#just another form of platonic affection for them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crescenthistory · 6 months ago

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did i hear you say you were writing another animagus!reader x regulus where they cuddle at hogwarts in each their cat forms? 🥺🥺

you know what they say, don't believe everything you hear... except for that, that's actually true

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, copious amounts of fluff, established relationship, bsf!remus, background wolfstar, reader and reg are kinda goody-two-shoes, platonic physical affection

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with reg, wolfstar and james here & here

Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat

What a conundrum.

Remus should take this as an opportunity to be a good friend. You have spent almost two decades showing him exactly how to do that, playing the perfect part of the sister-he-never-had, loving and supporting him through life. For never turning your back on him, Remus is sure he owes you far more than what he can ever repay you, so he should try every single day. He should be a good friend.

But it was just too funny not to.

"At what point is it our duty to wake them up?" Sirius' voice whispered in his ear, shaking with mirth.

"I'm wondering the exact same thing." Remus dragged his words out to avoid making a decision. "How long do you think we can get away with?"

"I mean, they are already 15 minutes late to their Charms lesson, so we're dead men walking for not having said anything so far."

Remus is just able to tear his eyes away from you to glance sideways at Sirius, a too-fond smile already playing over his lips as he sees the exact mischievous look on his boyfriend's face that he expected. The look he fell in love with, not that Remus would be sappy enough to think about that right now. "So what you're saying is..."

"Leave it for a while longer?" Sirius grinned.

"Leave it for a while longer." Remus confirmed, whispering through a laugh, shifting his body further into Sirius' side as he lets his eyes fall back on you.

Well. On what he and Sirius knew to be you and Regulus, but what all other students in the library thought was just two cats sleeping in an armchair.

There was an elongated square of sunlight cast onto the middle of the seat by one of the beautifully decorated windows of the ancient castle, every cat's dream spot. The green velvet covering the seat of the mahogany chair was already riddled with fur from how long the two of you had been curled up around each other in it, white, grey and black hairs mixing together. Your forms might as well be mixing together too, fluid in a way that defied physics yet looked impossibly comfortable. Remus supposed you had to milk as much pleasure out of being an animagus as possible to make that whole mandrake leaf ordeal worth it. Though you could not answer even if he asked you right now, he was sure you at this very moment thought it was.

Remus' smile widened as he saw your chest rise dramatically as you breathed a sleepy huff, turning your head over slightly and burrowing it further into Regulus' plush neck. Your little cat bodies laid facing each other, arms around each other in a way he thought looked a little too much like a human hug.

It would be the absolute picture of serenity, two young things with no care in the world but each other – had it not been for the large clock ironically hanging right behind you, reminding you that you were not supposed to be here right now.

The four of you – five before James ran off the second he spotted red hair a few shelves back – had spent your two hours of shared free periods to read up together, for once actually doing a considerable amount of studying during it. Sirius was rubbing it in your faces, yours by consequence and Regulus' by design, that you still had one lesson left for the day when you abruptly stood up and demanded that you need a study break. When you then promptly dragged Regulus off into a corner, Sirius got the karma of a lifetime as he grew very concerned about what kind of break you would be engaging in. That was until the two cats lazily strolled back in and made themselves comfortable in the chair they now claimed as theirs.

Knowing you, Remus knew you hadn't intended on falling asleep, but maybe the fact that you did meant you really needed it. Yes, surely, you must have been exhausted and your body demanded a rest, so frankly he is quite an amazing friend for ensuring you listen to your health and your needs.

"Cats shouldn't be allowed to be that cute," Sirius all but grumbled as he looked at the two of them. "I should hate them on principle, but look at them Moony!"

"Quite literally no one is demanding that you hate cats on behalf of Padfoot, Siri."

"Padfoot is!" Sirius gave him a you can't argue with that logic look, but Remus knew he could.

"Ah, yes, my boyfriend the dog," he mused, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius who promptly reached out with his finger and pulled it back down.

"I could so give you a comeback to that, but I respect you too much not to say it in public," Sirius muttered and Remus couldn't fight his laughter.

Something moving in his periphery brought his attention back on you, seeing you shift even more into Regulus which caused him to begin stirring as well. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep, Remus whispered to you in his mind.

As always, you didn't listen to him, and ever so slowly Remus saw you peel one yellow eye open, blinking blearily at the room before turning your head back towards Regulus. The greyest of your four paws came up to gently pet at the black cat's neck, almost as if you were smoothing over the fur you had ruffled in your sleep. It made Remus' heart ache with love for you both, even as his stomach was slowly dropping.

A soft prrt! escaped Regulus before he instantly began purring and tightening his hold on you with his little cat paws, nosing his head against yours. A kind of softness Regulus rarely let himself fall into in public, though this was arguably a grey area.

It almost looked like you were about to be driven back into sleep by the vibrations moving through you from Regulus' chest. Remus noticed Sirius paying attention raptly as well, which was unfortunate.

Because when you shot up out of your seat with a small squeak, jumping as if startled as you looked towards the clock – now a good 30 minutes into your 45 minutes lesson – Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. It earned him more than a few hushes from those around, but most importantly, it earned him your head snapping around to look at him with eyes that could rival a basilisk’s.

Considering Remus was already on a streak of making disloyal choices towards his loved ones, he didn't fight his instinct to stand up from his seat and back up when you ran and jumped onto the table right in front of Sirius' face with a hiss. You slapped at him with a clawless paw to which Sirius whispered something along the lines of "hey, knock it off, be cool" while trying to hold you at arm's length. You scowled at him as aggressively as any cat could, raising your back slightly before you arguably tut-ed at him and jumped back down.

Remus fought for his life to not laugh.

You turned around and ran over to Regulus who was still lazily stretching and gaining his bearings, not an ounce of care shown towards the near-assault of his brother. Nudging him with your head towards the end of the chair, he got the point and jumped down, already falling into his usual graceful mannerisms.

Together you scurried off back into your corner.

When you came back a mere minute later Remus swore there was no difference in your facial expression. Remus carefully walked around the table – where Sirius was still sitting with a petulant pout – hands up in surrender.

You crossed your arms, leaning your weight onto your right hip as you glared at your oldest friend, clearly expecting him to speak first. Behind you Regulus was strolling over, looking like he was trying really hard to be miffed but falling just short.

“How dare you,” you said – and it was a statement, not a question.

“In my defence,” Remus started, hands still up but so were the corners of his lips. “You two looked adorable.”

“That will surely hold up real well with the professor,” you scoffed.

“We didn’t make you fall asleep, princess,” Sirius grumbled to which you turned to him with a bitch please look Remus is fairly certain you picked up from Sirius.

“Apologies for expecting my friends to have my back. How stupid of me.”

“Very stupid indeed,” Sirius murmured as he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing when he found it to be cold. He nearly spilled some when Regulus gave him a light slap up the back of the head.

Remus figured it was time to pull out the big guns.

He manoeuvred his held up hands to be stretched out towards you instead with a rueful smile as he inched closer and closer. You had a moody expression still, eyeing him with suspicion, but you didn’t move out of the way. He dared make a small cooing sound as he brought you into a hug, coddling you like one would a child after they hurt themselves to keep them from crying.

“‘M super super sorry, lovie,” Remus half-muttered half-laughed into your hair as he rocked you a little bit. Your arms were still crossed against his chest, but you were leaning into him.

“Don��t believe you, Loopy.”

Regulus snorted at that and Remus looked up at him over his shoulder and the boys shared a look of humour and shared love for you that warmed his stomach. Though when Sirius nipped at Regulus’ sleeve to get his attention, the faux-miffed expression was plastered right back on the younger boy’s face.

Siblings, Remus thought and chuckled a bit into your hair.

“You laughing at me?” you questioned incredulously.

“No, I’m laughing at our boys.” His response was quick to rid himself of any further accusations.

You instantly nodded against his shoulder. “Understandable.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this, amour.” Regulus' chiding tone was met with you uncrossing your arms at last, reaching a hand out behind you blindly, which he immediately took and squeezed with his own.

You let your other arm curl around Remus’ back. Forgiveness at last.

He pulled back to look down at you with a goofy grin, and was pleased to see you could no longer contain yours either. “You were really cute. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

You gave him a look. “Right, no laughing at our expense whatsoever.”

“Never.”

You gave him a light shove while you snorted, pushing him away from you. “This is what I get for my sacrifice for you?” you said as you shook your head at him not much unlike McGonagall would during detention.

“I would argue you got a pretty sweet deal with that sacrifice, doll, seeing as you can curl up with your equally sacrificial boyfriend and sleep in the library whenever.” Sirius nodded solemnly, while jutting his chin towards Regulus. “This one would never let that happen in any other form.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could’ve convinced him,” you replied, looking at Regulus with an almost salacious smile. As if to prove your point – or just to prove Sirius wrong – he came up to stand closer behind you, arms going around your waist. You leaned your weight back against him with a happy sigh.

“Disgusting,” was all Sirius offered.

You raised an eyebrow at him before turning your head sideways to give Regulus a short, sweet kiss.

“Disgusting,” he groaned once more, pressing the backs of his palms into his eyes.

“Karma,” you and Remus sing-songed at him at the exact same time in the exact same tone.

Your eyes met in surprise before you both burst out laughing, any pretend fight seeping out of you as you both beamed at each other.

Siblings, Remus found himself thinking once more.

“Well, now that we don’t have a lesson to get to anymore, I suggest we get out of here,” Regulus sighed, squeezing your hips as if to underline his point.

“Where we heading?” Sirius asked as he swung his legs out to get up.

“I don’t know where you’re going,” you started. “But Remus will go hunt down a certain Head Boy and get him to make up some excuse to Professor Flitwick for why Regulus and I did not attend class so that our absence is removed from the records.” You put on your sweetest smile as you turned towards Remus at the last part.

“Regulus, what have you done with her?!” Sirius stage-whispered his accusation at Regulus who only responded with a certain impolite gesture.

“And why would James do that?” Remus drawls, certain that his entertainment was written all over his face.

“Oh, I’m sure he owes you for something, you figure it out.” You spoke as you tried to put your bag over your shoulder to leave, but Remus and Regulus both reached for it at the same time. They gave each other a look, trying to decide who will take the literal burden, before they both turned to Sirius and dropped the bag in his lap. He rolled his eyes at the both of them, but pulled the strap over his free shoulder nonetheless.

“You are quite the minx, aren’t you?” Remus asked, going for chiding and landing somewhere along the lines of compliance.

“Learned from the best, Rem!” you cheered brightly, pressing quick smacking kisses on both his and Sirius’ cheek.

Before they could muster up a response or a reaction, you had already hauled Regulus down the halls of the library towards the exit with half-heartedly hushed giggles. The raven-haired boy looked over his shoulder right before you turned the corner with a barely-contained smile, inhibitions straw thin in your presence.

Remus understood him well.

He turned to Sirius with a pleased smile to find him already admiring his reactions from where he stood beside him.

“I get why they’re cats,” Remus mused as he interlaced their fingers, following the general direction you ran off to, ready to hunt down James and possibly claw up some furniture.

“Because they’re adorable but also massive menaces?”

Remus breathed out contently. “Yeah.”

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ninikrumbs · 6 months ago

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what gave it away?

Satoru gojo x dense reader. fluff.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest, the honored one. The world practically shifted on its axis the moment he was born. Curses feared him, fellow sorcerers respected him, and women swoon at the mere sight of him. He is indispensable in the battle field and the head of one of the three prominent families in the Jujutsu World meaning he was rich beyond his means. Yet to your bewilderment, here he was, standing in your little kitchen, cooking an omelet for you, with fresh coffee ready in the pot. The morning light made his snowy hair look radiant, his eyes glowing, and a small smile decorating his lips. He looked absolutely ethereal.

A hand on the hip of his luxury pants, another on your cute pastel pink spatula, eyes so focused on his task before he saw you eyeing him at the corner of his eyes. Instantly all his focus directed to you, a gentle smile forming on his face. And it was a type of smile that reached his eyes, nothing but pure contentment grace his beautiful features. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

You felt something clicked in your head, but like a missing puzzle piece you didn’t even know you were looking for. Almost speechless, you mumbled a low good morning back.

“Morning.” you eye him suspiciously as you slowly sat down on the bar stool in front of your kitchen island. He did not seem to notice your sudden perplexities of him as you studied him intently.

"Satoru, why are you here?” you asked hesitantly, propping your hands on your chin.

He looked at you, blue eyes puzzled as he turned off the stove. “What do you mean? I vaguely remember offering to cook you breakfast yesterday. Did ya forget?”

You shake your head. “No, I meant why are you cooking breakfast for me?”

Confusion and worry graced his features as he gazed at you intently, his eyes wandering all of over your face. “Are you okay? Feeling sick?”

His hand flew to your forehead before replacing it with his own forehead. You pulled away from his close proximity, your cheeks burning before clumsily saying “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You sighed. The sight of Gojo in his teachers uniform in your kitchen was a common occurrence, but it hasn't occurred to you until now about the why. Why is he in your kitchen during the mornings, cooking you breakfast? Why is he randomly giving you flowers,cause he thought you would like them? Why would he drop a mission for you because he thought you were sick?

You always thought that Gojo's act of services were just the results of a life long friendship built on mutual respect and trust, and of course you liked to think you did care and love each other on a platonic level, but could it be something else?

The late night visits after his missions, the endless souvenirs, the unabashed physical affection. His sulky moments when you don’t give him your attention and how he always tries to make you happy. Were you really this dense?

Your head tilted to the side, pure and utter disbelief in your voice as you speak, “You’re in love with me.”

Surprise passed his features. His bright azure eyes wide, and jaw falling slightly slacked. He was silent for a moment, before giving a low chuckle. “What gave it away?”

Now, It was your turn to be taken aback. He wasn’t even trying to denying it, in fact he looked relieved like a weight was lifted off his shoulder. His lips curved into a teasing smile, but his eyes. Oh his eyes, they were full of unfiltered adoration.

“You are?” You breathed in disbelief. Did he really shower you with his love all this time without ever knowing that it was gonna be reciprocated?

He huffed a laugh before making his way to you, squeezing himself between your thighs and pressed his forehead against yours. “For a couple of years now, thought you’d never notice.”

#love #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #fanfiction #fluff #gojo x you #jjk x reader #gojo saturo x reader

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valefiles · 6 months ago

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one of the most powerful things about arcane in my opinion is that it managed to capture so many forms of love, so please bear with me while we delve into this analysis.

[SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ARCANE!]

vander’s love for vi and jinx was the one of a good father; he raised them like he promised their mother, and for as long as his consciousness lived, he was determined to protect them. silco also grew to love jinx like a daughter, in his own way. she wasn’t just one of his most prized assets: while he was ruthless to most, he had a tendency of going “softer” on her, and was desperate to save her when he thought she was gone. singed loved his daughter so much that he was willing to go to unspeakable lengths to bring her back. and despite everything, ambessa and mel were still mother and daughter, and in the moment of death, they recognised how much they meant to each other. a mother stabbed by her own daughter, and yet, with her final breath, she expressed how proud she was of who mel had became — quite similar to silco’s death.

caitlyn and vi have always been romantic, this third act showing the passionate kind of love they had. ekko loved jinx in a most pure way, a love he carried with him since childhood and somehow persisted. mel and jayce had their troubles in the beginning, but they grew to trust each other and became very significant to one another with time.

vi and jinx were one of the most important of all, because they clashed and fell apart, and even through it all, even with so much hatred and hurt and grief, they never let go. they loved each other beyond words. their love was powerful enough to bring forgiveness. with isha, jinx showed all this love that was still inside her, the love for a sister she thought she had lost. silco and vander too clashed and nearly killed each other (silco succeeded) and yet their love persisted.

and then it concluded with jayce and viktor. their love was transcendental, beyond simply romantic or platonic bonds even. ever since they first met, without their knowledge, their lives had always been intertwined. it all started with them, and it ended with them. they clashed to near death, but jayce didn’t let go, and viktor couldn’t either. “it was affection that held us together”, viktor said. they were both alive because of each other. they owed each other so much. it was their love’s power that saved the universe of its collapse. again, a love powerful enough to forgive and leave everything behind.

so yes, I am very emotional and may have many conflicting thoughts about some aspects of these last acts, but the portrayal of love was something that I felt deeply throughout the entire series and can’t go unnoticed. all in all, the message of the show can be summarized in silco’s line: “the greatest thing you can do in life is find the power to forgive”.

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cloversnstrawberries · 1 month ago

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“safespace” platonic!yandere!og michael myers & gn!bullied!teen!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist !

description; For a while now, you've been using the old Myer's house as a home base of sorts; previously, your bullies had never dared to rush in after you, too afraid of the history of the house. That changed one fateful Halloween night, and unknowingly, you'd just sealed yourself into a fate different from death, but not much better.

The Haddonfield Boogeyman has taken a liking to you, and that's not something you can easily retreat from once it happens. Not safely, for that matter.

additional notes; this is. extremely long and I managed to write it within two days. help. i hope you enjoy it, because it was actually really fun to write. it might be in a bit of a different style than normal, because i've been reading. so much junji ito & gothic lit and i don't know if that affects anything.

warnings; bullying, possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, Michael being unsettling, discussions of past murder (judith primarily), violence, blood & gore, murder/murder of teens (reader's bullies), slight/implied neglect (reader's parents are very lax), soft michael (as soft as he can get), kidnapping/imprisonment, and if there's any I missed, please let me know!! i do believe this is the most intense (?) one i've posted so far?? mayhaps?

w/c; 10.2k (OH SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL!)

It’s silly, stupid, some would say-- and you know it is. You know it’s not a good idea to set up shop in the old Myer’s house, and that it was, realistically, the least safe place you could camp out at in Haddonfield,

Structurally speaking, considering how long it’s sat vacant and unattended for the most part. The story and tragedy surrounding it kept squatters away, but it was surprisingly easy to sneak into.

For you, it was one of the safest places possible-- because everyone knows about how unsafe it was. An oxymoron in a way, that you claimed this old rickety house as your safe space because you know it’s dangerous.

Because your tormentors know it’s unsafe, so they’ll leave you be for the most part-- once you’re inside the house that should’ve been torn down ages ago.

It’s a nice house, but you’re sure someone will roll up to a city council meeting and propose tearing down the place. No one’s going to buy it, no amount of polishing the hardwood floors and replacing the peeling wallpaper is going to change that.

The Myer’s house could be renovated into the most gorgeous, affordable home for a good sized family-- and still, no one would buy it.

Judith Myer’s blood, spilt by her own little brother one normal Halloween night, was like a curse laid on the house. Even you have to admit, there’s a strangely foreboding, suffocating atmosphere about it that doesn’t suit how… plain it otherwise appears.

For a few years now, you’ve had your claim staked on this house. Over those few years, you’ve gotten used to that atmosphere. It even began to feel comforting, at some point-- like a hug, kind of.

Your bullies know you’re in here, but they can’t bring themselves to enter it and drag you out. Sometimes they’ll wait outside for you, but don’t take into consideration is that you’ve supplied yourself with enough snacks and various forms of entertainment to be able to wait them out most times.

Cowards, the lot of them-- that’s all they ever were to you. A bunch of unruly, rich assholes that take their grievances out on you for lack of a different outlet,

More like you’re the most interesting outlet-- you’re sure their parents have enough money to get them another way, other than razzing and beating on you constantly-- but they don’t want it.

They like watching you cry, the sickos. But that’s not a sight they get to see too often; not since you’ve almost accidentally made the old Myer’s house into your own kind of fortress,

Guarded by a moat of bad energy and an awful story behind it. Judith still lingers, maybe not her ghost like most would think-- but she’s there.

One time, you walked into her room. It was almost pristine, kept nearly the same as the night she died, you think. The blood is gone, but the chair to her vanity is still knocked over.

You haven’t gone near that room since that one time-- spotting the rotting bag of melted taffy on her bedside table, her brush on the vanity top with golden hair still stuck in the bristles; an opened bottle of lip gloss, long dried up…

It made you sick like nothing before or after could, the knowledge that this was just a normal girl. A normal girl who expected to live another day, to eat the taffy by her bed, knowing she had to clean her hair out of her brush eventually--

She never even got to screw the cap back on her lip gloss, maybe her favorite one if you think about it. A part of you wanted to do it for her, to clean up her room a little for no real reason other than self-imposed obligation.

You’re taking up this space illegally, not quite a squatter, but still a consistent trespasser. The least you could do was clean it up for a family who’ll never come back.

But then, wouldn’t that be rude to mess with a deceased person’s belongings? You stepped out of the room, shutting the door as you clutched your stomach. In your mind, you barred off ever entering it again.

You’ve only had a peak in the little boy’s room-- Michael. Such an ordinary name, and an ordinary room to match. Hell, he could’ve been your little brother, it all appeared so average from the quick look-see you’d gotten.

As soon as you realized who’s room it was, you slammed the door and vowed to never open it again. You didn’t even go near it most times, if at all.

How can someone so normal-- a child so young, just snap like that? It made you sad, thinking about it.

Eventually, you knew it’d come to this, though. When your bullies’ need to torture you overrode the fear, and they followed you into your previously impenetrable fortress.

Your safe-space desecrated, the next time to ran in-- nothing too damaging to the actual house, but your books and magazines were torn. Snacks either eaten or crushed, and the little nest of pillows and blankets you brought from home was tossed around, dirty footprints all over.

“You’re such a coward,” the head boy spoke up, and you know his dad was a real estate agent, the one that oversaw the house, you think. That’s why there wasn’t any real damage to the place.

In your anger and grief, at your one good thing being wrecked like this; you spoke up. These kids-- no, you all weren’t kids anymore by most’s standards. Well into high school, and they were still messing with you for no good reason.

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness but from rage. You’d been chased in by two other kids, who were now behind you. Two kids were already inside along with the head boy,

You were surrounded, 5-to-1, and stood no chance. Not because you couldn’t fight physically, but because you knew the consequences of fighting back against these daddy’s money types.

They’ve broken bones before-- your bones, but if you so much as left a scratch on them, they ran to their parents and the repercussions were… dire.

You’d nearly been booted put of school before, because you left a tiny, already healing bruise of one of the girl’s arms after you shoved her down so you could flee.

“Look who’s saying that!” It’s not like you haven’t fought back with your words before, but it’d never been this up close as of late. You’d grown too comfortable, taunting the kids through the door as you did.

Poking a sleeping bear. You really wished this method could’ve lasted a bit longer, hopefully until after you finished high school and left Haddonfield; but beggars can’t be choosers.

You’re lucky it’s worked for this long anyways.

Before the kids could say anything, you started on a tirade. Letting out every little grievance you’ve had over the years-- they can’t let you have this one good thing.

They all get friends upon friends, secret admirers and good partners; they participate in school, they’re active in the community-- meanwhile you’ve been shunned for a good half of your life, resorting to hiding in an abandoned house while they were out living their best lives.

Once you were done, chest heaving up and down, did they say anything further. They mocked you, of course they did-- and when you asked “So what are you gonna do now, huh? Break a couple fingers? Strangle me? Kick me until I’m bruised all over--!”

They called you unoriginal, then grabbed ahold of you. They wrapped rope around your wrists and ankles-- then started dragging you upstairs.

No.

And they didn’t tell you their plan, but you were smart. You picked up on it, especially from how they were talking about the recent breakout from the nearby mental institution.

The institute currently home to none other than the Haddonfield Boogeyman himself, Michael Myers. Or, more accurately, no longer housing the man.

He was among the escaped, one of the few that hadn’t been rounded up after the transport bus crash-- it was October 31st.

You were doomed.

They dragged you to the little boys room, the atmosphere you’d become accustomed to suddenly cranked up to 11, choking you, clinging to the inside of your throat like cling-wrap. Making it hard to breathe, as they tossed you into Michael’s room,

And boy, did they really not want you to leave without their help. They tied you to the wooden poster of the bed, and you couldn’t help but cry.

Ghost stories about Judith staying behind were all fine and dandy, but the very much alive perpetrator being on the loose? The one who’s spent the past god-knows-how-long confined in a mental hospital, since he was a child?

That was a real threat, because it was to some extent predictable and unpredictable what he’d do next. There was no set guarantee that he’d stop by his childhood home, but there was a chance.

And the bullies knew it.

“Stop! Stop, I’m sorry--!” You hated groveling, but this was a real threat. This wasn’t funny-- it hadn’t been for a long time, but this time you can’t comprehend why they’d be laughing at all.

It’s not funny.

You could die. Even if it’s a slim chance of happening, there is a chance nonetheless. A chance greatly increased by Myer’s unpredicted ‘discharge’ from the hospital.

As always, they didn’t care. They were all giggles and smiles as they bid you farewell-- you heard another door open, then a scraping sound as something was set down in front of the door.

You’re sure it was Judith’s vanity chair, that they’d pressed under the door handle. Why? Why do they hate you so much-- there wasn’t even a promise of them returning, either.

Even if the Boogeyman doesn’t show up like you’re afraid of, they might just leave you here to rot with the house. No one would come looking for you, you don’t think-- unless they’re pointed in this direction by your bullies.

What an awful way to spend your Halloween night, huh? Not like you had much planned in the first place, but still.

This isn’t a position you wanted to be in right now. Or ever, thank you very much.

It got dark out a while ago. Inside here, somewhere, there's a clock that still works. Or maybe you’re already going crazy, imagining the ‘tick-tick-tick’ to try and make something for you to do.

Restrained as you are, it’s not like you can do much besides slump against the bed and wait it out. Hope your exhaustion from coming down after an adrenaline rush takes you out sooner or later, because it’s getting awfully boring.

Boredom overrode fear, maybe because you’re loopy from said exhaustion, but too high strung and uncomfortable, sitting on the hardwood floor with your wrists and ankles tied, to take a little nap as it is.

Throughout it all, you kept your eyes shut. Not because you particularly want to sleep, (though you do want to, if only to pass the time quicker) but because you’re trying to pretend you’re anywhere else but here, on this night, at this hour.

Your only other hope at being released right now was if some stupid kid got dared to come in here, like they did every Halloween. But the outlook wasn’t too good, considering the different framing the Myer’s house had with Michael’s recent escape still fresh on everyone’s minds.

Distantly, you can hear kids laughing, screaming, playing around-- all in good fun. You ache, sad that the experience of it had been cut short for you. For years now, you’ve stayed inside as much as possible.

Even on Halloween, and it hurt. Childhood cut short because some rich kids decided to make you their stress toy, punching bag, and scapegoat all in one.

When you hear a creak downstairs, you fight with yourself not to open your eyes. It’ll be pitch black anyways, your reason with yourself. It’ll only make you panic even more.

It was futile, trying to convince yourself that it was just the house settling. For hours, all you’ve been able to hear for the most part was the house settling.

This was different.

Someone was downstairs-- no joking, no yelling at their friends, no egging each other on; and it wasn’t a cop either, because they’d be shouting by now, telling anyone in here to get the hell out before you’re arrested.

It was uncanny, how quiet this person was-- both literally and with their movement. You first heard them faintly, on an especially creaky board near the front door. Then nothing-- until you heard them on the 3rd step, the one that’s about to cave at any moment from termite damage.

A primal kind of terror curled deep in your gut, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up; silence again, until you think the person stopped moving.

Straining your ears, you heard a semi-familiar scraping noise. Whoever it was, was standing in front of this room, and was planning on entering it.

Your eyes flung open, desperately blinking as you tried to force your vision to adjust to the darkness. Surprisingly, the room was a lot lighter than you’d think it be.

No doubt aided by the moth-ravaged curtains serving as the only barrier(s) between the moonlight shining in through the windows.

When the door opened, your heart soared for a moment-- someone wearing work-boots and a mechanic’s jumpsuit. An adult, a scarily quiet adult, but hopefully a responsible one.

All hope was dashed when you looked up at your savior-- and saw a sun-bleached, cheap Captain Kirk Halloween mask staring back at you. Something glinted off the moonlight, you looked down and sure enough; he was clutching a large kitchen knife.

Maybe it was an impersonator, or not Michael at all-- But something made you doubt both ideas. The kitchen knife was a big giveaway, not the plastic kind with fake blood, or a retractable prop one.

It was real, as real as your terror-- was this a hallucination? That thought soothed you more than it should have. Or maybe a dream-- and that’s what made you work up enough courage to speak,

“…Hello.” Voice croaky and trembling, it took away from the casual aspect of the greeting. Trying your best not to look at the knife, or the unsettling mask, you took to staring at the person’s boots.

They looked bloody, drying and tacky-- and you did your best to ignore that for right now. The floor was interesting. Yeah, you opted for looking at the floor instead as you continued, introducing yourself with a shaky voice.

The person didn’t answer you, but they didn’t attack you either. You looked back up at their mask and-- wow, you must look pathetic, you realize now. Eye’s puffy and red from crying, lips chapped and bitten to hell and back, your voice nasally from your stuffed nose.

After a couple minutes of agonizing silence, the person started to move forward-- slow, almost placatingly so, like they were dealing with a startled animal.

You think that’s a very apt comparison, right now. As you jerk away, uncaring as the wooden post dug into your spine-- glancing at the person’s knife, you tried to swallow past a lump in your throat “Don’t hurt me-- please. I-I don’t have much to say, uhm, other than that.”

In all honesty, you don’t think you’re that important of a person-- in everyone else’s eyes, that is. You won’t be missed by a good majority of Haddonfield, and that’s what makes you want to live this through.

For a moment, the person stopped dead in their tracks-- and slowly shook their head. That could be interrupted one of two ways,

One, they have agreed to not hurt you. They shook their head as in ‘okay, i won’t hurt you’, or the more likely option in your mind-- considering they still held onto the knife-- they were disagreeing with your plea.

When they went to move again, you jerked back again. It didn’t do much, and wouldn’t do much unless you suddenly gained the ability to fuse with objects, that is.

The person stopped dead in their tracks again-- even taking a few steps back, and shook their head again. You piped up, despite the way your heart pounded and blood rushed in your ears.

“I-I don’t know what you mean. By that-- the shaking your head.” Almost as an afterthought, you tacked on “I’m sorry.”

Make no mistake, it was a genuine apology. Originally brought on by fear, yes, but you did regret not understanding them nonetheless.

When they started moving again, they were slower. You would’ve felt insulted, being treated like a wild animal ready to bolt-- if this had been a normal situation.

Right now, though? You appreciate how careful they seem to be, as they make their way to the little desk pushed up near the head of the bed.

The placement of the furniture in this room was odd, in your humble opinion-- the desk was where a nightstand would be, but what you assume to have been the nightstand was pushed under a window on the far side from the bed.

Then again, you can’t really expect interior decorating to be the specialty of the homicidal 6 year old that once lived here.

Reaching into the second drawer down, the person pulled out a little journal-- and crouched down to grab a pencil off the ground, before standing back up.

they’re too comfortable here, you anxiously realized. Almost like they’d put that stuff there-- but this can’t be Myers. If or was, wouldn’t he be hacking at you with his knife by now?

The stranger (which you’re hoping and praying isn’t who you think it is) set their knife down on the desk, much to your surprise. You don’t want to touch on why it surprised you, not right now, anyway.

Again, the person moved slowly, this time without the knife-- which let you relax enough to stop trying to actively fuse with the wooden bed frame. For now, at least-- who knows what the near future may hold, maybe you’ll succeed in it.

Weirder things have happened, and weirder things are happening right now-- as the stranger plops down on the floor, just a few feet away from where you sat restrained.

You couldn’t help but smile, as they sat criss-cross applesauce-- half delirious and sleep-deprived, yes, but a smile nonetheless.

Flipping to a page, that was random to you, hut didn’t seem to be to the person, they put the pencil to the paper and started writing something.

Refraining from trying to discern what it is they’re writing. you waited patiently until they stopped and turned the pad to face you,

Heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach, you read the words (god he presses hard with that pencil, even left dents in the paper from what you can tell) written on the pad.

“I won’t hurt you. It’s too easy.”

Simultaneously relieving and distressing-- the confirmation that you won’t be hurt (for now, you’re choosing to believe this person), but the ‘reassurance’ that it’s because you were too big of a target. Too obvious of a target,

If only your bullies had taken that sentiment to heart, too. Then you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Curiosity outweighing your caution, you ask “What’s your name?”, despite being about… 85% sure you know who this is.

Turning the pad back around, he scribbles something else. When it’s facing you again, you can very clearly ready what name he’s written down.

“Michael”

You can tell yourself ‘It’s a common name!’ all you want, but that didn’t stomp out the feeling of dread as your suspicion was proven correct.

This was the one thing you’d hoped desperately to be wrong about. Guess life just hates you like that, huh?

You’d say it couldn’t get any worse-- but this is actually going pretty well, all things considered. You aren’t dead, and he’s actually communicating with you-- so that’s something, right?

“Is… was this your room?” For once, his answer was immediate-- he nodded. You suppose there was no reason to hide it, your face must be showing that you figured it out already.

It fell silent, and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Glancing around, you spotted an older edition of Clue sitting on a bookshelf nearby-- right on the top.

Looking back at the man-- Michael, the Michael Myers, which is a fact you’re trying not to dwell on too right right now-- you hazarded to say “Do you wanna, uh-- do you like board games?”

Tragically, he didn’t respond as quick this time. Leaving you to wallow in your own thoughts, wondering if you’d misstepped right into his steadily growing roster of victims.

a short, almost jerky nod, following by him abruptly standing made you jump. Hilariously, he seemed to jump as well; just a little twitch of his hands, but it was reaction nonetheless. You think that’s the closest you’re going to get to scaring a guy like him.

Then he headed to the bookshelf, and easily grabbed Clue from the top. He hadn’t always been this tall, obviously-- you spotted a step ladder, rusted and coated in dust like a majority of the room (and house as a whole) is;

It’s a cute thought, the idea that the kid this bedroom belonged to needed a step ladder to grab a boardgame. As you looked closer, you saw quite a few boardgames up there that you hadn’t noticed before,

The idea that Michael Myers was such a mundane kid, with an interest in board games-- liking them so much that he needed to have a step ladder of his own because he accessed them so much, was a jarring idea.

Another jarring idea-- or realization, more like, is that he must’ve been watching your line of sight very closely to immediately figure out that you were referring to the Clue game.

Before you could get pulled into a panic attack in full (you’ve narrowly been avoiding such a thing by pretending that this was some dream, and you had managed to fall asleep against the dusty children’s bed), Michael came back and sat down again,

This time, he was a little further away. He set the box down, and started opening it-- before you stumbled over your words, remembering that you were a little tied up right now.

“Do-- can you undo the rope around my wrists?” Slowly, ever so slowly, Michael’s head rose from where he’d been looking down to set up the game, black eyeholes eventually meeting your gaze.

Another nod, and he stood. Walking over to the desk, you realized your mistake in wording-- and as you feared, he picked up his knife again.

You’d said undo, not untie. It’s not a stretch to think that meant you have permission for him to cut the rope.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t catch any flesh while he does, yeah? When he walked back over, closer than he’d been this whole time, you valiantly fought back the urge to scream. To tremble, kick, try to fight--

Something about the way he crouched down by your side, still taller than you, with the knife gleaming made you feel vulnerable like never before. It made you feel exposed, flayed open and waiting to prepared into clean cuts of meat for packaging.

Michael was careful with it, his hold almost gentle on your arms, silently telling you hold still as he hooked the knife under the ropes and began to pull up.

Must’ve been a pretty damn sharp knife, or maybe some exceptionally cheap rope on your bullies’ parts, but either way, he got you free pretty easily.

Avoiding any sudden movement, testing the waters; you lowered your hands down to your lap. Michael stayed there a few seconds more, before quickly walking back to desk the drop the knife off on top.

When he came back, you’d already started sorting the cards-- which had gotten a little jumbled in the box. He set up the board, meanwhile.

Is it a very sad thing to say, that you felt more connected to this enigmatic, urban legend-esque serial killer (well, he killed one person definitely and a few other were suspected, but the knife didn’t paint a very good picture) than you did your classmates?

In part, that may be your fault. Alright, it may actually be mostly your fault-- but you were self-isolating for a reason.

You wouldn’t want any possible close friends to incur the wrath of your tormenters-- and become another victim, just for being near you.

Something tells you that Michael wouldn’t-- literally couldn’t-- succumb to that fate for obvious reasons. Maybe that’s why, as you two played a couple rounds of Clue before a cop came nosing around the place, you felt the safest you ever have.

And when the cop did show up, Michael was gone in an instant, almost like a ghost; but you knew better. He just had very quiet footsteps, the kind you would think impossible to achieve with his height and all.

You stayed in that room, waiting until you were sure Michael was gone to shout for help-- the cop came, and you hoped it gave Michael ample time to hide or run if need be.

And you didn’t rat on him-- to show your gratitude for him, y’know, not killing you. And being the closest thing to a friend you’ve both been allowed and allowed yourself to have as of late.

The cop walked you out-- but not before you noticed a little note folded on the accent table near the front door. “meet again?” it read, the pencil still lying next to it.

Taking a short detour, you quickly scrawled "yes :)" and while the smiley face was shaky at best, you hope he'd get the message. Besides, something tells you he'd understand that you were being rushed by the cop right now.

Because something also tells you that he's still here, watching-- you just don't know where. It's the way your skin crawls under the feeling of eyes on you, that tips you off.

When you leave the Myer's house this time around, you don't dread exiting it, some part of you afraid that your bullies had waited it out on the porch, or the yard. Maybe it's because you have a cop escorting you out this time,

Or maybe it's the lingering feeling of the Haddonfield Boogeyman himself keeping on eye on you. Presumably, of course.

The next time you visit the Myer's house, you aren't being chased in for once. If you were, there'd be no real reason to hide in here anyways. Your tormentors evolved, now being able to enter what you previously considered you safespace.

But you had to be sneaky regardless, as the country sheriff had been observed walking around the premise. Maybe to catch Michael, who was still on the loose as far as you knew, or to prevent foolhardy kids from entering the house on a dare.

That'd always been an issue, but before now the cops never cared to do much. The kids almost always psyched themselves out after taking a few steps into the house anyways, and there was hardly any vandalism to worry about.

Now, however, it was far more about keeping the kids themselves safe rather than the house. When you got there, the country sheriff was nowhere to be seen; there was a cop car in the driveway, but you recognized it as one of the ones used for false speed traps.

There was no one in there, and no cop in the house either. The car was enough to deter most, but you've been coming here for a while. They've done something like this before, especially around Halloween.

The difference came with the fact that it was November 3rd, and they usually did away with the deterrent by now. They have good reason, considering you know Michael Myer's is definitely in the house, or at least visiting regularly, but it's a little annoying.

Knowing they'll keep this up for a while longer, indefinitely, and you haven no way of telling if they suddenly decide to plant a cop inside the house to switch things up.

You entered through the back kitchen door, something you don't often do. Usually, when you enter this place, you don't care how you enter it-- just the closest possible entryway.

Which was usually the front door, or a window on the side that's easy to open from the outside. But this time, you get the luxury of picking where you get to enter from.

You brought a wrist watch with you, to monitor the time. Your parents never cared about how late you stayed out before,

But after a cop showed up at their door, you in tow, informing them that you'd been 'hanging out' in the old Myer's house (of course he left out the part where your ankles were bound), suddenly they had something to say about what time you returned home.

And maybe you'd think it was annoying, if you didn't know they had good reason for it. Honestly, you don't know what possessed you to come back here. To agree to meet up again, with a known murderer.

Years of isolation and ostracization at the hands of your peers and bullies alike must've corroded a part of your brain, is your theory. Your need for friendship and belonging was so big that you settled for meeting with a Boogeyman for social interaction.

A Boogeyman that was both parts legend and fact, because when you headed upstairs-- and was almost scared so bad you tumbled down the stairs, when you saw that sun-bleached mask staring back at you.

There was no way you could stifle the little shriek you let out when you felt a hand, large and warm and real-- wrap around your upper arm, your entire body going tense as you were pulled forward, and you could already imagine how it'd feel to have the blade of a kitchen knife lodged deep in your stomach and--

But no pain came, your eyes screwed shut out of terror, you didn't keep track of where he was taking you. In this blinding moment of fear, you forgot all about why you came here in the first place.

This was a bad idea, coming back here when you'd escaped last time by the skin of your teeth, and a few rounds of playing a murder mystery board game with a real mysterious murderer.

When you were pulled to a stop, static filling your ears as your heart pounded a mile a minute, you didn't open your eyes at first. Not until Michael let go of you, and your eyes promptly shot open.

It was only 5:12PM, so there was still some sun shining in through the motheaten curtains, but it wasn't much and you knew it wouldn't be staying for long. It casted long, eerie shadows into the room.

But nothing could compare to how to fell on Michael's mask, making it even more menacing than before. Who thought that a cheap reproduction of William Shatner's face was strike such fear in you?

He was just standing there, which you guess you can't fault him for. When he noticed you were looking at him, he pointed to the floor, near the foot of the bed. Where you'd been sitting last time.

Taking the hint, you quickly plopped down, this time unhindered by ropes restraining you. Funnily enough, you were subconsciously treating Michael as a dinosaur; a T-rex, to be specific.

You moved slowly, trying not to trigger his prey drive or whatever. Trying to make yourself seem as small and weak as you could, to try and keep up his sentiment of “I won’t hurt you. It’s too easy.”

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you tried to start a conversation as Michael walked over to the bookshelf again. "Uh-- so... how have you been?" Obviously, he doesn't respond.

Honestly, you don't know where you're going with this. You try to save yourself, by adding on "Have you been good?", and after a moment, you saw him nod from behind-- as he stood, facing the bookshelf.

He didn't reach up for any game, just slowly turned to face you; when you finally realized he was giving you room to choose, you panicked and squeaked out a little "Sorry--"

Comically, you'd forgotten that was a game-- and game he had, apparently, as he pulled away a few other games and got it out from the back. Task failed successfully, as your math teacher always said back in 7th grade.

When he came back over, you weren't any less high strung. He didn't seem to care-- maybe he didn't even notice-- and went about setting up the game. You busied yourself with reading the manual, having forgotten how to play it.

You weren't perfect with it, though. Sometimes you'd mess up, and it'd lead to Michael moving your piece back to where it'd been, or just pointing at the manual again; sitting innocently beside you on the floor, easy access.

Eventually, when you finished up the first game, only 34 minutes had passed. The sun was almost completely down, but something kept you rooted to your spot for a little longer. A few more rounds of Sorry, and you were well on your way to worrying your parents;

It was only 7:18PM now, but it was November. The sun was long set, and you were getting antsy to leave. After your fifth game concluded, you quickly blurted out "I have to go home."

You tried your best to catch Michael before he started setting up for another round, to minimize any irritation-- but it was obvious he'd been expecting to have another go at it.

Slowly, as everything he seemed to do was either methodically slow or terrifyingly quick with no in between yet to be seen, he lifted his head and stared at you point blank. His eyes hidden behind the mask, but that didn't mean there was any room for you to delude yourself into think he didn't have his full, undivided attention on you.

"My parents will be worried, they're already, uh, suspicious of how late I stay out." Michael doesn't move at all, staying still as a statue, just like you are. You don't make any move to get up, not until you get his express permission.

No matter how human he seems, playing board games so innocently with you-- the fact he was a cold-blooded killer never left your mind. There was no lead-up to his original snap, when he slaughtered his sister in the room just across the hall.

There's no reason to think you'd be an exception to that. One moment it could be fine, and the next you'll be bleeding out on the floor; it made you uneasy, for good reason.

Relief flooded you, a weight lifted from your shoulders as Michael nodded, the relief was pulled away when he stood and approached you-- but reinstated when he got close, just to extend a hand and offer to help you up, it seems.

Palm up, slow with his movements. Like he was dealing with an especially skittish dog. You felt like one, cornered as you were-- but you took his hand, and he was...

Well, it was like he tried to be gentle, but he didn't know how to be. He pulled roughly, but the way his grip faltered when you stumbled-- how he caught you with his other arm, almost desperate. Like he didn't know his own strength.

That terrified you more than the idea that he'd stab a knife through you. The idea that it was more likely for him to accidentally hurt you, how he was trying to restrain himself but it'd always end the same way.

In your panic, you didn't realize the way you'd grabbed onto him. Almost like a hug, one you pulled away from quickly. His arm lingered on your back, barring you from gaining any meaningful distance from him. Before you could think to panic some more, he let you go.

Grabbing onto your hand, he led you out of the room. Down the stairs, and to the living room. He didn't drop your hand once, even as he opened the door and pulled it open for you,

It was you, who wrestled away from the hold. You were on edge, freedom so close you could taste it-- the frigid midwestern wind blowing against your face had never felt so nice, a reprieve from the stifling presence that is Haddonfield's own personal Boogeyman.

Belatedly, you realized what he'd done. He walked you to the door, and he let you pull your hand from his grasp. if he didn't want you too, it'd be easy to not let it happen. His arm stayed where it was for a moment, before dropping heavily by his side.

You took a few small, miniscule steps; careful as you crossed the boundary between the inside of the house and the porch. Michael made no move to stop you,

A part of you wanted to run, a vestigial part of the human mind; buried, fear for something so closely human but so damningly not. Something that landed in the uncanny valley, when it should be human but something was off.

Michael Myer's was the only thing that's ever dredged up this forgotten kind of terror, something that was bigger than you'd ever be resided in him, you think. Deep down, though, you knew you two were similar. Similar enough for him to take mercy on you, for whatever reason.

Similar how? Well, you just don't know, but it's all you can think of as to why he's doing this. Why he not only let you go, but asked for your return-- not to cut a loose thread, but to play board games.

A few steps further, and you stood on the edge of the porch. When you turned around, seeing Michael standing in the doorway like it was normal; like either of you were normal, softened something in you.

Fear loosened it's hold on you, and in that moment, all you could do was smile and give a little wave, saying "I'll see you again?" He nodded, slow again. Smile growing wider, you let yourself giggle-- why? You don't know, you didn't find anything funny. It just felt right.

"Okay. I'll... see you later, I might get grounded for this, so it might be a while." You flashed a little thumbs up, before turning around and staring at the three short steps before you.

Feeling freer than you had in years, a bit of your childhood returned to you-- the childhood stolen by your bullies, you let yourself take a few steps back; gaining a running start, you hopped all three stairs.

Landing hard on the concrete, you wobbled a bit. Legs shaky from sitting for so long, but you didn't fall. If you had, you probably would've scraped your knees-- and the idea of it was freeing.

Being able to get hurt in such a meaningless way, getting hurt in a way kids should be getting hurt. Not coming home with broken ribs after school, before shutting yourself away in your room and seldom going outside, But coming home with a big smile, despite the shallow cuts on your legs.

When you turned around again, the door was closed-- but you saw a hint of movement from the window beside it, and sure enough, you saw the telltale white of Michael's mask.

You spared another wave, before you were off on your way.

5 months.

It's been roughly 5 months, since you started hanging around Michael. The feeling of guilt comes and goes on a whim, when you'd remember who this really was. A few more murders, some rich people from the nicer part of Haddonfield; the news attributed it to Michael Myers, which you couldn't argue with.

You could turn him in. You should turn him in, should've done it ages ago, you know-- but you can't bring yourself to do the right thing. It's wholly selfish, your want to keep him a well-hidden secret.

As sad as it was, he was your only friend. He didn't ask questions like your parents, questions that never lead anywhere-- it didn't matter if you told them the truth or not,

Whether or not you said "it was awful, the kids are still bullying me" or "it was okay" when they asked "how was school?", you always got the same kind of meaningless, cookie cutter response.

Sometimes it was more insulting, though, when you used to answer truthfully. Condescending, as your mom once again told you to "Think of what they're going through" and it irked you. She's the one who took the brunt of the bills, had to do the co-pay after you got a cast for your broken arm.

Those kids... they aren't bullying you because their life is bad. The worst they've gone through is their favorite perfume being out of stock, or their siblings got to have the TV remote the night prior.

Why should you give them that kind of consideration, when they obviously didn't spare you a second thought? You had a metal bat by your bed for a reason, walking everywhere with a small switchblade nestled in your coat pocket.

You never used it, but even Haddonfield could be dangerous-- there were three main sections of it, the Diamond District, a gated community for the ultra rich; the suburbs, and the closest to 'slums' as it got.

Where you lived, far from the white picket fences of the suburbs, and the glitzy modern exteriors of the Diamond District

But now, you practically live at the old Myer's house. Your bullies are still after you, but you always try to lose them before making it to the Myer's house. You hated them, but you didn't like the possibility of Michael going berserk on them.

He's probably snap at you too, and you wouldn't know how to cope with it-- for the remaining few minutes of your life, that your only friend would turn on you on a dime. Even though you knew it from the get, that this was dangerous. This agreement.

Sometimes you slept over, and you'd tell your parents that you finally made a friend. They wanted to meet them, but you'd just say they're shy, or something along those lines.

It was on accident, the first time you did it. It was in the dead of winter, bundled up in your outerwear while in the house. It was cold, and Michael was kind enough to wrap a few blankets around you.

And you kept delaying leaving, as cold as it was in the old Myer's house, you knew it'd be worse outside. You ended up falling asleep, waking up when the sun began to rise.

Michael came in, and handed you a granola bar. You don't know how he sourced it-- sourced snacks he'd give you, but you never thought to ask. You wanted to, but you never actually considered prying.

You scarfed it, before saying your gratitudes, goodbyes, and rushing out the door-- your parents were surprisingly lax with it. Under the false pretense that you'd been safe and sound in a warm house, with your friend from school.

Besides, everyone assumed that Myer's had moved on back then. There was this 3 month gap between his killings, and even when that broke, they were sparse enough that your parent's still didn't care much.

It was early April, and it was getting nice out again. You've managed to avoid your bullies trailing you as of late, by... just letting them whatever at school. It's not like they want to brave the cold weather anyways, so you knew sooner or later they'd start harassing you outside of school again.

Even if you let them hurt you at school, do whatever they please-- it still won't be enough. It'll never be enough, nothing will for people like them. You just can't wait to graduate and get the hell out of dodge.

The past few weeks, they've been trying to follow you. Every time they did, you managed to lose them; probably because they weren't too intent on it yet. They liked toying with you, but didn't care enough to keep following after a certain amount of times.

As a diversion, you've been sitting around the park a lot, in a little grotto near the playground no one plays on anymore. It's wooden, rotted, and should've been torn down ages ago-- the swings are still functional though, if a little squeaky.

It wasn't a stretch to assume you'd succeeded in tricking them; that they assumed this was your new home base. Again, no matter how much you hated them, you didn't want them dead.

And you definitely didn't want to be the one responsible for leading them to their death; to the murderer you deemed a friend, your only one. It was a moral dilemma. Michael was still a killer, and you should turn him in--

But you don't. Again, it was selfish, but he wasn't... doing that much harm right now. Just a few people, rich people who you have no connection to. It makes you sick, the fact you, by default, don't care that much.

You care, you care when you realize they were people with lives and families, that they were just like Judith. Ever since you started coming to the old Myer's house, you've been making a picture of her in your head.

Those people, too, had taffy left uneaten by their bedside. Hair brushes to clean, caps that needed to be screwed back on lip glosses; not those items exactly, you're sure, but the allegory stood the same.

The guilt is unbearable somedays, the idea that you're also partly responsible for those people's death. If you'd just turned in him, then you wouldn't have gotten in this deep.

just a bit longer, you tell yourself. I'll... report him if he kills anyone else, but maybe he's getting better, you think-- knowing more than well he isn't.

He's stagnant right now, but that's because he's satiated. Maybe by your near-daily meetings, the feeling of human contact that he probably hasn't felt since he was child. Since before he was locked up from such a young age.

i hope it stays that way, and deep down, you know it's in vain; recognizing that hope will do no good in situation like this, when dealing with a man-- an entity-- like Michael Myers.

This can't be real. It's a nightmare, it's a nightmare-- you can scream it all you want, but it won't take away from the scene before you.

You were toying with danger, with death itself; you stared in its face and dared to call it a friend, and look where that got you. It was always going to end like this, wasn't it? And you knew, you knew it would but that didn't stop you from it.

A lonely child will always seek the comfort of anyone who offers it without hesitation, and no matter how much you've grown-- how close you are to being an adult, teetering just on that edge,

Once a lonely child, always a lonely child. The bruises have healed, but it still feels like they're marring every inch of your skin; ribs that were broken are just fine now, but if you move too quick you swear you can feel them like you'd felt them back then.

"Why?" Your voice is choked, and you haven't felt this afraid in a long time. Cowering as you were, in the far corner of the attic. A large circular window loomed behind you, casting light onto you like Heaven was calling you home.

Do you even deserve Heaven, though? You might not have been the one to wield the knife, but you're guilty by association. There was no blood on you, but your hands were still painted red.

All five of them, crumpled on the ground; they looked so scared, but something in the back of your mind told you that they'd never understand true fear. This was momentary, before they met their swift end,

They didn't know the fear of anticipation. The fear of never knowing what would happen next, when or how it would come about; but just knowing that it would. That you weren’t at the end of the tunnel just yet, and fearing that you never would be.

Michael just stands there, unmoving. His head tilted like a curious bird, like the crows you fed at the park sometimes. He wasn't wearing the mechanic's suit anymore-- you'd bring him clothes when you could, picked up from thrift shops or garage/yard sales;

It felt even more damning, the red staining his previously pristine sky blue t-shirt. The shirt you’d given to him. Blood once again caked on his shoes, after he'd worked so hard to clean them when you expressed discomfort at it once.

The mask never came off, you never saw his face-- but at this point, you feel like any face that wasn't the mask wouldn't be Michael's. The most you've seen was up to his mouth, when he'd eat with you sometimes.

Again, as you pull your knees to your chest, and fight to hold back a shuddering cry, you ask "Why? Why would you do this?"

And he just stands there. He just stands there and stares at you like he always has, like he always will. You've long come to terms with the fact that he doesn't speak, and in your opinion it makes him a little easier to interact with.

Slow, steady steps-- he turns, and walks to entrance of the attic. He climbs down, leaving you alone for now. With no way to tell the time, you just sit there. The sun doesn't dim, since it was just a little past noon when you got here.

When you saw that note on the accent table near the door, telling you come up to the attic. You didn't question it, you didn't think anything was amiss until you were halfway into the room and Michael stood between you and the exit, bloodied and pointing to the heap of bodies.

Bodies that had once been so full of life, active in the community; beloved by most, feared by others. The golden boys and girls, the ones everyone strives to be or envies in some ways, unless you happen to be their punching bag.

Even with how terrible they were, it wasn't meant to end like this. You shake and tremble as you press your face against your knees; you don't forgive them, you never would, but they have lives.

Had lives, something you were never afforded the luxury of, holed up in your room half the time, and hanging out with the serial killer that did them in the rest of the time.

Michael was being loud, louder than you've ever known him to be. All you could think was maybe... he was trying to ease your worries? Wordlessly let you know that he wasn't going to sneak up and add you to that pile?

For once, you hear when he comes back up. You don't look up, fear seizing every muscle and making you unable to move an inch-- until he's just a few feet away, and your head flies up from where you'd pressed it against your knees.

He was sitting on the floor, right in front of you-- he was writing in a notepad, the same one he used when you first met. Michael's used it since then, but usually just communicates with shakes or nods of his head.

When he turns the book around, it's hard to read the words-- not for lack of light, but because of the way your tears blur your vision. When you're able to blink them away long enough to read, you almost can't believe what he wrote.

"Didn't mean to scare you. They were hurting you, and I didn't like it."

Didn't... didn't mean to scare you? He-- he brought you up here, just to find him covered in blood and pointing at five dead bodies!

five dead bodies of people you knew, even if you didn't like them, you still knew them-- and you knew this was likely to happen, but you tried to convince yourself it wouldn't. For your own sake.

"Are... are you going to..." Kill felt like too heavy of a word right now, too real, so you opted for "...Hurt me too?" Voice small, smaller than you think it's ever been. God, you feel like a child again, asking your mom why the kids at school didn't like you.

Small and helpless, lost and unable to come up with answers on your own. Michael shook his head quickly, and it made you jump-- it wasn't often that he moved quickly like that. He stopped immediately, and turned the notepad around and quickly scrawled something, before turning it back to you.

"Never hurt you" It was hastily written, messy in a way that disturbed you, when addressing Michael. He didn't even add punctuation. For a third time, you ask "Why?" But this time with more intention, knowing what exactly you were asking about.

He didn't move for a bit, and turned the notepad around more slowly, and his pencil hovered above the page-- like he was really thinking this through. A few minutes passed, moving at an agonizing crawl, before he finally turned the notepad around so you could read it.

There were a couple messages scribbled out, but you didn't bother to try and make them out. He'd finally settled on a simple "Because you're my friend."

"How do I know you won’t hurt me?" It was a hard pill to swallow, the knowledge that you just... there's no way to confirm that he won't. He's unpredictable in a way that scares you, because you can't even begin to wrap your head around how he operates.

This time, the answer came quickly; it was messy again, the handwriting, and it made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. It made you turn inward and ask why you did this to yourself, why you couldn't have just turned him in at the start.

There's no one to blame but yourself, and that's what hurts the most-- you knew the risk, you took it, and now you're reaping what you sowed.

"I don't hurt what's mine", written in dark letters; once again, he was pressing too hard with the pencil. Once, you thought it was endearing, but now you can't help but realize why he pressed so hard in the first place.

Michael didn't know how to be gentle. Yes, he tried, but there's no telling that he won't give up eventually. For a while, you just stare at the words, at the claim-- he doesn't turn the notepad away,

It's damning, it's a vice gripped around your heart; a steel wire wrapped around your throat. Rope around your wrists, a lock on the door. Everything that can and will be used to keep you here,

To keep you with him.

"I want to go home." You choke out, but he just shakes his head. Oh, how badly you want to scream, to shove him and run; it's broad daylight, surely he won't follow you.

But he's... God, you hate to admit it, but he's all you have. And-- and the bodies, oh god, you're going to be blamed for it, aren't you? It's a perfect story in the making, you've been tormented for so long, so publicly.

It wouldn't be a stretch to say you went mad, that there was something innate to the ground below the Myer's house; a curse weaved into the floorboards, that makes anyone who spends time in the house lose it eventually, if they're capable of such a thing.

That you took the knife in your hand, and slit their throats yourself.

The notepad was facing you again, and you hadn't even noticed he was writing in the first place. It was an explanation for his refusal, but it only made your skin crawl,

"This is your home.", and you just sit there and stare again. Slowly, Michael sets the notepad down. Slowly, he inches forward-- you don't flinch, eyes glazed, staring at where the notepad had been.

Then, his arms are wrapped around you-- and you just... you just melt. You cry, there's no way you can't. You weep until you have nothing left, face tucked into Michael's shoulder.

The blood, still a bit tacky at first, clung to the front of your shirt as well. Michael pulls you as close as he physically can, without merging you two into one continuous being.

He's right, isn't he? This is your home now, and has been for a long time. Before Michael showed up, even, you were spending nights in the Myer's house. Despite the history, it felt leagues safer than your own room.

When your tears are all dried up, still hiccupping and trembling, Michael carefully picks you up. Handling you like glass, but it's unnatural. Stilted-- not a performance, but it's new to him.

Going down the ladder was a slow process, and you were half asleep from pure exhaustion when he set you down on a mattress-- his old bed. You sat, slumped sideways against the headboard as he pulled the cover back and helped you lay down,

He tucked you in, and the thought crossed your mind that his parents must've done this for him when he was younger. They were a normal family, the Myer's-- over the years, people had tried to prove that Michael's snap was caused by abuse, or neglect, or something bad that happened to him in his early development.

But nothing was found on the topic, if anything, the digging exposed the Myer's as the picture-perfect American family. No reason for a 6 year old to kill his sister, other than he just wanted to.

Demonic possession was also a proposed explanation-- more by the townspeople than actual professionals, but it had merit, didn't it? Something about Michael was off, and even if you removed the mask, you're sure it wouldn't change anything.

By the time you're drifting off, weighed down by bone deep weariness from all that happened, Michael is still sitting at the foot of the bed, off on the edge. He isn't watching you, his head facing forward, but it was still unnerving.

When the news of six missing teenagers hit, the town went into a frenzy. Michael has long since dropped the bodies off in the forest-- he didn't want it stinking up the house, because he knew it'd make you uncomfortable,

They found the bodies there, but that didn't stop the cops from searching the Myer's house one last time. That night, Michael took you on a walk, and you two visited the park his parent's used to take him to often.

You were actually swinging, while he kind of just sat on it. Nobody saw you two, there were no reports of you still being alive. Everyone assumed you'd died with your bullies, but your body was elsewhere.

That you fought more than your bullies had, or maybe less-- either way, you died further away from them.

Isolated, just like you’d been in life; even in death, Michael’s sure those horrible kids would make to not be near you.

The cops never considered the possibility that they were killed elsewhere, and dumped later. An oversight on their part, but Michael obviously wasn’t going to correct them on it.

Michael cleaned the attic, not like they'd check it anyways. They never did when they searched the house, and Michael thought it was ridiculous. It was almost too easy to avoid them, but he didn't want to take a chance with you.

He doesn't know what he'd do without you now that he has you. There's no solid reason why he spared you that first night, the 'it's too easy' had been little more than an excuse to spare you, or why he kept sparing you. Why he began to look forward to your meetings.

Something about you was comforting to him, a comfort he hasn't felt in so long that it feel alien now that he's feeling it. Those kids had it coming, he thinks. He's considered going after their parents, as well-- for raising such awful brats.

To torment someone like you-- it both enraged and confused Michael to no end. You were the most innocent person in his mind, even if it was just dumb luck that he found you when he did; that he wasn't in a bad mood.

He doesn't know what comes next, but all he knows is that he'll keep you by his side the whole time. Maybe... you two could move, he'd take on a false identity and flee to Canada with you. Pretend that you're his... younger sibling, because he doesn't think he can get away with claiming you as his child. He isn't all that much older than you, in the grand scheme of things.

As long as you're by his side, then he doesn't really care about what comes next. He just wants you, and to keep you safe and happy. Michael isn't familiar with this, with being soft or gentle; but he'll try for you.

He'd do anything for you, if he's completely honest with himself.

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rabotimagines · 3 months ago

Text

"Pet names" pt4 GN BOT Reader + Soundwave (His cassettes), Starscream, Megatron

Summary: Reader has become partial to using human pet names for everyone.

Warnings: Megatron mentions of thinking of hitting Reader but it's light hearted all things considered.

G1 characters: Soundwave (and his cassettes), Starscream, Megatron

Genre/Theme: Platonic/light crush vibes

Notes: Con Bot Reader! Reader is higher ranking in the Decepticons and knows how to fight. Reader is said to be more loyal to the cause then Megatron necessarily. Reader is written as older bot in mind.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Soundwave Isn't expecting too much to go wrong today, since it was only an inventory day on the nemesis. You pass him the datapads he requested from you and he almost immediately drops them all when you speak. "Here ya go, Love. let me know if there's any issues with 'em" Soundwave freezes at the term but also has no feasible clue as to what his next course of action should be in this situation. But at his sudden silence you only meet his visor and a smile curls on your derma. And then your em field brushes warm across his side- But Soundwave doesn't say anything when you then turn on your pede and head to go back to your own tasks. And Soundwave is stuck standing with a stack of datapads in his servos for longer than he'd admit to, till he finally forces himself to place the pile on his desk. Then Ravage comes running back a few joors later asking to dock and he complies- and is promptly hit by the visual of you calling Skywarp "Babe" and he's suddenly now aware you've just seemingly begun to do this.

Soundwave admittedly does enjoy it. It was simple and there was no harm to your actions. A smile there, a name there, em field warm to the touch and filled with something almost... delicate. Soundwave did admittedly crave some form of domesticity, it was quite literally embedded in his coding with his frame type. The Decepticons didn't operate on such things so he's long learned to savor the small moments he'd occasionally share with his cassettes behind closed doors. But the affections you offered would make his frame want to instinctively lean forward for your em field to simply feather across his frame faster. So Soundwave allows himself the small enjoyment since there's no deceit in your field or frame when you do so. It's something that soothes the slight ache of wariness in his joints and fills the gaps in his plating.

Theres also the fact he's gotten a heaping amount of blackmail from recording the other Decepticons various reactions to your actions. Some were obviously violent with you promptly putting unruly soldiers back in their places before calling them sweet names again with a hint of bite when they were flat on their afts. He knows you know how to handle yourself and you were still a high ranking officer so the only one who could technically order you to stop was Megatron himself. But you didn't tend to report the insubordination itself. So Soundwave may as well keep the acting out recorded for when he needs to remind someone that Soundwave has his own ways of keeping the rabble in line. There was also the few recordings of some who didn't fight back and optics would brighten harsh enough their faceplates would either risk coloring or would color cobalt. Which were also quite a good source of blackmail for Soundwave.

For the cassettes it's only funny when it's someone else. Whether it's Soundwave or another one of them your attention is on. They're smiling and chuckling over whoever is on the receiving end. Laserbeak and Ravage are the fastest to not care about image since their already prone to physical attention due to both their alt modes being beasts. Getting a helm pat while you coo and call them "Gorgeous" has them both pushing back against you fast for more affection. The twins (and Buzzsaw) are hardafts about it, Scoffing and turning their olfactories up at you. Rumble actually does enjoy it a lot but you wouldn't be able to squeeze that outta him. No chance in pit! They all collectively enjoy watching Soundwave being on the receiving end more though. They can physically feel Soundwaves reactions to your affections and its hysterical every time Soundwave is shocked for half a nanoklick before bashfulness gets snuffed out of the bond link. (It's never fast enough that the cassettes can't feel it first though).

They're little slaggers and will not hesitate to push you to interact with Soundwave for something even if they do have the information just because they wanna see you inflicted on Soundwave. Soundwave catches on fast however and immediately begins doing the opposite to them. Turning you on his cassettes for something even when Soundwave already has the information, and watching them promptly fumble with the attention. You've unknowingly become a game to them all which is who can they get to interact with you and watch their optics brighten in real time. It's funnier if whichever con tries to fight you for it because the cassettes already know they're gonna just watch you knock somebot on their aft.

Starscream is ranting about Megatrons latest easily avoidable battle fumble that could have been avoided, if he allowed Starscream to kill Optimus last battle instead of stupidly let the mech get back up again. It was time for a high command meeting and it's you and him waiting on Soundwave and Megatron. Starscream knew you entertained his ideas and Starscream knew sparkdamn well your loyalties lied more with the cause then Megatron. So he wastes no chance to try and persuade you to join his side over Megatrons whenever he can. You just leaned your faceplate against your own servo which was propped up on the meeting table. "Darling, you know perfectly well how he is with Prime. He's possessive, and knows he'll only get to kill him once. Megatron wants to savor the death of Optimus Prime." You stated as if it were so matter of factually and not simply that your bumbling leader did whatever he pleased regardless of if it was detrimental to the Decepticon cause.

He thinks on what you'd said longer and scoffs, his wings flicking at the battle memory. Then his optics widen a touch when he thinks you'd just called him "Darling"? No No you definitely had just started that statement off by calling Starscream darling. Starscreams gaze snaps back to you with questions but your expression betrayed nothing at all, expression and em field completely neutral. Had you- Not realized you'd done that? You met Starscreams gaze and a smirk curled on your derma. "What's wrong, love?" Your em field lightly brushing against his side has Starscreams expression furrowing before he can even attempt to hide his own befuddlement. Then Megatron walked into the room with Soundwave and both your helms snapped to them instead. Starscream doesn't know what the pit you were playing at then but then sees you say something flirtatious with Skywarp of all bots- then Soundwave, and then hes demanding to know if you've had your personality module shorted when they weren't looking. But you just smirked at him in the infuriating way you did and say "What? I just think the Cons could use a little TLC." Starscream cannot hide his sneer when you explain what "TLC" means. You were Decpticon warriors! Not blasted organics in a cheap shoddy excuse for a romantic film. Skywarp actually growled at him when Starscream told him to act like his sparkdamned position, and not hike his wings so high in the air when you interacted with him. Growled at him! Starscream was going to shoot that idiot the next chance he got.

Starscream hates your little excuse of a habit and he's starting to hate interacting with you. Every meeting is an infuriating term, or smile, or all spark forbid you try and fan your em field out against him again- he might just threaten to end you there and then! Starscream was a war frame! Not just any war frame but the second in command in the Decepticons! Your position aside, you still were not above Starscream in rank! The only time he actually lets you is on accident- when his guard drops. Starscream returned from a mission with an earth item they needed for their plans and had to outgun and quickly outrun the Autobots by himself. And what does he get when he returns? Megatrons infuriating unappreciative aft telling him he should've been faster. Starscream is seething off to the side when a servo grasps his arm and Starscream whips his helm around ready to fight, obviously, and its you. "Great job out there, Darling." You say with a smile and your em field fully presses against Starscream and it is warm. Your thumb rubs a slow press against were you're holding his arm and then you simply let go and leave.

Starscream would have shot you if his embarrassment caught up to him before you'd left. But instead he's stuck standing there like a fool alone with his wings hiked high in the air without his own input. His own optics burning. Starscreams engine growled under his own vents and he stomped off to go get ready for the impending battle. He was going to slag you for this foolery one day! (Starscream does not even entertain to fleeting thought to find you to next time he completes a task. The thoughts dead and smelted as soon as it has the audacity to form.)

Megatron knows were your loyalties lie but you were competent and a good solider so he has no qualms with them. After all you'd simply stated you'd tell him yourself if you thought you had to kill him for the sake of the Decepticon cause. Megatron laughed knowing you were completely and utterly serious about that. He simply offered the same sentimentality back to you. He'd known you for a very very long time so the clarity of were you both stood on any situation was typically warranted. That said after vorns of knowing you he's still not ready when your giving him your verbal report and you hold out the datapad with the written report still on the screen for him to take. "All that said not too much to regard about, Sweetspark. Thankfully the mission went off without much of a hitch." Megatron stops were he is and at that point he's in the middle of taking the datapad, servo still holding onto the electronic device and held in front of himself. And Megatron stares back at you letting what you'd just said settle in the silence. You don't open your mouth again to explain yourself so Megatron opens his.

"Are you- overcharged you fool? What... buffoonery are you trying to accomplish here?" And Megatron looks at your optics to genuinely check if they are any brighter as a sign of overcharge but their the same brightness they always typically are. He watches a smirk curl on your derma and feels amusement fan in your em field- He knows because Megatron can blatantly feel it brushing against his chassis. It's not strictly unpleasant- but it is foreign enough he has to suppress the instinctive urge to pull back.

"Ah, Sorry Sir," Your em field flexes warmer when the word leaves your mouth, "Learned that praise is apparently shown to encourage morale and good behavior. It's been working with the other cons so far. Even got some of the usual misbehaving rabble to start acting more... proper." You were doing this with the soldiers.

"Has it now?" You only nodded unperturbed still by the situation. You were competent and if the unruly soldiers listened when you had no regard for indulging the brutes in such a thing he couldn't exactly argue against it. However- "Hm, Do not use such terms when we're not alone. It would be ill advised for the others to hear me referred to by such things." Your smirk widens and further amusement curls against Megatrons frame and he as to resist to urge to try and strike you for it. Knowing fully well you'd more than likely dodge and would rightfully try and strike him one back. (Before likely booking it out of his throne room before Megatron could stand properly.) Megatron enjoys it more than he would ever admit, even to you. Your smile, Your unrestrained em field, and he even enjoys the rather confounded little names you'd use whenever you were alone with one another. It didn't make much logical sense considering how ridiculous the entire affair was but Megatron wanted you to continue doing it. And Megatron was never restrained with his own desires.

He does however restrain himself when he suddenly gets the baffling urge to reach a servo out and brush his knuckles against your faceplate one night. Something so ridiculously... chummy was not something Megatron would stoop low enough to perform. So he instead lets his plating lax a touch more than usual when your em field brushes against his own frame. You were simply putting work into the sanctity of the Deception cause. Nothing more, nothing less...

#transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #transformers x y/n #transformers #x reader #megatron x reader #starscream x reader #soundwave x reader #rabot writes #💛

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bunji-enthusiast · 27 days ago

Note

Could you possibly write more for Peni Parker!Reader? I like the idea of her becoming unknowingly Mark's unofficial little sister that is honestly more wise and responsible than him due to having to be so independent from a young age. Like, brushing off his praise and platonic affection as they get closer before it just becomes assumed.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝

Mark Grayson x Peni-Parker!Reader [Platonic]

Summary || There always seemed to be the strangest bonds in unfamiliar situations.

Note // I hear you, and I got you. my heart is bursting with so much serotonin \(^ヮ^)/

A rooftop in Chicago at twilight, with the cityscape humming below. SP//dr rests nearby, powered down but glowing faintly, perched like a sleeping guardian. Mark hovers a few feet above the ledge, suit still dusted with scuffs from a recent scuffle. [Name] stands with her back to the wind, arms crossed, backlit by the crimson of the setting sun.

"You know," Mark says, floating down to sit beside her on the ledge, "You’re kinda ridiculous."

[Name] doesn't look at him, still watching the city. “That’s rich coming from someone who face-tanked a collapsing train today.”

He chuckles, but there's an ache in it. “I had it under control.”

“You were unconscious for six minutes.”

He makes a face. “You timed it?”

“You weren’t breathing for two of them.”

“Okay, okay,” Mark sighs, brushing the back of his glove across a smear of blood on his goggles. “But you—you took out half the Doomsquad's drones with just the snare. And those mines? I swear, you’re turning this whole ‘defensive support’ thing into an art form.”

“Someone has to play smart when you’re out here playing ‘punch first, get hospitalized later.’” Her tone’s dry, but there’s a flicker of something warmer in her voice.

He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky instead of her. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to look out for me.”

[Name] finally glances over, one brow raised. “Try living with a psychic spider in your head for years. It teaches you patience. And responsibility.”

There’s a long pause before Mark speaks again, voice lower now. “Still. You’re always there. You patch me up, cover my back, chew me out after. You're like—"

“Don't say it.”

He grins sideways. “—like a little sister.”

[Name] groans, turning her face away again. “Older. I’m clearly the older sibling here.”

“Maybe in maturity.” Mark bumps her shoulder with his. “But I’m the one who has to make sure you’re not working yourself to death.”

She scoffs, brushing him off with a half-hearted flick of her fingers. “I don’t break. I just bend.”

“But you shouldn’t have to bend alone all the time,” he murmurs.

That catches her off guard, if only for a second. SP//dr's core pulses softly behind them, reflecting the brief silence.

She exhales slowly. “...Guess I just got used to doing things solo. Back in Tokyo Webworld, no one flew in unless it was a crisis or a convergence. I didn’t have a team. I was the team.”

“Well,” Mark says with quiet certainty, “you’re not alone here.”

She glances at him again, not scoffing this time. No quip. No brushing it off.

Just a soft, “...I know.”

Another beat. The breeze tugs at her coat. Then—

“I’m still calling the shots when we’re surrounded.”

Mark grins. “Deal. But I get to call you ‘Spider-Sis’ now.”

“Nope.”

“C’mon! What about ‘Sis//dr’?”

She gives him a deadpan stare. “...I hope Conquest breaks your other rib.”

Late afternoon, the city skyline bathed in gold. A tall, mostly-abandoned telecom tower looms over Chicago. At the top, a figure dangles off the side, boots propped up lazily on a railing, hands behind their head, the cockpit of SP//dr open like a relaxed metal lotus. From far away, it looks precarious. Up close, it’s just [Name] doing [Name]-things.

Mark’s voice crackles over the comms first—half exasperated, half amused.

"You know you’re gonna give Cecil a heart attack if you fall off something that high again, right?"

[Name] doesn’t even flinch, her body dangling in that loose-limbed way of someone who trusts gravity not to mess with them. She lazily lifts one hand and wiggles her fingers at him in greeting.

SP//dr stirs slightly behind her—never fully asleep when she’s nearby, its core casting rhythmic light across the rusted steel around them.

"He should be more worried about you flying into buildings."

Mark slows in midair, arms crossed, hovering just above the platform. “That was once. A low visibility incident.”

“You flew into a billboard that said 'Hero Insurance is real!' Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

He rolls his eyes and lands, boots clinking against the metal. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Most people are.”

SP//dr’s cockpit closes with a hiss as [Name] pulls herself up with practiced ease, plopping down on top of the mech’s shoulder, letting her legs swing. The wind ruffles her hair, but she looks calm—comfortable, like she belongs up here. Above the noise. With the city at her feet and the stars slowly crawling into the sky.

Mark steps beside the mech and bumps his elbow against its knee. “So what are you doing up here anyway?”

She shrugs. “Waiting. SP//dr likes the view. Says the city buzz feels different at this height.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “It said that?”

“It thinks it,” she smirks. “I translate.”

A soft ping echoes in both their comms before Cecil’s voice cuts in, sharp and sterile as usual.

"Grayson. Parker. We’ve got reports of a rampaging tech-mutant in the lower financial sector. Big. Ugly. Crashing things. Possibly Mauler-adjacent."

Mark groans. “Every time I think we’ll get one day without a mutant crab-thing climbing out of the sewers...”

[Name] is already sliding into SP//dr’s cockpit as it locks around her, systems flaring to life. Her voice is more focused now, clipped but steady.

“Deploying Arachno-Nest and drone protocols. Let’s drop in quiet before your fists start making headlines.”

He lifts off the platform in one smooth motion. “No promises.”

SP//dr jumps after him, launching off the edge with an elegant, bone-shaking leap. It hits a building side mid-fall and crawls along it like a metallic ghost spider, [Name] deploying her Cyber-Bond line to slingshot onto a rooftop and drop her first cluster-web into position.

Mark glances over mid-flight, his voice softened by static and something else.

"Y’know… you looked peaceful up there."

She responds without looking at him, focusing on her HUD. "I was. Then you showed up."

"You’re welcome."

A pause.

Then, like she’s giving just a little ground—

"Thanks, Mark."

"For what?"

"Showing up. Even when I don’t ask."

A beat.

"Yeah, well... little sisters don’t always have to ask."

Then the roar of twisted metal cuts off the moment, and the two launch into the smoke-clogged sky, ready to crash into battle with banter still buzzing in their ears.

The streets are chaos—cars overturned, storefronts demolished, a huge tech-mutated creature tearing through the gridlocked traffic like it’s nothing. It’s a hulking fusion of steel and flesh, Mauler-blue glow pulsing under its skin, arms like jackhammers and a face like an exposed circuit board.

Mark rockets in first, blue and black suit streaking past falling debris. His fists smash through a piece of rebar that would've pinned a cab beneath it, then he plants himself between the monster and a group of fleeing civilians.

“Hey ugly!” he shouts. “I’ve got a billion reasons you should stop wrecking the city—but let’s start with me!”

The creature snarls and charges.

Then—thwip—crash!

A glowing Cyber-Web Snare latches onto its ankle, yanking it back mid-sprint. It stumbles—then BOOM, it faceplants into a building wall just as [Name] swings overhead on a webline, deploying her Cyber-Web Cluster around the perimeter like a glowing net trap.

“You’re welcome,” she says coolly over the comms.

“Hey, I was distracting him!”

“From who? The building?”

Mark grits his teeth and blasts forward as the mutant rips free, only for a series of Arachno-Mines to click and beep quietly as it stumbles into the webbed area.

“Wait—mines?! [Name]—”

“They’re stealth mines. You’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“...Fifty-eight percent.”

“WHAT?!”

The mines detonate just as Mark flies over the blast radius, sending the creature skidding backward while he barely clears the concussion wave. He spins in mid-air and lands hard, sliding across the pavement.

SP//dr drops down beside him with a seismic clang, and [Name] steps out of the mech for a second, hands flicking in tight, practiced gestures as she repositions her Spider-Nest. The city street beneath them glows faintly with layered Cyber-Webs connecting across windows and lamp posts.

“He’s not stopping,” Mark says, spitting a bit of blood. “It’s like someone duct-taped a tank to a blender and gave it a grudge.”

“That thing’s core is exposed,” [Name] mutters, eyes flicking across her HUD. “Right there—center of mass, between the cybernetic plating. The rest is reinforced, but that’s tissue. If we can immobilize it long enough…”

Mark grins. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

She side-eyes him. “I deploy. You punch.”

He’s already floating, cracking his knuckles. “Classic combo.”

“Go loud.”

SP//dr slams down a secondary Nest that webs across the entire intersection. The creature roars and charges again, but this time it hits nothing but traps—snaring its legs, slowing it just long enough for [Name] to leap from the mech, swinging overhead on a Cyber-Bond line.

From above, she rains down a flurry of Cyber-Web Clusters, blanketing the target until it’s pinned like a fly in a digital cocoon.

“NOW, Mark!”

He barrels forward, a sonic boom trailing behind him, and hits the mutant dead-center with a punch that craters the street. The shockwave pulses outward like thunder, blasting dust and sparks in every direction.

The tech-mutant shudders once, lets out a warped, gurgling scream—and then collapses.

The street is silent except for the crackle of broken streetlights and the faint beeping of [Name]’s cooldown timer.

Mark exhales, straightening his posture as he brushes cement dust off his arms. “That was awesome.”

[Name] swings down beside him, SP//dr clambering up behind her like a loyal sentinel.

“You didn’t fly into any webbing this time,” she says, mock-impressed.

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

She smirks. “Nope.”

Then, a softer beat. “Nice punch.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Nice trap.”

There’s a moment—quiet, settled, mutual respect thick in the air.

Then Cecil cuts in over the comms, as dry as ever.

“Nice work, you two. Parker, debrief and scan the core for Mauler signatures. Grayson—stop cracking the pavement, city budget’s already in flames.”

Mark groans. “He lives to ruin the moment.”

[Name] chuckles. “And you live to fall for it.”

They walk off together toward the wreckage, SP//dr crawling behind them like a massive metal dog.

Banter and beatdowns. Just another day on the job.

The Grayson household. Cozy, lived-in. The smell of something warm and familiar cooking drifts in from the kitchen. It's evening now—Mark and [Name] just cleaned up after the mission, bruises hidden under bandages, dust traded for soft clothes. SP//dr is parked in the garage out back, recharging in low-power mode.

[Name] sits cross-legged on the couch in borrowed sweats and one of Mark’s oversized high school T-shirts (it says “Vel Johnson High Eagles: Science Bowl 2nd Place” and she refuses to take it seriously). A heating pad is draped over her shoulders, and she’s nursing a mug of tea with spider bots sleeping peacefully on the floor near her feet.

Mark enters from the kitchen, tossing her a wrapped granola bar. “Protein. Not optional.”

She catches it one-handed. “You’re lucky I like these.”

“I’m lucky you’re not half-robot yourself. The way you tanked that explosion? I thought you glitched.”

[Name] snorts. “Please. You’re one to talk. You went through three walls and still had the nerve to flex after.”

He shrugs, flopping down beside her on the couch with a low grunt. “It was a good flex.”

“Your arm was shaking.”

“Yeah, with power.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Comfortable. Familiar. Debbie clinks plates in the kitchen but doesn’t intrude—just offers a little wave through the open space and a “Dinner’s almost ready, kids.”

Kids.

It settles between them like warmth off the tea mug.

[Name] finally breaks the quiet, her voice softer now. “Didn’t think I’d ever get this again.”

Mark glances over. “What? Dinner?”

She shakes her head, not quite smiling. “Normalcy. Somewhere to crash that doesn’t smell like motor oil and ozone. People who ask if I’m okay... and actually mean it.”

Mark doesn’t answer right away. He just nudges her knee with his. “Well… you’ve got it now. Like I said—little sisters don’t always have to ask.”

She looks at him, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You really gonna keep calling me that?”

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

“Even if I web your room shut?”

“I’ve punched a guy through a volcano. I can handle a few webs.”

“...What if I put stealth mines in your cereal?”

He pauses. “…Okay that’s just cruel.”

A beat.

Then both of them crack up, laughter echoing through the room until even Debbie chuckles softly to herself in the kitchen.

#invincible mark grayson #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #platonic #platonic invincible #invincible fluff #invincible fanfic #invincible crossover #invincible

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 9 months ago

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Platonic Yandere Sea Monster

The ocean is a dangerous entity

Known for her high waves, immeasurable depths, and eternal mysteries

She entices millions into her cold embrace every day

Many of whom are devoured by said mysteries leaving no trace

One of its greatest mysteries is a creature who’s been roaming beneath the surface of the earth for eons

So it truly is a special occasion that Maelstrom breaks this streak for a feast on a private yacht

It’s far too easy how this new (to him) bipedal species gawks and helplessly flails while he sucks the bones out of their soft skin

He doesn’t care for the soft innards that the skin holds

He does like how their screams gurgle and warble as he delights in their crunchy bones

So he makes it his mission to devour or turn into water

And he’s sure that he’s done so with all of the little crunchy snack bags on the ship

Until he’s led into a cramped little closet with a tiny version of the springy boxes he’d found before

On it was a wailing babe—you

Now that he’s recognized

Because for all the different species evolution has brought it a crying infant was a common denominator

And you were crying hard

Whether you were the sibling or offspring of some ill-thinking teen or an overworked employee of the crew the one who was going to care for you was gone

And Maelstorm knew that

On the account that he’s certain he’d still be hearing your incessant crying on the entirely silent yacht, he molds his water-like body into something more like the ‘human skin bags’

Letting his face bulge and bubble with the vague memory of his meal’s screaming faces until you stop crying

“There…there…my pearl.”

It’s been so long since he’s been awake to have a pet

Surely it won’t be too hard

…right?

“Aaaaghh!”

“You’re not hungry, you’re not sleepy, you’ve already gone to the bathroom! WHAT IS IT!?”

He’s never been so stressed out

Stressed out trying to stop your little face from contorting anymore as you empty your little lungs and exhaust your little vocal cords

He eventually decides he does need help and uses one of the less rotted bodies to go on land and learn among these skin bags so that he knows what to do

“Oh poor sir looks like they’re just hungry for some warm hugs.”

“Is that…really all?”

“Why of course! Babies really hinge on your emotions and attention.”

After he takes in the ‘nurse’s’ wisdom he begins to feel something new

Something full of jealousy that has him snatching your swaddled form before giving a light pat that turns her into a puddle on the floor

Maelstorm easily finds another skin-bag with a nice face to take the body of

Leaving with a skip in his step while the ‘skin-bags’ authorities baffled over the only remnant of a missing ‘nurse’

“I see now to avoid this awful feeling I must make sure all my affection is being given to my pearl.”

From there you can be sure that you’re entire life will be filled with Maelstorm learning about the negative emotions he can get as you grow

True there will be many positive feelings

But he learns that to protect those precious new feelings

Barricading you on abandoned ships and attacking all the skin-bags that come to keep it that way

And even when you grow into the adults he’d previously snacked on

He won’t completely leave humans alone

He pulls back on this snacking habit only because he sees more of you in them

But he’s not going to stop eating them

Especially when he finds your attention drifting from him as you crave more socialization

“As far as I’m concerned all we need is each other. Now do I have to eat this entire village or will you go back to our boat?”

#yandere x you #yandere x reader #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere monster #platonic yanderes #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere platonic #yandere sea monster #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere platonic oc Maelstorm #yandere original character #yandere original characters #yandere original character x reader

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ma1dita · 1 year ago

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BABEEE happy birthday!! (i'm so terribly late i'm so sorry) congrats on 23💖

🐥 so i'm having thoughts right now about luke x reader and physical affection. like maybe one of them being touch starved and always craving the other person's touch and the other person noticing it and doing it more? maybe from platonic (i will go down with best friends to lovers) to romantic, i'm just on this brainrot tonight

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x reader

a/n: back from the klerb but here with a classic 4am post 🥂 but the hangxiety wont let me rest until this is out! ill edit this in the morning... or not 😗

wc: 1.1k

—

It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

Luke Castellan was never a touchy guy. Sure, he’ll hold a new camper’s hand during welcome tours (especially the little ones who can barely keep up with his long legs; if they’re lucky they get a piggy back ride), and he won’t shy away from a clap on the back when his strategies for capture the flag bring his team to victory (they always do, mind you), and when he feels like it, he’ll even shove Annabeth playfully to show her he adores her (but she packs a punch now that she’s older).

It never really goes past that, and he’s never had to think too hard about it—physical touch.

He’s the one who takes care of others—a part of his nature like it is for Hermes’ cabin to take in unclaimed demigods. But something changed in the months that he’s gotten closer to you. At first, he’d bite his tongue at the way you’re so open to patting his cheek when he does something funny (which he doesn’t try to make a show of, but now…), how you choose to sit so close to him during bonfires that your knees touch (the Apollo kids could be singing about the heavens falling down on them for all he cares but he zeroes in on every word that leaves your lips), and the way you’d lock your fingers with him for a pinky promise after every little thing ‘to make sure it’s real’ (Luke didn’t understand the merit of a pinky promise over whether you could have his dessert for the next week if you took over arts and crafts with the kiddie campers for him; truthfully he’d give it to you anyway). It was unusual for him to have someone comfort him, to show care without a true reason. But he didn’t realize how much more it bothered him now that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Silena and some of the other Aphrodite children had asked you the very defining question of, “Do you like Luke Castellan?” and having never thought of it that way, or being able to put your feelings for him in words instead of fingers in his belt loops or in the muss of his curls—that shit was terrifying!

You spent all Saturday afternoon at the docks with them belly down under the glare of the sun’s rays as they explained to you what the five love languages are. By the end of it, sunburn wasn’t the only reason you felt hot.

“Your love language is physical touch,” one of Silena’s older half-siblings—Connelly, says like he’s explaining that the sky is blue, “And Luke’s not that type of guy! Think he’s more acts of service…”

“Ooh, or words of affirmation….” another one of them muses, but the sound of your heartbeat tunes it all out. Well shit, have you been sending him the wrong signals? Or are there even any signals you want to send him?

Nevertheless, in the matters of love or even the tiniest whisper of it—maybe there’s no one else you can trust with this stuff besides Cabin 10.

Wrong.

Absolutely wrong. Whatever the hell you’ve been convinced or whatever’s changed since last weekend—Luke just knows he hates it, and he’s angry. He’s angry at how you gasp in surprise every time you brush shoulders during archery practice when you used to let him fix your form, he’s angry at how you’ll squeeze campers’ shoulders to tell them they’re doing a good job carrying the strawberry crates—and all he gets is a mumbled ‘Thanks, Castellan’ when he stacks them up and takes your load.

Luke’s so terribly angry that Travis told him he’s been walking around like a big strawberry, face red and irritated—but not at you.

He realizes he’s also angry at the fact that he can’t protect you from the onslaught of a rain cloud—or maybe it was the fact that you’re so okay with the rain touching your skin and seeping through your orange shirt like he wishes you’d let him. He’s angry at the way the wind blows your hair into your face and your fingers brush the strands away like he wishes he can. Most of all, Luke Castellan is angry that he didn’t know how good a simple touch could be until he lost it—before he even really got to appreciate yours.

You’re sitting on the opposite end of the row in the amphitheater laughing with your friends and the furrow in his thick brow is a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. Luke doesn’t dare to remember what it’s like before you to be honest—he’d rather give up Elysium instead of having you ignore him like this. He calls your name, a tinge of both anger and desperation until you look over at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks. The hold you have on him transcends the physical touch of your fingers but he wants, no—needs you next to him.

“C’mere! Why are you so far away?”

Luke hopes it doesn’t sound pathetic, but a crooked grin splits across his face as soon as you make your way over, sitting down and crossing your legs away from him. It’s still too far, even if he can feel your breath on his shoulder.

“Did I do something to make you angry? I…” The words escape his mouth in a jumble—quick wit from his father escaping him, though he knows not to rely on that asshole, god or not. You mutter words that almost escape him too, and he leans in, chasing your hands and putting them in his own until they’re gentle and soft in his lap.

“No, no…. I just… don’t want to push your boundaries. I know you don’t like it when I’m too touchy,” and he thinks his heart clenches a little like how you’re squeezing his hands. Luke shouldn’t feel instant gratification from a subconscious action. He wants to know you mean it with him—that’s what he can’t put into words.

“I….like it when you do.”

You notice the way his fingers tangle tighter with yours, pinkys interlocking with yours. When he lets go, Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders until you’re able to laugh in the crook of his neck. He chooses to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth when your head sways to face him at the silly tune about centaurs and then you realize that Luke loves the way you love him. You wonder if he accidentally missed meeting your lips, but then the noise in your head quiets down when he pulls you closer, lips locking tenderly, intentionally—as they were always meant to.

You both hear a giggle that sounds a lot like tinkling bells belonging to children of Aphrodite.

For once they were wrong about love.

Luke’s tongue parts through your lips and meets your own like they’re in a long awaited embrace, dancing and devouring you from the inside out but this, you— are what he can rely on. This, your touch, and how he chooses to let it consume him, never letting go.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎

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once-in-a-blue-moon-rising · 4 months ago

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Seen a few 'maturity is realising that it's not a look of love' videos on Instagram re: 457, and while I do realise it is Not That Deep, I nonetheless have THOUGHTS

The crux of those thoughts is this: has fandom's view of shipping narrowed so far that unless two characters are mashing their faces together on-screen, it's immature to interpret the text contrary to what we assume the creator's intention was?

With this ship specifically, let's start with the obvious: the actors have insane chemistry. This is true whether you see the characters' bond as platonic, romantic, antagonistic, or something else. They are very obviously comfortable and friendly with one another in real life, and this translates into an intense on-screen relationship between Gi-hun and In-ho (and I'm sure this is exactly what the director did want, because, newsflash, this is our protagonist/antagonist duo).

I do think it's valid to ship something based purely off the actors' chemistry, but the comment is obviously referring to the characters themselves in the context of the story, so let's address that too.

There's a clear motivation for the way In-ho stares at Gi-hun, follows him around, and generally tries to insert himself into his life, and this is what these posts are referring to. He's testing his ideology, he's watching how he's affected by the horrific things that are happening around him, and to help him do this, he's ensuring that Gi-hun trusts and likes him. It's important if he wants to prove to him that the world is unchangeable, and humanity irredeemable.

And because of that, it's not the 'look of love'. Case closed?

Well, no.

Because there is so much nuance and depth that you're failing to explore, if a look can only mean one thing.

Because why does In-ho bother? Why is Gi-hun worth his time and interest? In-ho - via the games - has access to resources that far far outweigh the money Gi-hun won. He could prevent him from finding the island forever. He could just have him shot tbh. He's not really a credible threat - at most, he's a minor annoyance, because people need to be paid off every so often to prevent him getting too close.

Just through this detail, we can deduce that In-ho cares, in some way. He is interested enough to want to change Gi-hun's mind, when it would be so much easier to... not. Is it love? It's certainly fascination. And I don't think it can be argued that he brought him back for the VIPs' entertainment and not his own, because Gi-hun was searching for three years before In-ho let himself be found. And even when he's found, it's Gi-hun who suggests going back into the games.

So these stares - yes, he's testing him, but he's doing it because he wants to. They denote genuine interest. How did this guy retain his hope and faith in humanity? How can I prove to him that my view is correct?

And I'm very much not saying that a romantic interpretation is 'correct', because fiction should be interpreted however the audience sees fit, but what is love (in all its forms) if not wanting to know someone and be known by them?

This is even more compelling to me when we take into account In-ho's backstory, which we learn a bit more about in season 2. Because he and Gi-hun are so similar, except in the way they've used their trauma to interpret the world. Which just adds to the evidence that In-ho would be fascinated by this man, be determined to know him and to change his mind.

What I'm saying with all this isn't that 457 is canon, and that anyone who says otherwise is media illiterate. What I'm saying is that the real immature interpretation is one that's surface level, be that interpretation 'uwu he loves him' or 'he's PLOTTING evil things'.

#squid game #seong gi hun #hwang in ho #squid game meta #inhun #457 #btw uwu he does love him AND he's plotting evil things #if you even care

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felassan · 10 months ago

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July 8th Game Informer article on How Romance And Relationships Work In DA:TV - cliff notes:

This game is the team's most romantic yet

Every companion has a Relationship Level related to Rook

Choices you make (about the companion and the world), what you say to them, how you help/don't help them and more all play into it

Every time Relationship Level is levelled up, you unlock a skill point for that companion

Companion skill trees are customizable but not as large as Rook's

Rook's skill tree has passive abilities, combat abilities and more

Each companion has access to 5 abilities. 3 can be taken into combat

"Matt Rhodes hints that companion issues, problems, and personal quests will play into this Relationship Level and how a companion interacts with Rook"

Bellara for example has her own story arc that "story arc that runs parallel to and informs the story path you're on"

Early on is a linear, story-driven mission in Arlathan Forest where Rook searches for Bellara

Corinne: "relationships are key, not only romance but friendships. We wanted to lean into not just the relationships the characters have with you but the relationships they have with each other. It's a found family, and at the end of the day, they need to trust they all have each other's back"

Some romances get quite spicy, but not all

Each romance has a very different flavor

Some characters are straight to the point. Others are more awkward, having never been in a relationship before

Corinne: "You learn who these characters are in how their romances unfold"

Corinne "likens romantic and platonic relationships to another way to 'level up' your companions. It's not just experience and skill points that determine Rook's standing with companions, but diegetic conversations, too"

As we know the companions are all pan

The companions aren't "just going to vie for your affection – they might take attraction to other companions". "Giving one companion the cold shoulder might nudge them into the warm shoulder of someone else on the team". Companions can form romances with each other

It's unknown if that locks Rook out of romance with them

There isn't much in the way of romance in the very early hours of the game, however early on Rook can flirt with Neve

The 'emotional' response that Rook sometimes has a dialogue choice is "romantically-inclined". Corinne says this is the option to flirt and push platonic relationships into romantic territory, "though Rook's flirtatious efforts aren't always reciprocated"

Other dialogue choices seem friendly, snarky and direct

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #lgbtq+

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solkara · 10 months ago

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❛ 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 , jacaerys velaryon and baela targaryen ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , you were born a fighter you had to be the life you lived didn't allow you the liberty of comfort growing up not knowing any form of affection until they came

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , jacaerys velaryon x fem! fighter! reader x baela targaryen

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , okay so ngl this was only meant to be one part but I just had so many idea's. also I know the request said jace and luke but I couldn't help but add my girl baela but dw their is gonna be some platonic luke in the next part heheh

house of the dragon masterlist , next part

⌗ since the day you were born you were alone. your father left you before you were born. your mother died giving birth to you. so from the moment you took your first breath. you were completely and utterly alone. you weren't high born. meaning your name bore you no luxuries nor status to fall back on. you had nothing.

⌗ so like every other common born you turned to the extremes to make ends meet. and your method just so happened to be the most dangerous of them all. fighting. now fights weren't uncommon in kings landing. especially child ones. often done in dark alleyways where hoards of drunks and gamblers came to spectate.

⌗ and while it wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world it paid rather well if you were the winning party. and it was better than becoming a whore. so you tried your hand at it at the ripe age of nine. and haven't looked back since. the fights started off small. meaning small payouts.

⌗ but once you developed a reputation of being undefeated you graduated from street fights with other children and drunks to the big leagues. arena fights. it was no secret that the royals and highborns of king's landing enjoyed watching arena fights. with most betting ridiculous amounts of money on a certain fighter.

⌗ praying to the seven they can reap the rewards. but the more money they gambled the more money there was to be paid out to the winning fighter. which is why you had signed up for every arena fight since the age of sixteen.

⌗ your first had been a memorable one. with everyone counting you out from the jump. which didn't surprise you. as you were surrounded by experienced and stronger fighters. but by playing your cards right you were the last woman standing.

⌗ three years later and you were still undefeated and had become a favourite among the gambling highborn's. as not only were you a safe gamble. but you were also entertaining to watch. life was good. you had more money than you knew what to do with. when you weren't fighting you spent your days in the peace and quiet of your newly purchased home. until the next fight rolled around.

⌗ which just so happened to be a very special one. the fight was in honour of prince jacaerys velaryon's name day. to you it was run of the mill. all you had to do was go out there and win.

⌗ jace sat up on the balcony with his family. waiting for the fight to begin. truth be told he hated events like these. senseless violence that was passed off as exceptionable entertainment. but unfortunately he would have to bare though this as this was being thrown in his honour.

⌗ as he sat between his brother luke and his betrothed baela. he watched as the fighter flooded out of the gates and into the arena. jace's eyes were immediately drawn to a certain individual. she looked the same age as him and baela. though her body was far more toned and littered with scars. wearing scraped silver armour plating. she was as beautiful as she was intimidating.

⌗ and it seemed his betrothed agreed. "she's beautiful isn't she?" baela whispered to him. to which he could only nod. as the two watched the fight on the edge of their seat. the pair knew that they enjoyed duck and goose and were honest with each other very early on in their betrothal. so they had no problem admitting they found another attractive. or inviting them to their bed. and as the two silently looked at each other they knew they had to speak to you. even if it was just once.

⌗ as the fight drew to a conclusion and you once again stood victorious over the rest. walking out of the arena and into the fighter's area. you collected to earnings for the night. but as you went to leave you were stopped by a guard. who informed you that you had been summoned to the royal box.

@avatar4life , Gio, can I get a headcanon for Jacaerys and Lucerys, can be either platonic or romantic your pick, and can you make it about a reader being an arena fighter and them trying to save her and gain her trust? And she's tall and buff with scars scattered around her body. Hope you have a good day or night or evening!!

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crescenthistory · 6 months ago

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i hear searching for fluff. i raise you cat animagus reader and the animal politics that come with being a cat. oh that’s a glass of water you’ve placed on the counter? what a perfect place for my paw to go. they’re a total goodie two shoes but can never stop themselves from swatting at and generally terrorizing sirius, dog form or not. i’ve seen so many videos of woodland animals like stags befriending cats or stealing their food and everyone just being like “wdym i didn’t know they could do that”. reader starts slow blinking at people without realizing. i could go on for forever i would love to see shenanigans and hijinks

beautiful thoughts, i enjoyed all of them. i let them inspire me into a drabble situation of cat!reader terrorising sirius with reg (and rem) on her side. this is just pure chaos and silliness, thank you for the opportunity lovie<3

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, no use of y/n but your cat form is called "whiskers", james and sirius pranked you mildly, you get revenge as a cat, you are only in cat form throughout this, sibling squabbles, super minor injuries (you put your claws in sirius), platonic physical affection, general chaos and fluff

Note: this is technically in the same universe as my other two (first, second) cat!animagus!reader fics with regulus, but can be read alone. it is more of a platonic!sirius x reader fic though, it focusses on the interactions between them + reg, rem and james

Sirius had been made aware by many a parent, professor and otherwise nosey adult, that actions had consequences. Which was all fine and dandy with him, the consequences were often the sole inspiration for his actions.

This, however. This, they did not warn him about.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, trying to shake the feline creature off his shoulder.

Just a few seconds ago, she had been innocently peering down on his textbook, front paws resting on his shoulders as she stood on the top of the sofa he was reclining against. That didn’t last long though, as her claws came out and dug in through the fine material of his shirt, seeking the pain and destruction this evil creature seemed to live off of.

Unaffected by his shaking, she elegantly climbed down his arm – claws still out and still using him as leverage – to plop onto the table before them with a soft prrt!

“Remus, your friend is hurting me,” Sirius sneered at his boyfriend who was sat in a grandfather chair beside him, flipping through a newspaper Sirius was quite certain was out of date.

The other boy hummed noncommittally. “Does she have reason to?” he asked without looking up from the paper.

“No!” Sirius exclaimed at the same time as Regulus said, “absolutely.”

He shot his brother a glare on the other side of the sofa. He was reading through a novel in pristine condition, only looking up to glance fondly at the menace currently parading around the coffee table. Sirius was growing miffed that none of his hangout companions were sparing him any attention.

“I haven’t done anything, and if I had the minx should be over it by now.” Sirius did his best to seem authoritative, but he had a tough crowd.

You hissed at him from where you were standing on the table. Regulus looked up at that with mirth swimming in his eyes despite his impassive facial expression.

“She seems to disagree, Pads,” Remus said nonchalantly. “She’s also been running around as Whiskers for the past few hours, which she only does when she is either really pleased and really upset.”

“And she’s not pleased,” Regulus added unhelpfully.

Sirius muttered something under his breath that amounted to “I wouldn’t be pleased either, if I had to be in a relationship with such a grump” to which he received a throw pillow to the face, another hiss and an admonishing “Pads”.

"It was just a little prank," Sirius defended himself. "It's quite literally what we do." He didn't feel the need to go into the specifics; this was a dog he wanted to bury yesterday. Or, well, cat.

"To no one's enjoyment but your own, I'm sure," Regulus huffed. "If she's bothered by it, that's entirely her right."

Sirius looked to Remus for some backing up, and when he found none, he let out another groan, collapsing further into the sofa in his evident despair.

He would have happily stayed there, bitching and moaning as he pleased, had it not been for the suspicious sounds coming from the coffee table.

There, he found that you had not looked away from him and were sitting disturbingly close to the little homework station he had sat up earlier to then promptly ignore – an open textbook, half-written essay, quill and unscrewed inkpot. The look in your eyes was one you had picked up from Remus in your early days together, full of mischief and tomfoolery.

“Don’t you even dare–” Sirius managed to get out as he sat up in his seat and pointed a chiding finger at you, but the damage was done.

With what almost sounded like cat laughter – something most unknowing students would brush off because why would a cat laugh but Sirius knew all too well must be your joy at his expense – you knocked over his inkpot. The pot was almost full and the ink fell right on top of his essay and textbook. He let out a half-screech as he moved forward to correct the damage, but you walked straight into the pool of ink, ensuring you were spreading it further around his essay and the feather of his quill.

Regulus let out an unrestrained bark of laughter as Sirius sank to the floor in front of you, blabbering anger, while Remus simply snorted as he shook his head, choosing not to get involved yet.

“You furry bastard!” Sirius called out as he picked up his parchment, trying to shake some of the excess ink off, only worsening its condition. “You absolute menace.”

Some of the ink he shook off got on your fur, adding to what was already coating your paws from dragging it around. You solved this in the only manner that made sense in cat-world – by launching yourself at Sirius, effectively doubling his screeches within the second.

“Oi! Oi!” Sirius kept calling as you hopped onto his chest, burying your claws into him so he couldn’t simply shake you off, ink smearing all over Sirius’ previously white shirt. The assault of a lifetime, if you asked him. “Azkaban! Azkaban for all of you!” he called when he saw Regulus doubling over with laughter on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Pads! What’s going on, mate?” James’ voice called as he came half-running over after spotting the commotion the second he entered the common room.

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but upon James spotting the feline devil currently attempting to smear more of the ink across his being, he interrupted with a coo.

“Oh, hi there little Whiskers!” James greeted, bending down to pick you up by the neck. In that James-Potter-way he simply peeled you off of Sirius and held you out before him, just far enough that the ink wouldn’t get on him. “What’s got you in such a tizzy, huh?” he asked, poking at you with his free hand which earned him a petulant hiss.

“The bloody puma destroyed my essay and leaped at me,” Sirius huffed as he clambered back up, ignoring how he sounded like a first year telling on a classmate to McGonagall.

“I believe she is seeking revenge from that little stunt you two pulled earlier,” Remus drawled from his seat, sharing a look with Regulus who rolled his eyes. They knew.

“Which is fully within her right, I must add,” Regulus said, ever the devoted boyfriend. Bloody lucky you. “And she’s not a puma, you wanker, you’re just scared of cats.”

“Slander! ‘M not!” Sirius defended himself, but James ignored him, turning his attention to the cat wriggling in his grip.

“Did we upset you, little kitten?” James asked so friendly you almost wouldn’t catch the teasing in his tone. “So sorry. Next time we’ll hex your tie a different colour. Robe too, yeah?”

Upon receiving another hiss from you and a lunge of your paw, James outright giggled and petted the top of your head carefully, neutralising you if for but a moment.

“How come she’s forgiving you right away? I have had my property destroyed and was lightly maimed in her quest for revenge!” Sirius shook his head in disapproval, attempting to stare you down. It wasn't turning out to be fruitful.

“Sirius, I have a question for you.” Regulus didn’t continue until Sirius reluctantly met his gaze. “Did you know – and be honest with me now – that you’re a wizard?”

Before Sirius could give him a snarky response, Regulus had waved his wand casually over the ink pools on the table and stains on his clothes, cleaning both up effectively as if nothing had happened. Then he gave Sirius a smug smile that made him want to turn into Padfoot and lunge at him – which probably wasn’t a good idea given there were other people in the room.

“Imbécile grossier,” Sirius muttered under his breath as he kicked a leg out at Regulus, intended more for effect than harm.

He received a “connard stupide” in return as Regulus dodged any further assault by getting up and walking over to James, who was now fully petting the rabid killer, whispering something about “please forgive me, it was just too funny not to”. Traitor.

“Hey there, amour,” Regulus said as he picked you up out of James’ arms. “Are you regretting marrying into the family?”

You made a huffing sound, climbing out of his arms to settle along his shoulders, over his neck, were you could cuddle against him while still scowling at Sirius.

“You and me both, sister,” Remus mumbled half-heartedly. Sirius gasped at him with every theatrical bone in his body, earning him an eye roll and – at last – for Remus to abandon the paper to give him a quick smooch.

“I didn’t realise sister-in-laws were allowed to be as sibling-y as an actual sister,” James mused as he folded his arms to take in the scene before him.

“She’s not,” Sirius argued, extracting another eye roll from Remus who patted his thigh placatingly. “Cats are just evil.”

“You could always confront her as Pads, you know, level the playing field,” James suggested.

“Absolutely not.” Regulus turned around so his body was shielding the cat on his shoulders from the three boys. “Not that I doubt she would win against your clumsy self any day, but let’s not even go there.”

Sirius and James barked a laugh that was disturbingly similar while Remus shook his head. “Don’t worry Reg, the less time I can spend around kittens, the better,” Sirius said briskly, feeling emboldened by James’ presence.

You poked your head around Regulus’ neck at that, so that the two of you could share a look. It’s always peculiar for Sirius to see how much understanding seems to pass between you two, especially when in different forms altogether. It's not something he expected for his baby brother and he feels his heart warm at the display – which he promptly pushes down to focus on the war currently playing out in Gryffindor.

As if you two reached an agreement through just that look, you butted your head against Regulus’ cheek while he nodded. Carefully, he manoeuvred you into his arms and plopped you down on the armrest of Remus’ chair, and disappeared from sight to a secluded corner of the common room.

“What in Merlin’s name just happened?” Sirius mused out loud, exchanging bemused glances with James who plopped down beside him.

“Oh, I’m sure it was nothing good.” Remus smiled through his words as he freed one of his hands to scratch under your chin, causing you to purr and brush your feline body closer to his arm. Sirius would be remiss if he didn’t think the sight of pure love between you two wasn’t adorable, but to hells if he would admit it before you two reached a truce.

Your purring was interrupted as you let out a soft prrt! for seemingly no apparent reason, and reached up to give Remus’ cheek a soft cat kiss – that made the boy’s face crinkle into a smile – before jumping down onto the floor. There, Sirius saw the reason for your joy and felt his heart drop in his chest.

“Oh, hi, Shadow,” Remus greeted the black cat that made a beeline for you on the floor, brushing his body against yours with soft purrs. “Come to join in on your brother’s torment?”

“Absolutely not–” Sirius started, but before he could get up and out of his seat, both cats had jumped up onto his legs and made their way to his lap. “What are you guys doing? Get off?!”

James was giggling once more beside him and Sirius had half a mind to throw the cats at him and run away. Though, he was beginning to doubt whether he would be able to as he saw the determination in Regulus’ eyes.

“I believe they’re making you eat your words, love.” The smile in Remus’ voice was so evident that had he not been as handsome as he was, Sirius would have smacked him.

His arms were frozen at his sides, hands hovering in the air, unsure of where to go as he watched the two cats settle down in his lap in horror. Your bodies were horizontal with his and flush against each other’s, becoming liquid in the cuddle puddle you were currently creating.

Sirius tried hissing at you to no avail as Regulus only slapped him with his paw in response. He tried shifting slightly to push you off, but you buried your claws through the fabric of his trousers – Sirius would give Remus a run for his money as the scarred one of the group after you were finished with him. He tried looking to James and Remus for help, but neither boy were willing as they took far too much enjoyment in the show. Remus at least pretended not to as he “read”, but James was fully angled towards him to see the events unfold, shoulders shaking with mirth.

A sigh escaped Sirius as he accepted his fate. “I hate you lot,” he said decisively. “Each and every one of you.”

Regulus made a noise that sounded like it was in disagreement with his statement while Remus just hummed. James nodded his head as if to say “fair”.

You, however, picked your head up from where it was resting over Regulus’ and just stared at Sirius. Usually he felt like he could read you quite well in feline form, which he assumed was due to some skills of Padfoot’s transferring over, but right now you were impossible to understand. You held his gaze head on, almost as if you were studying him, but your breaths were coming so slowly you had to be calm, right? Though this forced proximity was clearly a form of punishment, you were growing comfortable. Was he forgiven?

His train of thought was interrupted as the staring competition you had for a few seconds was interrupted – by you blinking. Slowly. Keeping your gaze on him but fully closing your eyes intermittently.

A slow grin spread across Sirius’ face.

He didn’t know a lot about cats and he principally disliked them. But he did know what that meant.

“Yeah, yeah, princess,” he mumbled as his cheeks almost grew a bit red. “You too.”

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