiots.

3. Virgin Rook-- Emmrich is sooo upset at himself that it still hurts even though he was so sure they were fully prepared!! And then it keeps hurting? Torn between the angst element and comedy (Emmrich's pride in showing his partner a good time kicking in to silly levels)

4. STRAP STRAP STRAP STRAP STRAP PUT THAT MAN IN A STRAP.

Itty bitty dildo, obviously. Classic strap style is tempting as hell but also consider: modified harness that's a bit higher, Emmrich's cock trapped between Rook's soft thighs, grinding down, kissing Rook's neck while they lose their mind from being fucked properly for the first time in their life--

I can be soooo normal about this /lying

[sevinagreatergood]

See this? These are the whorish cunts that just don't know any better! Well since we say stuff we like to be true. I'll say mine. I wished a Death eater would at least have some creativity of a Spanish I quisitor of the 1478.

I wanted James to be under the imperium spell and skin his wife's breasts, whereas she was forbidden to die. She would then cut James his balls too and sew it where her breasts shouldve been. And her tits would sewn where his cock and balls would've been. Then amongst that torment and screams, the de forces them to ALMOST dismember the child, to just wrench the last screams and tears out of those useless fucking nobody bullies. Then kill them, leaving the child alone.

Is that extreme enough for you, you kinky bitch? Bet it was, wasn't it? How about Death Eaters slowly skinning Lily alive, after they dismembered James to make SURE, the idea sinks in how much of a useless person he was. How he failed as husband, father and friend. Maybe even remove his teeth, to actually match his appearance to his soul. Manchild.

For someone that supports another person who uses race card for her excuses, I don't have high expectations from you lowlives to begin with. Snape almost gets killed twice, friends even admit he didn't change, sexual assault happen (that you disagree with because you probably have your own sexual assault sob story that I certainly don't give a shit about, your welcome. I mean a victim looking down on other victims basically are whores themselves, no need to thank me 🤣). Yet you found James less worse?

You know James played a significant 7 years of bullying in Snape's 21 years of life, which at that point he wished to die right? Can you do math? I doubt it. Cunts can't do math. 21-7= 14. Which means 11 years of abuse at home. 3 years in the circle of a racist guy that NOBODY else took serious.

See that bitch? It's called math. Learn it. While you're at that, learn some empathy sweetie. Less sucking and fucking, more studying. I love how you say Snape hurt far more people in the end. Lets go down that lane. And I know it's a lot for a ditz like you, so I'll try my best to put it as simply for you. Semen soaked brains is a lot, I can't relate. But best I can do is feign patience and empathy towards snaters..

Snape:

- almost died

- bullied for 7 years simply for liking slytherin

- sexually assaulted (your sobstry isn't a source, the laws are, so keep that excuse in your ass)

- backstabbed by a ginger whore

- almost died a 2nd time due to James choking him

- abused at home

- neglected by teachers

- put in a racist house WHO look down on purebloods for simply being a blood traitors. Imagine him, a half muggle.

- this is what 11 year old Snape got, and bad to stomach for 7 years. From abusive school, he went to abusive home. Thank your privileged ass you didn't live half his life, so good for you. Sad you went down the lane to rather fuck than open a book, but you know, your choice, just don't drag my baby Snape into this.

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

James:

- amazing home life

- amazing school life

- amazing friends

- amazing gf

- 11 year old him got everything he wanted

- he got everything he wanted

( if you asked him if this was his ideal future without the dead,he would be happy)

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

Remus:

- got somewhat a great friendship as long as Snape wasn't involved

- he was accepted

- he had caring parents

- he got everything he wanted

( if you asked him if this was his ideal future. He might add he wished for wealth too, but for the rest it is happy)

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

Peter

- he had friends

- school life was more or less amazing

( he would want to change)

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

Sirius:

- sad home life

- amazing school life

- he got everything he wanted

( he'd be happy with his future)

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

Lily:

- amazing home life

- amazing school life

- amazing husband

- has a child

- she got everything she wanted

(she'd be happy with her future)

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

Harry:

- sad homelife

- amazing school life. Yes, he gets almost killed many times, but because of that his popularity only grew as well as his friendship between him, Ron and hermione. And basically 4 teachers dote on him endlessly.

- amazing future

(he'd be happy with his future)

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

Ron:

- troubled but great home life

- amazing school life

- amazing future

(he'd be happy with his future)

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

Hermione:

- great home life

- great school life

- great future

(she'd be happy with his future)

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

Neville:

- wobbly home life (his grandma was a bit strict, but definitely isn't harry potter is bitten by aunt's dog shit)

- wobbly school life (had a rough start but eventually got greater)

- great future

(he'd be happy with his future, he would have trouble with his parents tho)

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

Snape:

- awful homelife

- awful school life

- awful future

(if you told 11yr old him his life, his suicidal thoughts would've gone from 21 to 11)

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

Do you get that now? If not, I suggest some extra reading exercises. Might help. Since you're a unempathic slut. I suggest you read Lovely Bones, Boy in striped pajamas, these books will definitely awaken a thing or two within you. Such as, children arent formed evil by themselves. Society forms them. You with a great life obviously wouldn't get that.

Snape was formed by his surroundings. Characters didn't suffer thanks to him. He suffered thanks to the characters around him. Marauders, lily, teachers, DE and the golden trio. Because no matter how many excuses you get, whether you believe in SA or not. It all boils down to one thin in the end.

James ganged up on Snape whenever he got a chance. 4 vs 1 is a whore move. This is basically what you're saying. And if you support that, well, you're one as well, cupcake

I know it's hard to accept for being nothing but filth on one's shoes. To be used like a ragdoll whenever someone pays you, but alright. What else do they deserve to tear down a suicidal man that carried all 7 books. The man who gave you sluts lily Evans and marauders. The man who was based off on an autistic feminist guy. While James was built out of the ideal man to JKR who are toxic by the way.

And the tiktoks? I suggest you watch those. You know, to appear more than a dumb cunt with a mentality of "why do poor people exist? Can't they just buy a house or get a job. They're so lazy."

The show is basically Snape's life in a nutshell. Without the abracadabra. Have fun. Hope this was extreme enough for you. Sincerely, me.

Ps: I know you can't be reasoned with like some pig. Cattle is cattle after all.

I’m gonna start this off by saying that I think both Snape AND James were absolute shitheads in the books. Are they each terrible for their own reasons? Yes. Do I still love them both as characters in a fictional book series and will I continue to reblog fanart of either of them from time to time? Also yes.

But that aside, I found it a little wild when I went down the Snape-vs-James/Marauders rabbit hole on here (did not know that existed until like a week ago) and found out that the majority opinion on this wasn’t a clear-cut “James sucked less” situation like I thought it would be. Which is fine, I guess, but some Snape fans seem to get really… aggressive whenever their guy gets hated on. Just found that a little surprising…

Here’s my take, though I doubt I’m the first to see things this way—Snape and James, as characters, seem to be viewed through a lens similar to that of Voldemort and Umbridge. Both are bad people on occasion and both give the reader reasons to hate them, but one of them is more in-your-face about how terrible he is (Voldemort—or in this case, Snape) and the other is also terrible but in a way that feels more personal and relatable, and therefore, more easily hate-able (Umbridge—or in this case, James).

My point is, Umbridge seems to be more strongly hated by the fandom than the real, more obvious villain of the series: Voldemort. And the same goes for James when in comparison to a character who has done far worse things than him: Snape. Though I think the opinions within the fandom are a little more evenly split on them, at least from what I’ve seen.

Anyway, that’s at least some of what I think is happening here. At the end of the day I’m of the opinion that Snape was the worse person and hurt far more people in the end. And I guess his development could be interpreted in a few different ways, but the way I read it… I don’t think he really did anything good for the sake of goodness? Rather instead it was for the sake of fueling his own weird obsession with his late childhood friend. But that’s just my personal take, I suppose.

[mercaque]

The Old Guard 2 Thoughts

I liked quite a few elements and didn’t completely hate the lore changes, but I hate the poor communication trope that powered a significant subplot.

I liked:

QUYNH. Veronica Ngo’s performance alone was worth seeing the movie for. Her chemistry with Charlize Theron is flawless.

Henry Golding’s performance was also good. The “remember the new guy” trope often annoys me, but I liked him enough that it didn’t here.

The “memory lane” sequence was transcendent. A beautiful bit of storytelling and a sense of Andy’s headspace.

The fights. Excellent choreography particularly in all of Andy’s fights.

Joe and Nicky’s tiff about Booker. For me their different stances made sense with their characters. Joe’s anger burns hotter but also burns out more quickly, while Nicky is quieter but more immovable.

I have problems with Booker’s subplot, but Matthias Schoenarts gave a fantastic performance. I also thought the “expiration date” conversation was excellent. That was the sort of philosophical question I enjoyed about the first movie.

Joe kicking that guy onto Nicky’s sword.

I didn’t hate:

The concept of an “immortal killer” or the ability to “transfer” immortality. I did not love HOW this was implemented in the story (see below) or the blatant retconning. But if they were going to go further into the “how” of immortality, I can live with these ideas.

The idea of Booker finally getting his wish to die. As with the above, I do not love HOW this was done, to put it mildly. But as a concept, it makes sense. Booker wanting to lose his immortality is a consistent element of his character. He does not want this. No matter how much meaning others may find in their immortal lives, he simply does not. I think it’s valid storytelling that at least one of the immortals is just never going to be on board with it. That said…

I hated:

…HOW Booker went about losing his immortality. What.

That he did it by deception was so fucking cruel to Nile and Andy, and showed that he hadn’t learned a damn thing in his exile. I came away thinking “y’all should have listened to Nicky.”

Given his actions in the last movie, I can accept that Booker would be selfish enough to do it the way he did (even if I think it was a missed chance for some character growth). But why didn’t Tuah step in to inform Nile? Why not tell her first? If his character was intended to be the sort of person who would allow her to unwittingly kill fellow immortals, the set-up was incredibly poor. Booker asked him to promise not to tell, but I see no reason why Tuah should have agreed to that promise.

It ended up as the classic “the story would be over in 5 minutes if characters sensibly shared information with each other” trope. Lazy and unsatisfying storytelling, when it didn’t need to be.

Not telling Nile deprived her of a good story. Let Booker ASK and make his case for surrendering his immortality! Give us that scene, let Nile navigate that moral dilemma, give her some actual conflict within the immortal family. Follow up on the connection their characters established in the first film! Instead of skirting around that to power the plot, they should have leaned in and HAD that conversation. I think the storyline would have been much more forgivable.

Aside from the matter of Booker, not telling Nile basically cut her out of her own story. She was never given the chance to grapple with what she had unknowingly done to Andy or what she had the potential to do to her other family members. Imagine how much more tense that fight with Quynh might have been if she were desperately trying NOT to permanently harm her?

On a different and lesser note, Joe and Nicky were pretty relegated to the background/kidnapping victim. There were some decent moments with them, but they felt pretty disconnected from everything else going on. Would have loved to see more of their reactions re: Quynh.

All in all, the 30% or whatever it is now on RT is a much lower score than I would give this movie. The stuff I liked was worth seeing it for. But the contrivances that undercut Nile’s story were REALLY bad and unnecessarily so.

[alligatorcarapace]

What if season five had been about Raph and Mikey like it was about Leo and Donnie for 4?

Now it is time to disappoint everyone in the fandom.

I think about Mikey the least out of the 03 turtles. I am so sorry. He is somehow both extremely under and overrated at the same time and idk how.

Because of this, I do not know how to properly handle his character. However if I wanted to make a shot in the dark and hope to get it right.

Well I would want the Tribunal to really dig at them.

And that be the core conflict with Tengu Shredder working as background pressure. And of course obviously this to be done over many more episodes.

Like I want Mikey to slowly get torn down emotionally in front of his brothers and no matter what they did they would not be able. The Ancient One can't connect with him becuase Mikey is self-aware enough to already know what's going on, and yet. His mind still whispers.

He unreliable chi channeling would be symbolic of this. It getting worse and worse with each success unleashing power unimaginable tapping more into Inazuma's lightening imagery while failure becoming more costly, ripping at the seams of his body and soul. Splinter watching in horror as another one of his sons is going down this route of self destruction. Going to Master Yoshi's photo and talking, praying, crying out for help.(This helps fore shadow Yoshi's spirit later) The Ancient One comes in and see's this. He hold's the mutant rat, his grandson in a way, giving comfort to the problem at hand.

Of course I'd want Tora to also be included in this arc, I love the idea of rather than learning to be more like the other, instead it helps them appreciate who they are, Mikey with his free expression and Tora with his controlled presentation.

Their comradery grows from how the Tribunal target's both of them for who they are and their sense of self. Both having that sense of code to try to build each other up even if both of them Do Not Understand how a guy could willingly live Like That All The Time.

Maybe have a neat mediation scene between them where their manifestation tangle with each other? Tora is unable to fully manifest himself, but Mikey realizes that if they do so together he can, which is also why him and his brothers were able to have a moment as dragons all once.

Mikey thrives on validation for others, the Tribunal, is not that. I don't know exactly how I'd resolve it fully, but I know I'd want it to be due to Sliver Sentry. Acting as sort of a strange mirror of their first episode together and as a way for the Justice Force to be inform of the growing possible Tengu Shredder Threat. Maybe that's the Ancient One's solution? Maybe he didn't even know the Justice Force, but he knew that Mikey needed validation from those who he looks up to and over hearing Mikey talking about missing the new comic on like episode one planted that seed in his head.

Maybe while the Ancient One went to go get him we could have Leo being the one trying to help him the most, showing him fully trying to get a handle of his own new mindset? Plus Mikey and Leo can help each other with their chi issues. Healing together even.

Also this would mean you could throw in a cute line about how Silver Sentry has heard good things about Leo from Nobody, which could lead into a funny bit where ya boi Silver Sentry is clearly very skeptical about Leo's mental health as Mikey has to go "No no no we're both very good mentally" and like SS can tell Mikey's lying(Since Mike is in fact not doing good) so he's trying to help them both.

Meanwhile for Raph I am fully leaning into that forge scene, his training has been switched up to be Baptism by Fire and Joi hates him for this cause that means she's also being pulled along to this more intense training. But Raph still really wants to be friends but he can tell she's angry at him and it's eating at him. Que him trying to go to Leo the ultimate peacekeeper, but he stumbles upon him having a quiet talk with Mikey and is like; Ya know what I am fineeeeee. He was in fact not fine.

See the Tribunal clocked Raph's dragon affinity early on, while still ignoring Leo(That still happens here, but becuase Splinter and the Ancient One are right there we get to see him in real time deal with it and take said mental health and try chucking it at Mikey) so they keep trying to low key either burn him and Joi alive or have them both learn how to fly. real fast. This is a horrible way of doing things and as the season goes on we see Raph trying to hide more and more injuries as he keeps being pulled away with Joi for private training. Splinter is fucking pissed about this. He is struggling between wanting to save the world and wanting to save his son.

And Raph? His mind is on his brothers.

He tells Joi this, in hopes of winning her over. If it's not Raph then they might target Donny, and he couldn't do that to him. He doesn't not tell Joi but we the audience see Raph helping calm Donny from a panic attack. Finally addressing all the Everything he's been through, with that illusion from the first night catching up to Donny as we see Raph try to take care of his brother. Donny was the first to figure out this chi thing, if Raph didn't make such a big show he'd be targeted.

He can't do that. And they can't leave.

So he stays.

He does eventually managed to forge a friendship with her, but every inch of it is earned the hard way. Joi does not want to be here, she does not want to be on this advance track, and she certainly doesn't want to be her with this not Kappa, she wanted to stay away from the spotlight and be good enough to avoid being singled out. But she's here and eventually accepts that and see that Raph's alright, though she might still front and say otherwise. But well Raph can tell, he too has played this game.

In turn Joi manages to help get Raph to Donny when finally the training becomes to much, and he's covered in wounds and can't even limp with out her supporting his weight.

For this to work this version of the season, we'd have more episodes to fully flesh out everyone and the Tribunal would be seen as the current threat while the threat of Tengu Shredder is slowly built up over time, with the Heralds of the Shredder and Ninja Tribunal fighting against each other. As the season goes on, the turtles are able to convince the Tribunal to start acting more like people again and realizing that hey there's long term effects from trying to fully separate yourself from humanity, and thus a middle ground like the Ancient One had found is more ideal, this in turn makes his induction into the Tribunal work as a more satisfying conclusion.

I think Raph's arc here could be retooled to be more emotionally involved, which could be done via the harsh training itself, maybe even have a call back to that time he saw himself be the shredder? Have his exhaustion make him more harsh to his brothers and you see the regret and pain on his face when that happens would also help. Maybe pick one Tribunal Member to just be irredeemable and make him the worse towards Raph? Use Raph's themes of community against him by showing how alone he thanks to the alienation the Tribunal's attention on him caused which in turn only makes him hide his wounds and issues more in order to not seem like an attention seeker???

Idk, there's def more details needed to be filled in here.

Over all this was a hard thing to full fill out as I am still getting the hang of writing myself, I've only written one shots, so even the idea of doing a hypothetical season outline is a bit over my skill level. But hey maybe I was able to get across the vibes and story ideas I would do well?

Either way there's a reason seasons are not planned in a day and tend to have a small room of writers to bounce off each other instead of a single person spit balling for like an hour or so lol. Group effort in writing and all that XD

[gurggggleburgle]

Been thinking about this as I've been blind run playing termina.

But new details ideas of this au now that ive started formulating things-

Tianlang-Jun is in this narrative one of the old gods that airplane never got around to coding into the game and maybe gets mentioned once or twice in passing. He chose to have a child with the human cultivator Su Xiyan but found himself betrayed and captured by Huan Hua and pinned as an anchor beneath the water prison creating a portal to the dungeon of fear hunger and is why Huan Hua Palace twists into what it does.

Narratively the only part of Tianlang-Jun’s existence that existed was Zhuzhi-Lang who existed as this weird low spawn rate enemy who wouldn't attack unless prompted and would avoid the player. It was like a whole jumpscare thing.

The PIDW game has character selection rosters but there's an obvious favorite in just how unabashedly mechanically broken he is in the form of Luo Binghe whose backstory as a tragic orphan that constantly faced suffering and briefly fell into a pocket of the dungeon (the abyss) where he learned he was apparently a child of a New God and of a legendary sword named Xin Mo and a way to ascend. He's also out for revenge on his old Shizun who is imprisoned in the water prison. His A ending is becoming twisted into a ascended god ala the girl and Shen Yuan hates this because it offers no narrative catharsis for Luo Binghe after all his suffering. And the S ending is worse because its harem trash where Luo Binghe gains a multi digit harem of bland women you can rescue who form the party meatshield roster and Super Duper Ascend. Shen Yuan hates this. Thinks its bullshit and finds all the updates that the game had that kept adding girls to be a glitchy nonsensical mess and not worth anyone's time.

Yue Qingyuan is the crow mauler. I dont have anything more to add. See the vision. Get it. Feel it. It just makes sense.

Liu Qingge exists as a character in the original pidw as a glitched out mess of code that if encountered alive will ruin your run simply by existing. There's a sprite model but any attempts to see full body art by engaging in battle of recruiting him just results in your game crashing. This is because him being alive is an event glitch as one of the playable main characters is Liu Mingyan and this is meant as motivation for her character in game.

Ming Fan is also a pickable character hes completely average and mediocre and if chosen Luo Binghe will likely try to kill you on sight so it's considered EXTREMELY HARD MODE. His goal is obviously to rescue Shen Qingqiu from inside the dungeon.

Shang Qinghua is of course the mercenary and has been forced to live in this shitty world he coded for the past 30 some odd years of his life and has been dreading the day he's made to enter the dungeon. This is because by default he has enemies. The OG goods wentered in order to actually escape his boss. He ends up befriending shirtless hot barbarian of the north on a revenge quest Mobei-Jun and is desperately trying to prove why he should still be alive.

Su Xiyan is actually in the game as a new god boss within the dungeon. She's become twisted and confused by her own ascension and no longer herself. A scattered thing of broken and pieces who only talks about freeing someone and her son. Think Francios in terms of boss fight.

Shen Qingqiu had been put on trial and strung up inside the water prison before it merged with the dungeon of fear and hunger and saving/killing him is meant as a goal for multiple selectable main characters.

I know the amount of people who overlap with lost my brain to svsss and I woke up a year later and 100% fear and hunger is a circle and just me.

But like. Guys the aus. Imagine Shang Qinghua a man making PIDW a game on my beloved (genuinely a terrible and jank asf and yet endearing) rpgmaker engine and it takes off as the hot game to rage play and meme on twitch. It's this glitchy mess that takes forever to beat and tells you Jack shit about how to play the game as you're playing it. The system is random and unfair and the dark priest is the worst character to ever have to play. And the characters writing is awful. If you stream it you have to mod out the corny romance and sex scenes that were patched in by later additions (the fandom says this outside of the challenge is the best part and SY hates it) and the only good character is Luo Binghe who may or may not just be like a crow mauler type guy.

Anyways SY is the world's biggest anti fan but he's also 100% and know everything and the thinks the dark priest is the worst character. He goes picks knight most the time. Dies and gets reborn as either the Dark Priest Role or one of the various side characters like Nosramus.

Shang Qinghua gets to be my love and good boy Cahara equivalent so he can steal Shen Yuan's blue potion and get beaten up for it later. The cheat glitches are still in the game and you can just tap on the wall for items and sanity or even characters.

Anyway I want a scene of my boys sitting down and smoking opium and screaming as they try to figure out how not to die. And Luo Binghe is like what if we kissed indirectly with the opium pipe.

SY stepping accidently on the one rusty nail that's so easy to forget if you're not careful screaming because now he needs tetanus herbs.

Binghe crow mauler transformation because omg yes. Romance the crow mauler SY. The best boy!!!!!!

Tianlang-Jun is like this hidden mini boss character thing that was still in the original engine but spawned so infrequently that people almost didn't believe it. And zhuzhi-lang is like this one enemy you can encounter who doesn't attack until provoked but will give you items if you're nice.

[illbringthechaosmagic]

@thenexusofsouls

"I... ok, well if there's anything that you want to know, you're always welcome to ask," Wanda replied, a soft smile on her lips as he described her as his new friend. It did mean a lot that he already considered her a friend, since she had grown to care for him the short time that they had spent together. So much so, that she didn't want to be apart from him. She knew that eventually he would have his own space, but she didn't like the thought of not having him nearby.

Feeling his hand beginning to rub at her arm, she found herself smiling even more. Holding hands was one thing, a hug another. But for him to rub at her arm like this, a motion that brought her such comfort, felt like they were reaching a new point in their journey. She hadn't asked him to do it, or asked him if it was ok. That was something special to her that she was sure not many would understand.

"You're right. We can stay out here for as long as we want then," she replied, peering up at him as he admitted that he liked hugging her. Seeing how his smile changed, she hummed slightly. "Smiles suit you," she whispered, "I like seeing you happy, you know?" Her hand rubbed at his back once more, feeling content to sit there in his embrace until they had to go inside.

"I do? I'm glad it's in a good way," she teased gently, "I wouldn't want for it to be a bad thing..." Truth be told, he made her heart race too, in a good way. She was a little worried to label it as anything yet, but she was almost certain that a crush was forming for the other.

------

Steve was quiet for a moment. While Stephen had a point, that it was better to learn so that they knew how to control the situation if things went south, he couldn't help but feel like it wasn't such a smart idea either. They had seen how Xenos had reacted when Stephen was near, how he didn't trust him. They would just have to be careful in how they did this, so that the other didn't think they were trying to get the upper hand on him.

"She's not a child, though I know she can be a little naive," he replied, "but you're right, we can't turn around and not respect her decisions. I don't want her to feel as though we've turned against her, or that we haven't trusted her. She needs that support, more than ever." He let out a small scoff at Tony's words, "you never listen to me, but somehow you end up not messing things up completely. I'm still not sure how you do it." He paused. "I don't think that there's anything... untoward going on. If he wanted to cause destruction, I don't think he would have let those people live outside of the dome."

As Tony returned with the other boxes, Steve gave a small nod. "Perfect. And when we go out to get them, can we try not to be a smart ass?" He teased, "at least until we know that Xenos trusts us. We're trying to get him on our side remember?"

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[eryanlainfa]

Did anyone make an AU of the series but Eugene still has what's left of the sundrop within him ? So the rocks would react to him instead of Raps I guess?

My brain keeps going back on it since those doodles and won't leave me be

[caramelmochacrow]

inyuose siblings yay! (i only got a few things abt them done)