#is that normal and weird enough for me to be me but also be gas station professional

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[xo2dee]

🗨️ SCRUFF

PAIRING: Dante/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: Fluff. WORD COUNT: 2,286. SUMMARY: 'Sunday Reset' days were your favorite, especially when you got your boyfriend involved in the routine. Or: You shave Dante's face.

A/N: i cant believe it took me so long to write for dante.. after all i loved him before vergil then ultimately left him for his older brother JAKSNDF. anyways i had dmc4 - dmc5 dante in mind writing it, hence the beard and growing hair but pls enjoy!

DMC MASTERLIST

‘Sunday Reset’ days were your new favorite thing.

There was a simplicity behind it that made you cozy, all the way from waking up that morning warm beneath your comforter to the idea of climbing back into bed later that night freshly showered and rubbing your legs together like a cricket with shaved legs and washed sheets. The pay off after spending all day cleaning, and decluttering to taking the dreaded (but loved) ‘Everything’ showers and then being able to go to bed that night after feeling completely accomplished and productive before you prepared for the oncoming week was a satisfaction and fulfillment on another level. And fuck, was it a chore… considering where you lived and who you had to room with, but what nothing was ever impossible once you’d put your mind to it.

And you also managed to get your boyfriend into the tradition as well.

Your half-demon, half-human boyfriend named Dante who ran an ‘Exorcist’ shop on the front, but really he was out purging any demons who’d crawled their way up out of Hell and were becoming a danger to human life. So… it was a little jarring to settle into a more… mundane setting with him once you’d learned what you had learned. Dante, however, had zero qualms about adjusting you into his life.

Moving in with Dante had been easy on its own (since him leaving Devil May Cry as whole really was out of the question), it was you having to adjust to living there that took some time. You could look past the boxes of pizza and Chinese takeouts since they could be thrown away (and maybe even the posters on his walls… maybe), but getting used to the… demonic possessions on the walls that you swore watched you every time you were in the room was something else entirely. But you made it work, you were no quitter when it came to the love of your life and his weird eccentricities around the place.

Or when he snored loud enough to wake you from sleep.

A sigh broke out of your chest once you shut the dryer door, hefting the hamper full of clean sheets and pillowcases up to take upstairs as your comforter finally dried. It was nearing the end of the day, and you could shower all the grime off of you and probably spend an hour in said shower doing everything you wanted to do before curling up in bed using Dante’s bicep as a pillow. It made you put a little extra pep in your step as the end of the day neared, ready to get the bed made and cozy as you went to sleep feeling accomplished.

As you walked past the open bathroom door on the way up the stairs, you stopped in your tracks. Dante was standing in front of the mirror with shaving cream lathered over his face, and in his hand he held a small razor you knew his ass got from a gas station somewhere saying, “It’ll do.” in the process. It irked you to know you’d gotten him an actual straight razor (and that it was in one of the drawers of the cabinet as well) and hadn’t made any use of it, instead using cheap disposable razors to tame the wild stubble what grew on his face way too fast for a normal person. Then again, he wasn’t normal anyways… Hence why he needed to use an actual razor rather than a cheap fifty cents one.

You almost groaned imagining the razor bumps you’d feel on your skin from his cheeks.

“Please tell me you’re not using a Bic, Dante?”

His hand stopped, the tip of the razor lying against his cheek as he shot you a confused look, “What else am I gonna use?”

Balancing the hamper on your hip you reached in far enough to pull open a drawer and, lo and behold, there was the razor you’d gotten him. Unused and probably as sharp as ever too. You cocked an eyebrow up while giving it a pointed look, “An actual razor?”

“Bah,” he waved you off, a slab of shaving cream falling onto his collarbone as he resumed the position he had before. You watched skeptical as Dante began to try and shave – key word: try as you could practically hear the blade struggling and scratching against his skin to cut off the thick hairs along his jawline. As usual, Dante paid it no mind, “These get the job done if you press down hard enough.”

And yet, you could still see parts of his beard uneven and not shaved when he swiped away the shaving cream while admiring his jaw in the mirror. At the rate he was moving, you’d be rubbing your cheek against sandpaper and waking up with tiny scratches on your face.

Sighing you dropped the hamper at your feet and moved into the bathroom, Dante moving back far enough for you to squeeze yourself in between him and the sink. He almost looked smug watching you do it, something you filed away for another time to pester him about, instead holding out your hand to him, “Gimme.”

One his eyebrows rose, yet he still passed the razor into your hand despite the doubt, “What, are you gonna shave me?”

Tossing the razor into the trash you ignored his little “Hey!”, choosing to swipe the razor from the drawer instead as you flicked it open and snickered when Dante audibly swallowed, “Why not? Don’t trust me?”

His hands raised in a gesture of placation, and you took that moment to jump onto the counter behind you so you had a better leverage of actually being able to shave Dante. You patted your knee once you were settled, Dante’s hands coming forward to clutch the counter next to your thighs as his arms caged you in where you sat before you reached for the shaving cream to lather more onto your hands for his face. A long exhale passed through him as his chin tilted upwards, a strong urge to gently caress his Adam’s Apple in your mind’s eye before you pushed it away, instead basking in his warmth at the closeness and rubbing your fingers along his jawline.

A low hum vibrated out of his throat, “Have you actually ever shaved a beard before?” he asked after a moment, eyes heavy as he watched you lather more shaving cream along his face. Briefly, you wondered if he was trying to pry information out of you to see if you’d shaved another man’s beard before.

You laughed at the thought, a bit of pride in you at the idea of getting Dante slightly jealous but brushed it away as you cleansed your hands of any residue before moving the razor to his jawline, “No, but I shave my legs.”

Dante snorted, closing his eyes as you began to slowly shave along his jawline, “Sometimes. Other times I wake up and your leg hairs are tickling me.”

You couldn’t help to gape at him, rolling your eyes and almost reminding him that his legs were some of the hairiest you’d ever seen. It was like waking up with Chewbacca in your damn bed, especially when Dante had an affinity of throwing his leg over your hip in the dead of his sleep and you could practically feel every single hair brushing against yours. You shaved another part of his face, his chin, as you hooked your foot at the bend of his knee to pull him closer, “Telling me this while I have a razor to your face is pretty bold.”

The breathy laugh nearly shook you, Dante’s knuckles beginning to tap a rhythm into the counter as you continued to shave him, “I’ve faced worse of your fury.”

You snickered as you finished up on his face and wiped the razor clean, pressing a finger underneath his chin and gesturing upwards, “Chin up, handsome.”

He followed your words without any fuss, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension in air scald and sizzle for a moment whenever the blade passed by his jugular. His deep swallow and the way he leaned into you made your lips purse, the fresh smell of him straight out a shower intoxicating and you could briefly see the glistening beads of water along his chest he missed wiping himself dry. The absence of Dante throughout the day while you cleaned something you mourned and your body was beginning to react to how close he was in a way a more primal side of you spurred on. The heat in the tight room sweltered when you remembered the task at hand, peeking up at Dante and sighing in relief that his eyes remained closed and he began to look like he was nodding off.

You wouldn’t be surprised. The slightest twirl of his hair around your finger made him sleepy.

The slight noise of cutting through his hair was satisfying your ears in a way you couldn’t describe as you took great pride in watching the hair slide off so easily and the shaving cream with it. You were also beginning to think that maybe you should’ve used the straight razor before on your legs to avoid stray spots you missed and the dreaded bumps along your legs before deciding that accidentally cutting yourself wasn’t worth it. You didn’t need Dante wondering why all the towels and rags had your blood all over them and him just sniffing the smell out entirely.

A blink made you realize you’d been absentmindedly shaving Dante, hoping you hadn’t accidentally nicked him in the process and sighing once you realized he was scotch free and only a slight shadow was beginning to remain on his face. He sighed longingly, his fingers moving to clutch the fabric of your leggings at your hips, “You’re actually pretty good at this. Maybe I can getcha to be my barber instead…”

You snorted, pressing your fingers onto his Adam’s Apple before rubbing it, “You don’t even have a barber, but maybe I should because cutting your hair with your sword isn’t good for it.”

A distorted, low rumble vibrated your fingers along his throat, a small grin creasing his face as his eyes opened a fraction – sleepy and content. “I’ve never done that…” A pause and he laughed at your expression, “Okay, maybe once but I was young. Cut me some slack, babe.”

You could imagine it – Dante’s shaggy locks uneven and chopped from the way he sliced them with his sword, a tongue peeking out of his lips as he did so while concentrating and trying to make his hair look as good as possible for someone cutting it themselves. Your imagination ended with either Trish or Lady walking in on him, sighing heavily at his ordeal and then leaving him to his own devices as you held back a laugh. Though, props to Dante, if he was still cutting his hair himself (or lack of actually, the more you noted how long it was getting) he was doing a much better job. Now, only if you could find the scissors he uses…

Moments later, Dante’s face was fully shaven and you noted that he was already beginning to show signs of it growing back as fast as it could. You could only internally sigh, blaming those demonic genes as you sat the razor down with a triumphant expression, “There, done.”

His eyes blinked numerous times, shaking the sleep from them as you leaned to the side a fraction to let him inspect himself in the mirror. One of his hands raised to hold his jaw, moving his head left and right as he admired himself and the job you had done, “Niceeee, I knew you’d do a good job,” a cheeky grin was thrown at you as he winked, “You gotta future here.”

“I knew you’d do a good job”, and then his little goofy, smug smirk when you barged into the bathroom to take over. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning, “Was this all your elaborate plan to get me to shave your beard for you?”

Dante shrugged while untangling himself from you, yet clearly caught as he began to wash his face again and patting it dry afterwards, “Who’s to say? A man likes to be pampered now and then…” He rolled up the towel he used and then lightly swatted your leg, making you laugh as you ripped it out of his grasp and smacked his arm with it before having a brief tug-of-war with it.

“I’m sure he does…” you teased, jumping down from your perch as he tossed the towel in the hamper full of dirty clothes. You passed by him with a kiss to his shoulder, picking the hamper back up before turning to him with stern look, “Now, moisturize your face and I’ll see you in bed.” And it wasn’t even like Dante needed to moisturize, his skin was practically flawless any and all times no matter what he did while you had to battle pores and acne most of the time.

As you walked away, you could hear him sigh before opening the mirror where said skin care products were kept, “Yeah, yeah, the collagen jelly cream when I’m done, right?”

“Yes!” you called, stopping halfway on the stairs for another reminder that had slipped your mind, “And don’t forget to put a facemask on before you get in bed!”

The moan you heard made you stifle a laugh, walking back up to the bedroom as Dante’s defeated tone slipped into your ears.

“Please… not again.”

[seungfl0wer]

*𝐵𝒶𝓇 𝐵𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎*

Pairing: Biker!Minho x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, Oral (M), Outdoors Sex, Unprotected, Pull out game (wow not a Creampie? What is this?) think that’s it. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings

-🖤

Minho was a regular at your bar, he always came in sitting away from everyone. He kept to himself however always flirted with you. It was cute, he was cute. However you were in a relationship.

“So gonna let me take you for a ride beautiful?” He’d ask.

“I don’t know, let me ask my boyfriend” you’d tease back.

This is how it always went, he never pressured you. Never did anything to make it feel weird. He was always respectful. Today when he came in he asked you like normal but when you responded he was taken back.

“So you ready for that ride today?” He’d said wiggling his eyebrows.

“I get off in 30” you said smiling but acting like you were cleaning the counter.

He looked at you puzzled for a second “wait really?” He asked.

“Yeah, unless you’re to chicken now since I said yes” you’d teased.

“What about your boyfriend?” He asked.

You pointed to a booth, a man who was tongue deep with a woman. “Looks like I don’t have one anymore” you shrugged.

His eyes went wide “I’ll kick his ass that little-“ he started as he got up.

“Don’t bother, he’s not even worth it. He’s dumb enough to come here. Out of all places” you laughed.

Minho was almost confused on how much you didn’t care. Maybe it was something that was coming for a long time. Or maybe it was the fact after seeing this you lost any feeling you had for him when you saw him cheating. Either way Minho wasn’t gonna waste the opportunity. Not when he’s found you attractive for so long.

He stayed at the bar like normal staring at you a little harder than he normally did. When your shift was up he handed you his helmet telling you he’d rather have you protected than him. When you walked out with him your ex got up realizing you were here today. “Y/n!” He yelled. He ran outside after the two of you as you got on the back of Minhos bike.

“What the hell are you doing!” He said walking towards you.

“Sorry I don’t date cheaters” you say with a wave as Minho revved his engine. You wrapped your arms around him giving him butterflies. Before you knew it he was speeding off. It felt freeing. You’d missed so many opportunities to do this and for what? A cheater?

You held onto Minho tightly as he tuned to pull off into a gas station. He tapped your head to take off the helmet. “I gotta give you a little run down real quick.” When you nodded he continued. “So turns you gotta move your body with mine ok? Gotta move the weight with the bike. You can hold onto the small handles on the back too. Also if you keep squeezing me like that we are gonna have a problem” he said his tone teasing with that last part.

You blushed a bit but everything right now felt exciting. You were definitely gonna test the waters. When you got back in the road you let your hands slip lower. Letting them rest on thighs. You felt his body tense a bit before relaxing into your touch. You took it as a sign moving them up more until they were inches away from his crotch.

You couldn’t hear anything but he let out a sigh his cock growing harder by the minute. He saw a sign for a hiking trail turning onto the road knowing no one would be there at this time. When he pulled in you were a bit confused taking off your helmet to look at him. “You gonna murder me out here?” You joked.

“Oh totally, definitely didn’t pull off cause of someone’s hands.” He teased back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you said innocently.

He turned your body on the bike making sure you wouldn’t fall. Putting the stand down before pulling your body to his. You could feel how hard he was against you. “I told you we’d have a problem didn’t I?” He said with a smirk.

He put his hand under your chin your faces inches away from one another’s. Neither of you moved for a few seconds before you broke the silence “you gonna kiss me or just keep staring” you said. The smirk that spread across his face was enough to make you wet. God was he ever so hot. He wrapped your legs around him as he kissed you deeply. His lips were as soft as they looked, they felt like little pillows. He tasted like the alcohol he was drinking with a hint of mint from his gum.

His hand came down to your waist as he grinned his cock into you. You let out a soft moan into the kiss letting his tongue slide in. He kissed you with such need before pulling away slightly “god I’ve wanted you for so long” he said almost desperately.

“I’ve actually had a- recurring dream of you” you admitted.

“Yeah? Tell me”

“You sat on your bike while use my mouth” you said a bit shyly.

He stared at you like you just said the hottest thing in the world to him “let’s make it a reality then” he said moving away from you to get into position. He slipped his pants down a small bit letting his painfully hard cock finally spring forward. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of him.

You inched yourself closer to him kissing the tip of his cock. Slowly licking it before taking him back your throat. His hands gripped at your head before pushing back as far as he could. “Gonna let me use this pretty mouth of yours?” He asked. You nodded looking up at him with soft eyes. Ugh how were you so fucking hot he thought to himself. He fucked your mouth slowly quickly getting lost in the feeling. “Fuck you’re taking me so well beautiful” he groaned. He was using your mouth like a flesh light. Fucking into it a little rougher now “fuck- fuck-“ he moaned pulling himself from you.

“Come here” he said positioning you on his bike. He had you bent over the seat. He slipped your pants down just enough. Before moving the tip of his cock up and down your now soaked folds. “All this for me?”

“Yes- all for you” you groaned.

He wasted no time before slowly pushing into you. His body almost trembled at the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in. He gripped at your thighs as he pushed into you fully cock hitting your most sensitive spots. “Y/n fuck- you- ah- feel so good” he moaned out.

You gripped at the bike as he pounded into you the sounds of sex and moans filing the woods that surrounded you. His hand left your hip coming around to play with your clit. He rubbed circles around it, it was like he knew your body already. “Beautiful I’m sorry- I’m not gonna last- ah- fuck-“ he moaned out.

“It’s ok- ah- I’m- I’m close too” you moaned back.

“Cum with me- please- shit I’m- I’m so close” he said his thrust becoming sloppier and sloppier.

His fingers found your weak spot moving over it making your body shake. “I’m- cumming!” You screamed your orgasm creeping up on you faster than expected. Your walls tightened as you came making him pull out cumming on the ground below him. “Fuck- fuck-“ he moaned.

He pulled your body to his holding you tightly against him. “Are you ok?” He asked breathily.

“Mhm. Just. A little cold” you said back.

With no hesitation he took off his leather jacket wrapping it around you. “How about we go back to my place? We can.. cuddle” he said with a shy smile.

“That sounds perfect”

After that day Minho came to pick you up from work every night. Finally making it official after a week. He even scared your ex away that tried showing up at the bar after you blocked him. You wished you did this way sooner but he was finally yours now and he wouldn’t let you go even if you wanted.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

[mayoi-inu]

Surprise surprise, this translation is wrong

As many of you already know I’m in a crusade against bad translations. I see this panel going around very often but the translation makes me cringe so bad everytime. I'm sure many people are already aware of the mistranslation but I have never seen it explained anywhere so I decided to do it myself.

Disclaimer, English is not my native language.

Let’s start from the previous panel, because ✨context✨ The order is Japanese -- the fan translation I found -- and the official translation.

I will write down the literal, weird, almost word for word translation for comparison purposes:

判った　答える　答えるから近くに寄らないでくれる？連れだって歩いてると思われたくない

Understood I’ll answer. I’ll answer so, could you not come any closer? I don’t want it to look like we are walking together (I don’t want it be thought we are walking together)

はっ　心配すんな　俺もおもわれたくねえから

Ha, don’t worry. Because I don’t want it either (I also don’t want it be thought)

うふふ　気が合うねえ

ufufu ki ga au nee

Ok first explanation needed. First, the Japanese definition of ki ga au

気が合う -- 考え方や感じ方が通じ合う (kangaekata ya kanjikata ga tsuujiau)

way of thinking and feeling mutually understood.

"Ki" means mind, spirit, "au" means to meet. The English definition in many dictionaries and google is “to get along” and that’s what the fan translation uses (friendly reminder to ALWAYS use a monolingual dictionary once you reach a level high enough), but the "so well" comes from nowhere. The official translation uses "to see eye to eye". IMO it's more accurate in this context than to get along. But the “glad” also comes from nowhere.

Anyway, now you get the feeling of what it means. I think it's more like Dazai commenting how Chuuya shares with him the same feelings about the situation.

“fufu you agree, I see…”

そんな君が大好きだよ

sonna kimi ga daisuki dayo

And we got to the important part.

We have "sonna" that means “such”, “that kind of”. It's a spoken synonym of "sou iu" ("such, like that, that sort of"). As a pre-nominal adjective that goes with kimi, "sonna kimi" it means that you. It has a nuance of surprise when used in sentences like this.

And then "daisukidayo" that of course means I like so much, I love.

What does he loves? "sonna kimi", that is, a specific Chuuya, the Chuuya who is of the same mind that he is about not wanting people to think they were walking together. Or maybe simply the Chuuya that agrees with him, generally speaking.

In both translations the concept is all wrong. It’s presented as if loving Chuuya was the fact and Dazai was explaining the why. But in Japanese, Dazai is singling out the kind of Chuuya he likes/loves if you wish.

Now ask yourselves why specially the official translation chooses to make up the dialogue like that. I'm sure the translators knew enough Japanese to understand it correctly and I don't think it's a matter of cultural adaptation because it never justifies chaging the meaning. The correct answer is fanservice, sales and money 😭

If I had to translate it, I would say “oh I love/like so much that Chuuya!”.

It’s VERY in character for Dazai to say that. And the protest that follows is VERY in character for Chuuya.

うわ……やめろ！気色悪くて死ぬ！

Uwaa… stop it! It’s so disgusting I am going to die!

僕もだ

Me too.

Yes, Dazai sounds crestfallen.

This is getting too long, so my personal non-grammatical opinions under the cut

I have two, even three theories.

First case, Dazai was honest when he said that.

But he didn't register that's not something you go saying around like that, and he was hit with Chuuya's reaction. Because Chuuya had lived with other kids, so he understood social interactions. But Dazai didn't understand.

I've seen infinite analysis about Dazai and ND, mentall illnesses but not even one analyze this scene. So what if he really loved when Chuuya agreed with him, expressed it without any filters and recoiled when he was met with Chuuya's reaction and realized "that was not a normal thing to do". Remember the scene when he shoots the dead soldier? He seemed to be taking notes of what is and isn't normal. This option breaks my heart.

The criticism would be that what Dazai says doesn't sound so honest. This theory would fit better with the English translations but in Japanese he's very clearly informing Chuuya of the kind of Chuuya he likes, which is a twisted thing to say in any language. So maybe Chuuya's reaction is a response to both the nasty observation and the words chosen.

Second option, Dazai knew what he was doing

He used daisuki to provoke Chuuya, to mess with him and make him angry.

That's something 22!Dazai would do easily but I don't know if 15!Dazai was already so good at it. Anyway in this case the surprise would come from the genuine disgust in Chuuya's reaction instead of the expected anger. Chuuya is Chuuya, and he is immune to Dazai's manipulation schemes, except Dazai didn't know it yet. Also once he said it, daisuki was so cringe (and he was 15 😂). Absolutely in character for both of them.

Third option. Dazai said he wanted to make Chuuya his dog.

Dazai was a very messed up kid at that point. The first thing he thinks when he meets another (very powerful) boy his age is to dominate him and make him obbey his orders as his dog. The way he says that to Chuuya can sound very domineering, oh you agree, that's the Chuuya I love. That's a good boy 🐕. And then he felt down when Chuuya rejected that praise with disgust. In the manga it really looks like this option, with a very close and pushing Dazai and an uncomfortable looking Chuuya. I hate that vibe.

Or... possibly it's a bit of all three because after all, nobody knows what's in Dazai's mind 😌

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . mentions of blood and weapons, cursing, romantic tension and slow burn, i don’t really know what else?

CHAPTER THREE: THE GREAT TWINKIE HEIST

read more parts here!

you’re not saying you’re fully adjusted to the zombie apocalypse, but you have accepted that your morning cardio now includes at least one near-death sprint, your social circle is three dudes and a cat, and the only skincare routine available involves rainwater and hope. still, there’s something kind of beautiful about the mornings. that weird quiet. the soft orange sky. the way the light bounces off broken glass and turns everything a little bit gold.

also, matt looks unfairly good in this lighting and it’s starting to piss you off.

you’re walking in your usual formation—nick leading with his clipboard like he’s navigating a hostile spreadsheet, chris arguing with a pigeon for dominance, and matt by your side, steady and silent, one hand always resting near his crowbar like he’s just waiting for something to go wrong.

and honestly? same.

“we need more snacks,” chris announces loudly, stepping over what was probably a person once and is now mostly goo and blood. “we’re running dangerously low on morale. and by morale, i mean twinkies.”

“we have one twinkie left,” nick says without looking up. “we are not wasting it on your emotional support sugar habit.”

“my emotional support sugar habit is the only thing keeping this group together,” chris snaps. “ask lieutenant whiskers.”

you pat the cat’s head, tucked awkwardly into the crook of chris’s arm. “you’re doing amazing, sweetie.” matt chuckles quietly beside you. you glance at him, and he meets your eyes for a moment longer than normal. it’s subtle. just a flicker. a heartbeat. but it’s enough to make your stomach flip like a bad mattress.

he looks away first. you pretend that doesn’t matter. nick stops in front of a busted-up gas station, holding his clipboard like it’s sacred text. “this is it.” nick says, you raise your eyebrows and look at the writing on his clipboard.

snack potential: high.

fuel possibilities: medium.

risk level: let’s just assume yes

“i swear if this one has another jump-scare raccoon, i’m quitting the apocalypse,” you mutter.

“you can’t quit the apocalypse,” matt says, smirking. you glance at him, and god help you, he’s got that same half-smile, the one he only pulls out when he’s teasing you. it’s annoying. and distracting. and also maybe the only thing giving you serotonin these days.

the station is surprisingly intact. shelves are dusty but not completely empty, and—miracle of miracles—there’s no immediate moaning or shuffling. nick starts scanning the area like he’s performing a forensic audit. chris immediately grabs a pair of novelty sunglasses with little flames on the sides and puts them on. “call me blaze.”

“no,” you and matt say at the same time. you glance at each other, amused. he looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he turns and disappears behind an aisle.

you linger near the snack section, picking through mostly empty boxes and wondering if anyone in this world ever stored something as useful as chocolate.

“hey,” matt calls quietly from the back. “over here.” you wander over and find him crouched by a half-broken shelf. he pulls out a dusty but very real box of twinkies and holds it up like a prize.

“holy shit,” you whisper. “told you they’d survive the end of the world,” he says, handing it to you. “figured you earned it.” you blink. “what, for my deeply sarcastic commentary and ability to not trip over my own feet for once?”

he smiles again—soft this time. quieter. “for always watching everyone’s back. even when you pretend you’re not.” and there it is again—that moment. the pause. the way the air changes, thickens, stretches between you like something waiting to be said.

you’re suddenly aware of how close he’s standing. of the way his eyes linger on your face, not just your eyes, but your mouth too. of how your fingers brush as he hands you the box and how neither of you pulls away right away. your heart is way too loud. you’re ninety percent sure he can hear it.

“you’re not so bad yourself,” you murmur, meaning it more than you probably should.

matt opens his mouth to reply—but then there’s a crash near the front counter and chris yelling, “i swear this is self-defense!” followed by the unmistakable sound of a keychain display being obliterated.

you sigh. romance? never heard of her.

by the time you reach the front, chris is standing over a now-defeated display rack, sunglasses still on, holding up a plastic toy shaped like a lizard. “i named him toaster.”

“why?” nick asks, voice filled with dread.

“because he’s warm and his head pops off.”

“we’re leaving,” nick says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “now.”

you step outside with your twinkies, still vaguely flustered from the whole almost-a-moment thing. matt walks beside you again, his arm brushing yours more than once. you don’t pull away. neither does he.

it’s fine. totally fine.

except for the part where four zombies shamble around the corner with that signature death groan and-eyed shuffle.“incoming!” you shout, already pulling on your blade.

“split up!” nick yells. “circle back to the alley!”

everyone bolts. chris takes off in one direction with lieutenant whiskers clinging to his hoodie like a tiny, judgmental backpack. nick follows him with a shout of “do not climb the fountain again!” and you and matt head the other way, ducking through a crumbling alley and jumping a low fence like apocalypse olympians.

you land hard and stumble. for a terrifying second, your ankle rolls—just slightly—but enough to make you wince. matt’s there instantly, steadying you with one hand on your waist.

you freeze. so does he.

his hand lingers a moment longer than necessary. you’re close. too close. his breath brushes your cheek. your heart is doing the macarena.

“you okay?” he asks, voice low. careful.

you nod, trying not to melt. “just graceful as ever.”

he smiles a little. “you always land on your feet.”

you don’t know if he means it metaphorically or not. you don’t ask. you don’t trust your voice right now. “come on,” he says finally. “we’ll catch up with the others.”

he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. you don’t let go either. and maybe it means something. maybe it doesn’t. but it feels like something. something that’s building. something slow, and quiet, and maybe just a little dangerous.

but then again, what isn’t?

you survived the day. you have twinkies. you almost held a boy’s hand on purpose. and only two zombies tried to eat you.

honestly? that’s a win.

© delilahsturniolo

[gunnrblze]

Silly/stupid/sweet domestic living headcannons for the Ghost Boys

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Hesh

-watches you sleep in the mornings before you wake up. not creepily so, he just likes seeing you so relaxed and peaceful

-takes a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom for various reasons. not even in a weird/sexual manner, just fuckin lingers in there like a teenage girl primping her hair

-enjoys sweeping for no reason. will sweep again even if one of you already has, very clean man

Logan

-sits on counter tops regularly, doesn’t care that he’s 6’0 & built like a brick wall. if he fits, he sits

-has the time management skills of a goldfish. “I’m coming to bed in 15 minutes” half an hour later and he’s building a Lego set?

-enjoys watching your skincare routines and will silently beg for you to slather the shit on his face too. eventually he’ll ask directly but until then he just gives totally subtle puppy dog eyes

Elias

-has a recliner he’s bonded with in the living room like the old coot he is. and you’ll never talk him out of getting rid of it

-has bought you a pair of house slippers to match his. yours are probably cuter but he does secretly want to at least coordinate

-will loiter when you’re doing any kind of hobby/activity. doesn’t necessarily want to join, but will stand behind you and watch you play video games/craft/bake/etc

Merrick

-terrible farts. that’s it. wear a gas mask tbh

-snores so loud that you have to wear earplugs sometimes. doesn’t help that he likes to cuddle at night so you can quite literally feel him vibrating against you. best cuddler though

-has a decanter full of whiskey on his bedside table. not even a big drinker or anything, no, that’s just decoration to him cause he’s distinguished

Keegan

-asks you to help shave his beard, both because he gets lazy but also he wants to be pampered. “You do it better” he’ll insist

-secretly enjoys you having to ask for help with little things around the house. he loves ‘being a man’ for you. does not matter your gender

-sleeps on one old, flat, mangy pillow. it may or may not even have a case on it. you can try to get him to return to civilization and use a normal one but it’ll be difficult

Kick

-sings loudly in the shower on purpose. maybe it’s to make you laugh, maybe it’s to get you in the bathroom long enough to convince you to join him. depends on the day

-uses so many seasonings when he cooks that he sneezes a bunch. wears his mask sometimes to just prevent it all together

-whines for neck/back rubs cause he’s so sore. insists he’ll return the favor but not before he falls asleep on you

Rorke

-loves you sitting on his lap anytime of day. watching tv, eating breakfast, etc etc? he’ll perch you up on his thighs regardless, doesn’t matter to him

-grunts every time he stands up like the old man he is. “knees ain’t what they used to be”, “gahdamn, backs killin me” are frequent phrases

-constantly turning the thermostat down to make it colder, can’t stand the heat from outside getting in. insists it’s not that cold and only relents when you start to shiver

Ajax

-puts animal planet/nature docs on to fall asleep. says he just wants to watch something more relaxed before bed but he never turns it off

-very anal about shoes being taken off at the front door. will bitch and moan if shoes get past the foyer while on someone’s feet

-like your mother on a Saturday morning, is up at the ass crack of dawn listening to Celine Dion while cleaning

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

omg girl pretty please was perfect, need a part two with more spice

here it is, with a lot more spice, so be warned! 🔞

pretty please | pablo gavi [part 2]

🧁 synopsis: Pablo and you decide to turn your friendly casual hook-ups into a "no-strings-attached" arrangement – it sounds like the perfect plan: easy, fun, and uncomplicated. If only he weren’t so annoyingly impossible. tags: friends with benefits, banter, dirty talking, smut. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 3k words)

you can read the first part here

Your friends are spilling out of cars, shouting directions, arguing about who almost missed the turn, and debating who owes who gas money. You climb out of the backseat of your friend’s car, smoothing down your dress as you walk toward the restaurant.

Pablo is leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed like he’s trying to blend in. But the second you step out, his eyes lock on you, and he starts making a beeline straight for you.

“Hey, what’s with the dress?” he asks, his voice sharp enough to cut through the parking lot noise.

You blink at him, playing dumb. “What about it?”

He stops just short of crowding you, his eyes dragging over the vintage Versace. His expression gives away nothing, but you can tell he’s trying not to combust. He knows exactly what you’re doing, but you also try to keep your expression neutral, as if you’re completely oblivious to how short, how tight, and how ridiculous this dress is.

You borrowed it from your mom without asking. She would absolutely kill you if she knew, but as long as there aren’t any pictures, you figure you’re safe.

“You know exactly what about it.”

“No, I don’t.” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “You have something against fashion, Pablito?”

His jaw tightens, and you swear he mutters something under his breath. You’re having too much fun to care.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, twirling the hem of the dress between your fingers. “You don’t think it’s cute?”

“Cute?” He scoffs, looking around to make sure none of your friends are within earshot. “It’s... distracting.”

None of your friends know what the two of you do behind closed doors. To everyone else, you’re just two close friends, which makes it even funnier when they try to set you up.

It’s become a running joke between you and Gavi, the two of you playing along just enough to make them think they’re onto something.

You can’t help but grin. “Distracting for who?”

“For me,” he hisses, glaring at you like it’s your fault.

“Oh, well, I didn���t realize I had to run my wardrobe choices by you.” You shrug, pretending to think. “Maybe next time I’ll wear something really distracting.”

“Don’t even –”

“Come on, Pablito,” you cut him off, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the entrance. “People are waiting, and you’re being weird. Let’s go.”

His steps falter, but he follows, muttering as he lets you pull him along. “I’m not being weird.”

“Relax,” you say, turning to flash him a grin. “If it’s really bothering you, maybe you should sit on the other side of the table.”

He stops walking, staring at you like you’ve just personally challenged him to a duel. “Not a chance.”

“Suit yourself,” you sing, swinging open the restaurant door. Behind you, you hear him mutter something unintelligible – probably about how impossible you are – but he’s already following you in, like he always does.

part 2

Your group takes up the long table near the back and dinner starts out fine. Pablo, for reasons only he knows, has stationed himself at the far end of the table, so far away from you it feels intentional.

You figure it probably is.

It’s almost impressive, the way he’s managed to talk and gesture like everything’s normal, all while sneaking glances at you every few seconds. You know because you’ve been doing the exact same thing – watching him out of the corner of your eye as he fidgets with his glass, rubs the back of his neck, and very clearly struggles to keep his attention on the conversation in front of him.

You’re not trying to make things harder for him. Well... not exactly. Teasing him is fun, and you didn’t realize that was part of the deal when you started this whole “friends with benefits” arrangement. Apparently, it is, and it’s working better than you could’ve imagined.

The dress helps, of course.

By the time your friends start debating dessert orders, you notice Pablo’s grip on his fork is a little too tight. His jaw keeps ticking, and his eyes haven’t left you in what feels like minutes.

Then, out of nowhere, he blurts, “Oh, we need to go.”

The entire table falls silent, everyone looking at him in confusion.

“What?” one of your friends asks.

Pablo’s eyes are glued to you, panic flickering in them like he didn’t think this through. “We have that... thing,” he says, gulping hard. “With your brother.”

You nearly choke on your drink. His eyebrows are doing that wild thing they do when he’s embarrassed, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing on the spot.

“Right,” you say smoothly, nodding. “Thanks for reminding me, Pablito.” You grab your bag, standing up with practiced calm. “Sorry, guys, we’re leaving. Can’t be late.”

Your friends barely react. You and Pablo leaving early isn’t exactly unusual – you’ve been practically glued at the hip since you met.

You pay your share of the check, wave goodbye, and make it all the way to his car before the composure you’ve been holding onto snaps.

As soon as the doors shut, you burst out laughing.

“With my brother?” you wheeze, clutching your stomach. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Pablo glares at you, his ears turning pink. “Don’t.” His voice is low, trying for roughness, but it only makes you laugh harder.

“Oh my God, you looked like you were going to pass out.”

“I said don’t.” He leans back in his seat, covering his face with his hands, but you can see the faintest hint of a grin breaking through. “I can’t believe you did that.” 

You blink at him, “Did what?”

He scoffs before turning to glare at you. “You spent the entire dinner giving me that look.”

“What look?” you ask, trying not to grin.

His jaw tightens, and for a second, he looks like he regrets saying anything. But then he mutters, “The look you have when you want to... you know.”

You burst out laughing, loud and uncontrollable as his ears turn pink.

“You’re insane!” you manage between laughs. “That’s totally a projection. You were the one who kept looking over at me.”

“Whatever,” he snaps, looking back at the road as he starts the car. “I’m taking you to mine.”

You’re still grinning, leaning your head back against the seat. “And what are we doing at your place, Pablo?”

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, and the smirk creeping onto his face says it all. “I don’t know,” he says casually, his tone a perfect imitation of innocence. “Play video games, maybe. That’s what we do, right?”

“Right,” you say, biting your lip to hold back another laugh. 

He’s not saying what he really wants, but he doesn’t have to. And the way his hand taps restlessly on the steering wheel tells you he’s not going to hold out much longer.

part 3

His bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and before you can even process what’s happening, Pablo is dropping to his knees.

“What are you doing?” you blurt out, genuinely taken aback.

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands already gliding down the sides of your thighs. His head tilts up briefly and you can see the faint flush creeping over his face. It’s not shame, it’s desire.

You’re tempted to say something snarky, to keep up the teasing game you started at dinner, but the way he looks at you – half-lidded, feverish – makes the words catch in your throat.

When his lips press against the curve of your leg, just above your knee, you feel your breath hitch. He trails soft kisses down, his touch so careful it sends shivers up your spine. 

“Pablo,” you say again, but this time it comes out quieter.

Still, he doesn’t respond, his hands sliding down to your ankles. When he finally reaches your feet, he pauses, looking up at you as if asking for permission – or maybe just enjoying the way you’re completely at his mercy.

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, trying to sound unaffected.

He smirks, the flush deepening on his cheeks as he carefully slides one of your heels off, then the other. “And you’re a brat,” he says, like it’s a compliment.

You’d almost feel bad for teasing him earlier. Almost.

But the way he’s looking at you now? Yeah, you don’t feel sorry at all.

Gavi stands up and you raise an eyebrow at him when he takes you completely by surprise. Before you can react, he hooks an arm around your waist and manhandles you up like you weigh nothing.

“Pablo!” you yelp, your legs kicking lightly in protest as he hauls you toward the bed.

“What?” he says, laughing as he effortlessly shifts you in his arms. 

“Put me down!” you demand, though the smile on your face betrays your annoyance.

“Okay,” he says, plopping you unceremoniously onto the mattress. You bounce once and he doesn’t follow immediately. Instead, he steps back, his dark eyes scanning over you. His head tilts slightly, his brow furrowing.

“You’re… hot,” he says finally.

You blink up at him, “You’re only noticing now?”

He moves closer, his hands skimming over the fabric of your dress. His fingers linger at the hem, then drift to the exposed skin of your thighs, your shoulders, the back of your neck – everywhere the dress doesn’t cover.

“No, I’m serious,” he says, his voice lower now, his focus entirely on you.

Before you can respond, his hands slide up to cup your face, holding you firmly, like he needs you to hear him. His thumbs brush against your cheekbones.

“You look really fucking hot right now,” he says, and there’s nothing teasing about the way he says it. 

You open your mouth to reply, but the words won’t come. You’re too distracted by the way he’s looking at you. So you don’t even think about it – you just grab his shirt and pull him down, kissing him hard. The kind of kiss that friends definitely shouldn’t be sharing. It’s reckless, fueled by everything he’s made you feel tonight, by all the times he’s told you not to overthink this, not to complicate things.

But this? This is the definition of complicated, and you don’t care.

At first, he freezes, like the force of your kiss has stunned him. Then his hands tighten on your face, and he kisses you back even harder.

His lips move against yours with a kind of desperation that makes your head spin, and his fingers slide into your hair, anchoring you to him. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, his hands are still cradling your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he can’t quite let go. His gaze drops, taking in every inch of you, and when he looks back up, there’s a determined gleam in his eyes.

“I’m not even taking the dress off,” he says, his voice low and sure as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

You giggle, shaking your head at him. “We can’t! My mom would kill me if I screwed up this dress.”

But Gavi just shakes his head, completely unfazed. “I’ll buy her another one.”

His shirt is off now, tossed somewhere behind him, and you’re caught between laughing at his confidence and being completely swept up in it.

“Oh, really?” 

“Really,” he replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hands find your waist again, pulling you closer as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin.

You shake your head again, but this time it’s less about disbelief and more about the fact that you’re already giving in. 

He slides your lacy underwear off with deliberate care, and when he notices they match the color of your dress, he pauses for a beat, his eyes lingering. The corner of his mouth twitches before he does something you don’t expect – he places them right next to your face, on the pillow you’re lying on, his grip on them firm.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out. “You’re so weird.”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but he doesn’t let it slide. “Stop calling me weird,” he mutters, biting your ear in retaliation before trailing down to your neck.

You shiver under his attention, but then he pulls back to focus on his next task – taking off his pants with a kind of urgency that’s kind of endearing. When he’s finally stripped nude, he stands in front of you, hands on his hips like he’s waiting for a round of applause.

“Tell me I’m hot,” he demands.

You shake your head, biting back another laugh. “What? No way.”

“Why not?” he asks, feigning offense as he moves closer. “Come on, say it.”

He leans in, peppering kisses across your cheek and jaw, his persistence both ridiculous and charming.

“You think your annoying best friend is hot, don’t you?” he whispers into your ear, his tone dropping just enough to make your pulse race. “And you want to sleep with me, don’t you?”

“Stop projecting your feelings onto me,” you argue, but your voice is breathy, already undone by his proximity. Your words would be more effective if you weren’t already moaning under his touch, two of his fingers going in and out inside of you, the softest sounds escaping you as his lips find yours again.

The room is filled with your unsteady breaths and the sounds you can’t quite keep contained, each one louder than the last. But then, out of nowhere, Gavi stills completely, his movements halting. He grabs your chin, tilting your face toward his. His expression is serious, annoyingly composed.

“I’m not letting you finish until you tell me I’m hot,” he says, like this is a perfectly reasonable demand to make at a time like this.

You glare at him, every nerve in your body screaming at the unfairness of it all. But it’s too late for you – you’ve already given up.

“You’re hot, okay?” you snap, your voice desperate and unfiltered. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever been with, so please, please just fuck me.”

For a second, he looks almost touched. And then, to your complete horror, he has the audacity to laugh.

“Jesus! Calm down, I’ll do it,” he says, his grin breaking through his mock seriousness.

You see red, slapping his hand away from your chin in pure frustration. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but before you can say more, he’s fingering you again, his hands steady and assured, and everything else fades away.

His hands and lips and teeth start exploring every inch of you with a passion that feels almost primal. He’s relentless, his mouth all over your skin, lingering on the parts of you he knows will make your breath hitch. The delicate fabric of your dress shifts under his hands, pushed and pulled as he reveals more of you, your breasts, your cunt, as he eats you out with a feral hunger.

You cum twice, his name falling from your lips. By the time he finally lifts his head from between your legs, his smile is smug, proud.

“I’ll give you what you asked for now,” he says, “What you begged me for.”

“Shut up,” you snap, your voice unsteady.

He laughs, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face. “You’re so mean to me,” he murmurs, shifting you gently to your side. His voice softens further as he positions himself behind you. “I always give you what you want, don’t I?”

You roll your eyes, your tone sharp even as your breath hitches. “Hurry up with the condom.”

“Do you want to put it on?”

“Yes…” you mutter, your fingers brushing against his as you take it from him.

When he finally enters you, it’s consciously slow, his lips pressing softly to your shoulder, shushing you as your breathing grows uneven again. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice soothing as his pace quickens, the rhythm you find together is absolutely perfect.

As you sense him nearing his peak, you lean back slightly, your voice quiet but sure. “Cum in my mouth.”

Pablo groans loudly, a mix of gritted words spilling out. “Fuck, fuck.” He pulls away quickly, his breathing ragged. “That’s what you wanted all night, wasn’t it?” He’s breathless, his words edged with laughter. “You wanted to taste, wanted to – fuck, to eat my cum, fuck – nasty girl.”

He’s hasty and shaky now, completely lost in pleasure as his member fits perfectly in your mouth. He closes his eyes, moaning loudly as he finishes. In his hurry, he becomes careless, and a few drops land on your face, his eyes widen. Then, without missing a beat, he leans in to clean it off, his tongue brushing over your skin with an exaggerated gentleness that makes you giggle.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, but he shushes you, his focus entirely on his task.

“Fixing my mess,” he mutters, his lips trailing up to yours. He kisses you fiercely, sucking your tongue. It’s messy and uncoordinated, full of laughter and half-mumbled complaints.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes rake over you, and he groans dramatically. “Mierda, I’m hard again.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest. “You’re too horny!”

“Me?” he scoffs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you down effortlessly. “You came three times, and I didn’t hear you complaining then.”

You roll your eyes, already teasing him with your touch, one hand on his erect member, caressing him. “I’m tired now,” you say, your voice playful even as you keep up your antics.

“Tired?” he repeats, “No, no way. Give me another one.”

You stretch out lazily on the bed, making yourself comfortable. “Fine,” you say with a grin. “But I’m not doing any work this time. You’re on top.”

Gavi groans again, rolling his eyes. But the smile on his face says he’s more than ready to oblige.

[imagionationstation]

I don't know if you read the comics they put out for the 2k12 series but there's a lot of brother interaction in there which is cute and possibly analytical. They're not technically "canon" (I think the Panini comics were intended to be 'side-stories' at least) but I believe they were written to be true to character. There's stuff like Leo immediately giving in to Mikey's puppy dog eyes to goof off/watch a magic show, Raph blatantly lying to make himself look dumb for Donnie's sake after he(Donnie) creates a pheromone spray for April, Mikey stepping up to focus and protect his brothers when he's the only one unaffected by depression gas, the boys all riding each other down giant piles of garbage, Leo needing to create a "B- team" to rescue his brothers, etc. There's less focus on combat too. Also a Raph-Donnie focused comic which is nice, that dynamic didn't get enough attention in the show.

I have read many of these comics on a totally legit website and still go back to reread them to this day. But because of their questionable direct connection to canon, I normally leave them out of analysis.

THOUGH THE FACT THAT I’M NOT RECALLING SOME OF THESE SCENES TELLS ME THAT I’M MISSING CRITICAL INFORMATION

So yah I’ll be rereading every comic I can get my hands on now ✌️

I absolutely ADORE a LOT of what they do in the comics and just the way that Donnie is drawn sometimes is so soft and cute and jkgjgkgj

Look at him with his little insecurities and fears.

We must pat him on the head and then send him out into a world of pain and suffocating traumas that he’ll never get over!

He should freak out more. He deserves it <3

Oooh and him and April hang out it’s not weird it’s SO PRECIOUS

Raph blatantly lying to make himself look dumb for Donnie's sake after he(Donnie) creates a pheromone spray for April

Mikey stepping up to focus and protect his brothers when he's the only one unaffected by depression gas

Also a Raph-Donnie focused comic which is nice, that dynamic didn't get enough attention in the show.

✨✨✨I agree I agree I agree I agree! ✨✨✨

But of course, we cannot forget to focus on the important things like:

Mikey adopting a Footbot

April O’Reporter

…This Kraang!

Splinter expanding his horizons

And the long-awaited turtlesitting episode but reverse

And so forth and so forth, you get the idea

[frownyalfred]

"#you want a barrier sometimes #but if that's airtight then you have pressure issues"

Is this like a general knowledge thing or something you had to research? Also, how much random stuff do you think you've learnt since you got into this fandom? I can imagine that you've had to Google loads of random stuff for the fics you've written

I mean...it was a guess but I just did a dive into "Diving-related Ocular Barotrauma" so it looks like it's a thing. When you have rapid changes in pressure (like during a fight involving metas or magic) that could affect the goggles/masks themselves if they're fully sealed, which would be very bad for the eyes. That was just me spitballing, since eyes are very sensitive to changes in pressure. But it looks like it could be an actual consideration in goggle usage, which would be relevant to superheroes like the Batfamily. Again, I'm no expert -- I was just guessing, and it looks like I was on the right path.

I've googled SO much stuff since starting to write fics. I have gathered so much random information across a variety of bizarre subjects. Police call codes in different states, how to reduce pediatric fractures with protrusion, weird bits of language translation, gun stuff. I'm not smart enough to retain or really use this information in a meaningful way, but for about 30 minutes I feel like I almost grasp maybe 2% of it.

My google search history when writing a fic is hilarious, I should definitely post it one day. I know just enough to be dangerous. Which is to say, I know enough to know I should know more about this, and I'm probably going to summarize this information in a way that does a disservice to experts, but. It's for a fic, and as long as it passes the sniff test, I'm fine with it.

Though I will say, while I'm at it (since I'm petty at heart) the Kwik Trip in my recent Trinity fic was researched AND correctly used as the gas station of choice. People were trying to ding me for using a gas station brand that's too "large" for Kansas and not like the normal, traditional brands they find close to home, but they were wrong! In the fic, Clark mentions that the Kwik Trip was built recently. Kwik Trip is slowly buying up those old gas station chains and building new stores across the Midwest, including Kansas. So it actually makes a lot of sense that they stopped at a Kwik Trip which is 1) a novelty compared to normal gas stations 2) more likely to be present than other smaller chains in 2025 (and near a major city) and 3) is referenced to have been built recently, which lines up with national trends. Also, I googled Kwik Trips near Wichita and there's a ton. So there's a great example of a huge amount of time I spent researching something to be right, and people still told me I was wrong lmao. And also it was probably not worth the fic-writing time to be right about.

[anonmousegosqueak]

mmmmmmmmmmh

141×royalty AU

*screams*

So. Since I have to keep this one short let's just get to the core of it. Make Roach the Prince, I need his weirdness to come from a detachment from normal people, Price is the king, bonie hat and crown look similar enough to me, Gaz is obviously dating Roach and even price knows about it, but they don't make any public announcement and any public appearence of the two togheter is for friendship (in the historian "they were roommates" style), Gaz is a Knight, Ghost the personal guard of the Prince and Ghost the personal guard of Gaz (so when those two get a room and they have to stay outside they smooch), Price gas been kinda constricted into an arranhed marriage (from which Roach was born) but his wife knows that he is seeing someone else, what the wife doesn't know it's that who Price is seeing is Nik.

Go cap, go!

:0

Boner, is that you?

Nah but seriously, I think it's hilarious y'all are both going fantasy au. And as your captain (who probably never should have gotten the position) I will be taking your beautiful babies and mixing them together until both of your works are unrecognizable! :D

JK I'M KEEPING THEM TWO SEPARATE WORKS BECAUSE THE DYNAMICS AND LORE IS DIFFERENT AND EVEN IF ITS THE SAME SETTING THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOUR WORK SHOULD BE TAKEN AND WARPED WITHOUT YOUR CONSENT!! :DDD

I really love Roach being Price's son/the prince. It just works really well? Also I love "oh no D: I *guess* we just gotta kiss while our respective softies (aka the ones we're protecting)... Discuss plans *wink wink*." (I'm gonna guess you mean Soap is a guard? Not Ghost and Ghost? Maybe you did mean Ghost and Ghost, I love a good 09 meets 23.)

May I offer: his wife doesn't care because *she's* seeing another woman? Maybe even Price's estimated royal assistant (and best friend) Laswell?? OwO?

I'd like to add: 1) Fennec sent in their ask before I posted Boner's, and 2) I'll probably be posting FIFTY BILLION Fennec posts in a row because I've been accidentally ignoring them. Okay toodles!

[spikedblanket]

hikaru ga shinda natsu s1 wincest au where sam disappears on a hunting trip:

dean, after days of searching in the woods screaming himself raw, finally returns to the motel room. sam hasn't ever gone missing like that, not since he was a kid and didn't want to be found. they're past all of that now, they're finally okay, which means that sam's in deep shit and it's dean's fault.

they left the television on while leaving in such a hurry, and it's blaring commercials for local contractors, diners. sam's clothes are still folded neatly in the drawers, even though they'd only planned to stay three days at most.

dean goes to the front desk to buy another week in the room. too shaken to realize that he looks fucking insane, covered in dirt and his own blood, though the latter's dried enough to blend with the first. the smell hanging around him gives him away - sharp, metallic, wrong. the front desk clerk eyes him weird. hands him a new set of towels.

dean showers, totally numb, the water either too hot or too cold to register as any kind of pain. just lets it slough over him until it runs semi-clear and stumbles into bed. the wet leaches from him into the sheets. his last thought before sleep is that the bed feels like a tract of sweating skin.

he bolts awake at four in the morning. blinking into the neon-red gash of the numbers on the alarm clock, he decides that five hours of sleep is enough, more than enough, and gets dressed to go back outside. he hesitates before reaching into sam's drawer, pulls out the khaki jacket - one of two that sam has. his own is out of commission for now, anyways.

he puts it on, thinks about how big it is - at least as big as their father's jacket is on him. he thinks about what that means - clothes and the fact that the right people aren't there to wear them. vestigial bits of his family lying limp across the backs of chairs, hanging quietly in closets. reanimated by him and him alone.

he's got a hand on the doorknob when he hears something scratching on the other side. like it doesn't know you're supposed to knock.

he takes a step back. he's not stupid enough to let hope be the thing that gets him killed, so he stays quiet. the scratching stops after a little while, like the thing is recalibrating, and starts thumping at the door with the flat of its hand. hey, it calls. hey, it's me.

if it were a shapeshifter, the transition'd be too smooth. it'd already be trying to worm its way under dean's skin using sam's memories, mannerisms, like an actor that's so good they start running through their lines a little too quick. but something else is obviously off.

dean grabs the holy water, the salt, the works, and arms himself with a silver knife. he opens the door quick, pulls the thing inside, slams it into a wall.

it's "sam".

staring wide-eyed at dean, looking about as good as dean did when he got back, which is to say, like total shit. the holy water rinses some mud away from his face so dean gets a better look at him when he pries his mouth open to shove salt inside. he hooks his thumbs underneath "sam"'s lip to reveal those familiar, blunt fangs, the throat struggling to close, gagging on the dissolving salt. "sam" lets him.

he also lets him cut a line into his forearm. dean watches his face for any of those telltale, out-of-the-ordinary pain reactions and gets nothing. sam can take it. apparently, "sam" can too.

it's me, he says again. dean wants it to be. he's run the gamut of monster-tests, so it must be, and he pulls him in close, relief drowning out the alarm bells ringing in his head.

what happened to you? dean asks. where were you?

we were chasing that thing, "sam" says, and i - i fell. i fell and hit my head. i must have rolled under something, somewhere where you couldn't see me.

dean combed those woods. he knows that isn't true. but he pulls away from "sam", and "sam" looks at him, his face closer than normal. holding on for longer than he usually does. a calculated look in his eyes like he doesn't know what he and dean are to one another. running through a limited understanding of the permutations of human relationships, the ways he can test the waters.

a sickening possibility presents itself to dean. an opportunity.

there's no time before recognition clicks into place and shutters it off, forever, so dean acts on instinct. presses his knee a half inch further between "sam"'s legs before he knows what he's doing.

they stay like that for a minute, dean's hand on "sam"'s shoulder and his forearm on the wall behind his head, slanting himself in closer. pressing one side of his body flush against his. maybe an outsider who's seen them fighting before wouldn't know the difference. dean does.

"sam" smiles like he's got the right answer.

dean can't meet his eyes, so he lets up and pushes him towards the bathroom. he listens to the water running and tries his best not to shoot himself before "sam" comes out, because what the fuck is he thinking?

what is that thing?

dean watches him fall asleep. doesn't sleep himself. makes the decision to keep them both in this town until he can find out what's happened to the real sam. chalks up his freak behavior to keeping track of the difference between the two.

but "sam" makes that difference plain. in the morning, dean watches him try to scrape mud off of their father's jacket before giving up and putting it on. what are you doing? he asks, numb.

"sam" stops, his arms going still in sleeves that hit right at the wrists. like they're supposed to.

dean sits through some lame excuse about wanting to switch things up and doesn't miss the way his eyes wander over to the khaki jacket, logging away new information for later. they trade clothes.

when they head out to the impala, "sam" lags behind like he doesn't know which car is theirs instead of beelining for shotgun, the two of them splitting off like the prongs of a wishbone, an easy, fine-tuned movement carved into every space they've been in together.

dean doesn't need a map to head back to the woods, but tells "sam" to open one up anyway. sam leans over to point out the turns, brushes against dean's hand, leans lightly into his arm. laughs big and bright at the jokes he manages to make, stares hard at dean's profile in a way that makes him sweat.

he doesn't have to tell "sam" what they're looking for. being back in those woods seems to unlock this instinctive, territorial side to him. one that doesn't want to go back. one that wants to stay here, with dean.

so he pulls out all the stops. lays a casual hand on dean's thigh when they're breaking for a lunch of slim jims and skittles, licks the melted sugar from his lips slow and leaves them parted so dean can just make out the red of his dyed tongue. looks at dean like he wants something from him. dean can only imagine what his own face is saying. it's probably some mix of hunger and agony, please personified.

they do that for ten days straight: dean searching, getting nowhere. "sam" working his way to the core of him.

and whenever dean looks unsettled, whenever dean starts itching for more answers, more time under those trees looking for a piece of the real sam that explains any of this, "sam" will learn how to distract him.

he flatters dean. slides his fingers into the hidden places dad's jacket normally covers up - the insides of his wrists, the seam where his jaw and ear meet, the side of his neck. convinces him to skip town, i hear wyoming's beautiful in november, flashing those pretty teeth in smiles that almost look right. acts like the next town over is hawaii when dean finally agrees to take them someplace else.

but it's not far enough. something in that forest wants him back.

and dean would give him to it. scrap this entire project, torch the evidence - he's scared of "sam," scared of himself - but each passing day eclipses the idea that anyone else is waiting for him in the ashes. there's no hand reaching back. no little brother that isn't good but tries to be, for him. For once.

"sam" is offering. all dean needs to do is take.

when the time comes, it'll be so easy. that's what makes it sick.

they head west. a perfect corpse in the passenger seat and a shitty memorialist at the wheel.

[roanofarcc]

BABYDOLL: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. GAME OVER

jj maybank x fem!routledge OC // read on Ao3

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life.

chapter summary. it's a race to flee the island, but a sick twist of fate lands lottie in the hands (or fists) of the local drug dealer and the island's newest murderer.

note: rafe and barry are EXTRA assholes in this chapter; it's still canon-level violence but only read what you're comfy with! ALSO! we're two chapters away from the end of s1!!

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

previous chapter < >next chapter

Lottie awoke with an ache in her neck and was only half well-rested. The events of the day prior had knocked her out, but the looming sense of dread and anticipation kept her mind spinning even in her dreams. Sirens still echoed now and then outside, which eased Lottie with the thought of her brother still evading the police. He just had to steer clear of trouble until three, when they planned to meet up. 

After a quick snack courtesy of Kie’s clueless parents, they started prepping for John B. and Lottie’s getaway. Pope volunteered to get gas from his parents' shop, leaving the other three to start packing for the trip. 

Kie had gathered a collection of food that would tie them over for a while. JJ and Lottie worked on packing it in bags and a small cooler they were also stealing from Kie’s parents. 

“Do you think this’ll be enough?” asked Kie, placing her hands on her hips with worry pinched in her face. 

“For a couple of weeks at least,” JJ replied. “That should be all you guys will need.” He kept his eyes focused on the counter in front of him. He had hardly spared a glance at Lottie since they woke up, and she noticed rather quickly. That wasn’t like JJ. It was like he was avoiding her, somewhat. The brushing off of Lottie’s concern last night must’ve still been on his mind. That was the only thing Lottie could think that would cause him to act that way. 

Lottie tried, once again, to meet his eyes, but he did not even seem to notice her gaze on him. 

“There’s a case of water in the back-” Kie started to say before JJ cut her off by volunteering to grab it. He slipped away as Kie made a face and said, “He’s being weirder than normal.” 

“I know,” Lottie said, relieved that someone else noticed it too. She found herself picking at her nails again, which she had done a number on yesterday. They looked like hell and stung, but she continued to pick at the broken skin. 

Kie’s gaze fell onto Lottie’s hands. She reached under the counter and handed Lottie a lighter to fiddle with instead. 

“I don’t know why he’s being weird,” Lottie continued, directing her energy onto the lighter. “We were fine yesterday until we got here to crash.” 

Kie brushed a few stray curls behind her ear and shrugged. “It’s probably just ‘cause you and John B. are setting sail. He might just be worried; we all aren’t super thrilled you guys are leaving, but it’s not like there’s much of a choice, which sucks. JJ’s just not one to talk about his feelings.” 

“Yeah,” Lottie sighed. “But he’s usually not like that with me.” 

It wasn’t easy to get JJ to talk about anything without him brushing it off for making a joke about it, but if anyone could, it was Lottie. She didn’t know why exactly that was the case, but it had been like that since they were little. 

Kie seemed ready to say something else, but she pressed her lips into a thin line when JJ returned and swallowed whatever she was about to say. 

“All right,” JJ said, setting the case of water on top of the cooler. “Anything else?” 

Lottie patted her pockets and realized that she had left nearly everything at her house, besides a few items forever stuck inside the Camerons’ mansion. All she had on her was her cellphone, which held her ID and five bucks in the back of the case. 

“I need to go home,” she said. “I have a stash of cash and some stuff I can’t leave without.” 

“The place is definitely staked out, Lot. There’s no way you’ll be able to stroll up there without being ambushed by cops,” Kie said. 

“I know, but I think I’ve gotta risk it.” There was a whole house of memories she was leaving behind; she had to take some things with her, memories of her mom and dad that she couldn’t part with. It was risky and probably not the smartest idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave without taking something to hold on to. 

“If the cops try to question me, I’ll play the distressed sister of a ‘murderer’ who’s grabbing her shit to stay at friend's house. I’ll tell them I have no clue where John B.” 

Kie and JJ didn’t seem to like the idea, just from the looks on their faces. “They could still detain you or follow you and screw up the plan,” JJ said, a slight edge to his voice. 

“I’ll try to throw them off or make something up. But I’ll try not to get caught at all. As my brother would say I’ll do some ‘super secret spy shit’ or whatever. In and out. They won’t even know I was there.” Lottie knew her house better than any policeman did. She knew every window that didn’t lock, creaky floorboard, and the quickest and easiest way to sneak in and out. 

Their dad had never been super strict, but there were times when she and John B. had sunk back in after a party a couple of times. Lottie had also snuck JJ into her house when their dad was home, who was not a fan of boys in his daughter’s bedroom, even if it was just JJ. She was fairly confident she could evade the cops long enough to sneak in, grab what she needed, and slip out without detection. 

“All right,” Kie relented. “Take my bike, it’s out back. We’ll load up this stuff and get the boat.” 

Lottie nodded, and Kie started to haul the bags of food toward where her car was parked in the front. JJ hesitated, finally looking at Lottie. 

She hesitated to leave, too. “Do you think your dad’s gonna be home when you go to look for the keys?” she asked, remembering she had promised that they’d all try to help him find the keys to his dad’s boat, so he wouldn’t have to face the man alone, not after what he had done to JJ last time he had gone home. 

With a shrug, he said, “Probably. Passed out though, if I’m lucky.” 

Something in Lottie’s gut twisted uncomfortably. “You know, I could hold off on my stuff and come with you-” 

JJ cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “No, Lot. It’s my dad. I can handle stealing a set of keys from him. You got your shit to do. We’ll meet back up later.” 

“Just…be careful, okay?” 

A half-smile graced his lips before he replied, “You too.” 

Staying off the main roads, Lottie did her best to avoid getting caught before she even made it to the Chateau. The distant howl of sirens both unsettled and eased her worries, knowing they were close but also that they were still searching for John B. How he managed to continue to evade them, Lottie didn’t know, not when it seemed like the entire island was hell-bent on bringing him in. But being a Pogue made you crafty, especially when it came to the cops. 

Not long after crossing over into the Cut, the sound of buzzing pricked her ears. She spared a glance over her shoulder, keeping the handlebars straight, and spotted not one, but two motor bikes running up on her quickly. At first, Lottie thought it was Pope, but the accompanying bike confused her. 

She turned her head and kept her gaze focused on the road in front of her, staying near the edge to allow the bikes to pass, but they slowed as they neared her. One of them cut in front of her and stopped abruptly. Lottie panicked and jerked the handlebars to the right, sending her and Kie’s bike off the road. She dropped her feet from the pedals and forced the bike to a stop. 

The other bike parked beside the first one, and two helmet-clad boys jumped off. Lottie gently laid Kie’s bike on the grass and hid her shaking hands in tight fists at her sides, ready to tell off whoever the idiots where who ran her off the road, but as they pulled off their helmets, Lottie’s anger twisted into something more nervous, fearful even but with an undertone of rage that simmered in her veins. 

Rafe and Barry. The local murderer and drug dealer, two people Lottie never wanted to find herself alone with, ever. Too much shit had gone down between the groups for any interaction to be not fueled by a hateful fire. 

Lottie took a step back as they stalked forward, her foot hitting the bike’s wheel. 

Rafe held up his hands, almost mockingly, as he said, “Look, we don’t want any trouble.” His tone indicated the opposite. 

From around him stepped Barry, a gun clutched in his hand. Lottie’s heart dropped into her feet. Suddenly, she was right back on the roadside when Barry tried to rob them of their gold. That time, she at least had her friends and brother to take control of the situation, but she was all alone now. The heavy weight of panic pressed down on her chest uncomfortably, but she tried to keep her cool. 

“Then what’s with the gun?” she said slowly, eyeing Barry as he stepped closer with eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“I’m lookin’ for your bitch-ass friend,” he spat. “Don’t think I forgot that lil’ stunt y’all pulled. I want my fucking money back.” 

A part of Lottie was relieved that JJ wasn’t with her. Sure, he’d know how to wriggle out of that situation, but not without shared black eyes and bruised knuckles. But without JJ there, Barry couldn’t hurt him the way he clearly wanted to. The money was gone, but she wasn’t going to be the one to tell Barry that. 

Lottie swallowed thickly, her throat burning like she was close to crying, but she forced her emotions down. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” she said. 

Rafe cleared his throat and pushed Barry’s arm down to the gun wasn’t pointed directly at Lottie. She didn’t want to be, but she was a little bit grateful for that. “Just tell us where your brother is. That’s all we want to know.” 

That look was back in his eyes, a crazed glint halfway hidden behind the rich smugness of a Kook. Maybe he was high again, either on coke or the murder he just committed. 

“I don’t know where he is.” Which was true, but it would also be a cold day in Hell before Lottie ever sold out her brother to anything , especially Rafe Cameron. 

A dry, humorless laugh left Barry’s lips. “You don’t know shit, huh?” 

Lottie took another step back, half tripping over the bike before Rafe caught her wrist so she couldn’t put any more distance between them. His fingers dug into her skin harshly, but just for a moment before he relented just slightly. 

“Don’t touch me,” Lottie said through gritted teeth. She attempted and succeeded in pulling her wrist out of his grasp before holding it to her chest. 

“Listen to me-” Rafe snapped, his voice low and attempting to leave no room for whatever argument she had. But Lottie cut him off, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she realized her mistake. 

Pissing off Rafe Cameron never ended well, but the Pogues had a hard time learning that lesson. Lottie thought she knew it well enough, but when faced with the blond asshole, it was hard not to dig under his skin the same way he did.

“No,” she said. “I’m not ratting out my brother or my friends to fucking murderer.” 

He stilled, nose twitching and jaw tightening. “What’d you just say?” He reached out again, that time grabbing her arms with a fierceness that startled Lottie even more than she had already been. His breath was hot, seething as he stood nose to nose with the bike in the grass, not doing much to separate them. 

If any of her friends were there, they would have met Rafe’s anger with their own. And if anyone had the right to be angry, it was Lottie. God, she was so angry that they were in that position in the first place. She was angry at the Cameron men most of all. 

“I know you killed Peterkin.” 

Maybe it was a trick of the sunlight, but Lottie could have sworn she saw the smallest hint of panic in Rafe’s eyes at her words, before it was washed away by a wave of anger. He pushed her back, hard. She lost her balance and landed on the grassy embankment. 

There was no time for her to react before Rafe towered over her. “Shut up!” he yelled before threading his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends. “Shut up! 

He looked like he was losing it, and Lottie didn’t want to be there when that happened. She took a book from John B. and JJ’s book, delivering a quick kick to Rafe’s shin and catching him off guard. He cursed and hopped back, tripping over the bike. 

Lottie started to crawl away, putting some distance between herself and Rafe before she attempted to stand up. But she had momentarily forgotten about Barry and the fact that she was outnumbered. He rounded Rafe with his own mutterings of curses and, in retaliation for kicking Rafe, sunk his dirty boot into Lottie’s back. 

She had been half-way standing, still bent over, before his kick sent her sprawling back out against the grass, face first that time. Her nose caught the ground before her hands could prevent the blow. 

Pain exploded in her face, bringing tears to her eyes that refused to be shoved down. The click of a gun cocking pushed Lottie right over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in the grass as a sob pushed its way through her lips. 

“Don’t be stupid, bitch,” Barry said, right behind her. 

She didn’t move. The sound of blood rushing in her ears was almost louder than the boys. She faintly heard Rafe mutter, “I’m not a murderer.” A beat. “I did what I fucking had to do!” 

The boom of his voice caused Lottie to seize up, her whole body pulled tight like a rubber band, terrified of snapping. A hand roughly grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to roll over. Hovering over her was a smirking Barry, still with a gun in his hand aimed at her. “I’m gonna give you one more chance-” 

Rafe cut him off as the distant sound of sirens echoed through the air. “He can’t be far,” he said. “Just forget her. We’ll find him ourselves, follow the cops, but find him first. We’re wasting time here.” 

He shot Lottie one last look before he turned on his heel and left. Barry lingered for a moment, leaning down close, waving the gun around like it was a toy and not something that could kill with ease. 

“Your friend’s got another thing comin’. No one steals from me and gets away with that shit.” He followed Rafe, the two of them starting their bikes and taking off without so much as another glance in Lottie’s direction. 

She waited until the sound of their bikes faded to sit up. Her chest ached, her back hurt, but most of the pain was in her face. She licked her lips as something wet coated them, only for an awful metallic taste to fill her mouth. Using the sleeve of her flannel, she wiped under her nose, staining the fabric red. 

If Topper’s elbow hadn’t broken her nose at the boneyard, her face planting sure did. It hurt worse than that night on the beach, or maybe she just didn’t have the help of alcohol on her side. 

She needed to move, bike up Kie’s bike, and pray she could make it to her house and to the dock in time to leave with John B. But she couldn’t get herself to stand up. She needed to toughen up, swallow the pain, and go through with their plan. But she just couldn’t. 

Her mind yelled at her as she brought her knees into her chest and buried her head in them. The tightness in her body snapped, showering her in a quick fit of tears. It hurt to breathe, to even out the air in her lungs. 

On the side of the road, she heaved in fresh air, wishing Kie was there to help calm her down. Instead, she was alone, on the side of the road with a broken nose and the time slipping away from her. 

Her phone was tucked away in her pocket, probably with a broken screen from her fall. She didn’t bother checking it and lost track of how long she sat there, sick to her stomach as the blood started to dry in the humid air. She stopped crying, the salty tears clung to her skin as defeat. It was stupid, she knew it was stupid. If she had been Kie or Pope or JJ or her brother, she would have jumped up and taken off like nothing had happened. She'd keep going because that was what the Pogues did. 

Yet, Lottie’s own head pleaded with her to just stop. The gold. Her dad. Ward. Kook vs. Pogues. Agatha. Everything wrapped her up tightly, squeezing the drive out of her. Much like the hurricane that dredged everything up in the first place, Lottie was a storm of feelings, relentless and no good. 

It swept her up, blocking out the outside until a car pulled up beside her with red and blue lights. 

“Hello?” a voice called out. Lottie snapped her head up, spotting two police officers with their hands hovering over their holsters. One good look at Lottie’s face caused them to retract their hands from their hips. 

The male officer sighed and spoke into his radio, “We have a confirmed location on Charlotte Routledge. Bringing her in now.” 

Lottie briefly closed her eyes in both pain and frustration. Of course, the cops found her; she was a sitting duck. 

The female officer knelt in front of her with a sympathetic look on her face. “Did someone hurt you?” she asked. 

The man scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It was probably her brother.” He didn’t say it with care or concern, only judgment. 

Lottie glared at him, but it became more of a wince than anything as moving the muscles in her face only hurt her nose. “No. It wasn’t my brother. He wouldn’t hurt me or anyone. ” The man rolled his eyes, only pissing her off more. She balled her hands into fists. “He didn’t do it. He didn’t!” Each word came out more frantic than she wanted it to. 

“Calm down,” he patronized. 

“Jim!” the woman snapped, also glaring at the man. “Go wait in the car.” He looked ready to argue, but she left no room for it. “Now!” 

He retreated back to the squad car with a grumble under his breath, leaving the two women alone. Lottie’s chin trembled as she tried to stop another round of tears from spilling out. “He didn’t kill Peterkin.” That time, her voice came out as a whisper. 

“Okay,” she replied softly. Lottie couldn’t tell if the woman believed her or pretended to, so Lottie would cooperate. “Why don’t we head over to the station, get you cleaned up, and take your statement, yeah?” 

It wouldn’t matter, Lottie thought. No matter what she said, no one would believe her word over Ward’s. The only person who would have was dead. 

The officers weren’t going to just let her go, so she nodded and allowed the woman to help her to her feet. In the back of the squad car, Lottie sank down in the seat and wished for the storm to blow over. 

After blood was washed down the sink of the police station, Lottie was left in a stained flannel and shirt, a broken nose, and a feeling of utter dejected. Time passed slowly, like honey, hours ticking away as the window she had to make it to the dock for her getaway trip with John B. It was disastrous, her swollen face and broken plan. 

No one was in the station besides a woman who manned the phones and the two officers who brought her in. It was eerily quiet, due to everyone else being out searching for her brother. 

They had taken her phone, preventing her from contacting her friends to let them know what had happened or to tell John B. to wait for her. Not that she would have. He was likely gone, and a part of her was relieved. The other half of her was devastated. It wouldn’t be forever, only a couple of weeks, they believed.

However, Lottie and John B. had never been apart for longer than a weekend. They were two halves of a whole, even in their older years. Being separated felt wrong. Sticking together was the one thing their dad had instilled in them from a young age. He told them, as long as they had each other, they didn’t need much else. Their dad believed all a person needed was someone to look out for them; he didn’t have that, though, and he ended up dead. 

What if something happened to John B.? 

Lottie shook the thought from her head as quickly as it came. She and the Pogues would flee to Mexico once things cooled down on the island and they'd spend the rest of their lives surfing and sticking together. 

All John B. had to do was make a clean getaway. That was all she had left to hope for. 

The two officers had questioned her extensively about his whereabouts, which she played dumb until the male officer was red in the face. The woman had eventually hung her head and left the room with the man in tow. 

Lottie sat and stared at her reflection in the one-way mirror, mind far away, until the woman came back some time later. “Here,” she said, handing Lottie an ice back and a spare windbreaker. 

With a quiet ‘thanks’ Lottie replaced her bloodied flannel before pressing the pack against her nose. The cold felt nice against her inflamed skin. 

“We’re supposed to bring you to Shoup,” she said, nodding at the door. 

“Where’s Shoup?” 

The woman held open the door and gestured for Lottie to stand up and exit. “You’ll see.”

[octuscle]

Hey im really confused and need some help from suport.

So im a male actor/ model and things have been really tough in the industry lately with the strikes and all so i was over the moon when a clothing brand reached out to me. But the wierd thing is this brand does not really catter to ny estetic. I usualy get jobs from high end luxury brands, but this company is a street wear blue collar clothing brand. I went to a meeting and gave me a out fit of a thick t-shirt, carpenters jeans, a flannle shirt, work boots, and a jock strap. All of them a size or more to bog for me. They also gave me a dinged up old cell phone. Then then told me to get comferable in thecloths and show up to the abandand site the next morning at the crack of dawn for the shoot. Im feeling realky weird and hungeryer then i ever been in my life. Please help.

The bag with the clothes for the photo shoot is in the trunk of your VW Beetle overnight. Cute little car. It's already got a few years under its belt. But still drives well. And that's all you can afford at the moment. You also need the money from this job. Otherwise you'll have to part with this car too. That's why you're so excited about the job. You're not sleeping very well. And normally you would go for an hour's run after getting up. But today you're hungry after a restless night. A huge appetite. You make yourself a large portion of scrambled eggs and bacon. You didn't even know you had so many eggs in the house. Yeah, that was good. Now the day can begin. You put on a white button-down shirt, plain Calvin Klein jeans and white sneakers and walk to your car at 05:00 in the morning. Yes, the Mustang is a bit rusty. But it's a classic. It suits you. It makes you feel a bit like James Dean.

Shit, you've left your iPhone in the apartment. But there's still the old Cat phone in the bag with the clothes. You type in the address and turn on the speaker. Looking at your hands, you're annoyed that you haven't had a manicure. You have hands like a construction worker.

One disadvantage of your Mustang is that it consumes an incredible amount of gas. You have to refuel halfway to the photo shoot. And take a shit. Hehehe, if you eat a lot in the morning, you have to shit a lot. And you're hungry again. It's almost 07:00 already. So you fill up at the next service station and then eat a burger with a large portion of fries. Your white T-shirt has a few ketchup stains and slips out of your old 501 over your belly, but now you feel good again. Your cell phone says there are only 50 miles to go. A stone's throw for your mighty pickup. The only thing you need before you arrive on the set of the shoot are cigars. Fuck, you left yours at home too. Luckily, you pass a tobacconist's just before you leave for the abandoned industrial site. The photo shoot is scheduled for two days, so ten cigars should be enough.

You are a star model in the workwear scene. You're actually a crane operator, but you can always use a little extra money. Besides, there's usually a lot to fuck on the set of the shoots. Photographers, marketing hipsters and the effeminate professional models love your huge cock. Your cigar is tiny in comparison.

[imagine-shenanigans]

hey guys i haven't even had a chance to see atsv yet i just know spoilers and i want this man biblically, i'm talking carnally, i want him in a way that hurts feminism, i want to bring the whole damn movement down so i can be his stupid little housewife and raise his damn kids so i can watch him be happy and then also get railed into losing every brain cell i have

anyway here's some abo headcanons, they include spoilers for the movie/his backstory probably because idk what is and isnt a spoiler because i havent seen it yet.

also this one works a bit differently than my normal layout, it goes SFW and then dips NSFW and ends with more SFW but they're all clearly labeled!

Reader is written gender neutral with they/them and the nsfw section has afab and amab sections, but since I'm Nonbinary and AFAB that's probably how it's gonna come off for most of the reading, just to warn you!

Miguel O'Hara x Reader N/SFW ABO Headcanons

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5k words

Content Warnings (tell me if I miss any): Dubcon, ABO, Obsessive Behavior, Toxic behavior, Omega reader, Alpha Miguel

For these headcanons we're gonna exist in a weird liminal space where Gabi is like, five to six or so and he brought her home with him or some shit idk man I just think he's a hot single father anwyay, also this is assuming omega reader because i think it's hot

if anyone wants a version where Miguel follows more canon and he still lost his kid and came back you're free to request that too i love that shit, just for this specific one i wanna raise his damn kids so-

SFW

Alpha, big alpha energies.

Miguel is the type of guy who's pretty obsessive with what he claims as his, I would honestly say borderline yandere vibes without fully delving into it - his mental state in this au/situation is also a lot better since he still has his daughter, so he's genuinely a lot less "feral" than he tends to get without her, even though in this we'll say he did almost lose her.

So when he claims someone, he's going to be damn sure he means it.

This ones a bit of a general headcanon but he doesn't really have a type when it comes to the people he likes, other than he needs someone who's interesting to him. Whether it's because you're hotheaded, or even keeled, whether you're snarky or sweet, he just needs something for his brain to latch onto.

Not a love at first sight guy but he is an "obsession I can't place" kind of guy.

Miguel has really enhanced senses when it comes to scenting, so it takes some damn strong suppressants and scent blockers to completely block him out... which if we're pretending reader here is falling with the abo trope of "hiding being an omega" (which we are because I love tropes) is just what gets him obsessed. Clothing and perfume that masks your scent, suppressants and scent blockers, and a confident attitude are all enough to throw most people off the (forgive my pun) scent.

But not Miguel.

His spider DNA has the animalistic side to it that fucks with his hormones regardless, makes it easier for him to pick up on the pheromones that even most attentive alphas can't, he's damn near a personal lie detector with how smart he is and how attuned he is to what his nose and instincts tell him, even when he's using serums to keep the more feral urges at bay.

He can only get a whiff of you, fainter than most betas, and it drives him fucking insane knowing he can smell something but he can't figure it out. He can't place it, and it nags at his brain. He can smell a whiff of flowers, or sugar, or something undeniably citrus (depending on what you headcanon your own smell to be) but he can't place it and he hates that shit.

Ends up pulling some traditional alpha shit and he can't even help it, starts trying to crowd you until you kick him in the shin or Peter B or Jess shoos him away. He has to figure out what it is, he has to know.

It only gets worse when he brings Gabi in (a babysitter fell through) and you end up butting your way in to play with Gabi and Mayday, delighting in watching them for the day instead of whatever you were supposed to be doing. They're both so cute and sweet.

Gabi smells primarily like cinnamon and a bit like dewey grass - she's not old enough to have presented yet, but her basic scent, unaffected by the secondary gender hormones, is simple and sweet, reminds you of a summer morning.

She takes after her father in that regard - Miguel smells *warm* and a bit musky, like trees and cinnamon and, a bit like a camp fire. A small tinge of oil, when you pick it apart, and you can't tell if its from the lingering scent on his skin after fixing a broken machine nobody else could, or if that's part of his natural scent.

(Mayday smells like marshmallows, and carmel, funnily enough)

When you take care of Gabi and Mayday, your scent lingers on their skin, mixes and twists in a way that Peter B can't notice but Miguel can. It's all he can do not to be a damn freak and pick his baby girl up and sniff her hair to try and figure out why she smells like that (not in a creepy way, to clarify because there are some freaks on here, but in the same way a dog gets baffled by smelling you use a new perfume, or in the way of when you pick your kid up and go "WHY DO I SMELL CANDLES ON YOU WHAT WERE YOU DOING")

He almost can't stand how his head swims when he watches you pick Gabi up and gently throw her up in the air a bit, watching you let her climb onto you while you're distracted just like Mayday does. Soothe her tears when she accidentally breaks a toy because she's still learning to control her super strength.

He doesn't know that he wants you either, not until long after he's already manifested feelings. Doesn't realize how protective he is, doesn't realize how differently he treats you. He doesn't realize he's lingering in your area just long enough to make sure he can fill his nose with the faint scent you give off.

He assumes you're a beta - not that it mattered to him, really. Miguel would just as soon marry another alpha as he would a beta or an omega, as long as it's you.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until he's got a piece of your clothing in his hands, holding it in the dead of night up to his nose. A scarf or a glove or a jacket you'd leant to Gabi during the day and she'd spilled her juice on it and he'd taken it home to wash it.

He can smell his daughter's scent, louder than life, so familiar he could have a handful of pepper thrown at him and he'd still be able to wrap his arms around her and move her out of harm's way in the direst of straits.

And then there's yours, linger, mingling with his daughter's scent, and it's the parent of his child.

It's not, it's not the woman who birthed Gabi, it's not the woman who contributed to making her. It's you, the only other person he ever wants near his child in that capacity. And it's intoxicating. It's infuriating. It's overwhelming because the full breadth of his own emotions is so strong as he realizes what he's been doing. And he can't even tell you because he holds himself to a specific standard, a specific code of ethics, and even though he wants to risk it all just so his hindbrain (both alpha and spider and his own human instincts all mingling in one) can have his little loves all wrapped up in his arms, safe where he can protect them.

He only just has the strength to wash the piece of cloth and return it. It takes everything he has not to cling to it, to make a pretty little nest to protect his family in, webs and pillows and fabric, a basis of protection so you can properly make it your own and -

He controls himself, and returns the scarf the next day, leaving it on your desk because he can't bear to look you in the eyes.

The days struggle by, a stark contrast to his normal snark, to lingering in your space and snorting and rolling his eyes. To being by your side more than he normally is. It's disheartening, it makes you feel rejected, and he knows it.

But he doesn't stop, this tension that can cut through the air lingering. Even Gabi and May notice it, the older girl frowning and the younger fussing when the two of you are in the room together.

And then your heat happens.

(brief bullet point break because there's a limit to how much you can have in one bulleted section on tumblr and I don't remember what it is but I'd rather just break here)

You've been on suppressants and scent blockers for years now. Being in your line of work (whether you headcanon this as a spiderperson version of you, or a different kind of superhero, or a civillian all working in the society) it's necessary. Omegas aren't rare but they're not the majority of the population like betas are. In Nueva York, it's a coin toss if you'll be fought over in the streets like some prize to be won, or if you'll be coddled like a child who can't figure out what's best for them.

It's half safety half preference at this point, from your original universe's standard (before it had burnt to cinders before you), and this one's. Your suit, your meds, and your behavior, they're all meant to mask and confuse.

But you can only make it so long on the prescription you've got, the long-lasting shots that were more reliable than a pill. The scent blockers go first - not by design, but by chance. You'd been giving yourself lower doses since you'd wound up in Nueva York, supplementing it with deodorants and lotions swiped from stores and hospitals that could afford to spare the supplies when you can't buy it covertly. But you'd still been low in comparison to your suppressants.

You shower more frequently, lather yourself with soaps and deodorants and lotions of different scents and ones that have blocking effects, and for the most part it works. You can't quite fool Gabi - too smart, too tuned in to your emotions like her father could be. She's got a sharp nose, and she wrinkles it when she can smell how confusing your scent is. She asks questions, and you can't lie your way out of it, but you are able to bribe her so she's distracted long enough that she forgets the question. Miguel notices, when he picks up Gabi, but he can't quite figure out exactly what's wrong, and you leave so fast (he assumes with the tension that lingers between the two of you) that he can't figure it out.

You're so certain you're in the clear.

But then your shots run out, and even you can't get more without a prescription. And while your health information would never go through Miguel, you know that the medispiders have to go through him or Lyla for any heavy duty things like suppressants, because they have to be resourced more carefully.

And your last doctor, although wildly shady, and incompetent, and operating out of an apartment, was right about one thing - suppressants will rot you from the inside out if you're not careful. If you don't let a natural heat occur, it will only be worse in the long run. (Although you suppose he probably had a greasier, grosser reason for telling you that.)

And rot you from the inside they have - all your natural reactions to a heat, all your normal bodily functions don't work properly, when confronted with something they haven't seen in years. You know within seconds of your suppressants flushing out of your system what's going on. You're still in the pre-heat phase of things, and you feel like you're dying. You aren't, and you know you aren't, but you feel nauseous and feverish and incoherent within an hour tops. Only long enough to let you panic and send a text to Miguel that you can't watch Gabi like you'd planned. That you're going out ad you won't be back awhile. You leave your phone in your room, when you pack your bag and head for the nearest somewhat reputable hotel that you can afford. You brace the door with the dresser, explicit instructions left for the front desk to, under no circumstances, contact you for the next week.

You get an order of pre-made meals to slap into the fridge, water and juice and all sorts of drinks and things shoved haphazardly inside once the bot brings it in through the window. You're barely coherent enough to retain control to crush the landline, rendering it inoperable, before you barricade the rest of the room.

You're definitely not in control when you nest, blankets and pillows and clothing all thrown haphazardly around as you go fully out of your gourd.

You're damn well out of your mind by the time you would have normally realized the card you were using was in Miguel's name.

(another very brief line break in this portion for drama but also so I don't hit any limits)

Miguel is pissed when you leave so suddenly.

Sure, he's been avoiding you, and sure, you aren't actually together, but you're his damn it. You don't know it, and sure, he's not going to acknowledge it out loud until something happens, but you can't just leave him and your child and his child who loves you high and dry like that!

It's laughably easy to find you, to find the hotel you've checked into. He doesn't even wait to figure out the reason you left, he's so quick on his honestly kinda toxic bs.

Gabi is left with Peter B and Jess for a bit, and Miguel is honestly so smug that he finds you so fast. You were so sloppy about it. So quick to leave that even though you left your phone behind, in a moment of clarity, you barely bothered to take back streets. You used his own damn card he'd given you to pay for the hotel for two weeks, and to order food.

If he weren't half out of his mind with concern and anger about how quickly you left, he'd be angry you used the card without asking like you normally did.

(His hind brain purrs with it though, knowing he's provided for you)

He doesn't know what did it. Miguel genuinely doesn't know what he did to earn your ire in such a way, but he can guess. He doesn't think it's how cold he was, in the beginning, but he isn't sure that it's not how he'd warmed up to you. How, when he'd let his guard down without realizing it, that he'd flirted with you. Had that made you uncomfortable? Had every 'innocent' brush against you turned you against him? Certainly, it could be his absence, his sudden coolness and stonewalling. It could be how he refused to look at you, when you were in the room. Tried to hold his breath after he'd realized what he was doing.

He doesn't really listen to Lyla when she tries telling him things. He heard where you where, found out the room, and swiped a key before Lyla could finish talking about vital signs and behaviors. She knows to set his alerts to emergency only for the foreseeable future, because she's figured it out much quicker than he has, and she figures she'll at least spare herself the trouble. Gets Gabi set up with Jess for the night, and is on her way so she doesn't have to deal with what's about to go down.

He's surprised by the dresser in front of the door, when he tries to get in the first time. It's easy for him to move - he just lowers his center of gravity and pushes his way into the room, slamming the door shut before he can inhale.

The hotel room is nice, with a kitchenette and a small entry area with a couch and a television. The bedroom is just tucked out of sight. Exactly what he expected when he'd heard the hotel's name - he'd never been, but he recognized it.

And it's when he inhales, that he realizes why.

Your scent hits him hard and fast, chokingly sweet in the back of his throat in a way that makes his hindbrain roar. His pupils blow wide, and if he didn't have such a strong self control, he'd have torn the damn door off its hinges looking for you.

He remembers, in that moment, why he recognized the hotel. It was one that was best known for its handling of customers in heat and rut.

NSFW INTERLUDE

(We're gonna start with general headcanons and go back into the specifics of the scenario in a sec but it's all relevant fjasdkl;)

Miguel is a Dom-leaning switch, he prefers to be in control as often as possible, regardless of whether he's topping or bottoming. Nine times out of ten, he wants to fuck his partner until they're an incoherent, babbling mess, because he enjoys the power and control it gives him, enjoys the dynamic of it.

As he gets more comfortable with a partner, he's more willing to accept the idea of subbing, enjoying it more when he has someone he trusts behind the wheel, so to speak.

(Because yes, Alphas can be subs too - that's a whole thing I could get into and might if someone asks)

And Miguel, even normally, is already a possessive guy. He's needy, and stakes his claim, and when we're talking about abo Miguel?

Sheeeeeesh

The moment he scents you in the air, the moment it clicks in his brain that you're going through a rut or a heat, it goes straight to his dick.

He damn near loses it, fighting not to tear the door off its hinges as he stalks to your room. Your scent is so strong in the air that even though he knows he should turn around, he still at the very least wants to make sure you're okay. So the sight of you, face down, ass up, fingers pressing into yourself, he almost loses his damn mind.

His pretty little wife/husband/spouse coworker, his crush, is an omega. It's almost too good to be true, and he can feel his fucking fangs extend, his mouth watering as he stares at you. You're too blissed out to even realize he's there, slick dripping down your thighs like a fucking faucet... and his name is on your lips.

He could cum untouched, could die a happy, happy man after seeing this.

He has dignity, and self control though, even as the force of your hit heats him. He's genuinely concerned, a moment later, his instinct to breed to claim tampered down by his need to care.

You cling to him, hazy, feverish, and incoherent. You beg him to claim you, to mark you, to fuck you. Miguel wants to, he does... but he instead kicks his shoes off but otherwise stays fully clothed, his cock so hard it hurts as he grabs the closest bottle of water, and an ice pack, and climbs into your haphazard nest with you. He probably should have left by now, but instead he seats you against him, your back pressed to his chest, and he presses the ice pack to your forehead, ordering you to keep it there as he makes you drink water, sip by sip.

You whine, and beg, and squirm, but you obey.

He fucks you on his fingers, once he's gotten some water into you. Hard and fast, leaving you breathless, tense, until you cum all over his fingers, oversensitive as he fingerfucks you into another one, and another, arms like steel wrapped around your waist as one hand pounds into you, the other wrapped around your dick or circling hard on your clit. It's not enough to genuinely sate your heat, but it's enough to help. And he doesn't trust himself to put his own mouth to use - barely trusts himself to speak, even though most of what he growls into your ear is, strictly speaking, complete and utter nonsense as he's caught in the moment. Every time you cum, he praises you, telling you how good you are for it. How sweet you look, with tears streaming down your face, cumming so well for him.

When there's enough coherency for you to have a conversation (but not coherent enough to be mortified), Miguel is able to get the rough gist of the situation. He really can only piece together that the heat is going to be a strong one, that it came fast, and that you had panicked. There's a confession, to be had there. He agrees to help you through your heat, but only under the condition that you're his.

It's toxic, and of dubious consent at best, but he'll pull as many orgasms out of you as needed to keep you coherent enough to talk to him. He's helped an omega through a heat or two, and he knows what he's doing. He's not exactly clearheaded himself, in making the decision - but he does make sure that this is truly what you want before he proceeds.

When he's sure that it's not just the heat speaking, that you truly do care for him, that you want him to stay even after your heat has subsided, he allows himself to indulge.

Sympathy ruts are common, and it builds slowly inside of him as he indulges in his instincts. Holding you, kissing you, pressing his fingers inside of you over and over and over again until you pass out. He keeps you wrapped up in the nest, adding his shirt to the mix while you sleep, but not trusting himself to completely strip quite yet.

Miguel is an attentive alpha.

(While you sleep, he excuses himself from the nest to call his daughter, to assure her everything will be okay, and he just explains simply that you'd gotten sick, that you needed him for a bit, and that he'd be back once you were feeling better. He promises to call every night, and he works out a schedule with Peter B and Jess in the meantime.)

(When you overhear him, voice so soft, so protective, so gentle, it half makes you want to swoon, and half want to climb on his lap and fuck yourself stupid on his cock until he fills you up so you can give his daughter a sibling.)

This man is going to spend a good majority of his time pre-sympathy rut fucking you open on his fingers and his mouth. He wants to make sure you're ready, wants to make sure he can enjoy this for as long as possible.

By the end of it, he makes sure to fuck you, nice and steady, a hand on your throat and his lips on yours. He makes sure you're nice and coherent for it. He wants to make sure you remember it, when he claims you. When his (fucking horse cock, the dude's packing like ten to twelve inches which is great for my chubby bitches like me) dick fills you up so full that you're almost certain you'll break, hiccupping and sobbing as you keen and wail, the nest below you soaked as he fills you up. His fangs sink into your neck and you cum, right then, his hands grabbing your thighs so hard he's sure it will bruise. He fucks you through your orgasm, knot catching until it slips inside. He rubs your clit/tugs on your dick as he finally knots you, making sure you cum just one more time for me, cariño.

normal Miguel definitely has a claiming and breeding kink, so it's fucking intensified by ten when he's omegaverse Miguel... let alone when the man's subject to his rut. You'll be covered in scratches and bites and hickies by the time you're both coherent enough to function properly again.

Which... for Miguel, is a solid few hours of coherency at a time.

For you? You're only ever coherent in short bursts, and it's like the peak of your heat constantly for almost the full week.

This next bit just mostly borders on nsfw/has some nsfw parts so i'll put it at the end here before going back to sfw

Like I mentioned before, Miguel is a very attentive alpha.

He's going to fuck you seven different ways in an hour with his superhuman stamina, but he's also going to make sure to actually take care of you.

He makes sure you drink electrolytes and water in equal measure, makes sure you eat, and sleep, and he bathes you himself, carrying you into the shower and keeping you pressed against him as he massages your muscles and washes your hair and body with a soft cloth, using completely unscented soaps and shampoos so it doesn't overwhelm you. Presses bandages to your scrapes and bites so you'll heal faster. Cool cloths and ice packs and fever reducing medicine.

He finds he has to bribe you, during this time, even for the most basic tasks like eating and drinking, and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy having to plug you up with his cock just to get you to eat wasn't hot as hell. The fact that you need him so badly you'd rather forgo basic necessities... it's addicting. Granted, he doesn't actually let you - he's got enough control that he can make sure you're taken care of in all regards.

Back to SFW time!

After your heat itself passes, you're subject to the suppressant sickness that comes with it. Your fever has broken, but you're still nauseous and dizzy and fatigued as your body flushes everything out of your system.

Miguel is beyond pissed when he finds out why you're still sick.

It's reckless to not even have a natural heat once every six months, let alone taking your suppressants so solidly that you hadn't had one in years. If he'd known, he'd have said consequences be damned and would have bitten you the moment he walked through the door, and taken you to the hospital.

He doesn't care how embarrassed you are, when he packs all of your things back up into the sealable bags, and dresses you in his own clothing. He's almost out of his mind when he takes both of you back to HQ - only just remembering to take back corridors to the medic so they can check you over properly.

You've then got two spider people who are pissed, as the medic rants about how dangerous that was, how stupid it was that you did that, instead of just swallowing your pride and letting them help you control things. They order you on house arrest for a full month, to make sure your body can recover properly. No suppressants, no scent blockers (at least the medical kind) for a couple years, and only medicine that's medically necessary, and even then it has to be monitored more carefully.

Miguel lets the Medispider tear you a new one for a moment while he steps into the hallway, giving you privacy and space to figure things out with the doctor while he catches up with Gabi.

When you're done with the Medispider, it's not a question on if you're staying with Miguel or not - you really don't have a choice in the matter, he tells you. When you're recovered, you can decide if you want to move in or not, but until then he was going to personally keep an eye on you.

Gabi, who lacks the complete understanding of the why and the how behind it all, is just glad that the person they've been trying to scheme their father into confessing to is actually going to live with them. (Even if only for about a month.) She grins smugly when she realizes you smell like her dad.

Miguel lets you have pick of the house, when he carries you back to his beautiful, cozy suburban home. He leaves the proper tour up to Gabi, as he carries you both, letting Gabi tell you about everything excitedly. You stay in his bed (you two had claimed each other, and although Miguel does give you the option of your own room... you'd rather die than lose the comfort that comes with being around your mate.)

Miguel cooks properly for you while you stay with him and Gabi.

No more prepackaged meals, he sneers, instead making you chicken noodle soup from scratch, with bone broth and lots of vegetables. Breakfast every morning before he takes Gabi to school, tucks you in to sleep while he pops into the HQ to check on things. He's out of commission from missions while he cares for you, but he still makes sure things go smoothly. He's home by lunch, sometimes bringing you fast food instead of cooking so you can have your fill of a greasy burger or fries or something to sate the part of you that needs something unhealthy and indulgent. Holds you in his lap while you both eat, watching TV on the couch.

He finishes his work and goes on emergency-only mode when it's time to pick up Gabi from school. He tucks you into the passenger seat if you feel up to it, buckling you up himself and pressing a kiss to your lips, even though he doesn't need to. He knows you can buckle yourself up, and lets you do so when you insist, but it makes him happy to know he's taking measures to keep you safe.

He does force you to take a blanket with you, just in case though.

When all three of you get home, he makes dinner, sometimes with Gabi helping him, sometimes you, sometimes just himself. He has a pretty wide range of foods he ends up making, but it's primarily because they're foods he likes, or Gabi likes, and he learned to make them. He's a good cook, overall.

It's the best work-life balance he's had in a long time.

When you're better, he all but begs you to stay.

And god, how could you say no to him?

(Also for those who it matters for, if you do end up pregnant from the Heat Adventures he obviously loves kids and would love one with you, but if you don't feel ready/don't want to have kids other than Gabi, he absolutely respects it, and will talk about options with you. Granted, he'll be disappointed, but at the end of the day it's not something he CAN'T move past. Discusses birth control options with you almost immediately when the two of you get intimate again.)

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere hybrid twins? Would they be conjoined since their both part Zippleback. . . But them x reader :>

Httyd

I suppose this AU didn't have enough body horror, huh? Sorry for the long wait... here's some HCs. It's mostly just me playing around with the idea.

Yandere! Zippleback Hybrid! Twins Concept

(Ruffnut and Tuffnut)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Body horror, Manipulation, Possessive/Protective behavior, Stalking, Violence, Murder implied (On accident), Kidnapping, Mentions of hermaphroditism, Dubious companionship/relationship.

Honestly, no matter how I look at this, they would have to be conjoined, wouldn’t they?

Both of them share a body due to being a Zippleback hybrid.

I don't really have an official design in mind... but it's probably disturbing.

They no doubt have the abilities of a normal Zippleback.

They have the sparking ability, they have the gas ability, and they're volatile in ability and emotions.

Like normal Zipplebacks they often fight with one another.

I also imagine taming them would be similar to the original dragon, too.

Perhaps like the Hiccup hybrid fic... you save them from being hunted?

Which you know what that means... life debt.

Until they can return the favor... they'd both be obsessive about you, even as a hybrid.

They'd be loyal towards you.

Even more so if you provide them with attention and/or they view you as a mate.

I imagine the twins are an interesting case.

Their heads retain their genders.

So I imagine they as a hybrid are... what's the word... a hermaphrodite?

Do with that info as you will.

They are probably the oddest hybrid I can think of in this AU.

Well... any Zippleback hybrid would be, actually....

You probably came across them injured, the two bickering bitterly with one another as they try to fly again.

When you reveal yourself, a normal human... they panic.

Are you going to hunt them!?

They can easily nuke this area, don't come any closer!

Yet... you don't harm them.

Instead you offer food and try to get close enough to offer supplies.

Well... after that the two can't seem to leave their new human alone.

Honestly... conversation is a bit weird at first, but you begin to see them as an ally of some sort.

You learn the female head is named Ruffnut and the male head is named Tuffnut.

They are a unique Zippleback hybrid with mischievous tendencies.

They see you as a friend since you helped them.

In fact, it's in their nature to be loyal towards you... all due to what you've done for them.

Despite them being classified as "intersex", they can still see you as a mate if you want.

I find it funny if both head have two different opinions of you.

Maybe one views you as a friend while the other wants to court you?

Awkward, isn't it?

Even funnier if only one of them wags their tail.

I imagine they'd be fiercely protective and possessive of you, often squabbling with one another on what to do for you to show they care.

You're given fish as a gift... often.

That and they stare down other hybrids, humans, and dragons....

They're like (sometimes stupid) bodyguards.

You can never have a,conversation with one head, the other is always there.

For example, maybe one of them is courting you... and the other just likes to sabotage them.

It's... all a chaotic mess, really.

Since they hate leaving your side, even if you ordered it, they'd stalk you.

They're big too, so it isn't like they're going to hide very well.

The two may kidnap you... but it's very dysfunctional.

Eventually they may trap you in a cave, alone from others, but they're still bickering.

It's luck they even succeeded.

They fight over your attention but can sometimes work with one another.

The whole hybrid is a chaotic mess... just like them normally.

In terms of would they kill? They could.

Their abilities are explosive... set them off and someone's in trouble.

They'd attack to protect you... but may accidentally cause someone's demise in the process.

Overall, these Ruffnut and Tuffnut would bicker but be as loyal as any other Zippleback...

Which soon proves to be problematic to you and your freedom.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀

1k for 🔀:

---

“I’ve already accepted that,” Buck says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have ever brought Maddie into it.”

“Okay,” Bobby says. “Good. Evan?”

Evan huffs. “If you really didn’t know…”

“I didn’t,” Buck promises. 

“I believe you,” Evan mumbles. 

“Then we can drop the hostility, at the very least,” Bobby says. 

The hostility only. Not the mistrust. Not the dislike. Just the outward, rampant hostility.

“Fine by me,” Buck mutters. 

“Likewise,” Evan says quietly. 

“Good,” Bobby says. “That’s a start.”

🟢

Eventually, they pull over for gas in Arizona. Not too terribly far from Phoenix. 

Buck is nervous about it. It feels like a variable. Like something out of their control. Obviously he knows this was inevitable; you can’t drive across a fairly large continent on one tank of gas. You also can’t just not eat or drink or pee for forty hours. But as long as they are moving in one direction on the freeway, not much can happen. Add people and other cars and amenities into that variable? A busy public place? Things can, in fact, go wrong. 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Bobby asks Evan as Buck gets out to pump gas.

“Yeah,” Evan says. 

“Alright, let’s go inside,” Bobby says.

“I need a babysitter?” Evan asks. 

“Yes,” Bobby says flatly. “We can build trust, but that hasn’t been accomplished yet.”

“Fine,” Evan sighs. 

They head off into the Hart’s rest station together, leaving Buck alone with the sound of the filling gas tank. 

As it’s filling, Buck watches a dark SUV with tinted windows pull up in a nearby parking spot. It has Virginia plates. Buck supposes that isn’t weird. People from all over drive these highways, traveling. And rental cars come with plates from all states. Hell, his Jeep does not currently have the plates of the state they’re driving through. It’s not that strange. Except something in Buck feels alarmed anyway. 

Two men climb out of the vehicle. They’re wearing professional attire. Slacks, plain button ups, and nice shoes. They look official. Their car, though unmarked, looks official. Buck feels a pang of nervousness. They walk into the building, and the moment Buck is done pumping gas, he follows them. He doesn’t know what it is about them, but he follows. 

Inside, he spots Bobby and Evan. They’re by the drink fridges, and Bobby is pointing at a Gatorade, saying something to Evan. He’s got that captainly explaining look on his face. One Buck knows all too well.

Buck doesn’t approach them. Not yet. He watches the strange men first, watches them watch Bobby and Evan, too. Because that’s what they’re doing. They’re pretending to shop for beef jerky, but they’re watching an unassuming Bobby and Evan. 

See, to anyone else, Bobby and Evan just look like two normal people. A man and his son, maybe. In the middle of their roadtrip. There is no reason to look at them. Unless someone is looking for them. 

Buck pulls out his phone and sends Bobby a text.

Your seven o’clock. Two men. Agents of some kind? Watching you. 

He watches as a moment passes, then Bobby reads it. He frowns, glancing in the direction Buck specified. He whispers something to Evan. Then he texts Buck back.

Ok. Can’t do anything sudden or they’ll know we’re watching. Go back to Jeep. We will pay and leave as normal. 

Right. Okay, right. That makes sense. Bobby’s spent enough time with Athena to know how this goes. Buck turns and leaves, crossing the asphalt back to the Jeep. He keeps his eyes glued to his phone, in case Bobby reaches out again. He doesn’t sit down. He leans against the driver’s side door. He might be needed quickly. 

A minute or so later, Bobby and Evan leave the gas station. They’re holding several drinks and a few snacks. Bobby grabbed Buck’s favorite flavor of Gatorade. Pink. He didn’t know Bobby knew that. Didn’t know he’d paid attention. 

They’re about halfway to the Jeep when the two men in fancy clothes exit the building and shout after them. 

“Stop right there!” 

Buck goes rigid. Facing him, so does Evan. His eyes widen with fear. Of course they do. He’s been detained by police once. Escaped somehow. Last thing he wants, Buck suspects, is to be back in their custody. 

Bobby puts a hand on Evan’s shoulder. A quiet missive to stay put. Then, he turns around to face the two men. 

“Can I help you?” Bobby asks. 

“We aren’t interested in you, Sir. Just the fugitive you’re traveling with,” the taller of the two men says. He’s very tall, actually. And thin - lanky. 

“That’s nice,” Bobby replies. “Can I ask who you are?”

“We’re law enforcement,” the other man says. He has a scar above his lip, like he’s had cleft palate surgery in the past.

“That’s helpfully vague,” Bobby observes. “May we see identification?”

They look at each other, but do not comply. Not suspicious at all. It doesn’t take much to flash a badge. Or a warrant.

“If not, I think we’ll be on our way,” Bobby says. 

“Mr. Nash,” Tall says. “The man you’re harboring has committed identity fraud.”

Well. Not quite.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bobby says. “And we’re going to leave.”

But while Tall is focused on Bobby and Evan, Scar looks at Buck.

“Evan Buckley, I presume?” He calls out. “The real Evan Buckley?”

Buck tenses even more. He can’t lie. He’s always hated the thought of lying, but now he knows he actually can’t. He has to find a way around it. 

“What do you mean?” Buck asks.

Playing dumb. He can apparently physically manage this. Well, that’s good. 

“Whatever this man has told you, Mr. Buckley, you don’t need to worry,” Scar says. “This can all end here.”