#especially during and after the phantom pain

[tourettesdog]

Hey there! I was just wondering, do you have any DP headcanons that you’d like to share? Any characters you like are good lmao

OOOOOOH boy do I!! owo

I have so many headcanons for this show omg. Just a bunch that I've picked up from reading fics, and chatting with friends, and thought up while planning out fics and prompts. Most of my headcanons center pretty heavily around Danny, since he is the blorbo™️, but I do have hcs for his friends, family, enemies, and more general ones.

This got very long, so it goes under the cut

Danny-focused hcs:

Danny doesn't need to eat much human food (and has a very reduced appetite) while in Amity Park or other ectoplasm-rich places, since his body naturally absorbs energy from ectoplasm. Though his friends and Jazz will still push him to eat even when he's not hungry, to keep his human body healthy. Whenever Danny's in places with less ectoplasm, his appetite returns with a vengeance.

Danny has an ice core and overheats easily in the summer, but in contrast handles winter months with ease. [Sometimes I like to do a reverse of this hc, where the ice core is helpful to him in the summer, but becomes detrimental to his human-side when it gets cold.]

Following the accident, lightning and other sources of raw electricity give Danny anxiety. I like to imagine that during storms he feels the static prickle on his skin.

Danny purrs when happy or content like a cat. In general, I like to imagine cores making all sorts of vibrations, hums, chirps, and other sounds.

Danny has no heartbeat in Phantom form, and doesn't need to breathe (but does so anyway out of habit). In contrast, his heartbeat and breaths per minute (as well as his core body temperature) are much lower than a standard human's.

Danny is trans and came out at a young age. Following the accident, the shock of the portal messed with his glands/hormones and he hasn't had a period since. He also hasn't grown since, with his height being stunted at around 5 foot. (In general, I like to HC that Danny takes after Maddie more in height, with Jazz getting all the tall genes from Jack.)

I like to imagine that Danny loses interest in becoming an astronaut after the accident. Existential dread + gaining the ability to explore a vast realm with many more interesting things in it will do that to a bastard.

I like to do Ghost King stuff with Danny sometimes, but I honestly prefer the idea that he just like has a claim to the throne, but in the same way that a king's 57 bastard children all would have a claim to his throne. (But the king isn't really gone anyway, so anyone with that claim is just sitting on a useless prince title while Pariah slumbers.)

I love the idea of ghost obsessions, and Danny specifically having one that is either focused around protection or helping. If the obsession is in regards to protection, I like to imagine it stems less from him thinking Sam and Tucker were in harms way when the portal went off, and more from him wishing someone would protect him/that he could protect himself.

I like to imagine that Danny (and all ghosts) won't outright fade if they fail to perform their obsession, however. I just imagine that it makes them extremely unhappy, anxious, and sickly. Danny, due to only being half-dead, has some more resilience with this too, I imagine.

I love giving Danny lasting scars, especially lichtenberg figures from the portal. I think it's particularly fun to have the scars wrap up his arm and across neck and/or face.

In addition to his scars, Danny experiences chronic pain and nerve issues in his arm associated with the accident.

I love the hc that Danny's wail is the same sort of scream he let out when he died in the portal.

In terms of orientation, I hc Danny as being asexual and then either biromantic or homoromantic, depending on what I'm feeling for the story. I both love the idea of him being biromantic, or him thinking for a long time that he had to like girls as a trans boy, before later accepting that he was gay. (I also love everlasting trio as a ship, so polyromantic is on the table too.)

Sam-focused hcs:

Sam gets a much better grip on her activism in late high school, after getting humbled a bit. This includes shifting her focus to supporting more sustainable forms of farming, rather than outright decrying the slaughter of animals. (I imagine she herself becomes a vegetarian after this, rather than a vegan.)

Sam was already on the fence about eating meat prior to the portal, but gave it up for good (and briefly became very belligerent about it), because she couldn't get the smell of the portal accident out of her nose. Cooked meat makes her feel sick for a very long time, especially pork.

I love hcs that Sam either dyes her hair and/or wears colored contacts.

Sam becomes rather liminal from being around Danny and the Zone, and retains some plant-based powers from Undergrowth. Overtime, Sam will start to develop a proto-core and have her senses altered by it.

Linked with the previous hc, I like to hc Sam as being prone to sensory overload, and this being exacerbated by an increase in her hearing following the portal.

As an adult, Sam funnels her passion for activism into journalism.

Tucker-focused hcs:

Tucker is hard-of-hearing and requires the use of hearing aids. Being reliant on technology from a young age helped kickstart his interest in it. Also, because of Tucker's disability, both Danny, Sam, Jazz, and eventually Val learn sign language to converse more easily with him.

Following the portal, Tucker is forced to modify his tech (and in particular his hearing aids) to interact more neutrally with ectoplasm.

I like to imagine that Tucker is very forceful with hitting on girls as, similar to Danny, he is fighting against some internalized homophobia. In terms of orientation, I imagine he is pansexual, with a preference for masculine individuals.

Like Sam, Tucker becomes rather liminal following the portal accident, and may develop tech-based powers. While Sam's ears are much more affected by liminality, Tucker instead experiences a dramatic shift in his vision.

Tucker might be an only child, but he comes from a very large, very supportive family that's all over various parts of the US.

Tucker has some food sensitivities, especially in regards to texture. He's definitely somewhere on the autism spectrum, alongside Danny and Jazz.

Tucker was the one to initiate friendship with both Danny and Sam. He met Danny when they were in preschool and insisted on being friends, and dragged Sam into their small group later on after meeting her in elementary-middle school when her family moved to Amity.

Tucker's eyes are brown or a dark hazel, rather than the teal they're depicted as in the show.

Val-focused hcs:

After getting ousted from her previous friend group, Valerie feels more comfortable with exploring some hobbies she previously didn't feel comfortable with around Paulina and Star. This includes video games, card collecting, and skateboarding.

Val's mother passed away when she was a very young child, and she has little to no memories of her.

Val's eyes are brown, rather than the green they're depicted as in the show.

Val becomes very liminal due to her suit-- much more liminal than both Tucker and Sam. By the time she's an adult, Val has a proto-core at the very least, and a sizeable grasp on controlling tech.

Valerie is bisexual, with a large preference for women that she doesn't explore until being ousted from her old friend group.

It isn't until college, when they've learned more about themselves and their internalized biases, that Val starts to reconnect with her old friends.

Jazz-focused hcs:

Jazz is much taller than Danny, and reaches over 6 foot tall by the time she stops growing.

Jazz is bisexual, and has known she is for a long time after helping Danny come out as trans and doing some of her own personal research.

I like to imagine that Jazz either becomes a child therapist or teacher after watching her little brother and his friends struggle in their formative years. Though I also really like the hc that Jazz, rather than Danny, becomes very interested in the technical and tinkering aspects of their parents' work.

I imagine around the end of HS that Jazz realizes she really shouldn't be psychoanalyzing and giving therapy to family and friends.

Jazz's driving is just as terrifying as Jack's, and her car is a beat-up old mess covered in dings and scratches.

Jazz likes to cook, but creates the biggest messes while doing so. In general, organized chaos is her MO.

Like Danny's friends, Jazz is rather liminal. She's less liminal than Val, though more so than Sam and Tuck, due to living directly over the portal. I imagine this comes with a heightened sense of emotion, as well as hearing.

I like to imagine that Jazz is just as, if not more nervous than Danny about him revealing his secret to their parents. To her, it feels similar to the danger of a trans kid coming out of the closet in a transphobic household, and while she'd like to believe their parents would accept Danny as a halfa, she's not willing to chance the risk while he's still dependent on them and they have not changed their tune on ghosts.

Jazz is so focused on helping Danny survive his teens that it isn't until she's like 25-30 that she really starts to unpack her own trauma.

General Amity and ghost hcs:

Amity Park is a bit colder than the surrounding region, due to the heavy presence of ghosts.

The ghosts have also altered the native wildlife. Many native species of animals have fled, or otherwise adjusted their behavior to account for ghostly neighbors. It's not uncommon to see ghostly ducks swimming alongside living ones, or feral groups of cats with some being more transparent than the rest.

Because of the Box Ghost, many residents in Amity Park start to get into the habit of unboxing their groceries as soon as possible. There's more than one spot where boxes can be left in a pile, and it's rare that they remain there for more than a day.

In general, I like to imagine that Amity really embraces the ghostliness, with some shops even taking it up as a theme. It's not uncommon to see Halloween decorations all year round, including ghosts with little Santa hats come Christmas.

Because of all of the ectoplasm in the air, technology has a habit of acting very strangely in Amity Park. Most advanced tech needs to be altered to work correctly within city limits.

Blob ghosts are very endearing, and more than one Amity Parker has one as a pet.

Okay, this got Very long so I'm gonna stop it here cause I could just Keep Going. Especially where stuff like the Far Frozen or crossovers are concerned, but those are for another time lol.

[veikkoalen]

i kept thinking about yesterday's drawing

i like (mouthwashing) curly's design. i always loved joshua graham's design but never the character

this entire thing is treading on the body autonomy ground as i think ocelot would've forced kaz into living via parasite treatment. not certain on what wouldve become of him though. possibly some form of murder-suicide with ocelot

[citrus-writing]

How do you think the Phantom Troupe members will react to the reader almost passing out while having sex with them?

// Yandere phantom troupe members react to darling nearly passing out during sex with them // 

I kept the reason darling nearly passed out vague, since the yanderes wouldn't know the reason, and because one isn't specified. ( However, my assumptions when writing these were something related to fear or nervousness, weakness or pain, or a pre-existing medical condition or some sort- so these can be read with those scenarios in mind, but doesn’t have to be. ) 

Warnings: nsfw, dub-con / non-con, sorta somnophilia, some of these are fluffy and sweet but some are a little bit dark 

---------------- 

Yanderes that are worried about you, immediately stopping what they had been doing to comfort you and make sure you’re ok. 

Chrollo, uvogin, illumi

Chrollo- 

Chrollo is so romantic and caring towards you, he always takes great care and precision in caring for you- from undressing you to preparing you for him, he’s diligent and incredibly in tune with your needs and desires. 

He kisses down your body with fervor, mouth hot and tongue insistent at all your weak spots, hands following close behind, trailing down your body as well. You’re perfect- soft and beautiful and all his his his. He’s always enamored with the sounds you make, nearly overwhelmed with the pleasure he always gives you, he always loves the face you make, face all flushed and eyes hazy with pleasure. 

That’s why it catches him so off guard when he notices the way you seem less steady; even while laying down, it’s obvious you’re growing dizzy, disoriented, face becoming slightly paler. Your hands grip at the sheets, knuckles nearly white from the force. 

“My love, are you alright?” he asks, stopping whatever he’d been doing to give his full attention to your face and your words. He can't hide the worry in his voice, nor the worried expression he wears. How could he even think to hide such things when you’re so unsteady in his arms. 

“Do you need me to stop?” he soothes- he won't mind if you do need to stop, or slow down- after all, you’re the light of his life, everything he does is for you. Besides, he’d never turn down the opportunity to dote on you and take care of you. 

Uvogin- 

Uvogin is aware he can be overwhelming- from the overzealous roughness of his touch to the sheer size of him, he knows that sex with you can be overwhelming for you, and, if he’s not careful, even painful. That’s why he’s always so careful with you, doing his best to go slow and take good care of you- you, his darling. Because he adores you, and he needs you to enjoy the things he does to you. He needs to see your mouth fall open in a moan so loud it’s nearly a scream, he needs to hear the way your scream out his name. 

When you start to become overwhelmed, body growing shaky and fingers and thighs trembling, he eases up immediately, slowly coming to a stop. Had he gotten too caught up in the moment? Had he gotten a little rough with you? He’s gotten used to watching for signs of discomfort in you, always a little too aware of the way you struggle to take him, so he notices immediately when you start to feel out of it. 

“Hey, you alright?” he asks you. “Was that too much?” he knows he caught your discomfort before it could get bad, with you already looking like you're doing a little better. You’ve stopped trembling so much, face growing a little less flushed, eyes returning from the edge of teariness. He runs a comforting hand through your hair, down your back, pulling you close to him. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.” 

Illumi- 

Of course illumi notices when you start to act distant, nothing ever gets past those wide eyes, especially not when they’re so focused on you- on your face and your body and those sounds you make that make him so hot he can hardly stand it. The first thing he notices is your sounds, growing less so pleasured and more so desperate in a way that almost sounds like pain, and is definitely discomfort. 

“Darling?” he asks, not yet letting up on the motion of his movements, “is it too much?” it’s hard for him to tell how you’re feeling at any given moment- after all, he’s mastered being able to push through any discomfort, but you haven't, you’re so sweet and gentle compared to him, and he needs to remind himself of that often to avoid pushing you too far. 

You nod weakly, a little embarrassed, and a little nervous to disappoint him. He stops his movements instantly, as if you had stopped him yourself. His eyes watch you as you take a moment you steady yourself, obviously trying to gather the strength and composure to explain yourself. And he’d let you explain, but not right now. 

“Don't speak, let me get you something to drink, and help you get cleaned up.” he knows by now you wont fight him on this, when he made up his mind about something it was made. He hates the thought of you in pain, especially from him. Whatever he did to overwhelm you, he’ll make it right. 

-----

Yanderes that don’t stop, either too caught up in the moment or simply uncaring if you do pass out- after all, they’ll take care of you. 

Feitan, phinks, nobunaga, shalnark 

Feitan- 

You feel too good- wrapped around him like a vice, squeezing so tight. It makes him almost dizzy himself, so when he watches your eyes grow hazy and your body starts to tremble, he thinks very little of it. Maybe even thinks it’s good, afterall, he loves knowing he has an effect on you. 

It takes him a minute to realize how unsteady you are, not dizzy with pleasure necessarily but more so dizzy as you grapple with the edge of consciousness. “Too much?” he asks, voice tight, as he continues to push into you. He watches you nod, shaking hands reaching out to him to steady yourself. 

He lets you tangle your arms around his shoulders, lets you seek out the sensations you need to keep you grounded, but he doesn't stop. He slows down, so slow he’s nearly stopped, but feitan continues to roll his hips into you in a desperate attempt to not let this end. Even just this is more that enough- benign buried to the hilt inside you is perfect, how can he complain when you’re so fucked out that you can hardly stay coherent. 

“So good for me.” he whispers as he forces you to take it. The pace is slow but so so deep, and he watches your face with an intensity that doesn't help you calm down at all, but a part of you really wants to be good for him, so you fight not to struggle against him as you struggle equally hard to stay awake. 

Phinks- 

Phinks always struggles to hold back, especially with you- his beloved darling, but he’d been so sure that he’d been doing a good job at not going too rough, not fucking you as hard and fast as he wanted to- and god, he wants to. 

It catches him off guard when you look up at him with such hazy eyes, lip worried between your teeth, clearly overwhelmed and uncomfortable. Fuck, fuck. “Hey, you’re alright.” he soothes, shifting his weight to free a hand to push your hair away from your face. Looking closer, he can see the telltale signs of being near losing consciousness- the sweat, the paleness, the trembling. He hates that it isn't an immediate turn off- he hates that even with you so uncomfortable he desperately needs to fuck you through the orgasm that he’s sure is going to tear through him. Just a little more. 

“Stay with me, stay with me.” he encourages, looming over you and arranging you into a better position, one where you can relax completely against the sheets. It makes him feel guilty, knowing even now he wont stop, but the way the new position seems to help you eases that guilt a little bit, enough for him to breathe a sigh of relief and continue to rut into you. “fuck, just a little more.” he soothes, watching as you nod nearly incomprehensibly. 

Your perfect, he’s sure he’s close- was even before you started to get hazy from it all, but the way you lay back and take it- so willing, even now- has him fucking into you with a reckless adandon. 

Nobunaga- 

It takes nobunaga a minute to realize how out of it you are- after all, aren't you meant to be hazy, shaky, absolutely desperate? Aren't you meant to be unable to form words, too far gone in the pleasure he gives you? His delusional mind thinks so, and he does love the sight of your flushed cheeks and your desperate gaze. 

“Can't take any more?” he asks you, watching the way your face changes as you struggle to comprehend his words. You shake your head, desperate to convey how lightheaded and uncertain you feel. “What’s that? Use your words.” he encourages, but quickly fucks himself into you harder, deeper, faster, and any words on your lips fail, all you can manage is a choked gasp as you feel any thought youd managed to scrape up disappear back into the void of your mind. 

You look so good he can't help but kiss you- his lips pressed seamlessly to yours, tongue invading your mouth. It can help your overwhelmed state, he’s sure, but it does serve to pull more of those cute little noises from you, swallowed up in the kiss. 

“Got nothing to say? That’s alright, I know what you need.” nobunaga knows your body well by now, he knows how to bring you closer and closer to the edge, he knows how to make you squirm and whimper, and he’s certain that he’ll be able to push you over the edge of consciousness as well. The very thought of being allowed to fuck your unconscious body has him fucking into you with renewed fervor. 

Shalnark- 

Shalnark notices fast the way your breath grows ragged, the way your eyes grow teary. It makes him smile, he’s too much for you, already got you on the edge of consciousness and he’s just getting started.“You’re so cute.” he’s not going to stop, not when you look like THIS, fucked out and desperate and teary eyed. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips, charmed by the way you clumsily reciprocate, likely on instinct, because it’s obvious your mind is somewhere else- or, more likely, your mind isn't anywhere right now. 

Shalnark never has trouble taking more from you than you can handle, and this is no different, in fact, this is even more so the case because you can't seem to beg him to stop. “take it, take it.” he accentuates each word with a particularly deep thrust into you, forcing a desperate cry from your lips each time. You seem a little too far gone to really decide if you need to stop or not, so he’ll decide for you, he doesn't mind. “don't worry baby, you’re alright.” 

Even if it’s too much for a cute little thing like you to handle, shalnark knows he isnt hurting you, and that gives him all the certainty he needs to continue fucking into you like he so desperately wants. And if you lose consciousness, it will only further establish the power he had over you, allowing him to truly do anything he wants with you. It’s perfect, so please, feel free to let go. “you can let go if you want. I’ve got you.”

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: Reconciliation

Warning: Still a bit angst-y. no teeth-rotting fluff. lots of drama.

Author's note: Please read "Lnds: Fighting with them" first before reading this one.

Zayne:

Well, most of the problems have been resolved already when you have heart-to-heart talks with him in his office. Although it was inevitable that you would shed a tear of frustration, Zayne would never let you go to sleep with a heavy heart.

Despite being mentally exhausted from your work and your fight, his genuine kindness will never flicker, especially towards you. When he gets home, his first instinct is to find you and check on your state—sure, you've resolved the issue through the conversation. Still, he isn't naive to think that lingering afterthoughts of the fight won't weigh your heart down.

Zayne loves you, and albeit he can't say it directly, he'd show it to you instead.

When he finds you, you are most likely lost in your thoughts, reflecting or distracting yourself in one way or another, but it will almost always be the same scenario: you will be sitting out in the garden in your nightwear.

Zayne would place his bag down and head to the kitchen to brew your favorite warm drink, doubling the amount of sweetened cocoa powder. It's not healthy to drink, but it was okay once in a while. You could hear the clinking of the teaspoon hitting the mug, and shortly after, Zayne was behind you, draping a knitted shawl over your shoulders.

He would hand you the drink and simply sit beside you in silence. He wasn't on his phone and dared not speak, letting only the chilly air envelop you both.

It wasn't awkward; there was no tension. Just silence.

And a little warmth as his hands clasped onto yours, his thumb grazing your palm.

That moment made you think that whatever you fought about felt trivial and tiny.

"I'm sorry for getting mad," you tell him lightly. "Thank you for the drink."

Zayne had said his sorries, and he didn't really need to hear one from you, but nonetheless, you were heard. He felt your head rest on his shoulders, and together, you basked under the full moon.

Xavier:

Xavier was looking for you. He went to the office and to that small hidden field, searching for an inkling of your presence. He didn't know what he would do once he managed to find you, but it was the last thought in his mind.

You weren't in your apartment, and it had already been 24 hours. Xavier waited patiently in silence, reflecting on your fight. A phantom of pain from you slapping him amplified the fear in your face, sending an ache through his heart.

He shouldn't have done that. He didn't know why. You never had the habit of running away during a fight, so he was unsure why he was unconsciously pressing you against the wall. Xavier is more than aware that his strength is incomparable to yours. You would, quite frankly, stand no chance if he used force, but that was precisely the point; he had no reason to use it.

He wanted to apologize to you, and he wanted you to reprimand him. He could take another hit from you, but what he can never accept is seeing that frightened, cornered look on your face.

You arrived pretty late into the night, and he was still there on your sofa, patiently waiting for you, almost like a little puppy. You spared him a few seconds of your glance but turned away soon after, taking off your coat, dropping your bag, and heading to the bedroom to speak.

You lay in your bed, facing away from the door because you knew too well that he would come in after you. Even then, you didn't lock the door. Xavier looked more than dejected when you didn't speak to him. You kept your position and closed your eyes shut.

Quietly, the silver-haired man made his way to your bedroom, peeking before carefully entering and lying beside you. Lightly, he clutched onto the hem of your shirt. "I want to apologize," his voice cracked a little, almost making it seem he was on the verge of tears.

"I don't like it when you corner me," you told him.

He scooted closer. "I know, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."

"I don't like it when you don't listen to my side of the story."

"I'll listen to your side next time," Xavier said, his voice faint yet closer.

It was the perfect time to let go of your anger. You never really talked about his habit when you fight, and you were partly at fault for tolerating it, hoping he would just listen one day. But how would Xavier change something when he didn't know how it affected you so much?

You rolled over to finally face him, his eyes going wide. You stroked his cheek, the side which you slapped the day before. "I shouldn't have slapped you. I'm sorry." Luckily, you didn't hit him too hard; otherwise, the ring on your finger would've cut his face.

Relieved that you had forgiven him, Xavier grabbed the hand that stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and basked in your warmth. "Don't be. I scared you, and I deserved that." It was a quiet moment for you. Neither of you really knew what you had to say to each other. All was forgiven, and what awaits is simply the both of you fulfilling the end of your promises.

To fill in the silence, Xavier scooted closer and closer, kissing the exposed part of your collarbone shortly after, burying his face in your chest. You smell like coffee, he thought, but rather than stir him awake, it lulled him to sleep.

It didn't take long for him to snooze off to dreamland; after all, he waited for you for a day, not once sleeping in the hopes that he could see you face to face.

Rafayel:

In this relationship, you're almost always the one who needs to go after him, coddle him like an infant, and practically mend the entire relationship. Almost.

On rare occasions, Rafayel would apologize. That was the case for that big fight between you two. You had gone no-contact, leaving him on read most of the time. You avoided the place where you could likely find him wandering about; after all, it was him who should be going after you in this fight. You didn't owe him anything.

You ended up on the sandy shore of the bay, watching the tides threaten to soil your shoe, only to retreat and slither back into the sea. The cold air brought with it the salty scent of the ocean water, bringing a slight comfort to your nose.

The roughness of the waters masked the crunching sounds of Rafayel's footsteps; only then did you notice his presence when those familiar, gentle arms circled around the dip of your waist.

Silence.

"I was looking for you," he uttered under his breath.

"Why?"

"To apologize."

"Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" That came out of your lips monotonously, yet it struck every fiber of Rafayel's being.

"I said too much. I was mad, and so were you, but that's not an excuse to insult you and your feelings." To Rafayel, the waves were ready to swallow him whole. Like a poor little crab, unable to run away from the sea. "I was wrong for doing that, and I was wrong for shutting you out."

The apology wasn't enough. It was sincere, but it wasn't enough. "You can't keep doing that to me, Raf. You don't even get to give me a chance to speak." You pried away the hands that tried to bring you comfort. "You curse at me, you insult everything about me, and then kick me out like I'm just a major problem you can toss aside."

You could see your lover bite his lip. Anxious.

You love Rafayel, and there's nothing that can change that, and even if you were the one running after him during your fights, he fails to comprehend that you get tired, too.

"I'm an adult," you started. "We both are, Rafayel. But when we fight, why do you belittle me so much? Do you really think that low of me? Do you think you can push me around and make me follow all of your emotional whims?"

"No!" Rafayel exclaimed, in disbelief that your thought process had led you to say what you said. "I was mad. I didn't mean anything that I sai—"

"Then treat me right, Rafayel. Is that so hard to do? Is it really complicated to just…talk? Is it so hard to just sit down on your couch and listen to me?" You kept your lips shut, eyes staring at him without much thought. The usual cheery tone of your voice, nowhere in sight, in its wake, exhaustion. "I can only do so much for you, and I'm growing tired the more you do this to me—I get tired as well, Rafayel. You need to realize that."

The poor man didn't know what to say. Your words invaded his head, ridding it of any thought. They hurt. They stung at his heart. His fingers raised to lightly pull the hem of your sleeve, eyes meeting yours, glossy and flickering with fear; with hesitation, he asked: "Are you…breaking up with me?"

"I love you too much to break up with you." You took his cold hands. "I want to make us work. So help me. I can't do this alone." You tell him.

Your fingers were tiny against his own, yet they belonged in the in-betweens. You closed them and placed a kiss on the back of his palm.

He pulled you into an embrace, tightly, like the world was about to end in a matter of seconds.

He was cold, but his hug was warm. "I promise I'll work on myself. I don't want to hurt you again, and I don't want you to get tired of me." Rafayel whispered in your ear. "So don't give up on me. I'll change…"

The spare hand that hung on your hand gradually crept up his back, finding its usual place between Rafayel's shoulder blades. You rubbed small circles, the only comfort you could provide despite your exhaustion.

"I'll hold you to your word." You pressed a kiss on his cheek. As you did, you realized something you didn't a few minutes before.

Rafayel's exposed neck, his thin clothing, and his sandals didn't cover his whole feet. In the cold seaside, Rafayel looked like a madman wearing an indoor outfit, as if he had just walked out of his home without much thought. No wonder why he was so cold. He was shivering both at the thought of you nearly breaking up with him and because of the chilly mists of water hitting his way.

You unrolled the cotton scarf that warmed your neck, wrapping it around him instead. "Let's head home, I don't want you getting sick."

He quietly complied, pulling away from you but keeping your hand locked with his.

Sylus:

The same things happen again and again; it makes you feel numb. Empty.

There was no difference when you woke up alone or when you woke up in his embrace. Not when you were fighting.

Not tonight.

Sylus was awake. You couldn't see him due to the sheer darkness of his room, but he was there, his thumb brushing against your nape while a leg crossed over yours. You stared off into the corner of the room, wondering who was going to speak first.

"We're not breaking up, sweetie." It was more of a demand rather than a statement.

"We won't," two can play at his game. "If you apologize." Nobody would want to be abandoned and left hanging for a month. Especially not you.

You mustered the strength to push yourself up, expecting a bit of restraint from your lover—to your surprise, he let you stand up.

"Apologize for what, exactly? It was you who decided to test my patience. You were the one who cursed at me, calling me names and even throwing things in my way, so pray-tell, sweetie, what do I have to apologize for?" He stared at you, his gaze unfaltering and intense.

"I'm sorry," you stood your ground, yet the apology was long due. "I don't remember what we fought about, but I apologize. For cursing at you, for throwing things in your face. That won't happen again."

A lengthy breath escaped his lips, sounding unsatisfied with your seemingly half-hearted and shallow apology. Sylus wouldn't want to admit it to you, but he doesn't even know why he was mad; all Sylus knew that evening was that he was overcome with too much anger, one that he would usually release through violence. But it involved you. He doesn't want to hurt you or lay a hand on you, so the best option he has is to get away.

He didn't know for how long he should be gone, and in the blink of an eye, a full month had passed.

His anger had long been gone the same time as your loneliness began to fester.

As simple as the apology sounded, it was more than enough for him. "You're forgiven. Don't do that to me ever again."

The man stood up, and you watched his figure as he strode closer to you. He could see the look in your eyes, the anguish mixed with despair, and as he was about to pull you into a hug, a reverberating slap echoed in his room.

The back of his hand stung. And so did your palm.

"You're not going to touch me until you apologize, too, Sylus." Your throat burned at your own words. Your feet felt like they were buried half an inch into the floor, preventing you from running away. He looked down at you, low-lidded eyes devoid of any life.

"Why should I?"

You wanted to laugh at his crap.

"Why is it that you demand compensation every time I leave you on read for more than 3 days? Why do I have to explain where I've been, who I was with, and why I was gone while you—" A bitter laugh bloomed out of your mouth, "While you come here and not even offer a single bit of an explanation nor an apology?"

Sylus offers nothing in exchange for your words. He avoided you, that he can't deny. He used his work as an excuse to bury you at the back of his head and intentionally minimized your presence in his life.

"Hah," the ache at the back of your neck crept to the back of your head, nearly sending your head to throb all over. "You're unfair, Sylus. You're so goddamn unfair that…" You couldn't continue the words you wanted to say. It will only fan the flame in your heart and his.

"I just," the shiver in your breath snapped Sylus into reality. The feeling in your throat was uncomfortable. It was slowly becoming tangled, choking you of air. "I just want an apology from you, Sylus. Even just a small apology for abandoning me." And the fact that you had to beg him for it is just…

Sylus wrapped his hand around you, keeping your arms in place. You tried to break free from his grasp, but he held on to you tightly, not offering you a way out. Your face was smashed against his chest, and you could hear his heartbeat, pumping, beating all too fast.

"Forgive me," Sylus whispered. "There's no excuse for what I did."

His words were like the key to your eyes as tears began to cascade down your cheeks. There was no need for him to say anything else; it was enough for you. There was no strength left in you to reciprocate his hug, but you wanted to.

Sylus slipped his hand underneath your thighs and lifted you up. Carefully trudging to the bed, he laid you down in the same place you got up, tucking a blanket over you. He got on the bed as well, pulling you closer to his grasp.

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow." He stroked your cheek and placed a kiss on your eyes. "We can talk properly, and I'll apologize again," Sylus said. The same hand that touched your cheek slid down onto your shoulders, caressing it up and down.

The weariness began to settle in. The soft mattress and pillows and his warm touch.

It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open, and you didn't know why you were fighting the fatigue, but Sylus' promise helped you settle down.

He doesn't go back on his words and doesn't say things he doesn't mean. You hold him up to his words.

And quietly, you drift off to sleep.

Author footnotes: I changed the writing style to a somewhat story-telling format. I hope you guys don't mind.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

[writingoddess1125]

You Give Them a Massage 💆‍♂️

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk.

Buy me a KO-FI

Luffy

Luffy while not exactly needing massages enjoys the physical affection.

You will focus on his spine as you gently knead his muscles into relaxation. Which usually turns into you kneading a soft rubbery feeling since he will relax so much it's like he turns into a toy.

"Are you stretching out?"

You question as you realize you've kneaded him into puddy. As well as praising the nice clean lemon scented lotions you used.

He will giggle at the feeling and eventually fall asleep at your touch.

"Your hands are sooo nice (Y/N)!'

Sanji

A massage for Sanji usually starts out as physical therapy for his legs since the muscles are so tight and locked up it causes him pain. Stretching him out leads to him usually Biting a Pillow and groaning in discomfort.

*Please watch for your viewing pleasure ;3

Once done with that you massages away. Focusing on his legs and thighs in order to get him relaxed. Using nice peach scented lotion to help him relax.

"Your hands are heavenly my dear~"

He will flirt with you while on the table but eventually just develope into groans of bliss.

Zoro

Zoro will be stubborn and not want a message at first. However fall into it when his shoulders are sore.

You have to use baby oil for him since his skin is very rough. You have to use a lot of strength to work out the knots in his shoulders, having felt stones that were softer.

"This is ridiculous, I don't see... ohh"

Once you hit that point that has been hurting him he will fall under your spell. Humming in gentle delight as you work out the sorness and tension from his shoulders.

He will fall asleep, snoring rathed loudly as you smooth out his shoulders.

"That was.. very very nice"

Usopp

Usopp will be down for a massage, especially since all his maintenance om the ship make his arms sore.

At first talking your ear off about fake stories as you worked, using different mango lotions on his hands to make them soft.

"You know, I traveled to this island once that had beautiful mermaids, they were all over.. over oh that feels nice"

Will eventually fall into a dreamy like state as he will mumble gentle praise as you work up and down his arms.

"That was so nice (Y/N) thank you"

Nami

Oh poor Nami- Her lower back is always a problem for her! So when you offer a massage she jumps at the opportunity.

You work at the very strong tension on her lower back and help ease the ache. Using nice orange scented lotion for her to add a bit of aroma therapy to the room.

"Gods that's so nice... ugh having boobs suck-"

She will grumble earning some nice chuckles out of both of you. Casual conversation will take place between the two of you as you work, but at the end silence will win over as she's too relaxes to speak.

"Thank you (Y/N) you're a life saver~"

Buggy

Buggy never talks about how sometimes his joints ache after using his devil fruit. Mainly his neck if he detaches his head for long periods of time.

Will throw a mini temper tantrum as you tell him to get on the table, which he does even if he makes a fuss.

Once you start this man is all moans and whimpers. Feeling you work the muscles in his neck into relaxation.

"Fucckkkk" He will moan and pretty much fall apart under your skilled hands. The nice strawberry lotion filling the room which makes him even more complient and relaxed. Defiently the type to get 'excited' during a massage as well.

"Well.. maybe we can do this again?"

Shanks

Shanks will be open to a massage, however it takes him a while to actually relax.

You focus on his shoulders and side of his body. Especially the one with his missing arm, He does get phantom pains and were the muscles are suppose to connect on his missing arm sometimes clench at the pack of stimulation. So you have to carefully work those muscles with your fingers and travel up to his shoulders and side of his body.

"...Thank you (Y/N)"

He will sigh out, feeling the ache in his arm fade from your fingers as the cucumber lotion helps him relax. Will try and crack a few jokes with you here and there but will eventually relax enough to allow silence.

"It's been a while since I've felt this nice, Thank you again"

Mihawk

When Mihawk finally allows you to give him a massage after pestering him for a while you see why- It's like his entire back is made of cobblestone- You question how he gets any sleep with this much tension!

It takes a good hour just to work out the knots before you can even begin to give him a proper massage. He will grunt only at the nice feeling of you working his muscles into submission, the Eucalyptus lotion helping his mind fade into tranquil bliss as you work.

Mihawk is dead silent the while time you work, enjoying the peaceful silence as you get him to relax and ease the pain in his entire back.

Once finishes you are close to exhaustion.

"Thank you deeply (Y/N)"

[yet-another-heathen]

On the topic of realistic conditioning/deconditioning,

If the trigger is something whumpee wouldn't hear often when they're with caretaker but whumpee still wants to break it because they might hear it elsewhere (like kneel being taken as a command)

Would whumpee ask caretaker to casually trigger them so they have the opportunity to challenge it in their own head and in a safe place? Would this be a good idea for recovery?

And of course being there with the praise everytime whumpee makes just a little bit of progress, or comfort when they don't.

Heads up, anon: your ask was an EXCEPTIONALLY good one, and I ended up writing another mini TED talk (~3-4 min read) in response. Thank you so much for sending it in!

...on Conditioned Whumpees - Part 3

[ Part 1 - Part 2 ]

That is a very, very good idea! You're spot on with all of it, particularly operating in a safe environment where whumpee is ultimately calling the shots. Having that comfort/support readily available will make a huge difference in how well whumpee can tackle the matter. And while the process isn't fun, approaching desensitization with this much intent is much, much more likely to result in success.

I can offer a few pointers that can add another few layers of realism, as well as some other things to think about while tailoring it to your story:

if whumpee is actively working through their conditioning in this way, memories of their trauma will become closer to the surface. As a result, all of their other PTSD symptoms will be elevated during the course of their practice sessions, as well as for at least a few weeks after.

flashbacks are a very common experience during times like this. engaging with triggers like this is going to cause their flashbacks to become more frequent and intense.

during such flashbacks, it is almost a given that whumpee's mind and body will enter a similar state to the one it was in during the time when the flashback was taking place. By that I mean that the fear they felt in that moment, where it was physically located in their body, will echo into their body in the present moment. Same goes for other all other emotions, and sometimes even phantom aches surrounding any injuries they received at the time...

while the emotions tend to be identical to the ones felt during the trauma, in my experience, the pain comes out distorted in a similar way to the way it does in dreams: less intense, and more "blurry" and imprecise in location. When we say that someone having a flashback is "reliving the moment", we mean that their body literally feels as though they're in the same immediate danger that it was in back then.

this is true even though they'll be aware to at least some degree that they're presently with caretaker and safe.

the flashbacks don't always happen immediately after the conditioning trigger is used. Often they flare up hours or days later, sometimes without warning, sometimes as a result of encountering a different flashback trigger. The whumpee's thresholds for what counts as a trigger will drop, which is part of what causes the flashbacks to happen more often. Something they could normally ignore is going to affect them much more while they're like this.

your whumpee is more likely to experience severe mood swings while in this heightened state. Especially feelings like irritability, frustration, anger, loneliness, and grief. This stuff ain't pretty, folks. Even your sweet cinnamon bun is most likely going to lash out at someone as a result.

PTSD episodes are also exhausting. your whumpee is going to feel mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. And, to add insult to injury, being tired amplifies the emotions listed above.

Now all of this said, your whumpee may or may not know that this is to be expected. If they've worked on processing their trauma before this, they'll have figured out that one often leads to the other. They'll go into the deconditioning practice knowing this is coming, and will approach it carefully, but with a fairly level head. Knowing that it'll suck, but they'll come out the other side okay.

If not, they're in for a rather nasty surprise.

For the latter, they will feel at first that the deconditioning practice is making everything worse. They're suddenly struggling the way they did when the trauma was fresher, and it can be tempting to stop and refuse to touch it again because the mental/emotional pain gets so intense.

If they do give up at this stage, it will make trying again far more daunting in the future.

But the trauma being stirred up is actually a sign that it's helping. It means that the whumpee is starting to process what happened to them, which is a fundamental step in being able to heal.

Note: All throughout the process, crying is a very good thing. It lets them physically get rid of a lot of the brain chemicals associated with these surges of emotion. Letting themselves cry over things they couldn't cry about back then can actually help them let go of those feelings in a similar way to if they'd been able to process them in the moment. [Which is the basis for much of EMDR, a specialized tool used in trauma therapy.]

Okay. So now we know what other effects can cascade from the actual deconditioning practice, now we have some things to consider.

First off, what time parameters are whumpee and caretaker working within while deconditioning? There are three basic options:

they sit down together and practice repeatedly using the trigger for [X amount of time; usually <45m at once] back to back. Once that time is up, caretaker will no longer use the trigger at all, the excercise will end, and they'll get up to do something else.

whumpee sets a specific window of time [X number of hours] within which caretaker will use the trigger word at random points. Once that time has elapsed, the exercise is over.

over the course of days, caretaker uses the trigger word at random points without giving warning. the excercise only stops after being ended by whumpee.

Now why is that important? Because of something called hypervigilance. It is another symptom of PTSD which, to put it into the simplest words, is whumpee waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's a heightened state of tension and wariness in which whumpee is expecting that something bad is going to happen, and is constantly searching for any sign to indicate when it's coming.

It is beyond exhausting.

Imagine knowing that someone is about to slap you as hard as they can, and you have to sit there with your eyes closed, waiting for it. The breath-holding, the flinchiness, the rigid tension in your body as you strain to listen for when they're coming.

Only now, stretch that moment out into hours. Days. Weeks. That is hypervigilance.

A hypervigilant whumpee is not going to be able to relax. Or rest. Or decompress. Or readily trust much of anything around them. They're MUCH more likely to flinch at sudden movements/sounds. They might start biting their nails or showing other signs of nervousness and distress.

These methods above have a gradually increasing chance of setting off whumpee's hypervigilance. If they know exactly when the next trigger is coming, as in example 1, then their 'waiting for it' tension will be low. But the more uncertain they become of exactly when it's going to happen, as in examples 2 & 3, the worse the hypervigilance is going to get.

The trade off is that the later examples are more effective in desensitizing them toward the trigger. The more their practice mimics encountering an unexpected trigger in day-to-day life, the easier it will be to fall back on that desensitization when the time comes.

Therefore, it would be a very good idea for a whumpee who's new to this to start with number 1, then gradually progress to 2 & 3 as time goes on. They should be the one to decide when the next step is made, and if/when they need to dial it back.

Other questions to ask yourself while plotting:

how mentally prepared is whumpee for worsening symptoms? what about caretaker? did either of them know it was coming?

how much of this heightened PTSD stress can your whumpee take before it becomes too much? how do they react when they do hit that tipping point?

if caretaker feels that whumpee is getting too distressed during practice even though they're not tapping out, would they call it off themself? Or would they ultimately leave that decision to whumpee?

based on the answer, how would whumpee feel about caretaker's decision? Relieved? Belittled? Betrayed?

does whumpee have any grounding tools they can use while practicing?

how does caretaker handle the mood swings and instability that come with whumpee's heightened PTSD? You should consider both their internal and external reactions on the matter.

how does whumpee prefer to decompress after a practice session? what things would help them calm down and recover?

how long do they need (hours or days) before the next attempt?

Even with all I've just written, there's far more to the resulting hightened state of PTSD than flashbacks and hypervigilance. PTSD symptoms that they're most likely to encounter in the background while doing deconditioning practice include:

Flinchiness, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, exhaustion, emotional mood swings, outbursts, crying spells, depression, executive dysfunction, dissociation, numbness, racing thoughts, freeze responses, tremors, inappetence, muscle tension, and heart palpitations.

Yes, usually many of them at once, even those that contradict. Your whumpee is going to have a LOT going on at once, and it is not going to be a fun time. I recommend looking up any of the above symptoms you don't recognize, and looking for whump inspiration in what you learn.

(Because everyone experiences PTSD episodes differently, there's a lot of wiggle room in which ones whumpee will encounter. Don't feel pressured to use all of them, find what you want to write and have fun with it!)

Thanks again for the incredible ask, anon. And again, I want to congratulate you on how spot-on your original ask was. You nailed it. I know this was a lot more than you asked for, but I hope this provides helpful context for your whump! My inbox will always be open if you think of anything more <3

[animeyanderelover]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day! Can you write about the topic you wrote in this link for Muzan meruem chrollo and sukuna? Good afternoon!

The link being referred to is this one if anyone is curious.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, controlling behavior, manipulation, blackmailing, isolation, violence

Tags: @jamayah @leveyani @chxxz @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @lovley-valentine7

S/o is a time and world traveler

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖​An ardent reader of humanity, Chrollo takes an interest in you early on as he notices you during one of his stays in a city he plans to raid with his Phantom Troupe. There is information to be gathered from him and as he schemes and manipulates to achieve what he needs, you stumble upon him. New to town with wide eyes brimming with curiosity, the type of innocent that someone like him should stay away from. Yet somehow he is unable to shake the feeling off that to you there is more than meets the eye. It’s a suspicion he is unable to shake off as Chrollo has certainly a good read on humanity. So why does he feel like there is something special about you? With the time he still has left before the coup, Chrollo decides to indulge in his peaked interest and approaches you one day in town. Offering you to show you around the city works wonderfully to get you to open up to him as you accept his offer eagerly. The answers you give him are vague though, your true home a mystery. Chrollo always seeks answers though so the lack of information from your side only serves to fuel that urge to find out what it is that has his attention so stuck on you. Whatever it is you are keeping, he needs to find it out.

📖​Initially it's his charm he uses in hopes of coaxing you into opening up to him. It has worked on a lot of unassuming people before yet on you it doesn't. It's hard to get you to open up and whilst others might find this infuriating, Chrollo finds himself enjoying the challenge. He's come to like you over the last few weeks that he has gotten to know you. Something within that innocent curiosity attracts him especially since it is coupled with an unusual amount of knowledge and wisdom that not many within your age possess. It is such an unusual combination as wisdom always comes with pain yet you have kept your liveliness alive nonthelesss. He wants to know how you have done this and why as well. As you don't respond to his attempts, Chrollo sees himself with no other choice but to use a Nen ability on you. He introduces you to his friends, all under disguise, and asks Pakunoda in particular to question you about your origins and use her powers to get the answers. Only for her to report back to him later on that she was unable to use her skills on you. Once again Chrollo finds himself denied of a knowledge he wishes to obtain yet the more it is kept away from him, the more he desires it, desires you.

📖​Nen, the very ability that makes many people as fearful and strong as they are, doesn't touch you. After Pakunoda's report he decides to try to use some abilities out of his book to see if you respond to any of them yet he receives the same results as Pakunoda. Nen doesn't respond to you and you don't respond to Nen. The very power of this earth can't touch you mentally and in cases not even physically. This leads Chrollo after many hours of pondering to a theory that only ensures his further downfall into obsession. If Nen does not respond to you then perhaps that hints at the fact that you aren't from this world. An anomaly if he has to name it, something that shouldn't be within this world and yet still is. Answers have to be obtained and he has to resort to methods and substances that can and will work on you. He drugs you and restrains you, uses your inebriated mind to slowly and patiently pull all the answers out of you without putting a single scratch on you. He bemourns that he can't have a conversation with you at your fullest abilities but he fears that otherwise you might escape his grasp. Your ability is something he cannot steal so he has to find other ways to keep you by his side.

Meruem

👑​For you it is a very unfortunate happening of being at the right place at the wrong time. Your plans originally only involved exploring the very kingdom where Meruem and the Chimera Ants have settled down yet you don't know about that until a few foot soldiers attack you. There is little to no choice for you but defend yourself though you do not kill them. Perhaps that was your one fatal mistake as they quickly report the accident to one of the royal servants who in return reports it to Meruem himself. The slight rousing of curiosity is not enough for him to take matters in his own hands though as he simply tells one of his servants to capture you and to deliver you to him as he may get stronger by eating you. All search is quickly solved as you decide to turn up right at the palace's doorsteps yourself. It's your curiosity of the species of the Chimera Ants that has led you to this place and you are immediately brought to Meruem. His boredom outweights his interest yet he decides to entertain you as he asks you to name a reason why he shouldn't behead you and devour you within the next second. What you offer him though in return for staying within this palace is knowledge. Knowledge which you have a lot of.

👑​You bring with you complex board games which do not exist within this world as victories go back and forth between Meruem and you. Whenever he wins, there is no feeling of satisfaction as everything is always cutting too close for him to confidently believe that he is genuinely better than you. The conversations between the both of you prove to equally as entertaining as your answers are thought through and always deeply sophisticated. You do not shake whilst in his presence like normal humans nor are you as blindly loyal as his royal servants. Meruem finds himself appreciating this as he continues his conversations with you and keeps you alive whilst you get to find out more about his species. It's Shaiapouf who brings him the news of the weird discoveries that he has made whilst going through your stuff, his distrust for you too deep as he views you as a threat to the king. A part of Meruem wishes to kill the servant for that breach of orders but the information that Shaiapouf brings with him makes him still valuable enough. Diaries he has stolen from you and devices which do not exist within this world, maps of strange worlds and sketches of inhumane creatures.

👑​Shaiapouf offers to use his Nen abilities on you to force you to talk but he is crashed through the next wall as he makes such a brazen suggestion to Meruem's face. Instead the king seeks you out himself to confront you about the things that he has found out just now. He wishes for transparency as he has given you the freedom to satiate your curiosity. It is only fair that he gets to do the same with his own interest. Surprisingly enough you do not protest much and decide to answer him all the question that he wishes to have answered. The answers you give him are as intriguing as they are worrying him. What you hold makes you worth more than treasure as your knowledge, powers as well as your immunity against Nen make you very strong. Yet Meruem realises that you have no intention to stay in this world where he exists forever as you plan to move on as soon as you have achieved what you came here for. A scenario which he cannot let happen as he has grown far too attached to you. A King needs a worthy partner by his side. You will be that person who will stand next to him as he conquers new territory. Meruem won't settle for anything less than you. You will be kept.

Kibutsuji Muzan

🩸​Muzan's one fatal weakness is to underestimate humans. He seems himself as something above death, above humanity. After all he has almost reached the perfection that he wishes for yet it is a tiny life of a flower which he is missing in order to walk under the sun. For a millenium already he has been searching for the Spider Lily yet not a single demon that he has created has been able to deliver him the flowers. You happen to catch his attention through the talks of the people within the city he is currently residing within. You've just recently appeared within town and happen to have an interest for botany. With you you have brought exotic plants no one in Japan has seen before as you do not come from this country. Immediately you have Muzan's attention as with your arrival he suddenly sees a chance that you might have the very thing that he so desperately is searching for. He takes things into his own hands as he pays you a little visit under the disguise of being a human who wishes to get to know you, the new person in town. You happen to have opened a small shop selling flowers and trees. What he needs he doesn't find there yet he still asks you if you know where to find the Spider Lily.

🩸​The brief flash of recognition within your face as he speaks the name almost elicits glee within him. So you do know. A good thing rarely comes without bad news though which is exactly what happens when you inform him that you do know where they grow but that they do not grow here. It's only natural for him to assume that you mean that they don't grow within Japan but another country, a hindrance that he believes he can conquer though. After all now he knows that what he is searching for exists. He wishes for your help as you are the expert yet you sense that there is something very malicious behind those red eyes and deny him. A fatal mistake which you would have paid dearly if you would have been just a normal human. You aren't though and as Muzan sends at night a demon out to capture you and deliver you to him, he finds out about that too. You possess abilities which he is not familiar with as you are no Demon Slayer. Is there another organisation out there with people who possess powers similar to you? Will they be a threat for him? It's always only about his own life yet all the answers he needs are within you and unfortunately he can't catch you.

🩸​He breaks into your house after having ensured that you will be out at night as he lets some of his demons loose to keep you busy all whilst he goes through your stuff. By the time you return he has almost pieced the truth together. The moment you step inside he attacks you and knocks you out before you can try to do anything to escape into a dimension which he can't follow you to. Your obedience he cannot gain through the usual means but his answers he will get. He needs to have you. You are far too valuable to escape from his grasp. After all now he finally understands what you have meant. The Spider Lily grows in another dimension which you have already travelled too. All he needs is for you to take him with you to that dimension so that he can collect the cure needed for him to walk under the sun again and then he can finally reach the perfection that he has always desired. You are far from done even though. You are a limitless potential which Muzan can use for his own gain. You should be honored, you know? After all he intends to keep you alive and by his side as not a mere pawn but as a precious pet which he will cherish. After all biologically he can still transform you into a demon.

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾​Truth be told, Sukuna and you know each other. As someone able to travel through not only dimensions but also to arrive in different dynasties it is unsurprising that you can appear over a millenium within the same world after having already visited during the reign of Sukuna's rule in the past. However, you are no prophet and for that you are not aware that the King of Curses has already spawned within the new time and age and is currently locked away within a boy named Itadori Yuji. You just happen to meet the boy during your trip through modern day Tokyo without any clue of what monster he is keeping within him for now. Whilst you don't see Sukuna though, Sukuna senses you whilst sealed away within the boy. It's almost nostalgic to know that you are still out there, one of two faces of a glorious time which has long passed. However, he is not as sentimental as to let himself get carried away by one very important fact. You shouldn't be alive anymore. It's been over a 1000 years since him and you have faced each other and as far as Sukuna knows you were nothing but a itty bitty human back then which he could have easily devoured. Things are about to get interesting, aren't they?

🗾​He orders Uraume to keep an eye on you whilst he is plotting to break free. What he needs is a vessel and not a cage. As soon as he has found a new body strong enough to serve as a vessel for him he intends to find you and figure out how you are still alive and no day older than the last time that he has met you. Though you are still unaware of Sukuna, you sense that there is something watching you. Uraume is after all a tangible body within this world unlike many of the little and weak curses scattered throughout a city as large and densely populated as Tokyo. You are oblivious to the curses around you and they cannot latch on to you and feed from your emotions either as you are intangible to them. All of this nothing but observations that prove to fuel Sukuna's fascination the moment he has finally found a useful vessel in which he can reside in and have full control over. A grin spreads on his face as he listens to Uraume's report during the time they have observed you. It seems like there is more to you now than what he was able to see back in the days. It's time for a long overdue visit where the two of you catch up with each other. No lies, please. After all he is your oldest acquaintance.

🗾​He's flattered to see that you haven't forgotten him either if your expression of mild terror is anything to go by. Sukuna makes himself comfortable within the place you are staying at as if he owns the place. The cocky grin doesn't leave his face once as he invites you to sit down and expresses his wish to merely talk with an old friend. You cautiously sit down after a few seconds as your curiosity ultimately wins you over as well as your own confidence that he won't be able to kill you as easily as he could have done when the both of you first met. After all you have gained a lot of experience and control since then. Something that Sukuna notices as well. You've matured in a lot of ways and he actually compliments you for it. Still, he has found out that there is a world of curses out there which you cannot perceive and you yourself aren't aware of it. That's the bait that he uses in order to get you to reveal to him how you can still be alive after all this time as he would kill any other sorcerer you might seek out in order to receive your answers. Oh, if he would have known about all of this a thousand years ago he would have taken you long ago. Perhaps he'll enjoy the challenge now that you're stronger and wiser though.

[vole-mon-amour]

After everything that has happened to Johnny, his body autonomy is such a huge and interesting topic for me. It should be WAY more present in the game.

In Phantom Liberty, they barely touched the surface of his military trauma and other traumatic events throughout his life, let alone Johnny losing his human arm and getting a prosthetic that sent him over the edge with cyberpsychosis and a messed up, traumatized psyche (as if it wasn't bad enough before that).

Cyberpunk 2077 is already such a great game, but it could have been an absolute masterpiece if they let us get through to Johnny and his trauma. V tells him he's a softie and Johnny replies with a "fuck you"—because how many people have been kind to him before that, really? How many people tried to genuinely understand him, especially since he pushed them away over and over again?

The game should have allowed the player to push through his "fuck you" that is actually a defensive mechanism, his awkwardness at being seen and exposed to those human feelings. The game should have allowed the player to help Johnny, to "Don't bullshit me, Johnny, I'm here for you whether you like it or not. Don't want me? Let's go talk to Kerry. Rogue is also an option, y'know?" (And judging by the way Johnny acts during a date with Rogue, and by him telling Rogue about V's death, Johnny still trusts Rogue enough and is, to a point, ready to be vulnerable and truthful with her.)

I mean, I'm sure Johnny and Kerry had many heart-to-heart conversations, but Johnny still built up a wall and pushed people away, even Kerry (his best friend, mind you).

And after the war? Drugs, alcohol, anything to drown the pain. The way he used sex to manipulate and to cope while he was also disassociating? I mean, he already has an arm he hates, that is still a foreign object, why not use his body, too?

You've heard this from me before and you'll hear this again: Johnny Silverhand deserved better. The Temperance ending remains the best canonical ending for me—he gets that second chance at life, to heal, to live. Even though he has to live in V's body, has to get used to it and that there's no V anymore, that the body fully belongs to him now. There's another question of body autonomy because Johnny's consciousness/the Relic overwrote itself on V's psyche, so technically he stole the body and killed V without meaning to. But then again, it was V's choice to give Johnny the body. It was V's choice to tell Johnny, "Don't fuck this up. Heal. Live for me to the fullest."

And so he tries, with his immense guilt and grief. He genuinely tries, otherwise V's sacrifice was for nothing. Otherwise it was only a waste.

Of course, in my head V is alive. Johnny gets his body back, his rehab, his healing—because's Johnny's actual body is so tired, is so used to every kind of poison, he NEEDS time to heal. It's going to be a process. It's going to take years. But it's important for him to get help.

But that's not canon. Canon is that Johnny is suffering all the fucking time, lying to himself that he's good, and then during events of Phantom Liberty and any kind of heart-to-heart with V it overwhelms him to the point of him holding back tears.

"I was totally ok with that, until now."

Yeah. Sure you were, darling.

Anyway. Body autonomy for Johnny Silverhand 2k25.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Hi, hello, Swiss being accidentally summoned at the same time as Cumulus and Cirrus. Swiss who didn't have a pack or mate in the pit. Swiss who trailed after the ghoulettes instead, not quite part of their pair as he kept his distance, but always somewhere not too far off. Swiss who tagged along during their hunts so that they may go after a bigger prey. Swiss who kept watch when the ghoulettes slept curled around eachother, standing tall a few feet away. Swiss who didn't want to impose his presence to such a close-knitted duo, not knowing that the ghoulettes were totally enamored with this lovely grinning ghoul who seemed to have taken upon himself to keep them safe. Swiss who only ever let the ghoulettes return the favor when he was in especially bad shape, too weak to protest. Swiss who clawed his way out of the pit right behind them, using the magic pulling at his air element, ableit more weakly than it did for the two air ghoulettes, because he couldn't phantom losing this semblance of a bond he had built with them. Swiss who thought about giving up halfway, the effort being far more exhausting and painful for a ghoul not directly targeted by the summoning. Swiss who was about to let go until Cumulus looked back, chirping at him encouragingly. Swiss who was halfway through the portal in the altar when it started closing off, stone becoming solid once more and threatening to crush him, only for the ghoulettes to each grab one of his arms and yank him out. Swiss who clung to them like a lifeline for a long moment, shaking with adrenaline and unsteady on his legs, wholly uncaring of the eyes on him and curious whispers filling the previous silence. Swiss who hid his face in Cirrus' shoulder as she and Cumulus hissed and craddled him between them protectively, making it clear that if they were to stay, so was Swiss. Swiss who in this moment, finally, finally let himself accept their affection. Swiss who to this day, even with a whole pack that loves and cherishes him, sometimes wakes up to a feeling of loneliness that only recedes once he's tucked in bed between Cirrus and Cumulus, purring as they hold their sweet boy.

[callmeagardengnome]

˚ʚ sore thumb ɞ˚ | CHOI SAN

pairings ᯓ idol!san x boxer! fem!reader

genre ᯓ soulmate au, one-shot

synopsis ᯓ tied by emotions and injuries, you and your soulmate have been through quite a roller coaster - especially when he can feel each and every punch you receive.

c.w ᯓ SLIGHTLYY angsty but it does have hella fluff. also this is during the BOUNCY era!

w.c ᯓ 2.6k

author’s note: sorry for the kinda late upload! took me a while to write this.. also ignore the weird ass timeline, this story is definitely not really true to the actual irl events

not proofread!

masterlist

you’ve always known that boxing was your calling. the thrill of getting in the ring, the sounds of gloves hitting the bag - the adrenaline that you got from the sport was.. addictive.

from the moment you stepped into the gym, you were hooked. while you weren’t that good at first, you continued to work day and night, training and perfecting your technique.

fortunately enough, you managed to climb the ranks. you became a pretty big name in the boxing world. people loved watching your matches, not just calling you a boxer, but an entertainer.

san, on the other hand, experienced your matches in a different way.

for years, san had been dealing with the sensation of getting punched in the face, or if it wasn’t that, his fists were the ones feeling the damage. not only that, he was completely oblivious to you and your job.

the both of you found out about your soulmarks early in life. frankly, it was pretty obvious. you started to feel emotions that weren’t your own and had sudden bursts of pain that came without warning. when your parents brought you to various specialists, all their answers were the same - it was a soulmark.

while san felt happy that he had an easy-to-spot soulmark, he couldn’t help but feel.. annoyed.

he often found himself wincing during rehearsals, clutching his sides as phantom pains shot through his body. san had been reasonably concerned and confused when the punches first started. there would be days when mysterious bruises would appear out of nowhere or where he would feel the sudden urge to dodge an unseen pinch flying towards him.

this led to san wondering - what were you doing? why were you getting into fights so often? were you a criminal? or could it be martial arts?

san eventually came to the conclusion that you were in some form of combat sport. after all, the punches that you received seemed controlled, and the bruises that you got were repetitive.

“again?” san would mutter under his breath, rubbing his sore ribs. this would happen almost every day, each time feeling as though it was happening to you for the first time.

though, sometimes, he would roll his eyes, somewhat amused, as if he was speaking to someone directly. “really? you couldn’t dodge that one?” he said, shaking his head with a smile.

as time passed, san found himself growing more attached to you. though he didn’t know who you were, he felt your emotions. he felt the anxiety you felt before every match and the rush of victory you experienced after a successful fight. he became oddly protective of you, even if he didn’t know why.

unfortunately, everything changed when you trained for an upcoming championship match. you were having a pretty intense training session, pushing yourself harder than before. as you landed a powerful punch on the punch bag, you felt a sharp pain shooting through your hand, making you drop to your knees.

“shit- what did i just do..?” you mumbled to yourself, staring at your twisted hand in shock. the pain was unbearable and overwhelming, throbbing in waves and spreading up your arm. the realisation hit you - something was wrong. not only for you, but your soulmate.

at the very moment, san felt the pain explode in his own hand. he was in the middle of rehearsal, practicing the choreography for ATEEZ’s new comeback. the sudden pain caught him off guard, making him shout in surprise.

“woah, what happened?” hongjoong rushed over immediately, his face laced with concern.

“i don’t know, hyung-“ san winced, his hand shaking. “my hand feels like its broken.. i- i can barely move it.” the other members gathered around him, completely stopping their rehearsal.

“san, that looks pretty bad. do we need to get you to the hospital?” seonghwa asked, kneeling beside him.

san shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “i think i’m fine.. just give me a moment.”

he was far from fine. the pain felt too real, too intense. you must have really injured yourself - badly. his mind started to race with worry. what happened? why did this feel 10x more painful than anything he’s ever felt? and most importantly, were you okay?

“come on san, we should at least get it checked,” wooyoung insisted, helping him to his feet.

meanwhile, you rushed to the hospital, cradling your injured hand. the both of you were left with the same diagnosis - a broken hand.

for you, it was devastating news. boxing was your life, your soul. putting in on pause meant that your whole life was on pause. the injury meant months of recovery and falling behind in the sport you love.

you also felt extremely guilty. not only did you cause yourself pain, your soulmate was definitely experiencing the consequences of your actions.

“great,” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “i just injured two people.”

despite your friends and trainers trying their best to support you, you couldn’t shake off the sadness you felt. what you hated though, was the fact that your soulmate could feel the range of emotions your were experiencing.

“why am i so careless,” you thought to yourself as you lay in your bed. “he must think i’m a mess.”

while he didn’t think you were a mess, san was struggling with the new injury. with the new comeback approaching, he needed to change the way he danced, finding ways to work around his broken hand.

sure, it was a inconvenience, but all san could think about was you. during this period of time, he constantly felt waves of sadness crashing over him. san could feel how guilty and depressed you were over your hand. the only thing that made it worse was that san could do nothing to help you.

san desperately wanted to reassure you, tell you that he’s fine and that you shouldn’t worry about him. but since neither of you knew one another, all he could do was imagine what he would say if he could reach you.

“whoever you are,” he whispered to himself. “don’t be too hard on yourself. we’re in this together.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

a few months go by and you eventually recover from your injury. you started to slowly ease back into boxing again, regaining the spark that you temporarily lost in your life.

KQ soon decided to postpone the comeback to a further date, wanting san to have a speedy recovery. the pain eventually subsided, allowing ATEEZ to continue with their promotional activities for the comeback.

with the group entering the ‘BOUNCY’ era, KQ wanted san and wooyoung to watch some boxing matches to try and get a realistic shot for their music video.

the two men sat at their dorm’s living room couch, scrolling through the different videos on their tv.

“which one should we watch..” wooyoung said, clicking the remote controller. “ooh.. how about this one? it’s live streaming right now.”

san shrugged, not really caring on what’s on the screen. his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the recent preparations for the comeback. he was about to reach for his phone when he suddenly heard the commentator’s voice booming through the tv speakers.

“and now, stepping into the ring, the undefeated boxer making her much awaited comeback after a hiatus - ‘____’!”

san froze mid-reach, but it wasn’t your name that caught his attention - it was the sudden surge of energy and adrenaline coursing through his veins. it was a familiar feeling that he felt all those times whenever you were in the ring.

wooyoung noticed san’s focus on the screen, giving him a look. “hey, you okay?”

san nodded, his eyes glued to the tv as he watched you step into ring. “yeah, i’m fine. i just feel like i should watch this match.”

you stood in the center of the ring, hearing the crowd cheering your name. it felt surreal to be back, reclaiming your place in the boxing world.

when the match began, you moved with precision, every punch given with the techniques that made you a popular boxer in the first place. the first few rounds were intense, with neither you or your opponent giving in. you wanted to show the world and your soulmate that you were no longer held back by your injury.

as san watched the match unfold, he felt every jab, every dodge, every emotion that you were feeling. it was as if he was in the ring with you, experiencing the fight through your eyes.

and then it happened - the moment that confirmed san’s questions. you landed a strong uppercut on your opponent, making her fall back. the crowd erupted with applause and san felt an immense pride that wasn’t his own.

he realised then, that you were his soulmate.

san took a deep breath, facing wooyoung in surprise. “i think.. i just found my soulmate.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened. “what? you mean-“

“yeah,” san said, leaning back into the couch. “it’s her. i can feel it. i’ve been feeling it the whole time.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the fight ended with your victory, with various sponsors and offers reaching out to you afterwards. while you appreciated it, you felt that maybe it was a good idea to take a few breaks from boxing every now and then.

one day, your manager told you about an interesting offer. a company called ‘KQ Entertainment’ reached out to you, wanting you to help choreograph a fight scene for their music video.

“why me?” you asked, genuinely curious. “i’m a boxer, not a choreographer.”

your manager shrugged, a smile appearing on her lips. “they mentioned wanting authenticity and your name came up. they said that the scene could benefit from your expertise.”

you paused, taking in the proposal. the idea of working with a k-pop group intrigued you. it was something different from your normal routine. a break from boxing didn’t mean that you had to step away from it completely. you finally made up your mind, accepting the deal.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

“wait, what?” san exclaimed, getting up from his chair.

“yeah, your soulmate’s going to teach us some boxing moves,” hongjoong said with a grin.

san began panicking, not expecting to meet you so soon. he didn’t expect his company to reach out to professional boxers, let alone you, to help choreograph the scene. he eventually calmed himself down, preparing himself on what to do when he finally meets you.

the day of meeting ATEEZ arrived and you found yourself entering the lively building. you were introduced to the staff and the directors, who eventually led you to the studio where ATEEZ were. while you have heard of them before, you didn’t know what to expect, feeling slightly nervous.

the both of you started to feel anxious, both just from your own emotions, but from each others. when you entered the studio, san couldn’t even believe that you were real.

as more introductions went around, one of the members caught your eye.

“hi, i’m san,” he chuckled nervously, extending his hand.

the moment you shook his hand, you felt an intense wave of emotions that wasn’t yours. it was as if the world paused for a moment, allowing the two of you feel each other’s feelings.

san, too, seemed taken aback. his eyes widened slightly as his hand started to shiver in shock.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you managed to say, trying to keep your composure. after all, you didn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of celebrities.

“likewise..” san muttered, his grip lingering longer than necessary. “i’m really looking forward to working with you.”

“booo just kiss already,” wooyoung shouted playfully.

you raised an eyebrow, looking between san and wooyoung.

“sorry about that, he loves to make things awkward,” san said, turning to you with an nervous smile.

the both of you stared at each other for a moment, unable to take your eyes off each other. there was something about him that made it difficult for you to look away.

you laughed, ignoring the blush rising up your cheeks. “it’s all good.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the rehearsal for the scene went by quickly, with san and the other ATEEZ members eager to learn the different moves.

“san, try to keep your guard up here,” you instructed, demonstrating the move. when you reached over to adjust his arms, you felt the same wave of emotion crashing down on you once again. was this a coincidence?

you eventually let them do their own thing, wanting them to try out the moves without guidance. yet, there was still something at the back of your mind - the weird feeling between you and san. it was unlike anything you’ve felt, almost as if it was.. meant to be.

as you started to think about the implications, you thought of an idea. sure, it was a little silly, but it would confirm your suspicions of san being your soulmate.

you decided to bite your tongue, slightly harder than needed, seeing if you could get a reaction out of san. as expected, he yelled out an ‘ow!’, looking at you briefly before quickly returning back to practicing.

that was it - he was your soulmate.

you waited for the rehearsal to be over, walking over to where san was. he turned as you approached, his eyes lighting up with an excitement that made your heart skip a beat.

“hey-“ “hi-“ you both said at the same time, sharing a small laugh.

“thanks for helping us today, we really appreciate it,” san smiled.

“of course, no problem,” you said nervously, trying to cover the flustered state you were in. no matter what though, san definitely knew how you felt in that moment.

you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “can we talk..?”

san’s eyes softened, looking around for places to talk at. “absolutely, let’s go somewhere quieter.”

he led you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the hectic noises of the building. san leaned against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about the right words. “i think i know what you’re going to say,” he began. “you felt that earlier too right? that whole emotions thing?”

“yeah..” you nodded. “are you thinking what i’m thinking..?”

san smiled, his gaze holding yours. “i think we’re soulmates.”

hearing him say those words filled you with joy you didn’t expect to have. it was one thing to suspect him of being your soulmate, but it was another thing to have him actually confirm it.

“i’ve known for a while,” san admitted, scratching his head. “but i didn’t say anything at first, i didn’t want to scare you away.”

“well, i’m glad you told me,” you chuckled.

his smile grew, “and i’m glad you understand.”

standing there, you felt a peace wash over you. the bond you shared was no longer an unspoken part of your lives, but a truth.

“so what happens now?” you asked.

“i’d like to get to know you better,” he replied, leaning closer to you.

his words were sincere, making you feel flattered that someone like him wanted to know you, or even spend time with you.

“i’d like that too,” you said, a smile spreading on your face.

san leaned even closer to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i think we have a lot to learn about each other..” he said trailing off.

“mhm,” you agreed, grabbing the collar of his shirt. you pulled him in for a gentle kiss, which he gladly reciprocated more fiercely. the both of you could feel each other’s emotions, even the sounds of your heart beating.

the both of you pulled away, laughing, feeling weak and giddy from the kiss. “we’re going to have so much fun together,” he smiled, whispering it into your ear.

any and all feedback appreciated <3

other fics

series taglist [OPEN] - @cara-rey @hwasbabygirl @chngbnwf @passerbyforfun @butterfliesinthenightsky @ismelllikechlorine247 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @forever-atiny @arki-sha

[hanafubukki]

Just A Human

Summary: Sacrifices had to be made after all, and you were nothing but a human to General Lilia Vanrouge...right?

Pairing: General Lilia Vanrouge X Gender Neutral Reader 

Notes: I’m really proud of this one! It came out of nowhere and hit me like a truck. I hope you all enjoy. 🥰🌺💕

You never have felt so sluggish in your life. it was hard to move your head and you could hear a high-pitched ringing.

It was hard to breathe.

You vaguely wondered if you could die in a dream…

…oh.

That’s right.

You remembered what happened.

It would explain why you were in so much pain.

It would also explain why you could now clearly hear shouting.

As you blinked your eyes, trying to clear it, you saw long black hair mixed with red.

Lilia.

Vaguely you could see a motion of blur from the corner of your eyes.

He… must have been running…

You were getting sleepy again.

You don’t know how you gathered the courage to lift your hand to his face, but the ruby eyes mixed with magenta brought a sense of comfort.

Then the darkness consumed you.

When you next awoke, you saw the ceiling of a tent.

If the aches in your body said anything, you were very much alive.

“You’re awake.”

…and not alone it seems.

You turned your head towards the voice, eyes meeting ruby red.

Lilia.

“Why did you block that hit?”

You had to clear your throat a few times before talking, “I was tired of seeing sons crying over their oblivious father.”

Malleus’ and Silver’s stricken looks flashed before your eyes.

“I-” General Lilia stopped himself.

For a moment, you thought you saw a mixture of magenta in those crimson eyes before returning to their red hue.

You saw General Lilia Vanrouge grit his teeth and stand straighter.

“What about you? Would no one cry over you?”

“Am I not just a human to you?”

A question for a question.

No answer from either side.

It seemed that was all the energy you had before you succumbed to sleep once more.

But not before seeing a flash of magenta in crimson once more, and feeling the brush of lips on your head.

“I’m sorry, Precious.”

You decided you were going to have a talk with Malleus and whoever else that decided that dreams were allowed to let you feel pain.

It wasn’t fair.

It was a dream and yet it hurt to walk and breathe at times.

But at least there was some positives to these events, General Lilia seemed to soften towards you.

Holding his hand out to you to help walk down uneven roads.

Allowing Silver to make food that you all could eat without worry.

During cold weather, he had even draped his cloak around you, making sure the hood provided you enough warmth.

You and Silver shared a look.

The Lilia you both knew and loved was still there in this Phantom General.

…Especially if the permanent magenta mixed with crimson eyes gave any indication.

How was it? I had two endings for this fic, but I went with this one. I might make  another fic with the other ending I thought of. 🥰💚💜

[chaggie4ever]

Ok I need to get this off my chest: people need to stop hating on my girl for her final performance against Lute. Vaggie has been out of practice for 3.5 YEARS (42 months), during which she lost her depth perception and wings and hid her identity, which definitely limited her ability to train (not even accounting for the psychological torment and phantom pains). Meanwhile Lute has been living her best life in heaven, likely training every day to keep her position and fully intact.

She has one month to prepare and learn some basic self defense. Now mind you, training montages are hilarious because after the first week if you’re doing it right you probably can barely move out of soreness XD (the ONLY accurate portrayal I’ve seen was on Galavant, which everyone should watch - it’s a medieval musical with a similar tone to HH). I’ll cover more on her and Carmilla separately.

Then Lute proceeds to watch the entire final battle while Vaggie is busy killing at least four angels by my count. When they fly up to Adam and Lute, she immediately sucker stabs Dazzle, dropping them hundreds of feet and disarming Vaggie in the process.

Despite all of this, Vaggie is able to stop a full force sword charge directly at her eye bare handed. She deflects several more vicious blows, using tools in her environment to help (shard of glass, radio). Yes she is losing. She is unarmed and see above… also unused to fighting with long hair even pulled up XD (as an aside, I absolutely LOVE how Carmilla pulls her hair down the moment Vaggie complains when training lol).

She gets a few more face cuts while we watch Charlie stab Adam, and ends up on the ground reaching for her weapon, which Lute uses to stab her hand before stupidly leaving it while gloating. Yes, Lute could (and should) have ended her here. I have a few separate theories on why that did not happen (later post). But regardless of the reasoning, Lute’s hubris left Vaggie alive enough to goad her second wind by mentioning Charlie. And Vaggie was SMARTER (and ultimately more spirited).

Now the tables have turned but Vaggie spared Lute, more out of spite than kindness but ultimately because of Charlie. Lute only has her left arm pinned; she should have stopped the spear but basically asked for death. This is also deserving of it’s own analysis but I think all angels hate themselves :(

Vaggie leaves and when she no longer has her undivided attention, Lute is irate enough to rip off her arm and pin her. Vaggie isn’t fighting at this point, she’s trying to get to Charlie but was sucker punched/tackled. Pretty understandable imho… interesting theories that Lute may have ironically saved Vaggie’s life here. I love her but she’s not stronger than Adam :( I’ll keep these Yuri headcannons to myself for now XD

Ironically, I think this may end very badly for Vaggie and Chaggie (if Lute kills anyone I will kill everyone and then myself), especially after Adam’s death. We haven’t even seen Vaggie cry but Lute now has. The same girl who just pulled her own arm off in sheer rage (seriously what’s up with her brute strength XD).

But ultimately, while I don’t feel comfortable saying Vaggie properly won this fight, she did a damn good job with what she had available and people need to stop hating on this character! Lute definitely did not win. And I’m REALLY hoping for a proper rematch because given Lute’s HATRED, she clearly feels at least challenged by Vaggie, one of Adam’s “best girls” who likely had at least Lute’s 275 kills annually… AND/OR she was dumped right before Vaggie’s last extermination and all the yuri 😍🥰😘😇🤣

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

I'm not dead.

[often-daydreaming]

Run

It's been months since they started traveling together, wandering, running from everything. It wasn't hard to figure out who Danny was. He didn't keep secrets, easily revealing the mark of the old god that sent him here and Bart wasn't about to turn down a friend especially when it's been forever since either one of them has seen anyone friendly so they were stuck together.

Travel buddies. Best friends. Apocalypse pals. He'd come up with a new one every day if he could but after spending so long trying to find a way back to the past their time had finally ran out.

Because Phantom was here. He's here and Danny's too injured to fight anymore after taking a blow for him during their last fight, always trying to save him even when Bart feels like he doesn't deserve it half the time only now it's Bart's turn to save Danny so he takes off running. It's what he's always done. He's good at it. He's the best and only speedster left alive leaving him with power to burn, the Speed Force surging through him as he takes off with a barely conscious Danny in his arms.

Phantom wants him, hasn't stopped hunting Danny since the day he's set his eyes on him and for as fast as he is Phantom is somehow keeping up. He's always a step behind, never fast enough for a solo speedster so Bart forces himself to go faster. He keeps running. He circles the planet in an instant hiding Danny in the ruins of Coast City seconds before he sucker punches Phantom from behind and repeats the process over and over again never noticing the clockwork like mark Danny gave him slowly clicking to life, the gears inside the necklace starting to move and tick with every close call and near miss and it isn't long before he's off again with Danny in his arms and death close behind them enraged after all his taunting.

Phantom is beyond furious but he's legs are about to collapse. He's never gone this fast before and Bart doesn't know how long he can keep it up so he has to pick a place for their last stand and races into the heart of Gotham towards the downed Watchtower. There's still enough of it left over that they can pull something off if they're lucky and they have to be lucky cause there's no going back anymore. There's so much blood, too much but Danny's still trying to force himself to his feet, the remnants of Gotham surging towards his call when Phantom finally catches up to them and... And... A.....

Bart blinks blindly at the floor. Everything hurt. His head feels like he's gone ten rounds with Doomsday and as he slowly gets up he notices dozens of other heroes in similar positions across the cafeteria of the Watchtower, all of them mumbling about the end of the world, in pain from migraines or rattled after reliving the memories of their deaths but Bart's only focus in that moment was his memories of Danny.

The up above is just something I thought up while bored and maybe, kind of sick so enjoy I guess. Add to it or tell me it's stupid, I probably won't notice until I'm feeling better.

[starwrighter]

surprise! I'm alive :D

Chucking out one of my prompts anyone can take this.

Prompt starts with the whole idea that everyone believes that ghost are malevolent, non sentient beings that aren't capable of feeling pain. Amity parkers believe that, the Fenton's and the GIW "proved" that and the ghosts that escape the portal have caused so much mindless damage that it just further cements the idea that ghosts aren't sentient.

But during one of Phantom's ghost fights The Fenton parents realize Phantom is a bit different than the ghosts he fights. They finally decide to observe Phantom more carefully after this (they're still shooting at him just watching him a bit first)

During this observation period they notice it's not just phantom's rapid power growth that's different about him. It's everything he does! He's proven to be more intelligent than the other ghosts, having managed to steal and operate Fenton tech despite the fact he doesn't appear to have powers like technus.

He has body language?! Subtle body language that isn't destructive or angry! He fidgets when he's nervous, smiles and is more talkative and expressive when he's excited or happy. He shows emotion more humanly than any of the other ghosts showing emotion that wouldn't benefit him in the moment. Now the Fenton's wanted to brush this off as clear ghost manipulation at it's finest but in the most recent ghost attack gave a preposterous theory a leg to stand on.

They had been shouting their usual threat's of tearing the ecto scum apart molocule by molecule. Most of the ghost ignored them, fixated on the destruction they were causing but Phantom hesitated, the GAV cameras catching a look on Phantom's face that would be game changing.

Fear.

Genuine fear. It was not the robotic mimicry of human emotion they were used to. The emotion they got was that of a being that fully understood what was going to happen to it and had the capability to be afraid.

They compile all the footage of past ghost fights and ghost sightings and come to the horrifying conclusion that phantom is a sentient ghost who could feel pain.

They're horrified that they've been hurting this little boy (because that's what phantom is) who's just trying to help and didn't understand why the other ghosts lacked the empathy he had. As for Phantom's crimes they finally had a reason for them. He's a scared child , loney and confused with everyone around him trying to hurt him even though he was trying to protect people; of course he would act out!

The Fenton's show their undeniable proof to the GIW and within a week a law is passed stating that phantom is the only sentient ghost and it's illegal to harm him.

Danny is very confused to say the least, especially when everyone starts treating him like a little kid (Danny either looks young for his age or the accident happened earlier whatever causes more angst) The worst part is they don't believe him when he tells them some other ghosts are sentient no matter what he says! They just give him this sad look and nod or try to comfort him by telling him he wasn't evil like the other ghosts. The other ghosts like the thought of being able to get away with crimes without being charged so they don't even try to prove their sentience if anything they try to disprove theirs and prove Danny's.

Bonus Dp x Dc crossover:

The justice league is called about Phantom's situation Amity Parker's demanding that phantom be taken somewhere safe where he can be a regular (but spooky) child. Double points if the heroes don't believe any ghost but Phantom are sentient.

Tldr

Regular ghosts are too spooky for humans to believe they're sentient but Danny's halfa status makes him look more human and genuine (Vlad is not a true halfa you can fight me on that >:c) the other ghosts ramp up their acting skills so they can crime without consequence as "non sentient beings"

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hiiii!

Since the fellowship are all pretty traumatized(😕)how do you think they deal with their nightmares?

They get nightmares

Aragorn

-He shoots awake (that scene where he wakes up with a knife)

-He has mastered the art of centering himself and moving on

-Deals with them by busying himself to take his mind off his troubles

-If he can’t fall back asleep then he will lose himself in a monotonous task like sharpening his sword

Legolas

-So elves don’t really sleep?

-I imagine nightmares aren’t common

-He possibly thinks it’s some sort of glimpse into the future and it takes a lot to convince him it’s alright

-I actually think he would often talk about his bad dreams when he does have them

-He takes care of his mental health

Gimli:

-He’s very quiet after waking up from a nightmare

-Keeps to himself but does appreciate company

-Sits close to the fire and stares into it

-He might talk about it and he might not; it depends on his company and what the subject of the dream was

Boromir:

-He gets up and walks

-He has to leave the room instantly

-I could see him logging his dreams in a notebook

-Especially considering a dream is what brought him to Rivendell

-He’s always worried his dream could be another prophecy type of thing rather than just his brain

Frodo:

-He wakes up cold and sweaty

-He feels ill

-He definitely doesn’t go back to sleep

-He gets dreams that cause a phantom feeling of still having the ring

-And he has often woken up to phantom pains on his scar from being stabbed

-I think he gets lost in his memories when he wakes up and would need someone to come pull him out

-Maybe before the journey he handled nightmares well and generally wasn’t too bothered

-But trauma really fucks with you

Sam:

-He wakes up scared but often doesn’t remember the dream

-Sometimes he does remember parts and it usually involves other people

-So he will go and check to make sure they are ok

-Even if he ends up waking them up; which he then apologizes profusely for until he is invited in for some tea

Merry:

-Depending on the dream he will either go back to sleep or he will go make himself some tea

-If it’s a nonsense nightmare he will generally go back to sleep

-But if it’s a memory or memory based he can’t fall back asleep

-The Witch King definitely makes appearances

Pippin:

-Doesn’t want to be alone

-He will come knocking at the door and want to stay with you

-Sweet sweet boy needs a hug

-I imagine he would have dreams where Frodo and Sam didn’t survive the explosion of Mount Doom

-I think he may feel a lot of regret for things he did during the journey

-Definitely has nightmares about Gandalf falling and Frodo being stabbed; he feels like he fucked up even though everything that happened lead to their success in some way

Gandalf:

-Grumpy after waking from a bad dream

-He needs time to think about it

-Probably won’t discuss the details of it but will express his feelings

-Similar to Boromir he will be trying to figure out if there was any meaning to the dream or just a figment of his imagination