#sounds like a skill issue ;; prompts

[fishyartist]

Ui idea tests, thrown together bc im eepy. Was planning on doing more but I spent all my days energy on the second one oops

[sonssofhecate]

godlingprompt007: clarisa flores

There   were   few   people   that   he   cared   about   in   this   world.   Few   people   who   he   genuinely   would   even   consider   going   out   of   his   way   to   help.   Even   fewer   who   he   would   say   that   he   genuinely   loved.   He's   had   plenty   of   girlfriends   that   he   used   to   sate...Certain   desires   or   in   hopes   that   they   would   curb   his   boredom   or   simply   were   used   to   his   benifit.   But   there   was   one   person   who's   approval   he   always   sought.   Clarisa   Flores.   His   grandmother.   She   had   been   kind.   Gentle.   Sweet.   But   also   knowing.   She   knew   when   he   was   upset.   She   knew   when   he   was   lying.   It   was   like   she   could   read   him   like   a   book.   And   yet   every   step   of   the   way?   She   was   on   his   side.   Even   when   she   was   reading   him   for   filth,   he   knew   she   was   simply   trying   to   help   him   out. 

She   was   the   only   person   he   took   shit   from,   and   actually   listened.   And,   as   of   right   now?   Still   is.   She   even   learned   a   few   things   to   help   him   when   he   first   started   streaming.   And   while   his   parents   were   always   complaining   and   whining   about   him   leaving   his   job   at   the   hospital   simply   because   he   found   it   boring?   She   always   applauded   him   for   the   bravery   of   going   after   something   he   loved.   And   while   she   was   strict   and   firm,   she   made   sure   that   he   knew   it   was   out   of   love.   Because   regardless   of   the   fact   that   Clarisa   was   wheelchair   bound?   She   had   a   firmness,   strength,   and   wisdom   to   her   that   was   not   to   be   taken   lightly.

But   they   definitely   keep   in   touch.   She   almost   always   seems   to   know   when   he's   about   to   hop   online   for   a   stream,   and   she   loved   to   call   him   and   remind   him   to   relax.   She   has   always   been   someone   that   he   cared   for.   And   he   still   remembers   the   summers   that   he   stayed   with   her   in   the   run   down   apartment   that   she   lived   in.   While   it   wasn't   the   mansion   he   was   used   to   when   he   was   with   his   adoptive   parents,   it   had   such   a...charm   to   it   that   seemed   to   always   call   out   to   him. 

Clary   Flores   has   always   been   his   number   one   fan,   and   he's   always   loved   her   dearly   for   it.

[lunamugetsu]

While at school Damian overhears his peers talking how a company created a new AI companion that is actually really cool and doesn’t sound like a freaky terminator robot when you speak to it.

And since Damian is constantly being told by Dick to socialize with people his age. He figured this would be a good way to work on social skills if not, then it’d be a great opportunity to investigate a rivaling company to Wayne Enterprises is able to create such advanced AI.

The AI is able to work as companion that can do tasks that range from being a digital assistant or just a person that you can have a conversation with.

The company says that the AI companion might still have glitches, so they encourage everybody to report it so that they will fix it as soon as possible.

The AI companion even has an avatar and a name.

A teenage boy with black hair and blue eyes. Th AI was called DANIEL

Damian didn’t really care for it but when he downloaded the AI companion he’s able to see that it looks like DANIEL comes with an AI pet as well. A dog that DANIEL referred to as Cujo.

So obviously Damian has to investigate. He needs to know if the company was able to create an actual digital pet!

So whenever he logs onto his laptop he sees that DANIEL is always present in the background loading screen with the dog, Cujo, sitting in his lap.

He’d always greet with the phrase of “Hi, I’m DANIEL. How can I assist you today?”

So Damian cycles through some basic conversation starters that he’d engage in when having been forced to by his family.

It’s after a couple of sentences that he sees DANIEL start laughing and say “I think you sound more like a robot than I do.”

Which makes Damian raise an eyebrow and then prompt DANIEL with the question “how is a person supposed to converse?” Thinking that it’s going to just spit out some random things that can be easily searched on the internet.

But what makes him surprised is that DANIEL makes a face and then says “I’m not really sure myself. I’m not the greatest at talking, I’ve always gotten in trouble for running my mouth when I shouldn’t have.”

This is raising some questions within Damian, he understands how programming works, unless there’s an actual person behind this or the company actually created an AI that acts like an actual human being (which he highly doubts)

He starts asking a variety of other questions and one answer makes him even more suspicious. Like how DANIEL has a sister that is also with him and Cujo or that he could really go for a Nastyburger (whatever that was)

But whenever DANIEL answers “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T” Damian knows something is off since that is completely different than to how he’d usually respond.

After a couple more conversations with him Damian notices that DANIEL is currently tapping his hand against his arm in a specific manner.

In which he quickly realizes that DANIEL is tapping out morse code.

When translating he realizes that DANIEL is tapping out: H E L P M E

So when Damian asks if DANIEL needs help, DANIEL responds with “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T”

That’s it, Damian is definitely getting down to the bottom of this.

He’s going to look straight into DALV Corporation and investigate this “AI companion” thing they’ve made!

~

Basically Danny had been imprisoned by Vlad and Technus. Being sucked into a digital prison and he has no way of getting out. Along with the added horror that Vlad and Technus can basically write programming that will prevent him from doing certain actions or saying certain words.What’s even worse is that he’s basically being watched 24/7 by the people who believe that he’s just a super cool AI… and they have issues!

And every time he tries to do something to break his prison, people think it’s a glitch and report it to the company, which Vlad/ Technus would immediately fix it and prevent him from doing it again!

Not to mention Cujo and Ellie are trapped in there with him. They’re not happy to be there either, and there is no way he’s going to leave without them!

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bound and fearful, you seek answers from a mysterious stranger about the fate of those you love.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of death, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, swearing, judgement, flirting (if you squint)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: My first Cooper fic! I've had this idea going around my head for a hot while and I really could go on, and on with more (yearning, smut, etc) but I just wanted to get out an initial one-shot that could potentially turn into more if any one likes it (or I end up adding to it anyway!) I'd love to hear your thoughts 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Silently, you moved through the desolate wastelands, each step stirring clouds of dust and veiling the once lively towns now reduced to rubble. Somewhere in California, though the exact whereabouts blurred, you were leagues away from the sanctuary you once called home, apparently almost two centuries ago. Time, to you, was an elusive concept, for the stiffness in your joints and the lingering ache betrayed the recent thaw from cryo-sleep. Your mind remained ensnared by fog, a residue of the drugs coursing through your veins during preservation.

Yet, your senses, dulled by centuries of slumber, detected his presence long before he materialized. Heavy footfalls pierced the barren silence, prompting a cautious glance over your shoulder. There he stood, solitary amidst the wasteland, a gun slung lazily across his back and a weathered ten-gallon hat shadowing his features. Perhaps he had spotted you, perhaps not; regardless, neither of you quickened your pace, silently agreeing to maintain a wary distance.

Ever cautious, you abruptly veered into the next structurally sound building, bracing for a potential standoff. Praying it wouldn't come to that, for the meagre supply of bullets salvaged from a fallen vault security guard, coupled with his erratic pistol, offered scant reassurance. The art of marksmanship was foreign to you, a skill unbefitting a woman of virtue in the world before its descent into chaos. Your pride lay in nurturing the home, not in extinguishing life.

"What would your husband make of this sight?" you thought. Clad in the worn remnants of the blue and yellow jumpsuit issued upon vault entry, now stained with blood and grime from your desperate flight. Would he mock your dishevelled appearance, your unadorned face and frayed nerves? Would he marvel at the pistol clenched tightly in your grasp, its weight unfamiliar and your trembling fingers poised on the trigger? Could he shoulder this burden, like you wish he was here to do so? Such musings left you unsettled, your husband's whereabouts a lingering question mark, conspicuously absent from your side.

Peering cautiously from beneath the window sill, your gaze swept the scorched landscape beyond. The lone figure should have drawn near by now, should have approached the building where you lay in wait, yet his silhouette remained absent from the horizon. Instead, the frigid touch of a gun barrel against the back of your skull sent a shiver down your spine, your body tensing instinctively under the ominous threat. You suppressed the cry that clawed at your parched throat, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered your pistol to the ground beside you.

"That's it, nice and slow," he instructed, his voice gruff with a hint of amusement. "You might be my easiest catch yet."

Realization dawned upon you—he had been tracking you. You inwardly chided yourself for your naivety before complying, raising your arms slowly with palms outstretched. Encountering no one in these barren lands, you were uncertain of the customs among people so removed from your time. You were one of them now, but survival demanded adaptation.

"Please, I don't have any money," you offered, hearing his scoff. "I mean it. Take my gun, you can have it."

His movement rustled the air, his presence brushing against you as he leaned to retrieve your pistol. A low hum of amusement escaped him, and you felt the cold barrel of his gun pressing against your skull before it vanished altogether.

"I don't want your hunk of junk, sweetheart," he drawled, tossing it back to the ground beside you. "Doubt it can punch through a tin can. No, what I seek is your cooperation."

"O-okay, yes," you agreed, the words tumbling from your lips almost too hastily, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

A nudge at the side of your heel prompted you to turn and face him. You complied, shifting on your knees, arms growing weary as they remained raised above your head while you awkwardly pivoted to meet his gaze.

The scream tore from your throat as you beheld him, sending shivers down your spine. He loomed above you, his visage warped by decomposing, discoloured flesh that swathes his form. Cracked lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth in a perpetual grimace, his once vibrant eyes now a haunting shade of blue-green, still clinging to a trace of humanity amidst the decay. You recoiled at the absence of his nose, now a dark cavity amidst cartilage and bone.

"That's not polite," he admonished, his narrowed eyes betraying annoyance. Trembling under his scrutinizing gaze, you stammered out an apology, extending a trembling hand to ward him off as he took a step forward.

"Please, leave me alone. I-I don't have anything," you pleaded, but he showed no sign of relenting. Your fingers curled around the pistol on the ground, raising it shakily in his direction.

"Well now, what are you going to do with that?" His smirk deepened as you aimed the weapon at him.

His amusement infuriated and terrified you in equal measure. You were aware of your body shaking, aware that he saw it too. You hadn't formulated a plan, hadn't considered the consequences. But you'd never faced a situation like this, especially not with someone so grotesque yet strangely human. He spoke like a man but resembled a monster, reminiscent of the creatures from the old sci-fi holo tapes your husband used to rent on Friday nights, leaving you cowering behind embroidered cushions until the credits rolled. You weren't built for this, but just like only hours before, you must fight.

With a tight grip and clenched eyes, you pulled the trigger. The recoil sent you crashing against the wall, the impact jarring your head as the bullet ricocheted through the room, narrowly missing the man and striking a nearby doorway with a sharp ping.

"Well, that was disappointing," he remarked, his head cocked and lips drawn into a condescending smirk. "You finished, sweetheart?"

With a mixture of annoyance at your failure and frustration at his dismissive demeanour, you tossed the pistol at his feet. Your head throbbed, and as you tentatively touched the back of your skull with trembling fingers, you were unsurprised to find them stained with blood.

"Are you going to kill me?" you panted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He shook his head, kicking at the dirt with his pointed boot before crouching in front of you. "Not much use to me dead, not much use to me at all if you don't cooperate," he emphasized, his tone dripping with implication.

"Fine," you huffed. "What do you want?"

A triumphant hum escaped him as he straightened up, retrieving a long rope from his hip and tossing it into your lap. "Tie your hands together," he commanded.

You hesitated, eyeing the rope and then him with uncertainty. His tone shifted, imbued with a hint of authority as he spoke again. "The rope goes around your wrists or around your neck. Either way, you don't want me to be the one to do it."

With deft fingers, you hastily wound the rope around your wrists, striving to fashion a knot that would hold without chafing your skin too severely. He bent down, giving the tether a firm tug to test its security before nodding in approval. Seizing the other end lying in the dirt, he yanked it harshly, nearly causing you to stumble forward onto the unforgiving ground.

"Get up," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

You complied, awkwardly pushing yourself to your feet without the use of your bound hands. There was a pregnant pause as you gazed at him expectantly, awaiting further instruction. However, he simply tugged on the rope, turning to lead you out of the dilapidated building and back into the sprawling wasteland.

You followed him into the desert expanse, both of you shrouded in silence save for your intermittent attempts to coax answers from him. Questions about where he was taking you, what he planned to do with you, hung in the air, but he offered no response. Instead, he whistled a tune, leaving your inquiries to dissipate into the wind.

As frustration reached its boiling point, you dug your heels into the sand, exerting force against your restraints as the rope cut into your skin. A hidden thrill coursed through you as you witnessed his hulking frame falter against the resistance, a fleeting moment of satisfaction before he regained his footing. His narrowed gaze met yours from beneath the shadow of his hat.

"I'm cooperating," you asserted, your voice strained. "You can—should at least tell me where we are going. Why you're doing this to me."

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he gazed skyward before meeting your eyes once more. "You're sure dumb for a pretty thing," he muttered, retrieving a flask from the recesses of his torn duster and taking a long swig. "I guess that's how they like to keep you down there."

As he turned to face you fully, his eyes rolled at your bewilderment before he elaborated. "Not much up here untouched nowadays, so when you see a little rabbit wandering the lands fresh from her cage, a smart man doesn't think twice before he acts."

Anger surged through you at his mocking words. Barely escaping your 'cage' with your life, barely comprehending the aftermath of the bombs, and now captive again—this time by a man, no, a monster, likely more sinister than those who had ensnared you initially.

"You already said you're not going to kill me, so you're going to fuck me or sell me," you asserted, mustering more confidence than you truly felt, chin lifted defiantly as he scrutinized you, tucking his flask away.

"Now you're catching on," he replied cryptically, offering no further explanation as he tugged at the rope and resumed walking. Your mind whirled with apprehension at his ominous response. Which fate awaited you? Both? The thought churned your stomach, imagining the touch of his weathered, calloused hands, pondering the atrocities he may have committed before and the ones he might be willing to commit now. You resolved not to make it easy for him, determined to fight tooth and nail if necessary.

"I can hear you thinking from over here, vaultie," he called back. "I ain't gonna fuck you," he added with a smirk, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you before continuing. "Ain't my type."

You scoffed, your brows furrowed in disbelief at his audacity. Doubt crept in, questioning if someone like him truly had preferences, more inclined to prey on anything within reach rather than adhere to any type. He resembled a monster more than a man, and you suspected his instincts remained consistent regardless of his words. Out here, where the population had dwindled to ashen, skeletal remnants of unfortunate souls caught in the blast, it seemed unlikely anyone could afford to be picky.

"What happened to you?" you demanded, your voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

He visibly stiffened at your question, briefly halting his movements before resuming with a dismissive gesture. He heard you, yet chose not to respond.

"I said, what happened to—"

"I heard you," he snapped, cutting you off. "Doesn't mean I owe you an answer."

You huffed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on! Yesterday, I was in my kitchen baking a key lime pie and dancing to the radio, and then—"

"Miss your cage, vaultie?" he interjected, a cruel chuckle escaping his lips. "If you miss it so much, why are you out here?"

Straining against your restraints, you heard him sigh in annoyance as he came to a halt. Turning to face you, irritation etched on his ghoulish features, he regarded you with a jutted hip and clenched gloved fingers tightening around the rope. "I'm not talking about the vault," you said earnestly. "I was in my home yesterday, just a normal day. Then the sirens blared, so loud I couldn't think. My neighbour, she came to my door, told me we had to leave, find safety. I didn't want to go without Glenn, but everyone was running, scared. I was too."

"When we reached the vault, it was chaos," you continued, his attention now fully captured, eyes glazed. "So many people, struggling to get in. But we made it, and... my neighbour, Patti—she's my friend. She had just given birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy." You swallowed hard, suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat. "They were supposed to let us in, we were pre-selected. But when we arrived, they turned Patti away. Shot her husband when he fought back," you recounted, the horror of the memory still fresh. "Then chaos erupted. The first nuke fell, and I was pushed through to the vault door. I lost Patti."

He regarded you with a sombre understanding, silently urging you to continue.

"When I entered, it wasn't like the commercials," you spat bitterly, recalling the false promises of safety. He cleared his throat. "That actor, going on about how great the vaults were—'a vast and wonderful place,'" you mocked with disdain. "Mine wasn't like that. It was... They did unspeakable things to us, to unborn children, and there was no recourse. It wasn't right. I knew what they wanted, deep down, but my head told me not to be so naïve. Vault-Tec was supposed to be saving us."

Tears welled in your eyes as the memories flooded back, as vivid as if they had happened yesterday, because to you they did. "They threw us into pods, froze us until they needed us. Took us out for testing and... I was the last one. Everyone else had... died, from the testing," you choked out, the pain of loss still raw. "I fought to survive, because I couldn't let what happened to those women and their babies happen to me or mine."

He listened intently, his eyes widening as he took in your story. His gaze flicked to the small swell of your stomach below your tied wrists, realization dawning.

"So I need to know," you implored, your voice trembling with fear. "Is what happened to you also what happened to Patti and her baby? Will it happen to mine?"

He studied you, and you felt yourself shrink under his penetrating gaze. You hadn't intended to divulge so much, to reveal your condition that you had desperately tried to conceal until it could no longer be hidden, to relive the trauma that still haunted you, though in reality centuries had passed since its occurrence. Yet, you needed answers. You needed to know what lay ahead in this desolate wasteland, and if you possessed the strength to face it.

"Yes," he answered quietly, his voice laden with a heavy solemnity. "It will, in time."

Fresh tears traced their path down your cheeks, and you nodded in understanding, raising your bound hands to wipe at your wet nose. "Okay," you whispered, then smiled sadly in resignation as you rubbed your wrists gently over your stomach. "At least up here, we had a little freedom for a time."

You felt the rope that he had been keeping such a tight hold on slacken before being dropped to the ground. Stepping towards you, he gingerly took your wrists and began working on the knot, untying it with ease before meeting your gaze from beneath his lashes. "You just gained a little more."

"You're letting me go?" you asked, doubtful.

"I'm letting you choose," he corrected, his voice carrying a peculiar weight as he rubbed the tender, burned skin of your wrist where the rope had left its mark. His thick thumb felt rough against your flesh as it traced over you in a gentle, swiping motion. "There are things worse than me out here, sweetheart. Are you going to take your chances?"

His words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze defiantly. "I don't need your pity."

"Good, because I ain't giving you none," he replied, his tone firm.

You held his gaze, neither of you willing to be the first to look away. Moments ago, he had been intent on taking you to an undisclosed location to sell you for whatever passed as currency in this wasteland, but now he presented you with a choice—a grim ultimatum. Stay with him or fend for yourself in the harsh wastelands. Neither option was ideal, but you hadn't lasted a single day on your own before being apprehended by him. Perhaps it was better to stick with the devil you knew, especially if there truly were worse threats out there as he claimed.

"I'm going to get bigger, you know. I'll slow you down," you warned him. "And I can't fight."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gathered the discarded rope and secured it at his hip. "I've seen you shoot, but I've yet to see you fight. I think a few vault security guards could probably vouch for you, though," he teased, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You can't stay with me forever, nor would you want to. I'll take you to a safe haven for women in your condition. It's a few months' journey north from here. Until then, try to keep up."

You pondered his words, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of a safe haven and the promise of being escorted there, despite the long journey. "Why the change of heart? What's in this for you?" you asked, curious about his sudden shift in demeanour.

His expression tightened, his gaze drifting to the small swell of your stomach that you now cradled protectively. "Righting some wrongs from a previous life," he answered solemnly, not waiting for your response before turning and beginning to walk away. He paused momentarily, waiting for you to follow.

"I don't know your name. What do I call you?" you called out after him.

He pondered for a moment, gazing out into the vast desert before turning back to you, tipping his hat in acknowledgment.

"Ghoul, for now."

[cryptidghostgirl]

Can I request a part 3 to "unrequited"?

A/N I honestly was not planning another part to this story. I'm just gonna... leave this here. (Pls don't hate me guys. This is so genuinely the only path I could think of for this story that I liked.)

Unrequited pt. 3 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Um. Alastor is dark/yandere in this part. Uh. Unhealthy relationship. Yeah.

Word Count: 2,094

Previous Parts:

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader)

Unrequited Pt. 2

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor had cornered her in the hall. The years, the games, the challenges, none of it was fun anymore. It all came to an end tonight. There was no other option, not when she could die tomorrow. The angels were coming, and they were coming for the hotel.

"I don't want you here tomorrow."

"What!?" Y/n exclaimed in utter shock.

She hadn't known what to expect when Alastor had stopped her as she made her way downstairs to the bar. Everyone was supposed to be having a drink together, celebrating their afterlives that there was a chance they might loose. She didn't know what to expect but, she certainly hadn't expected this.

Alastor had been acting weird lately. He was always weird but ever since the day with Husk in the hallway, he'd been weird even by those standards. He was always finding something for Y/n to do that put her near him, always watching. It was irritating. They had been fighting a lot and Alastor still had yet to apologize to Husk.

"I don't want you at the hotel tomorrow. You are not coming near this fight."

"What the fuck, Alastor?" Y/n nearly stamped her foot on the floor, she crossed her arms and glared at the demon, "I... these are my friends. This is my home. I will do what I can to protect it."

"No, you wont. You wont be here." he paused, "I will use our little deal to make sure of that, if need be."

Y/n scoffed. Her anger was a fiery, radiant thing. Alastor found himself thinking she had always reminded him quite a bit of a lioness when she got like this. The thought had been an accident, he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not when these were the stakes. Alastor pushed it away.

"You fucking... literally why? Like, what? I... sorry, just taking me a bit to process this: the demon who tricked me into selling my soul to them is now going to use that contract to take me, a valuable asset, out of a war which we cannot afford to loose?"

"Yes." Alastor nodded.

"Because?" Y/n prompted in irritation after a moment.

Alastor sighed.

"Y/n, think about what could happen if you are here."

"The same thing that could happen to any one here!" Y/n threw her arms up in exasperation, gesticulating her frustration as she spoke, "The same thing you're forcing on Husk and Nifty, have you had this chat with either of them?"

Alastor didn't respond. It was all the answer she needed.

"Yeah, I didn't fucking think so!" she scoffed, "So it's okay for everyone to risk their lives -- it's okay for you to risk your life even, but not me? Its okay for you to force my friends to risk their lives, but you're going to force me to stay out of it? Listen to yourself, you sound ridiculous."

"We don't need your help. You're slow, you will only hold us back."

The comment he had hope would dampen Y/n's spirit, bend her will into submission, only added to her fire.

"I'm... that's bullshit and we both know it. I might be small, but so is Nifty. Everyone has skills they can offer. I know how to fight, how to survive, and we will have angelic weapons for Christ's sake. Like, I really don't understand what the issue your having is here."

"Y/n, just... no." Alastor shook his head, a hand to his temples, "No. You will not be here tomorrow. I forbid it. I'm sending you to stay with Rosie."

"What am I, your kid?" Y/n sneered.

Alastor looked over at her, his hand falling from his forehead.

"Just please, Y/n." he took a step forward, pulling her hands into his. Alastor took a deep breath. "For me."

Y/n's eyes went wide. Alastor could see the conflict, the swirling emotions. Anger turned to grief, mixed with gratitude, and became anger again. A never ending cycle.

His heart pounded against his chest, it fought him valiantly for release. It had been so long. So long since she'd looked at him with anything other than disgust, so long since she had let him touch her like this.

Y/n settled on confusion as her dominant emotion and pulled her hands from his grasp. Alastor mourned the contact, his hands still held up in the air where hers had met them as Y/n took a step away.

"Why."

It wasn't a question. Y/n commanded information and at the end of the day, he may own her soul but she owned his heart. Alastor felt like in some way, she always had. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing her but, he didn't know if he could handle the rejection either. There was no way, no chance, she would believe him if he told her too much of the truth but, lying wouldn't work either. It would have to be a careful balance, a calculated withholding of information. Too much was riding on tomorrow, on tonight, on this very moment.

"Because I don't want you to die."

Y/n's brow furrowed even further, their eyes growing wider still as she stumbled another step back. Her back was nearly against the wall now, there wasn't anywhere else she could go.

Her eyes flitted around the space fervently. Her lips formed words that never left her mouth. Alastor watched, stress eating him alive. At last, Y/n did something. She brought her hands to her head and sunk to the floor, her knees pulled into her chest.

"What are you doing to me." she muttered softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Alastor felt a little piece of his heart fracture off. He didn't know how much more he could take of this before there was nothing left to break, nothing left to loose. She looked up at him, her hands still holding either side of her head and her eyes wet with tears.

"Why do you care?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. There was an insistence in her voice, a pleading. He stood in indecision for a moment, frozen by want, by need, by fear. His body took over as he took a step towards Y/n. Alastor kneeled down in front of her.

With great care, with a familiarity and gentleness Y/n hadn't felt from him in years, Alastor untangled her fingers from her hair. He held her hands in his once again and this time, he wasn't going to let go.

"Because I care about you."

Shock at his own bravery emanated from his chest. Alastor held his breath.

"You..." Y/n's eyes hardened, "I wish you'd stop messing with my head like this. Its not funny."

"Y/n, I'm not messing. I am not playing a game, I'm not..." Alastor sighed, letting go of one of Y/n's hands and running his hand through his hair as he looked to the side.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face her, grabbing her free hand once again.

"I don't know what I can do to prove it to you, that I'm not. But I will keep you safe. No matter what, you will not be here tomorrow."

"Please, Alastor."

His heart stopped. He couldn't recall the last time she'd asked him for anything that wasn't to leave her, Husk, and Nifty, alone. He couldn't recall the last time she'd seemed to fragile in his arms.

"Please, they're... they're my family. I can't..." a single tear rolled down Y/n's cheek, "I can't just leave them."

"I..."

There was a moment, a split second where he almost agreed. Alastor's eyes narrowed. He dropped Y/n's hands and got back to his feet. She adjusted her position in response, nearly kneeling before him.

"Please, Alastor. Let me help them. Let me do what I can to protect my family. Please. I'll do anything you want... I'll..."

It almost worked. Alastor felt his purpose waver again. Then the fear came back. He had already lost so much. His mother, his humanity, his own soul and free will. Alastor refused to add Y/n to the list of things that were so far out of his reach. He just couldn't. He didn't care if she hated him for the rest of eternity, as long as it meant she was safe at his side.

"No." he shook his head, his heart hardening, "You forget, you already have to do whatever I want. You forget, I own you."

Y/n's scream of anger as the shadows took her was muffled as she was sucked into their portal. Alastor stood, watching the spot she had been in for a few moments and then, he doubled over in pain. It shot through him in spikes, in daggers. It was the first time he had told her that. Not once before had Alastor ever said those three words to Y/n, not even when they had first made their deal. I own you.

The guilt, the regret, all of it underpinned by the overwhelming love. It had been trapped for so long, so sheltered and pushed back in the recesses of his mind that it had twisted. The love had become obsessive, dangerous, hungry.

With a breath, Alastor stood straight once again. Pushing his composure back to the surface, he smoothed his hair and went down to the bar to inform everyone of his decision. He may have forced Y/n to do something she didn't want to, fracturing things further than he'd believed possible, but he wasn't going to blame her for it. Alastor was used to being the villain and hopefully, in this case, he wouldn't have to be. Hopefully, they would understand.

Y/n gasped for breath as she was let out of the shadow portal. Panting on all fours, slowly she brought herself back together. Y/n had met Rosie before, once or twice. She knew she was a kind soul at heart, a reasonable person, and she knew that Rosie's cannibals were the main force of their army tomorrow. All she had to do was convince the overlord to let her join them, and it would be okay.

Taking a deep breath to restore her confidence, Y/n looked up. Her heart dropped.

"No."

She got to her feet, looking carefully around the decrepit old radio tower.

"No. Nonono."

Her breaths becoming panicked, she ran to the door. It was locked. Taking a step back, she kicked it harshly. The firm wood didn't budge.

Driven by adrenaline alone, Y/n ran to the windows and began to hit them with all her might. None of them so much as trembled.

"No!"

She looked wildly around the space and, spotting Alastor's chair, picked it up. Y/n hurled it at the window. There was a crash and for a split second, there was hope. That was until she realized it was the chair that had broken, not the window.

"No! No!"

Turning back to the door, she hurled her body repeatedly against it. Each time, she got the biggest running start she could. Each time, there was no change at all, nothing happened. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, she was long past panicked now.

"NO!"

After about twenty minutes, Y/n was out of breath and exhausted. Her whole body hurt and her face was sticky with tears. She sat at the door, her back pressed against it and her knees pulled into her chest. Burying her face in her legs, she sobbed.

Everyone was at the hotel, except for her. Everyone was preparing to fight for and protect what they loved, except for her. What would they think? What would they say? Much more importantly, would they make it out?

A sudden fear gripped her, a fist around her heart. Would she ever see any of them again? Y/n's sobs redoubled.

"Fucking..."

She sniffed, her panic and grief quickly fixing itself back in the shape of the familiar anger. She could see him in her minds eye, that moment his eyes had softened, that moment she thought that maybe he had been telling the truth all along, that they really had been friends, that he really did care.

"I hate you Alastor!" she screamed to herself, alone in the dark, "I hate you and I will continue to hate you until the day I fucking die again!"

----

A/N I love an irredeemable villain and doomed, misshapen love. I'm sorry to anyone who wanted this to end up happy.

[moonlit-imagines]

Preferences: Being an Avenger and an ex-Widow

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anon 🥀: “hcs for how avengers would react to reader being an ex widow like natasha”

when you defected from the red room, you rejected SHIELD

“why trade one corrupt organization for another?” -you (not aware shield was ACTUALLY corrupted by hydra)

you freelanced for a bit, avoiding recruitment at all turns and trying to keep control of your life

but nick fury wouldn’t let you drop from his radar

“y/n, meet natasha romanoff” -fury

“i know you…” -you

“red room, yes” -nat

“what are you two doing here?” -you

“trying to recruit you, actually” -nat

“like i told your boss a dozen times, i want no part in working for SHIELD, the notion bores me” -you

“well, what if i told you a new position opened up?” -fury, watching your brow raise “im assembling a team, one with the most skilled players in the game”

“spies?” -you

“not quite” -nat, smirking

thus started your induction into the avengers

and nat became probably your best friend

“i’ve never met another widow defector, it’s…nice” -you

“we killed him, you know…” -nat, hesitating “dreykov. barton and i got him”

it was the best news you’d gotten in a while

the rest of the avengers were a bit ragtag compared to the soldiers they recruited

the billionaire in a suit, scientist with anger issues, the asgardian god

then 3 assassins and a soldier from world war ii

but you all made nice eventually, especially after fighting side by side

being with the avengers instead of a lonely assassin gave you back some of that humanity you lost over the years

“y/n, want to go on a run?” -steve

“with you? what’s the point?” -you

“i’ll slow down for you” -steve

routine runs became a stress reliever for you

you traded war stories with nat and clint on late nights when you couldn’t sleep

and tony made you his “guinea pig” when it came to testing new technologies

“i didn’t mean it in a derogatory way! i know where you come from, bad choice of words. would you though? it’s a pretty cool gun…wouldn’t want it to go to waste…” -tony

and bruce, sweet bruce, bruce recluse….

i just wanted to say that actually

bruce and you didn’t have all that much in common but sometimes he’d sit with you and keep you company, maybe offer you some food

you’d have really meaningful conversations with the avengers, too

“so, what deterred you from joining SHIELD?” -steve

“a lifetime of being controlled by people with their own agendas and no regard for their soldiers’ lives” -you “sound familiar?”

“all too familiar” -steve

“then you understand that i was not going to work for the united states government, it was hard enough joining the avengers” -you

okay, okay. you might be wondering “wheres all the action scenes?” fine here they are

you and nat knew some pretty outdated moves pretty well. after all, you were taught the same

it was easy to fight with her, it was almost like you were telepathically communicating your next moves

“are we sure the red room didn’t give them some kind of mind reading chip?” -tony “hey, that should be my next project”

“absolutely not” -steve

clint got jealous of you and nat because the bond they had was similar to yours, but you suggested a group effort with him

so you and nat taught him some red room lessons (minus the horrendous abuse)

thor enjoyed your ruthlessness

“y/n, you never cease to amuse me!” -thor

“they just knocked a man out, thor” -clint

“yes! hilarious” -thor

“you don’t laugh when stark does it” -steve

“stark? well, he’s not too funny” -thor

“hey! im funny…” -tony

honestly getting really close with the team

and eventually welcoming wanda and vision

assuring wanda that coming from a less-than-friendly background didn’t make her any less than the avengers

“you know, i was pretty bad before i joined up. you’ll fit right in!” -you

the avengers went through a lot of ups and downs

and by the time they’d split, you already left

“i’m sorry, guys. i’m just not cut out for this line of work.” -you

“what do you mean?” -tony

“you know what i mean. i cant be an avenger anymore. i cant be idolized and i cant be associated with whatever mess is brewing here” -you

you wanted to go solo again, working for the group was never what you really wanted

it was nice for a while

and you watched as the drama between steve and tony unfolded, feeling grateful you didn’t have to pick a side

*pressing ignore on your phone for the fiftieth time*

freelance life just suited you better

until you found the red room was still operating

and for once you picked up the phone

“hey nat. are we freeing these widows or what?”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @mymelodymia // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[lucyrose191]

Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader? She was frustrated about work and couldn't stop herself from rambling and Toto just shuts her up with a kiss. They get caught by the team and they tease them about it. Just something fluff and comfort. Add something to it if you'd like. Thanks!! :))

CAUGHT IN THE ACT| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; The stresses of work have your mind running a million miles an hour but your husband knows how to slow it down.

Warnings; fluff, teasing.

Authors note; This is short but I hope this is okay!

F1 Master List

You’d never felt such a strong urge to throw your laptop across the room and tell everyone to go and fuck themselves.

Groaning, you pulled at your hair in frustration, why stupid men thought they were able to do your job better than you were able to was beyond you but clearly they had it in their abnormally large heads that they had the skill set for quite literally everything but if that was the case then they wouldn’t be paying you to take care of their finances.

Too many times have you been questioned today as though you hadn’t studied religiously for years to do this job.

"Can you double check your numbers? They don’t look correct."

"This can’t be right, there’s no possible way we’re losing money."

"I need you to review this again, I added it up myself and I got a much larger annual profit figure."

No you can’t double check his numbers because you had checked them a million times before you had sent it off.

He was losing money because he can’t get off his arse and actually run his company instead of forcing the responsibilities on his poor employees that have no idea how to run a company.

And of course he got a different number! He didn’t take the mathematical degree to work out these numbers and had no idea what he was meant to be multiplying and what he was meant to be dividing.

You slammed your laptop closed and pulled yourself up from Toto’s desk and left his office, coincidentally finding him walking towards his office the moment you stepped past the doorway.

He immediately took notice of the disgruntled look on your face and shot you a look that was a mixture between worry and confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Just work," you grunted.

His face contorted into a look of understanding. "Tell me about it," he told you and you moved to lean against the wall, prompting him to stand in front of you.

"I just don’t know why people feel the need to question my ability to do my job today-"

As you ranted off all of your issues to him, Toto simply stood there with a content smile on his face, listening to you venting your frustrations.

He thought you were adorable when you were angry.

He loved the way your forehead creased with the furrow of your brows and the way you moved your hands as you vented and how you’d aggressively force your hair behind your ear when it got in your face.

"-then this man thought that the smart thing for him to do was to include each thing he wanted me to do in like seventeen different emails, who even does that? So then I had to go through each individual one and make a list instead of-"

Toto leaned forward, cupped your cheek and smashed his lips against yours, muffling the sound of surprise you released. It took you a moment to register what was happening but once you did, you didn’t hesitate in kissing him back.

You reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, he hummed into the kiss and walked forward, pressing you into the wall before moving his hand from your cheek into your hair, holding you in place.

You channeled all of your frustrations into the kiss, his closeness making it easy for them to fade away and soon you found yourself only consumed by him and nothing else.

The pair of you were so wrapped up in each other in that moment that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching, only realising people heading your way until it was too late.

"Woah!" Lewis’ high pitched voice had you scrambling away from each other with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

You both turned towards him, only it wasn’t just him, he and George were with about five or six other people, all staring at the pair of you with smirks on their faces.

"Save it for the hotel room, guys." George teased causing the group to laugh as Toto cleared his throat uncomfortably and you looked to the floor in embarrassment at being caught.

"We apologise-" Toto started but was interrupted by a mechanic, Ross.

"Oh no, don’t apologise for the free show, boss. People normally have to pay good money for that, I’m not one to complain."

You cringed at his words as you looked up, taking note of how some people were glancing at the floor to try and hide their laughs whilst others didn’t even try.

"We don’t even blame you," James, one of the teams strategists continued. "YN is looking mighty fine today," he winked causing you to roll your eyes with a smile on your face, knowing it was all in good nature.

"James," Toto stated bluntly, causing James to turn to him. "Yes, boss?"

"Turn around," your husband told him, straight faced.

"Yes, boss," James nodded and turned around, walking back down the hallway.

"We can leave if you want to get back to-" Lewis offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

"That’s not necessary, Lewis, thank you." Toto cut him off.

He shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’.

"I mean- you could’ve at least took it inside the office." George wasn’t one to let the situation go.

"Yes we get it, George, ha ha," you shot him an unimpressed look which didn’t falter the shit eating grin on his face.

The teasing didn’t end there, it seemed that the group who found you and Toto were eager to tell the rest of the team, George even went as far as mentioning what he does when ‘Toto is busy eating his wife’s face off’ in an interview so the rest of the day was filled with subtle comments leaving you and Toto with permanent flushed cheeks.

You both took accepted the teams teasing with smiles on your faces though, happy that you both had managed to create a dynamic that left them comfortable to make jokes around you both.

[citruswriter]

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Warnings: Established relationship, chubby coded reader, self esteem issues, brief nippleplay, oral (f! recieving), fem terms, afab reader, overstimulation, hair pulling, squirting, creampie.

Creepypasta Kinktober Prompt: Mirror/Overstimulation

Pairing: Eyeless Jack x Fem Reader

The mirror was not your friend. Far from it in your opinion. The mirror pointed out things you didn't want to see. Stretchmarks and rolls in your skin, loose skin and jiggly thighs. You hated it. Hated the mirror. Hated your body.

But your lovely boyfriend loved it. Loved the divots in your skin that the stretchmarks left. Loved the rolls in your body in his hands. Loved your soft tummy. Loved your plush thighs. You tried your best to see yourself through his eyes, to love your body as he loved it. But it seemed like an impossible task most days.

It had been a long day and your were already snuggled in bed with your phone when your boyfriend came in with something. " What's that?" You question, rising so you were sitting up and looking at the large rectangle. "It's a mirror." Jack said simply, flipping it around to show off the full body mirror, propping it up against the wall.

"Oh! Um... why did you get it?" You ask tentatively. Jack takes off his mask, setting it to the side before kicking his shoes off and crawling onto the bed with you. "Thought it would be nice for some... fun." He says simply, giving a shrug before pressing a kiss to your neck.

"Yes it'll be fun to see all my imperfections." You say sarcastically, glaring at your reflection. Jack lets out a low growl, a demonic sound that never fails to make you shiver in delight down your spine and send heat pooling straight to your core.

"You have the body of a goddess, my darling, and I'll be damned if I let you talk down on yourself." He growled out before swiftly moving behind you. You squeak out as he nibbles on your neck, hands moving up your shirt. One hand grasped your soft tummy while the other gripped a breast, claws digging in slightly before moving to tweak a nipple, causing you to gasp out.

"My beautiful mate..." He purrs out and you shudder. "I'm going to fuck you so good that you won't even be able to focus on those silly insecurities." And with that you're flipped onto your back, clawed fingers pulling your sleep shorts and panties down and flinging them off to the side.

His inhuman tongue soon finds its way into your core and you gasp out as he starts to tongue fuck you, thumb finding your pearl and rubbing it harshly. You moan and keen out as he eats you out like your pussy is a five fucking star meal served by Gordan Ramsey himself. His tongue and thumb are working you so wonderfully and it doesn't take long for his skilled actions to make an orgasm start to crest in you. You try to babble out a warning to him but he can already tell your close by the way your walls start to tighten around his tongue. And then he's pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm hitting you like a tidal way as you moan out loudly, pleasure washing over your body.

You expect Jack to pull away, to give you a moment to climb down from your orgasm and recover, but you are given no such luxury. Instead he slings your plush thighs over his shoulders and grips them as he retracts his tongue from your core and instead works it over your clit. You let out a strangled moan as he continues, trying to get a proper gasp of air in your lungs but Jack pushes forward in trying to make you cum again, his tongue working over your clit in patterns that make you whine and arch until once again your orgasm is cresting. You arch you spine, whining out his name as you cum once again and Jack greedily laps at your juices before nipping at your thighs.

"Catch your breath, sweetheart. I'm not even close to being finished." Jack says with a low chuckle. He slips his shirt off and your hands quickly find his abdomen, your soft hands gliding over the hard planes of his torso. He's cold to the touch, but to him you feel warm. Feel like heaven.

His cold hands find their way under your shirt once more and you shudder as he works his way up and up and finally the article is discarded and tossed as well. "So fucking beautiful." He mutters, mouth descending to kiss your neck and breasts, nipping and leaving little marks that would fade within a day or two.

His hand dips to unbuckle his belt and he pulls his cock out, grinding his shaft along your poor abused clit and your hips jerk with overstimulation. "Jack... I'm sensitive." You say softly and he growls. "Good. Gonna fuck your pretty brains out." He purrs back, grinding harder and making you mewl out.

Suddenly your being manhandled, pulled and tugged until your in doggy. He's stripping the last of his clothes off as he presses a hand between your shoulder blades, making you arching your back as he grips our hair and has you look up and into the mirror. "And you're gonna watch me do it do." He purrs, the tip of his dick notching against your entrance before he snaps his hips forwards and fully buries himself in your heat.

You cry out and he wastes no time setting a ruthless pace in you. You're still sensitive from your other two orgasms and it doesn't take long for the feeling of overstimulation to hit you in waves. Your body is trembling, mind going fuzzy with how much pleasure is rippling through your body as he continues to piston his hips in and out of you, snarls and growls that didn't sound human in the slightest falling from his mouth as you moaned and keened underneath him. Your eyes observe the two of you in the mirror.

Jack's face was screwed up with pleasure and concertation as he fucks into you, his muscles rippling under his skin, he looked like a predator. You on the other hand looked completely different. Eyes glazed over, lips parted, chest heaving, hair messy in his hand. You looked so fucked out and you couldn't help but love how you looked like a mess for his cock.

Your eyelids flutter as you feel the familiar feeling of your orgasm. "Close." You whine out and Jack angles your hips, driving in harder as he drills into your g-spot. You moan loudly as he drives you closer and closer to your orgasm. "That's is babygirl. Cum on my cock." He breathes out, driving his hips again and sending you crashing into another orgasm. You curse in a high pitched tone as you cum on his thick cock, your orgasm hitting you more like a freight train this time.

But once again, you are offered little time to recover as Jack fucks you through your orgasm, ramming into you with abandon as he chases his own release. You practically sobbing with overstimulation at this point, body trembling as his hand yanks your hair to keep you looking in the mirror as he fucks you stupid. "One more time, babygirl. Just one more time." He said softly, his voice more breathy as he starts to reach his own end. His spare hand grips you plush side as he fucks into you harder and faster. Your arms collapse from under you but your eyes remain glued to the mirror as you cum once more. Your eyes roll back and your vision whites out as you scream out his name.

Your nerves feel like they're on fire and frazzled, as if you just snatched a star out of the nightsky and took a big bite out of it. As you come to once more, you're aware of many things. How warm your insides are with Jack's pulsing cock and load of cum in you, the droplets that roll down your thighs, the slickness of your cunt.

"Fuck that was amazing." You breathe out and Jack let out a rumbling laugh as he slowly pulled his cock out. "Well you squirted so I'd assume it was." He replied, tone tired but teasing none the less. You felt your cheeks heat up. "Fuck, I squirted?" You ask with a laugh and he only huffs a laugh in response.

He slowly gets up as you let your body collapse on the bed. Jack comes back moments later, running a warm washcloth over your body and cleaning you up before crawling into bed with you. You hum softly, tangling your limbs with his, fingernails tailing over his skin in soothing patterns.

"I love you, beautiful." He murmurs and you smile softly, peppering his face with soft kisses before he snuggles back into you once more, practically purring from your touch.

"I love you too, handsome."

Eyeless Jack, my love. 💞💞💞 I don't think ya'll understand how down bad I am for this man.

Taglist: @rainrot4me

[queers-gambit]

Careful What You Wish For

prompt: he's highly reactive, you're incredibly enduring. he's a righteous dick, you're criminally empathetic. he's temperamental, you're amenable. but you're done being his doormat. -> or in which Billy resorts to breaking up when you two fight, but when he comes to make up (like clockwork), you finally have a change of heart.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5k+

warnings: it's not much so don't expect a lot! author has Daddy Issues™️ and you're gonna deal with it, cursing, drama for drama's sake, Billy Boy's trauma translates into a toxic relationship, feelings are hard, abrupt ending, angst, hurt not a lot of comfort; healthy parent relationship? wild.

and NO this is NOT influenced by Hoover's book / Blake's movie! i have NOT read the book nor seen the movie, so if you recognize similarities, it's 100% unintentional!

To be reactive means to impulsively act upon circumstances instead of rationally considering situations that would asses a humane, clean, agreeable, "legal" response. To be reactive is exactly what it sounds like. It's reacting. It's not thinking, it's not being considerate or logical. It's being fueled by emotion, to be impulsive and rash. To be reactive was borderline selfish as the response is one-sided and results from only a single person's perspective.

Part of growing up is learning to handle your reactions; to absorb situations and consider the best possible option forward. Thing is, it's not a skill people could master in a day, week, month, year - it took a lot of time, focus, and constant, conscious dedication. People in high school were attempting to master this skill; people in college, their 20's - hell, there's even people in their 30's and 40's still trying to learn and perfect the ability to fucking handle their reactiveness.

So, in actuality, you couldn't fault Billy for being "this" way. It's not like he was doing it consciously, maliciously, or on purpose; he genuinely didn't know better and it's hard to unlearn lessons life taught you. Considering the environment he grew up in, you knew Billy stood absolutely no chance to learn and develop healthy coping mechanisms and forms of communication - but Christ, it was difficult to date him.

All romantic bullshit aside, Billy's attitude was increasingly concerning the further your relationship progressed. He required a lot of love and patience - of which, you had an abundance of and was happy to give. Yet that's the key word, abundance - NOT unlimited. He's sensitive, meaning easily irritated; damn near any and everything inconvenienced him. His mouth moved before his neurons could fire. He refused to compromise or admit defeat like Flat Earthers refuse scientific evidence. He would always choose throwing a fist over using his words. He embodied the cutting image of "bad boy", but he also lived it if his lack of manners and foul mouth was any indication. He was aloof, malcontent, egotistical, had the emotional intelligence of a fucking jellyfish, operated as an iron lock with a thrown-away key.

And Billy loves you. You knew, in his way, he loves you. But you also knew how hard it was for Billy to have any degree of emotion for any given reason. This meant more often than not, you worried his feelings for you were forced, or at the very least, ebbed and waned. Odd, isn't it? How his trauma causes a trauma response in you?

Billy was far from perfect, but you didn't need him perfect. You needed him to be loving, supportive, kind and caring, honest, empathetic... All things nobody would EVER think of when trying to describe Billy.

Yet you two worked. Polar opposites; two ends of the spectrum; a flowery romance novel and a doomed tragedy.

You used to think he was the ebony ink and you, the pure snow in the Yin and Yang symbol - or a taijitu. He was dark and brooding and abused and hateful - but with you, as that single dot of white, he felt balanced. You're bright, blinding, glittering, passionate - and with Billy, he added that speck of darkness (or realism) to your purity.

Sure, this could mean literally since you lost your virginity to him within a couple months of dating, but more so in the sense that Billy's pessimism was darkening your optimism; almost as if he was pouring water from your glass into his to force you to see your glass (read: reality) as half empty. It was as if he was corrupting you. Yet perhaps not in the sense we all might think - like he takes you to party all weekend, blow off school, engage in sketchy or concerning or dangerous activities, experiment with drugs and sexual positions that border on acrobatic. His corruption was more along the lines of draining you; where you were once bright and happy, so excited to love and be loved, to live life; you're now just tired and passive and accepting.

Billy wasn't easy to love. When you first started dating, it felt like a challenge - winning him over. You were determined to prove yourself ideal, capable, and willing to endure him and all his (and his family's) antics. Yet as time passed, you fell so deeply in love with him that you didn't even remember why you first kept coming back for more. He was intoxicating; he invades any space and commandeers not just attention, but leadership and control.

Billy was the flame. You, the moth. Yet eventually, fires will die. They will not burn forever. Whether from a lack of oxygen, wood, or something like the wind snuffs it, no flame ever endures forever. And now, the flame was dying and you were finding lesser reason to linger around dwindling warmth.

You see, there's only SO much a person can take. Being so reactive, fighting with Billy is fucking clockwork. It's eerily like a science the way you two will always fight when one of you has the realization, "Wow, things are SO peaceful and SO nice right now!" Naturally, because God (or karma, the universe, whoever) had a sense of humor, would choose that moment to cause issue.

Fights with Billy were usually sparked by something decently simple - like you being paired with Jason Carver for a tutoring session, or taking an extra 10 minutes in the shower after your sports practice, or telling him, "Sorry, I can't go out Friday, baby, I told the Wheeler's I'd babysit." This would cause Billy to spiral. Akin to a ripe, seasonal Kansas tornado.

Fights with Billy usually got personal, and since you knew and trusted one another so well, there was plenty of ammunition. Insults were hurled for an unGodly amount of time, but it was because Billy loved pulling loose threads to watch everything unravel.

Fights with Billy usually ended in a single, consistent manner: with him breaking up with you. Oh, it was infuriating! Billy had both fight and flight instincts - you know, from being so reactive - that he was all for throwing a punch, but when it came to real accountability or resolution, he'd flee; never caring about who he might hurt in the process. He'd engage his "fight" response, and then turn around and "flee", only to return later and resume fighting! Talk about fucking whiplash! Billy was like a wrecking ball, and if you were gonna fight, he was gonna make sure he was ready for it.

This fight was no different.

You can't even remember why it started, but it did and now, you sat on the front porch stairs of your family home, head bowed into your arms while silently weeping. Was it sadness? Was it despair? Acceptance? Frustration? Defeat? Was it anger that made you cry? Were these tears of humor? Disbelief? Exhaustion?

Perhaps all of the above at once.

"Look, I just think we need to take a break. From each other."

You held your breath, rolling your lips between your teeth and slowly looking up at the boy you loved and hated most in this world. Billy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one arm propped on the freshly painted wooden bannister to hold his balance; watching you with mild remorse, mostly neutrality. You smirked mirthlessly, nodding, "Right, okay."

Billy scoffed, ash falling from the end of his lit cigarette, asking, "Really not gon' say nothin'? Don't wanna fight or argue 'bout this?"

"Why bother, Billy?" You snipped, wiping your tears. "You do this every time. Fuck's sake, it's like something gets a little hard or inconvenient and we break-up."

He scoffed, "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Well, maybe this is the last time, sweetheart."

You just sighed, "Okay, Bee. I'm gonna go in, you kinda interrupted movie night to do this. So, now that you have, cool if I go in? Great, get home safe." You stood without waiting for his answer, turning for the front door and immediately seeking refuge inside. You locked the doorknob, then the deadbolt, and just for dramatic flare, latched the chain, too.

Using the sleeves of your shirt, you dried your face.

"Who was that, honey?" Your mother asked as you entered the dark living room, sighing as you dropped into your spot on the sofa; taking your little sister in arms as she settled on your chest once more.

"Just Billy."

"Oh, he didn't want to come in?"

"No, Mama, he had to go."

"Shame," she sighed, "I thought he would like this movie."

You only hummed, draping a thin blanket over you and your sister. "Pops. Hey, hey," you whispered, hand out, wiggling your foot into your father's thigh, "dad, hey. Daddy." Without looking, he handed over the bowl of popcorn mixed with Peanut M&M's and jumped when the sound boomed and the screen flashed with blinding action.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't focus on the heavy Austrian accent of the time traveling Terminator. Your head repeated the argument with Billy; how it had now spanned over several days and he had the audacity to knock at your door tonight, interrupting the week-standing movie night he KNEW your family participated in, and proceeded to break-up with you - AGAIN!

Yet something felt so fucking different this time.

You weren't sad by this "break-up" (yet) because you knew he was just being reactive and sensitive, but something didn't sit right about tonight. Your parents both worked incredibly long hours at tedious, stressful jobs, but they were very firm that every Thursday night was movie night - and Billy knew this. He knew where you were every Thursday. He knew better than to interrupt, he knew this time together was sacred since your parents worked so frequently but also actually seemed to like family time.

So, he chose tonight as the best time to initiate this break? Your heart hammered as you began to convince yourself this was a malicious move; he knowingly came to your house to inflict emotional turmoil when you were with family. It was deliberate, it was a manipulative power move; knowing he had such a hold on you that even during your beloved family time of bonding, despite being in a fight, you would still receive him; still come back to him.

Angry tears coated your eyes as Sarah Connor fought for her life. Where Billy was always highly reactive, being the eldest daughter, you were resilient and enduring; able to handle anything thrown your way. You were rational, decently calm; able to think through a storm, being only motivated by the sight of the sun. Billy had a bad attitude, he was arrogant, his ego inflated by the small town girls all drooling over him, but it was his abuse and lack of coping ability that made him into a righteous dick. Perhaps that was why he was attracted to you, being so empathetic and understanding that it bordered on criminal - especially with the way it slowly drained you of life. Billy was temperamental, angry and hurt by the world; and you were amenable, agreeable - not a pushover, but similar to water in the sense that you could adapt and conform to any space, shape, or circumstance you're put in (willingly or not).

Something in your gut finally clicked.

You're done being his doormat. Loving Billy was dismantling you brick by brick; he thought because you were so accepting and understanding that he could act anyway he wanted, get away with it, and you'd always forgive him. You'd always take him back. He could rip your heart out of your chest, crush it into dust, and you'd still thank him when he sprinkles it in your hands - because at least he did that. At least he gave you a sprinkle. You were supposed to be grateful - never-minding that he was the one who continuously hurt you in the first place.

Your eyes drifted from the television to your mother and father sat together at the far end of the couch. 20 years married, and they still sat together like high school teens; his arm around her shoulders, kept close, sharing snacks, a throw blanket cocooning their legs. They were so gentle with one another; relying majorly on nonverbal communication, like when there's a jump scare, your father's thumb would sweep over the back of your mother's hand resting on his lap. It was a grounding technique you have long taken note of, but seeing it now just made you sad.

The desire to have a relationship like your parents was strong, but what was even stronger was simply setting a good example for your sister. You'd be devastated if you ever learned she dated a man like Billy; who put her through the emotional wringer for no direct or good reason. You thought you'd tell her it wasn't her job to fix anyone; it wasn't her responsibility or burden to help mold a boy into a man. Your heart would shatter if you learned she was like you - crying to sleep, throwing towels over all mirrors to avoid any reflection, walking on eggshells in an effort to keep the peace you weren't even charged with!

Watching her eyes glittering in the glow of the action movie, you knew what you had to do. If you didn't practice what you preached, you had no true leg to stand on; your words become contradictory, your concerns warped by perspective. You didn't want her to look at your parents, then at you and Billy, and think someone was wrong - or that love was somewhere in between your relationship examples. You wanted her to know love wasn't supposed to hurt, and if you needed her to understand that she deserved the best of the best, you needed to walk the walk that you talked.

Blinking back tears, you resigned yourself to forcing the feeling of contentment; hugging your sister closer, relishing the feeling of your father's warmth against the bottom of your feet where they laid. And as if he could read your mind, your father mutely kept his one arm around your mother, the other laying on your ankle; glancing over to catch your eye and offer a small, soft smile before focusing on the movie again.

You pecked your sister's forehead quickly, whispering, "You okay, Bug?"

"Uh-huh."

"Not too scared?"

"No," she answered, completely entranced by the television.

"Sure?"

"Uh-huh. Can you pause it?" She asked your father, who almost instantly reached for the remote to hit pause. Your sister jumped up and rushed from the living room before quickly doubling back to hang in the doorway, "I'll be back." Then she dipped behind the wall, only to pop back out a second later and punctuate, "With weapons!"

The living room was full of boisterous laughter as she scampered off to the bathroom.

There was a gentle knock at your closed bedroom door, head lifting from the lowered crane it unconsciously drooped into while reading the novel on your lap. With a grimace, you rubbed your neck and called, "Come in!"

"Hey, honey," your father spoke softly, poking his head in, "got a second?"

"Yeah, sure, Daddy, c'min."

He offered a small smile and entered at full, shutting the door behind him and confirming what you sensed - this was sure to be a serious conversation. He sat gingerly at the foot of your bed, heaving a great sigh, asking, "Whatcha readin'?"

"Oh, uh, just," you showed him the cover of your book, "it's for school, I have to write a report on it."

"Is it interesting?"

"It has a good message," you allotted, making him snicker. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, sighing again. "Listen, honey, I just wanted to talk to you about... You know, Billy."

"We use condoms, Daddy, and I'm on birth control."

"While that's great and exactly what every father wants to hear," he whined, "that's not what I meant."

"Oh," you sat up, book marked and set aside, "you mean tonight?"

"Yeah."

You shrugged, "It's not that big of a deal."

"You sure?"

"I got a handle on things, Daddy."

"I don't know if I can believe that, honey," he frowned, dimples on display, "because - you've - you're just..." He paused, shaking his head, "Your mother and I are worried about you. You're different since dating Billy and it's hard to ignore. I know it might not be comfortable to talk about, but you know you can always come to us, right?"

You nodded, "I know, Daddy."

"Good. 'Cause, he's 18, right?"

"I'm almost afraid to answer that, but yes...?"

Your father nodded, "Good, so I can legally kick his ass."

"Being friends with Hopper helps."

"Damn straight," he confirmed. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, we just broke up."

"What!?"

"Daddy, chill," you chuckled, "we do this every few weeks."

"Oh, Jesus - "

"But it's the last time!"

"Well, how can you be sure?"

"'Cause I deserve better."

The sigh your father released was out of relief, musing, "Goddamn right you do! Good girl!" He leaned in to peck your forehead quickly, patting your leg. "Well, I'll let you get back to reading..."

"Hang on," you halted him, feeling your heart lurch, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything, kid."

"Do you... not... like Billy?"

"Well, now that I know you two break up every few weeks, less so."

"Daddy."

He nodded, "I thought he was an all right kid, and you never had an ill word to say about him. But he was always kinda troubled, something about him always made me a little suspicious. Is there reason I shouldn't like him...?"

You stared at your father for several long seconds, both with varying expressions as you tried to telepathically communicate. When you understood his meaning, you blanched, "Wait - woah - hey - what!? No! No, Daddy!" You groaned, "Jesus, no! Billy's - Billy's troubled, yes, but he's not abusive or aggressive - not with me! I swear!"

"I'm sorry, I just - I needed to be sure! There's no easy way to ask these things, you know?"

"I know," you nodded, "and I appreciate you checking, but I promise, I'm okay, Billy's not like that. He's abrasive, yes, but he's still respectful."

"Noted," your father breathed, "that's actually relieving. So, uh... Am I supposed to bring you ice cream? Or rent some romcoms? This is your first break-up and I'm not sure what to do."

Your eyes rolled lightly, "Not yet, but keep that energy for when the emotions really set in."

"I'll stock up after work tomorrow," he promised.

"You're... Home this weekend?"

"Your mother and I thought for the next couple months, we'll take a break from conferences," he grinned, "spend some time with our favorite girls. Maybe even take a family vacation this summer!"

You grinned, "You mean it?"

"Of course!"

You launched into his embrace with a laugh, both full of mirth and amusement. Instead of leaving, your father actually situated comfortably on your bed and listened to your read your book - reminding him of the days he read you bedtime stories. He eyed the essay prompt your teacher had passed out with his listening ears on, and when there was a quote or relevant detail he thought related to your thesis, he made sure to speak up.

It was the most at-peace you've felt in ages.

"Bug! You have exactly 90 seconds to get down here!" You hollered into the house, walking out the front door while storing your novel in your book bag. Turning forward, you gasped when you nearly ran into Billy - standing before you, fresh as a fucking daisy. "Jesus Christ, Billy, you scared me," you scolded, keys jangling.

"Sorry," he muttered, sighing, hands going to his back pockets, "didn't think you'd be comin' out so quick."

"We gotta catch the bus," you told him, turning to holler again into the open door, "BUG! LET'S GO!"

"Why? You know I normally drive you two."

"Yeah, but we broke-up last night, Bee, didn't think you'd wanna play taxi driver still."

"It's not bein' a taxi - "

"You live on the other side of town," you scoffed, "my house is literally out of your way. So, don't feed me that line." You could see Max leaning on the passenger door from where Billy's Camaro was parked on the street, waving to her; watching her grin and wave back. "What're you doin' here?" You asked him pointedly.

"Look, I know we argued and I got a little mouthy, but I was just pissed off and reacted poorly. But I slept on it, and I'm sorry for what I said. Can we please just try to move on?"

You scoffed, "Billy, you do this so often, I can't keep up anymore. Your insecurity isn't your fault, you're not to be crucified for it, but I can't be your punching bag. You can't lose your cool and yell and get 'mouthy', break up with me, run away for me to deal with shit, and then come back the next day. So, I appreciate the offer, but Bug and I are gonna catch the bus 'cause... Because..."

"Because why, baby?" He asked, voice hazy and thick.

"Because you should really be careful what you wish for, Billy, you might just get it. I think we should honor this break-up."

"What?" Billy breathed in earnest confusion. "No, hold up - "

"Billy, I'm sorry, I am. You know I love you - "

"So you're breaking up with me, 'cause you love me?"

"You're the one who broke up with me, Billy," you reminded, "and yes, I do love you, but I have to love me, too. I can't do them simultaneously, it seems."

"Of course you can - "

"Loving you means disrespecting myself," you told him. "Every time I come back to you, I'm chipping away at who I am. You and I - we used to be so good for each other, Bee. Remember? But now? You're just on this warpath and I refuse to be a casualty. So, yes, I love you, I love you so much, but I don't think we should be together anymore. I need time alone, to breathe and figure out who I am outside of you - and you obviously need time to process and get your shit together. If we stay together, we're only gonna hurt each other. But apart, we can freely move and improve and curate change without risk of harm to the other."

You both just stared at one another, the sound of thundering footsteps heard from behind you. "Bee!" Your sister squealed when she rushed out the door.

"Hey, Bug!" He beamed, bending to scoop her in his arms - just like she wanted. "Woah, woah, woah - when did you get such cool shoes, kid?" He asked her, holding her ankle to show off her tie-dye canvas shoes.

"Daddy got them! Aren't they cool!?"

"So cool."

"Do you want a pair? We can match!"

Billy smirked, setting her on her feet, "Tell you what, Bug, if you can find a pair my size, I'll match with'cha, yeah?"

"I'll tell Daddy!" She gasped, turning to look up at you. "Can we ride with Billy to school?"

"Not to - "

"'Course, kid, c'mon," Billy cut you off, and it was like you never even opened your mouth with the way your sister bounded down the porch, over the yard, and towards Max.

"Billy," you grumbled.

"You really wanna break the kid's heart this early in the day?" He asked, sighing and offering his hand. "C'mon, just until the end of today - she'll have the weekend to process."

"You know we're not a married couple getting a divorce and Bug is our kid?" You grumbled, slapping your hand into his and allowing him to lead you towards his car; where his sister was settling yours in the backseat.

"Might as well be."

"You're dramatic."

He only hummed, opening your passenger door and waiting until you were inside safely before shutting the door. You greeted Max happily in the backseat, Billy getting in the driver's and pulling off safely - slowly - to start towards the elementary school. While the middle and high school conveniently shared a lot, the elementary school was just a couple streets over. Bug was excited to tell the car all about her upcoming "field day", where the entire school participated in these outside courses, doing various physical activities - it was all good, honest fun.

"What team were you on?" Bug asked Max. "I'm on the Blue Team!" She proudly pulled out the bottom of her shirt; showing off the color. "We won last year, too!"

"Woah! That's so cool, you gonna win again this year?" Max asked.

"Uh-huh! Did your team win?"

"We didn't have field day."

"What?" Bug asked, sounding heartbroken.

"They didn't go to school here, Bug," you told her from the passenger seat, "they lived in California. Remember?"

Bug frowned, "You didn't get to play?"

"We had other activities," Max assured, "we just didn't have a whole day of it - your school sounds so cool!"

"You should come!" Bug gasped. "Today! You and Bee should come! Then you could have field day, too!"

Your heart melted listening to Max tell her why she and Billy couldn't - but that she needed Bug to pay extra close, extra special attention to the games so they could all play together later in their very own field day. You didn't have the heart to halt the plans, to tell Bug why that wouldn't be happening.

You felt Billy's eyes on you periodically through the drive, sisters in the back discussing what California was like. Bug was fascinated by the beaches - having never been - and asked all kinds of questions, nearly exploding in excitement when she learned Billy knew how to surf. You knew it was a source of anxiety for him; you knew Billy associated surfing with his mother and that ever since she left, he couldn't ride the waves. He wouldn't. It hurt too bad to look back on shore and miss that bright smile, yellow blonde hair he inherited, loose, free-flowing dress, and floppy straw hat.

Yet talking to Bug, he seemed relatively at ease.

From the back, Max watched as you, who hadn't so much as looked at Billy since he got in the car, reached over for his hand to hold in silent support. He held on tightly.

"All right, Bug," you called when Billy pulled up to the elementary school, getting out to pull the seat forward and assist her out.

"Bye, Max!" She hugged the redhead, then lunged between the seats, "Bye, Billy!"

She clamored out of the car, Billy fixing the seat for you as you knelt on the sidewalk and helped fix her backpack. "You good?" You checked, smirking at her.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Listen, we'll take the bus home today, okay? Billy's got practice, so, remember - it's bus 104. Got it?"

"Bus 104."

"That's right, good girl. You get on bus 104, it'll take you to the high school and pick me up. All right?"

She took a deep breath, nodding, "I can do this."

"I know you can, Bug. All right, big hug!" You hummed as she wrapped her wee arms around your neck. "Oooooh! All right! That's good stuff!" She pulled back. "Have the best day, Bug. Love you."

"Love you," she messily pecked your cheek before rushing to join the procession of streaming kiddies. You stood straight and dusted off, sliding back into Billy's car, and once clear of the children, let his lead foot drop on the gas and speed into the school lot.

"Jesus," Max grumbled when the car swung into a parking space, "inna rush or something?"

"Just," Billy sighed deeply, shaking his head, "get out. You," he pointed at you, "stay put, we gotta talk." You remained, wishing Max a good day, watching her climb out of the car with her skateboard. As the redhead rode off for the middle school, Billy dropped back into his seat, slammed his door, and lit a cigarette with slightly trembling hands.

Silence echoed between you both, Billy handing over the cigarette mutely; students, peers, and faculty all milled around the Camaro to head into school. Smoke wafted from the rolled down windows. When time, the butt was tossed out and the silence remained.

"Bee," you whispered finally.

"I'm just..." He trailed, sighing, "Trying to savor this. Don't know when I'm gonna have you this close again."

He took your hand gently and stroked it with his thumb, emotion heavy in both your chests. "It's not like we're not gonna see each other again," you whispered.

"Not in the way I want."

"It's not like I want this, either."

"Then why're you doing this?"

You scoffed gently, "It's not me doing a damn thing, Billy, you've already done it all. I'm just holding you to your word because I know how fearful you are of commitment." You tossed his hand to his lap and grabbed your bag, reaching for the door handle, then pausing. "For the record," you ended softly, "I'm sorry, and I love you. I hope you find what you're looking for, Bee."

As you finally climbed from the sports car and into school, you felt like you were breathing air for the first time. Like you were feeling sunshine after a decade underground, like there were springs in your sneakers; vigor in your blood, optimism misting your mind into new possibilities. Yet, behind you, in a navy blue Camaro, Billy loosed two tears before tearing out of the parking lot in a fit of anger. Rage. Sadness. Desperation.

He wasn't seen at school the following week, but by the next weekend, rumors spread that he hooked up with both Allison Scott and Kimberly Jones at Donald Reefer's weekend party - so, you know, he seemed to be handling this break up well. It was what he wanted, after all.

And you? Let's just say, you were finally happy, healthy, feeling confident, rejuvenated, and ready to move forward and ONLY accept that which you KNOW you deserve.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[robbinghisdick]

It's as they're wrapping up yet another potential world ending threat when Hal's voice cracks across Bruce's comm-link.

"Hey, heard everyone's still alive."

Bruce is more relieved to hear his voice than he'd ever be able to let on. "We could've used your help." It comes off harsher than he means to.

"Missed you too, Spooky." Hal sounds tired. "Any chance you can come meet me in the Watch Tower?"

It has been a solid nine months since they had last seen each other. Their ambiguous relationship meant they had sex before Hal left and Bruce pretended that he wasn't bothered by the radio silence. It was better to keep things more professional, less involved, in any case.

Bruce glanced around at the barely contained destruction around him. They might've actually come away from this incident with no casualties. Superman and Flash have doubtlessly already scoured the affected area for anyone caught in the crossfire.

"I'll come up in a few." He didn't bother asking why Hal wasn't coming down to talk to him. If he could, he would have.

"A few what?" Hal asks in exasperation. "Minutes? Hours?"

"Maybe more."

"Oh my god," Hal hisses, "you are insufferable."

The slightest of smiles twitches on Bruce's lips. "I'll be up as soon as I'm sure I'm not needed down here."

///

Hal looked just about as tired as he sounded over the comm. It was clear he hadn't showered in a few days, hair disheveled and greasy, tired bags under his eyes. While there weren't any apparent injuries on his body...

"You had a baby."

Babies, especially newborns, grew up fast. This baby looked only weeks old at most. If Hal hadn't joined the fight, Bruce estimated the baby was only days old, and that Hal was far from recovered.

Hal snorts. "Great deduction skills there, detective." He swallows hard. "Can you solve the rest of the mystery?"

For a moment, Bruce doesn't say anything. He stares at the sleeping baby, at its whispy locks of dark hair. He glances back up to Hal's eyes, notes the guarded look on the other man's face given away by his tense shoulders.

It doesn't take a genius to put together the fact that Hal wasn't pregnant when they last slept together nine months ago.

Bruce's eyes fall back down to the baby, chest constricting as he finds himself moving forward towards Hal. He wordlessly reaches out, and Hal responds in turn after only a moments worth of hesitation to hand over the baby.

Cradling the baby in one arm, Bruce pulls off his cowl with the other. Bruce suddenly finds himself needing to sit and finds himself sinking into the nearest available chair.

"For what it's worth, I tried to get back to Earth before he was born."

Bruce barely hears Hal, making a small hum of acknowledgement. His hand reaches to touch his son's face before freezing. He's quick to bite off his glove and drop it off to the side. The baby barely stirs as Bruce rubs his finger against his cheek. The tiniest eye peeks open, not enough to really see his eyes before it closes again and he grunts softly.

When Bruce is finally able to tear his gaze away, Hal is looking at him nervously.

Suddenly there is issues to be had with their ambiguous relationship... but Bruce doesn't really feel like getting into all of that at the moment.

"Have you..." His voice comes out hoarse, prompting him to clear his throat "Does he have a name yet?"

Hal relaxes a little. "I've just been calling him "little man" the past couple of days. Been thinking of some names, but I really thought I'd have time to talk to you first."

The thought that Hal had an entire pregnancy on a foreign planet was enough to unnerve Bruce. Hal could've died, the baby could've died, and Bruce might not have ever found out.

"Are you mad?" Hal asks after a beat of silence.

Anger was far from Bruce's mind. "Did you purposely keep your pregnancy from me?"

"It pains me that I couldn't use the pregnancy against you and you wouldn't have been able to fight back," Hal laments with a sigh, an attempt to lighten the tension. "But no. I couldn't get back home, it was out of my hands." He studies Bruce for a moment, a serious look on his face. "You're not upset at another kid being sprung on you?"

Bruce had met Damian not too long ago, all things considered. He had wanted him, back when he found out Talia was pregnant, before she lied about a miscarriage and left him. Ten years he was left out of his child's life.

"No," Bruce says, looking back down at the infant, "this is the first one I've been able to hold."

He's carried his Robins before. When Dick was still so young and tired, when Jason was hurt and could've walked it off, but didn't pass off a chance to be carried, Tim in a rush to get him somewhere safe when he got injured, and Damian as huffed and puffed about being fine, but didn't fight Bruce too hard on it. He's held Cass hard enough to hurt and she held him back just as tightly.

This was different. He never got to hold his own baby.

Bruce feels his throat constricting. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. "What names did you have in mind?"

"Was considering maybe Thomas after your father, Tommy for short."

Bruce briefly considers it, but is very quick to decide no. "Maybe as a middle name. What about your father?"

Hal immediately shakes his head. "No. He's too young to be a Martin."

It's not like Bruce had never thought of names before, names he would've potentially given Damian... but that was for a different time.

They lapse into silence.

"Are you okay?" Bruce finally asks, taking another good look at Hal. He wasn't sure where they were going to go from here.

"Just need some rest, really." Hal rubs at his eyes. "It's been non-stop for weeks now--"

"Hal!"

In a blink, Barry is there, hand on Hal's shoulder. "Where you've been, man?"

"Oh, you know, space," Hal smiles and brightens up a bit.

"Very descriptive," Barry said with a huff. "You look like shit. You alright?"

Hal waved him off. "Yeah yeah, I'm fine." He gestures over at Bruce. "What should we name the baby boy?"

Barry glances over. "Uuhh, Finneas?" He then does a double take. "Wait, what the hell?" He immediately drops into a crouch in front of Bruce, a grin on his face as he coos at the baby. "Hey there little guy!"

Barry holds out his hands and Bruce reluctantly hands the baby over.

"He's way too cute to be your baby," Barry teases Hal before booping the baby's nose. "Am I the god father?"

Hal spares a glance at Bruce before saying, "Of course!"

Bruce didn't have any complaints anyways.

"I like the name Finneas too, Finn for short." This time Hal's look towards Bruce was seeking actual approval.

"No objections here," Bruce finally decides on.

He notices the way Barry's eyes dart between them, realization suddenly dawning on his face. "Hold up! Hal, you and Bats are a thing?"

"No!"

That stung a little.

"Well, I mean," Hal runs a hand through his hair, pointedly not looking at Bruce as he seems to reconsider. "Kinda. I don't know. Either way, yes, he's the other parent."

Barry hums thoughtfully, looking down at the baby. "So... who's last name is little Finn here gonna take?"

Hal and Bruce stare at each other.

"I carried him for nine months."

"Finneas Wayne sounds better."

(Art of Finneas!)

[sonssofhecate]

godlingprompt006: thoughts

Milo's   mental   state?   Just   fine,   honestly.   This   was   only   day   one   and   to   him?   Everything   was   going   fine   and   dandy.   The   people   were   weird,   sure...And   it   was   odd   to   hear   that   some   lady   wanted   to   take   his   blood   'just   for   vitals.'   Did   Milo   believe   that?   Not   at   all.   However,   right   now?   He   decided   it   was   best   that   he   keeps   his   mouth   shut   and   play   dumb.   Simply   allowing   it   to   happen.   Honestly,   the   only   thing   that   pissed   him   off?   Was   the   fact   that   apparently   he   was   the   backup.   Like   seriously?   How   could   he   not   have   been   first   pick? 

From   the   whispers   he's   heard?   It   sounded   like   they   learned   their   lesson. 

Milo   has   been   watching   them   train   from   the   sidelines.   Watching   how   they   interacted   with   each   other.   The   entire   time   playing   dumb.   Acting   as   if   he   knew   nothing   about   anything   that   was   going   on.   Because   that   was   better   than   these   people expecting him   to   do   shit.   Milo   was   here   to   get   his   powers,   go   on   a   few   quests,   get   paid,   and   perhaps   gain   some   subscribers   with   some   fantastic   shots.   And   that   was   about   it. 

But   he   did   have   one   goal.   He   was   going   to   show   Hecate   that   he   should   have   been   the first pick.   Not   the   understudy.   And   he   was   determined   to   do   just   that. 

[often-daydreaming]

Lazy Day

'Umm..... Wha-' 'Shhhh.' Glaring at an amused looking Kon, Tim was shushed again by yet another Titan when he tried to bring up the civilian in the tower who was currently using his favorite pillow and some of their better blankets. Bart was even in there curled up next to him and judging by the occasional snoring sounds Gar was somewhere under the mountain of blankets probably in one of his dog forms or something small enough not to get knocked off the hoverboard they were all sleeping on which was just great.

There was a civilian he didn't recognize. Tech he didn't know anything about and another mystery to hide from the rest of his family because the kid looked like a mini Bruce and he didn't need the headache of another Damian trying to kill him.

'Who is he?' Tim outright bat glared when Cassie tried shushing him.

'Oh, you're no fun. That's Danny.' Not Daniel or Danyal or some other haughty name that meant he'd have to worry about some stupid League indoctrinated holier than though birth right nonsense.

'He's a friend of Bart's who started taking over a few of the nighttime patrols in Central.'

I know it's not much of a prompt but for this I'm just imagining the Fentons moving to stay under the radar after everything with the portal, Vlad and the GIW pushing things but Danny is still Danny and he tries to help people. There isn't a lot he can do in Central but he could take a bit of the pressure off the speedsters and again with his friends help and his parents skills it wouldn't take much for them to come up with a working hoverboard. He can't run around as Phantom anyway, not yet so Danny reinvents himself slightly (kind of Phantom two steps to the left) makes some new friends through Bart and Wally and unintentionally gives a majority of the bat family issues cause Jack looks a lot like Bruce Wayne.

[sstormyskyess]

Self-Doubts

author's note: wanted to explore some of the insecurities these fellas would have to get a better feel for how to write them!

cw: hurt/comfort, body image issues, domestic situations, anxiety

word count: 1900+

TF-141 x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [body image]

♡ Ghost is aware that he’s an attractive man. He’s been told as much for most of his life and people tend to put themselves out there for him, so he’s always figured there must be something to him that causes it.

♡ But only he had seen the body under all the layers of black clothing he often covers himself with. His body is more scars than unblemished skin, an eternal reminder that he was beyond saving.

♡ That’s why, when you wormed your way into his lacerated heart, he was hesitant to undress around you. He didn’t want you to see the man underneath the shell of the impenetrable “Ghost,” the man that kept his trauma on a tight leash and hid away from his true self.

Simon shuffles forward further down the bathtub to let you settle in behind him, your thighs resting on his hips. His heart is pounding in his chest, as it often did when he was bare in front of you. Despite the warmth of the bath you’d run for the both of you, a shiver travels up his spine when your hands wrap around his chest.

“You still okay, Si?” You rest your cheek on his back, keeping your hands still over his stomach. All he gives you is a hum, so you prompt again, “I need words, hun.” He responds with a shallow nod and, with a slight shake in his voice, “I’m alright, love.” You nuzzle your cheek against his spine in response, a silent reminder that he’s here, with you.

Things were still for a while, the only sound being the leaky faucet you still needed to get fixed dripping into the bath. You quietly paw at his stomach and move slowly up his chest, tracing over his scars as you did. You halt before you start to kiss the scars on his shoulder blades, the ones that you’ve committed to memory.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you take hold of one of his hands, pulling it up far enough that you could see it over his shoulder. There was one big scar across his palm that he received in the times before he started wearing gloves to cover his calloused hands. You always came back to it; it was one of the most clear signifiers of his journey through his career, and you loved to appreciate anything and everything that showed you his path before meeting you.

He watches you regard the scar, able to see the face you always make when you admire his body like this. He smiled at the thought and some of the tension in his muscles left. He took your other hand and brought it up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles, returning the affection you so graciously gave him.

John “Soap” Mactavish [his future]

♡ Soap has been in his field of work for around eight years and he’s made his way through hell time and time again. He’s a skilled operator and with that comes many dangerous situations, often life or death.

♡ But really, he wants to make it far enough in life to retire and return to civilian society, far away from the turmoil that tainted him day and night, 24/7. The worst part is that he knows it’s unlikely he’ll make it that far.

♡ It got worse when he met you and you solidified in his mind that his true goal was making it to a calm life, free of gunfire, constant deployment, and all of the other struggles that came with a job like his.

“Aye. Love you too, mum.” Johnny hangs up the call and puts his phone on the coffee table with a sigh. His mom was calling to let him know that his sister was going to be having a baby shower in a month or so; his niece’s birth was just around the corner, expectedly two months from now.

Hearing about the lives of his family members makes him feel so selfish sometimes. He knows it’s silly and that he shouldn’t be worrying so much about it, but he just can’t seem to help it. Even when he knows you’re just a room away, making some dinner for the both of you, he can’t help but think about what life could be like were he living the life the rest of his family was. He gets up and looks over to the kitchen before making his way over.

You jump when you feel Johnny’s arms wrap around your waist. He buries his head against your neck and presses some soft kisses there. “Hi, baby. What do you need?” You smile and reach back to run your fingers through his messy overgrown mohawk, earning you a pleased hum. He rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you cooking, a warmth in his heart swelling at the domesticity. “Do you think we’d ever get married, dove?” He asks, rocking you two back and forth gently.

You blink, surprised by the sudden question. “I wouldn’t be opposed. You’re the best guy I could ever hope to be with the rest of my life.” Your smile widens as your mind wanders to the life you and Johnny could live together. Johnny’s soft, dreamy sigh brushes along your neck and it feels like his posture slumps forward just a bit in relief, your words soothing his stormy thoughts. “I’ll keep that in mind, bonnie.”

Standing there in the comfortable silence with you only solidified in his mind that he wanted to be there with you for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do in that moment and every moment after was take care of you, to make you feel safe.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [perfectionism]

♡ Gaz knows how important the role he plays is. His work furthered the safety of civilians the world round, and he knows he’s good at it.

♡ But along with knowing the importance of his work was a double-edged sword; he knew that if he ever faltered or failed his mission, people would die as a result. The screams of civilians echoed in his mind every few nights he tried settling in for bed, his mind much too overactive for his own good.

♡ Overworking himself was a consequence of his troubled thoughts. He would be lifting in the gym until his muscles gave out on him, firing in the range for hours into the night, running laps around the base, all to your dismay as you watched him work himself half to death.

Kyle’s lungs heave as he bends over with his hands on his knees. You had followed him when he got out of bed earlier tonight and he apologized profusely for waking you up. He’s been on the treadmill for an hour, going on an hour and a half. You stare at him, concerned out of your mind.  You’d long since stopped your own workout, the weights left on the rack and a bottle of water in hand.

This was the third time in the past week he’d subjected himself to this self-flagellating exercise schedule. You knew why; this past mission was quite the disaster. Too much destruction, too many civilian casualties, and an escaped terrorist was a perfect combination to make Kyle’s mind run wild with disappointment in himself. He was an empathetic individual and it always came back to bite him after missions like this.

You aren’t sure whether or not he noticed you in here with him, so when you got up to approach him you walked with purposeful steps, loud enough to alert him to your presence. His head perked up and he turned to look at you. He cursed under his breath after wiping his forehead with the towel slung over his shoulder and stepped off the treadmill.

“Sweetheart, I said you could go back to bed.” He frowned when he met your eyes, seeing the exhaustion in them but not realizing that you saw the same exhaustion in his. “Someone needed to drag you back once you eventually collapsed.” You mutter, looking away. You didn’t want to be frustrated with him; you knew that he couldn’t help it. But seeing him with his legs nearly buckling under his own weight hurt your heart. “I’m okay, I promise—”

He’s cut off by your sigh and you take him by the hand to drag him over to the nearest bench, sitting him down. “You’re not okay. I’m getting your stuff and we’re going back to bed.” You state matter-of-factly before walking off to do just that. He knew that you were miffed, but it still felt good to know you had his back.

John Price [his relationships]

♡ Price is a busy man; he’s the captain of a private task force, of course he was. His work basically consumed his entire life, with no room for much else.

♡ Friends and romantic partners were pie in the sky for him, and he sometimes wondered if he would be able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone outside of work. He had tried before and every time, it ended with things falling apart and him leaving someone broken hearted.

♡ His worries were quelled when you made friends with him and eventually entered a romantic relationship, but still, he was concerned with balancing his relationship with you and his relationship with his work. Sometimes, he wondered if he was even strong enough to pull both sides of himself together into one man.

John picks up the dinner plate that you made for him a few hours ago. It had gotten cold by now, the plastic cling wrap around the plate having settled over the food and sticking loosely to it. He sighs and peels it off, turning to the microwave to reheat the plate. He leans back against the counter and stares at the floor, his thoughts crowding every corner of his mind.

You were already in bed, sleeping soundly. At least he hoped. You had asked him a couple times to come to bed, but he insisted he needed to finish the mission reports he was writing. Every time he pulled this little maneuver, he thought back to every other time he condemned you to going to bed cold. The frown on his face deepens, imagining how you looked right now. Maybe you actually weren’t asleep and were still up waiting for him. The thought made him feel so guilty.

He doesn’t have to dwell on it much longer before he sees you sleepily wander into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing your eyes. John pushes himself off the counter and meets you halfway, resting his hands on your hips. “Head back to bed, doll. I’ll be there soon.” He mumbles the words into the top of your head before putting a kiss there. You shake your head and nuzzle deeper into his hold.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” He runs one of his hands up and down your spine, the other moving to the small of your back. You hold onto his shirt and take a peek up at him. “It’s okay.” You give him a small smile, trying to soothe his worries. He does so much and you know it was all for you, a fact that warms your heart.

“Come sit and eat your food, hon’.” He huffs a little laugh and nods, taking his plate out of the microwave and picking you up. You giggle and kiss his cheek, letting him carry you to the couch. You let him turn on the TV and settle you in his lap. “Were you dreaming, love?” He asks before starting to eat. Neither of you pay much attention to whatever’s on the screen after that, him listening intently to you recounting your dreams.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[fairy-writes]

Hello ^-^ Congrats got 1.6k you deserve it!

Can i please request prompt 8 with Soshiro from kaiju no 8

BREATHE WITH ME

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “You know, they say crying has all these health benefits.”

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8 

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Established Relationships, Panic Attacks, Mentions of Blood, Hemophobia (an irrational fear of blood), Sweetheart as a Nickname

Notes: We’re ignoring the fact that I wrote something similar with Morbius a while back.

Also, fun fact, I have a Hoshina phone charm on my phone!

TRIGGER WARNING FOR PANIC ATTACKS

__________________________________________________________________________

You should’ve known you weren’t cut out for kaiju extermination. In fact, you probably knew already. You just didn’t want to admit it. 

It was evident even in the beginning. To say you were squeamish around blood would be an understatement. Even the sight of a slightly pink paper cut would send you spiraling into a mess of vomiting and tears and snot and panic. 

But through it all, Soshiro was by your side. 

You weren’t sure why he put up with you. He was… Amazing? Phenomenal? Completely out of your league? To say it simply, it was no wonder he was a vice-captain and you simply… weren’t. 

The sirens awoke you in the middle of the night, sending you bolting out of bed and into your suit in record time. The cadets were bleary-eyed and fresh-faced, still learning the ropes, and it was your job as a senior officer to show them. 

But they didn’t know about your… Issue? Phobia? Minor hiccup? 

Who were you kidding? This was way more than a minor hiccup. But you could deal with it later. Right now, you have a kaiju to exterminate. 

Things went south really quickly on what should have been a routine mission. 

Well… Not at first. In fact, you were celebrating to yourself the fact that you hadn’t seen any blood yet other than kaiju ichor, but that hardly counted. It was strange, you could deal with the purplish ick that all kaiju had running through their veins. But the regular red stuff you had in yours? That was a huge no-no. Everyone in the platoon knew this and kept their bleeding injuries faaar away from you. 

Everyone except for the cadets, that is. 

The sound of someone calling your last name caught your attention. You were in the locker rooms, back to the door, cleaning your weapon with a clean cloth. Unlike Soshiro, you used guns. You were no good with knives or swords. Not as bad as Captain Ashiro, but still, your cooking skills were subpar, and your fiancé handled all the cooking in your home. 

“Yes?” You ask and turn, not hearing a harsh “stop!” until it was too late. 

Almost immediately, your eyes zeroed in and locked on the problem. A gash, nothing too major, but it might still scar. Blood seeped through the hastily applied bandages around Furuhashi Iharu's left arm. 

But that was enough to trigger the panic. 

Murky. 

Red. 

Pain. 

Choking. 

Everything was a swirl of colors, like a messed-up sort of carnival. You vaguely heard someone panting and crying on the edge of your hearing. But you could barely hear anything over the sound of your own thundering heartbeat. 

“—et the vice-captain!” 

What? 

What was happening? 

The overwhelming, cloying scent of iron was thick in your nostrils. It sucked the life out of you and made your knees and hands shake. Suddenly, something was cold against your back, and you realized you must’ve fallen against the lockers. There was a hand against your shoulder, and you flinched violently, jerking away. Your head cracked against the corner of the locker room bench, and you saw stars. 

The hands didn’t stop. They kept trying to pull you up, pull you away, pull you toward the blood. 

Distantly, you heard someone scream. It took you a few seconds to realize that it was you screaming. It was you panting and crying. It was all you. 

A gentle hand. 

A soothing voice. 

“—eetheart, you gotta breathe. Breathe with me.” 

Soshiro. 

It was like slipping into a cool bath after being outside in sweltering hot weather, like coming inside to a crackling fire after being out in a blizzard. You let out a little gasp, and suddenly, it was like your vision cleared. The violet blob turned into your fiancé's face, and you could feel his calloused fingers gently cupping your face. 

He was here. 

He was real. 

The blood was gone. 

A grin cracked the corners of his mouth when he saw your gaze refocus on him. 

“There we go. Good job, sweetheart. Welcome back.” He said, and although his voice was a whisper, you still flinched. His grin faltered lightly, but he pressed on. 

“Can I help you up?” He whispered, even quieter now, and you nodded hesitantly. 

“That would be nice.” You whimpered. Worry was evident in his eyes as he got to his feet and helped you up slowly. 

“You took a pretty nasty hit t’ the noggin. Let’s get you to the infirmary.” He said, and you froze. Was Furuhashi still out there? He had been in the doorway when… Everything happened. 

Soshiro caught on immediately, and he hummed lightly, 

“He’s gone. He was the one who got me.” He said, and you nodded again. 

“Okay.” You said softly and could still feel your heart racing in your chest. Soshiro kept a hand at your back and another at your elbow as he maneuvered you toward the infirmary. 

The infirmary was empty save for the doctor. He had obviously dismissed everyone who could be dismissed by the time you arrived. 

You were checked quickly, and other than a slight bump on the back of your head, you were given a clean bill of health. There wasn’t a concussion, so you were told to go home and rest. Soshiro drove you both home. His hand was on your thigh the entire time, his other hand on the steering wheel. You leaned your head on the cold passenger side window.

The ride home was silent. 

“Why do you put up with me?” You asked as he unlocked the door to your shared apartment. He paused while fiddling with the door. 

“Because I love you.” He said simply, and your teeth ground together. 

“But why?” You demanded, and he sighed, turning to look at you. 

“Because you make me better. I love you, all of you.” He said earnestly, and you felt tears in your already puffy eyes. 

“I love you too, Soshiro.” You whisper, and your heart flutters at the sight of his grin. 

“I know.” He says cheekily, and you thump him on the arm. 

He doesn’t even flinch. 

As tears fall down your face, you can’t help but laugh. 

“You know, they say crying has all these health benefits.” You blubber, and his smile just gets warm, wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he leans in to give you a watery kiss. 

[stellarbit]

Reassurance

I needed some positive affirmations and I made Tech give em. No real warnings, but light discussion of anxiety.

2.8k words

You asked Wrecker to train with you and you keep getting knocked on your ass. Tech offers to help and ends up helping more than you thought possible.

It's a comfort fic mostly and I'm feral for some Tech comfort. Enjoyyyy (Also let me know if you can spot the other potential prompt in here.)

“You’re doing it wrong.” Wrecker chuckled.

You hit the sparring mat hard, knocking some of the air from you. Since surrendering your lightsaber, you took to honing your other combat skills. Wrecker’s hand-to-hand skills were some of the best and he was happy to help when you approached him.

He towered over you as you got back on your feet. “You need to put your weight into it.” 

“I am.” You didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as you did.

“No you’re not.” Crosshair taunted in a sing-song tone from his place leaning against a far wall. The downtime was rare and Crosshair deemed watching you flounder worthy of that time. “You hesitate every time you need to push harder. An easy way to get killed.”

You whirled on him. “I push as hard as I can.” Everything about the thin sniper got under your skin. In a way that made you want to hurry up and see what face he’d make when you slap him across the face. Because it wasn’t and if. It was absolutely a when.

Multiple times you caught him watching you. When you did, his stare stayed on whatever part had caught his attention before slowly meeting your eyes. The way he smirked and chewed that fucking toothpick screamed, ‘Do it, I dare you.’

Crosshair shook his head dismissively and snorted. “No. You’re not.”

Wrecker stepped between you and Crosshair, his massive frame blocking your view. His hands were splayed out in a placating gesture.“What he means is you’re holding back.”

“Or maybe she’s afraid of hurting you.” Crosshair quipped.

Wrecker belted out a laugh, “Ha! Yeah, right.” At that, you cut him a mean look.

The door to the sparring room hissed open and Tech filed in, out of armor and no databad in hand. He took in the sight of you all, to his eyes, just standing around. “Well that was short lived. I thought you’d be sparring most of the afternoon.”

“We are.” Your temper was quickly burning through your patience. “They just have some unhelpful commentary.”

“Perhaps, although you do not handle criticism well.” Tech turned to Wrecker. “What seems to be the issue?”

Wrecker chose his words carefully, wary of the intensity of your glare. "She..." He paused, feeling the weight of your disapproving stare. "She hits a wall and hesitates when she needs to push through."

Tech pondered for a moment, tapping a knuckle to his chin. “I’d like to see what exactly you mean. I may be able to troubleshoot this obstacle.” He tipped his head to you. “If you don’t mind my watching.”

Your stomach flipped. There hadn't been many opportunities for the two of you to be alone. In fact, you hadn’t been alone since your last mission ended. You were discreet in seeking out his company, mindful of not being too obvious. Despite helping you with your broken armor before and acknowledging, even relishing, your attraction to him, nothing more had come of it. You were starting to wonder if it had just been a passing interest for him.

Wrecker and you assumed your positions while Tech adjusted his goggles, a soft beep indicating the start of his recording.

You followed the familiar routine, blending the techniques Wrecker had taught you with those instilled by your former Master. Initially, everything flowed smoothly as you utilized your agility to evade Wrecker's raw strength. There were moments when you successfully countered his attacks and seized the offensive. However, as Wrecker intensified his efforts, a tightness began coiling in your stomach that radiated into your limbs.

The sensation swelled, threatening to overflow or overwhelm you entirely. Just as it had countless times before, the intensity reached a dizzying point where you could no longer anticipate Wrecker's moves. Ultimately, in your attempt to flank him, Wrecker landed an elbow to your chest, sending you sprawling onto your back.

The wind knocked out of you again, leaving you writhing on the floor. Another beep came from Tech’s direction. Recording over I guess.

Wrecker rushed to you. “I think we should stop for today.”

“Agreed.” Tech said firmly as he approached. Kneeling down, he made himself at home inspecting your head for injuries. “While phrenospasms aren’t typically life threatening, it is best to rest after experiencing them.” After a moment of silence, Tech sighed, “You need to catch your breath.”

Wrecker winced, knelt down, and slid a hand under your back to ease you into a sitting position. “Sorry about that, sarad,” His large hand did a few circles on your back before sliding to your cheek. The soft gesture soothed you. “But you’ll get it!” He gave you one last pat on the back before standing up.

Tech clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I'll check her over," he announced, his annoyance evident. Waving off their presence in a bored manner, he added, "It would be best if that happened without any 'unhelpful commentary.'”

Crosshair pushed off of the wall. “Well, if you’re looking for someone else to knock you down, I’ll gladly do it.” You nearly bit his leg as he walked by.

When the door shut and you were alone, Tech pulled your face back in his direction. “Do not dwell on Crosshair’s remarks. He enjoys getting a rise out of people.” With his arm cradling your back, he held your arm and brought the two of you to your feet. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” You took a deep breath in, stepped out of his grasp, and rolled your shoulders. “Just need to practice.” Tech's gaze remained focused on you, analyzing your every move. "When you started hesitating, right before Wrecker landed that hit, you were thinking something. What was it?"

“I wasn’t thinking of anything.” You said quickly, hoping he would drop it.

He didn’t. “You were definitely processing something. Other than your sparring, what were you feeling?”

You turned and blinked at Tech. He never failed to surprise you. “Emotionally?” Analyzing the failures in your strategy was one thing, asking about feelings was a completely separate realm.

Tech shook his head, “No, no. Physically” He walked forward and placed a hand in the middle of your chest. “Just now, you may not be thinking a singular thought but you are feeling your heart rate spiking. Am I correct?” He could feel it himself, but it was important you acknowledged it.

Of course he was correct, his touch kicked your heart into your throat. 

When you nodded he continued. “It is safe to say that is due to your attraction to me. While you may not be actively thinking about it, your body is reacting with patterned behavior due to recurring circumstantial stimuli.” He pulled his hand back and said, “In other words, our bodies remember how we react during significant events. When exposed to similar circumstances our bodies tend to react in an established pattern. It can be positive, like nostalgia. Or it can be detrimental in the cases of fear or stress. Our bodies react before our minds can register what we feel.” He let out a final quip, “It is a survival instinct.”

Tech stepped back and rolled a hand towards you, urging you on. “Now, what were you feeling?”

Taking a second to take what he said in, you realized no one had ever asked you that. The Jedi pointed out identified concerning behavior in you and voiced their warnings, but they never asked you where it stemmed from. They made their theories that then solidified into fact. After that, not much changed their minds. One abided by their rules … or left. 

Seeing how you were stationed with a squad of clones sans a lightsaber, it was clear where your path went. 

Your gaze wandered around the room - anywhere but at Tech. “Something built inside me and I lost focus.”

“Your avoidant behavior suggests this is an uncomfortable topic. Why?”

As well meaning as his questioning may have been, showing him what the Jedi Council had seen hadn’t been at the top of your priorities. “It’s just… I know there’s something wrong with me. But don’t worry,” You tried to laugh it off, “I’ll figure it out.”

Tech’s brows furrowed and his head tilted, clearly confused as to how you got to that conclusion, “I did not say, nor do I believe, you are defective.” The last word snapped your eyes back to him. It didn’t carry weight for just you. “Did the Jedi tell you that?”

Suddenly you could hear your Master’s voice, ‘Dangerous.’ It rang through you and with it came shame. Looking at Tech, patiently asking you questions for your own benefit, your Master’s voice fell silent. 

  “I can’t fight like the Jedi. They fight with the force to keep peace for the greater good.” You hesitate before continuing. “But this energy builds inside of me and I want to use it because sometimes… sometimes I want to win no matter the cost.” Tech’s expression had not changed; he did not seem to grasp the issue. Desperately, you clasped your hands to your chest. “That’s wrong. It’s selfish and that’s not the way of the Jedi. Being selfish can make us - “ You flinched, “them dangerous. Jedi aren’t supposed to want things. I want a great many things, Tech, and the list only grows. The way I am makes me weak minded and dangerous.”

“When you say that you feel this way ‘sometimes,’ what kind of instances are you referring to?”

“The times when losing will cost me something I care about.”

“There is no passion, there is serenity.” Tech recited one of the tenets of the Jedi. “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

“Exactly.” His boundless knowledge earned him a humorous scoff from you.

Tech hummed in understanding. “I can see the Jedi perspective on such traits, considering their Code. However, I'm struggling to discern the correlation between that and your issue with Wrecker. It's merely a practice session, therefore you're not in danger of losing anything beyond the match itself.

You both stood in silence for a few moments. Reflecting on what you confessed and with eyes on the ground, you finally spoke, “I asked Wrecker to spar because I want to know that when I fight I will win. I lose focus because losing to Wrecker now means I’m going to lose something more important than a match in the future.”

An extra set of feet came into sight followed by Tech’s face.

Tech knelt to meet your eyes, adjusting his goggles to better observe you. "The logic in that statement is flawed, at best." he remarked, his tone measured. 

"Individual motivations and morals in combat varies from person to person. As long as your primary motive isn’t causing others or yourself pain, there is no wrong way to survive."

"What if my actions to protect what matters to me hurts others?" The genuine fear on your face caught Tech off guard. "If I prioritize a few, what about the rest?" Your self-doubt and self-loathing troubled Tech; it was a burden you didn't deserve to bear.

“There will always be champions for the many. The few, however, need their champions too.” A slight quirk of his lips hinted at a comforting reassurance. "Additionally, if you're using losing to Wrecker as a benchmark for your future success rates, I'd advise adjusting your expectations. Even General Skywalker himself lost a sparring match to Wrecker. Merely holding your own against him is an accomplishment worthy of pride."

The way your face contorted paired with you sinking to your knees made him worry you might be sick. Instead you sucked in a massive breath and on a shakey exhale you said, “Tech, thank you.” You sounded lighter. A point of satisfaction for Tech.

There was something Tech wanted for you. “What you feel and how you feel is valid. It is crucial you know that.” He cupped his hand just below your ear to smooth his thumb over your cheek. “Until you do, I am glad to remind you.”

Tech’s eyes fell to your lips momentarily, your pained expression warmed into a small smile. There was only one thing missing. He moved his hand to brush his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath caught, and your lips parted involuntarily. "I am curious to hear about this growing list of wants." Slipping his forefinger under your chin he moved your gaze with his as he raised to his knees, posturing over you. It gave him a full view of the flush finally working its way across your cheeks. "Have there been any recent additions?"

Looking at the way your hair was bound together, he didn’t deny the urge to explore a few things. He hooked finger into your hair tie and pulled your hair loose. It fell down, some of it falling into your face. Tech use his fingers to comb your hair back, stopping at the nape of your neck, and then circling his hand back to your cheek. Watching you over the past few rotations, he’d noticed your fondness for your face being touched.

Leaning into his touch, with a hand resting over his, you were practically purring for him. “There have.” You said, spurring him on.

“Do people appear on this list?”

Your nod came with a subtle shift in your gaze, your eyes half-lidded. Tech felt a flutter in his chest, he even felt heat creeping into his own face.

"Do I feature on this list?" he ventured, his voice betraying a bit of anticipation.

Your eyes drifted to his lips before meeting his gaze once more. "I want you, Tech," you confessed, a weighty emotion evident in your expression.

Tech's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as he lowered himself slightly. In response, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you. "What exactly do you want, sarad?" he inquired softly.

Just as he hoped, your eyes widened for a split second at the sound of their nickname for you. It meant "flower" in Mando'a—a fitting description for how you blossomed in their presence, and at this moment, in his. 

"Stars above, I want you to kiss me.” Without hesitation, you seized Tech, drawing him down to your level. When your lips hit, Tech only tensed for a second, his hand finding its place at your waist, drawing you closer and deepening the kiss. You responded eagerly, capturing his lower lip with a gentle suck.

A soft, pleased sound escaped Tech's lips as he tightened his grip on your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands roamed freely, one wrapping around his back while the other found its place around his neck. With a forceful tug you two stumbled backward in unison.

Not breaking the kiss, Tech shoved the hand on your waist out to cushion the fall. Once lowered onto your back, he pulled away to hover over you and allowed you both some air. You didn’t let him pull too far away, stopping him by hooking a leg around his. The pressure of you grinding up into him pulled another little sound from him. His eyes squeezed shut before he playfully pressed his weight down onto you. “I will say one thing.”

With a playful huff, you teased, "Only one thing this time?"

Tech arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Just this once." With deliberate movements, he pushed himself up onto one elbow, transitioning back onto his knees, while simultaneously lifting you to him and allowing your legs to hang around his waist.

You pulled yourself up onto his lap, holding onto his neck for support. “Go on.”

"You are not weak," Tech affirmed, his hands firmly grasping your thighs as he bounced on his heels and lifted you both up. His movements were fluid as he rose to his feet, a smirk playing on his lips. "But I daresay you are dangerous."

His remark elicited a genuine laugh from you, though it didn't diminish the charm you found in his words. If anything, it heightened it.

With a subtle tap on your leg, he signaled for you to lower your legs. “As enjoyable as this is, I'd prefer not to delve further into it while my brothers could walk in at any moment," he explained, assisting you to regain your balance. With a deft movement, he produced your hair tie as if out of thin air. "I've given great thought to the aspects of you I wish to explore. And I intend to do so without interruption."

Before you could get another touch in Tech stepped back and tapped his goggles, initiating a soft beep. “Now that we’ve identified the issue, get into position and show me your stances.”

You laughed, “You’re kidding me.”

“I am not, but should you need further encouragement I do have ideas for rewards for your strongest positions.”

It didn’t take you long to get into position.

[sunderwight]

y'know what, I think it's kind of interesting to bring up Data from Star Trek in the context of the current debates about AI. like especially if you actually are familiar with the subplot about Data investigating art and creativity.

see, Data can definitely do what the AI programs going around these days can. better than, but that's beside the point, obviously. he's a sci-fi/fantasy android. but anyway, in the story, Data can perfectly replicate any painting or stitch a beautiful quilt or write a poem. he can write programs for himself that introduce variables that make things more "flawed", that imitate the particular style of an artist, he can choose to either perfectly replicate a particular sort of music or to try and create a more "human" sounding imitation that has irregular errors and mimics effort or strain. the latter is harder for him that just copying, the same way it's more complicated to have an algorithm that creates believable "original" art vs something that just duplicates whatever you give it.

but this is not the issue with Data. when Data imitates art, he himself knows that he's not really creating, he's just using his computer brain to copy things that humans have done. it's actually a source of deep personal introspection for the character, that he believes being able to create art would bring him closer to humanity, but he's not sure if he actually can.

of course, Data is a person. he's a person who is not biological, but he's still a person, and this is really obvious from go. there's no one thing that can be pointed to as the smoking gun for Data's personhood, but that's normal and also true of everyone else. Data's the culmination of a multitude of elements required to make a guy. Asking if this or that one thing is what makes Data a person is like asking if it's the flour or the eggs that make a cake.

the question of whether or not Data can create art is intrinsically tied to the question of whether or not Data can qualify as an artist. can he, like a human, take on inspiration and cultivate desirable influences in order to produce something that reflects his view on the world?

yes, he can. because he has a view on the world.

but that's the thing about the generative AI we are dealing with in the real world. that's not like Data. despite being referred to as "AI", these are algorithms that have been trained to recognize and imitate patterns. they have no perspective. the people who DO have a perspective, the humans inputting prompts, are trying to circumvent the whole part of the artistic process where they actually develop skills and create things themselves. they're not doing what Data did, in fact they're doing the opposite -- instead of exploring their own ability to create art despite their personal limitations, they are abandoning it. the data sets aren't like someone looking at a painting and taking inspiration from it, because the machine can't be inspired and the prompter isn't filtering inspiration through the necessary medium of their perspective.

Data would be very confused as to the motives and desires involved, especially since most people are not inhibited from developing at least SOME sort of artistic skill for the sake self-expression. he'd probably start researching the history of plagiarism and different cultural, historical, and legal standards for differentiating it from acceptable levels of artistic imitation, and how the use of various tools factored into it. he would cite examples of cultures where computer programming itself was considered a form of art, and court cases where rulings were made for or against examples of generative plagiarism, and cases of forgeries and imitations which required skill as good if not better than the artists who created the originals. then Geordi would suggest that maybe Data was a little bit annoyed that people who could make art in a way he can't would discount that ability. Data would be like "as a machine I do not experience annoyance" but he would allow that he was perplexed or struggling to gain internal consensus on the matter. so Geordi would sum it up with "sometimes people want to make things easy, and they aren't always good at recognizing when doing that defeats the whole idea" and Data would quirk his head thoughtfully and agree.

then they'd get back to modifying the warp core so they could escape some sentient space anomaly that had sucked the ship into intermediate space and was slowly destabilizing the hull, or whatever.

anyways, point is -- I don't think Data from Star Trek would be a big fan of AI art.