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murdrdocs · 18 days ago

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INTERVIEW 027. THERAPIST! CHARLIE MAYHEW murdrtober oct 24th.

Your therapist gives you advice. What better way to exercise said advice than with the person that it came from? 1.1k+ words MDNI 18+

After the weekend you had, you were truly considering skipping this session. But after waking up far too late to cancel without there being some sort of financial consequence, you put on your big girl pants and made your way down to Dr. Mayhew’s office, convincing yourself that professionalism would outweigh whatever awkwardness could possibly exist between you both.

From his end, maybe there isn’t any awkwardness, but from your end the discomfort is as obvious as the hickey sitting on the side of your neck.

You try to cover it with the hood of your sweatshirt, ignoring the dampness of the fabric as you clear your throat and shift the way you’re sitting.

“So I thought today we could talk about your ex.”

As if you needed any further confirmation that Dr. Mayhew saw you out this weekend.

It was a fleeting look, and the two of you were on opposite sides of the bar, but you definitely saw your therapist outside of the office holding a beer, and he definitely saw you outside of the office holding your exes hand. The same guy you’ve cried and whined and got existential over in many of your sessions.

You don’t say anything to Dr. Mayhew. You simply sit still, knowing that there will be a question accompanied by his introduction soon after. His gaze is piercing and unwavering, so you take a second to glance at the window, watching the rain fall down the glass.

“Are you still attached to him?”

There seems to be a right or wrong answer to this question. Even though Dr. Mayhew is giving you that look, the one that’s supposed to be passive and indifferent, you can tell he has already made his own conclusions and he’s simply waiting for you to arrive at them, too. It’s obvious how he feels, from the way he sits, to the tone of his voice.

He could pretend all he wanted, but you’ve been his client for long enough to know his tells. The same way he knows yours.

“What do you mean by attached?”

He knows you’re deflecting, trying to find time to come up with yet another lie.

“I mean, are you still seeing him? In contact with him via text? Email, even.” Dr. Mayhew crosses one leg over the other and interlaces his fingers over his kneecap, drawing your attention to the difference between the outfit you see him in now and the one you saw him in over the weekend.

You don’t know which one you prefer, the relaxed jeans and well-fitting tee shirt he wore this weekend, or the clean-cut white button down and navy slacks that he wears now.

You lift your eyes to look at Dr. Mayhew and he holds your gaze, dark eyes fixed on you as he sits patiently and waits for whatever your answer will be.

You could lie to your therapist once more, wasting the immense amount of money you spend on bettering your mental health. Or, you could just tell the truth, since he already knows it.

“I’m not attached to him, but we are still in contact, yes.”

Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look disappointed, but he doesn’t look proud either. He adjusts the way he’s sitting once more, now leaning back in his seat with his legs spread just enough to gather your attention.

“Have you made any efforts to completely sever contact with him?”

You sigh, crossing your arms and leaning back in the seat. You know Dr. Charlie is noticing your body language, likely mentally cataloging it to describe you as ‘Guarded’ when he’s writing his notes after this session.

“How do you think I should do that?”

“Well I think you should get your mind off of him, for starters. Maybe try picking up a new hobby, getting out of the house without feeding into night life since that’s what the two of you would do often. Maybe even try seeing someone new, anything that will remind you that there is a life outside of the one you had with him.”

It’s a subtle suggestion thrown in there, and maybe he doesn’t mean what you think he means, but the corner of your lips quirk up as you watch Dr. Mayhew across from you. He seems nonchalant, like he hadn’t just told you that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. But if it’s the doctor's orders, how could you not take his advice?

You think you and Dr. Mayhew both end up getting what you want in the end. You take his advice, at least as best as you could. When your friends invite you out on Friday, you politely decline and instead spend your time at home working through a film franchise. But on Saturday when they ask you to come out again, you couldn’t say no without being a bad friend, so there you are on a Saturday night, dolled up with your friends at your sides, reinforcing that if your ex happens to be here, all of you will leave and go somewhere else. But if there’s someone hot, a potential prospect to get your mind off of your ex like your therapist advised, then by all means.

It’s weird how everything falls into place. You and Dr. Mayhew are in the same place at the same time yet again, the two of you found each other on a night where you were determined to completely get your ex out of your mind, and welcome someone else—anyone else—into the otherwise empty roster.

It’s not like you attach yourself to the first person you see, if that were the case you would’ve been with the blue collar worker who offered to buy you a drink at the bar, and not at the back of the building with the guy you pay a solid amount to listen to your problems every other week.

But there is something about Dr. Mayhew that makes him the one. He knows what you are doing, there is a silent agreement for there to be no strings attached as he takes you to his car. He just wants to help you out in any way possible, really. He tells you so as he unzips your dress and let it fall to the floor of his bedroom. He will do anything to help his clients, especially ones that he sees himself in.

“Gonna get your mind off of him, alright?” He tells you as he drops to his knees, his fingertips digging under the elastic of your lacy panties. You came prepared, dressed for the inevitable moment where you would sleep with someone new for the first time in a while.

You nod. “Yeah,” you agree, threading your fingers in Charlie’s short hair as he brought his mouth closer to your cunt.

And Dr. Mayhew does get your mind off of him.

He’s so good to you, so attentive to exactly what you need. It’s no wonder he went into medicine, his bedside manner is fucking incredible.

#charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x you #icarus writes misc #kinktober #murdrtober 2024

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 5 months ago

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This doesn’t get a title because I’m confused

Disclaimers: The only character I own is the reader insert!

Author’s Notes: I think I got possessed, I don’t even like Sam 😭 like in the slightest 😭

But pretend season 8ish Sam has season 2-3’s hair for the sake of that’s the season I’m on lol.

Icons by @gosling-girlx !! She’s a genius!

Anyway, all notes are appreciated!

Content/Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Minors do not interact, this is NOT for you.

This fic is extremely spicy, sort of can’t-stand-each-other sex. Reader’s AFAB & uses she/her pronouns, only physical description is of her being shorter than Sam. There’s oral (both m and f receiving) and unprotected piv which frankly only exists in the books- wrap it before you tap it!! Oh also they’re both pretty mean to each other… you’ll see.

Again, I think I got possessed when I made it-I sincerely can’t stand him- but hope you enjoy it!

**************************************************** Working with the Winchester Brothers is a gig like no other. Cas and I are more tagalongs in the operation these days, Cas demoted to resident healer and I to stay at home mom, apparently.

One accident (authors note: one possession & a year long recovery for a spinal injury retained from said possession) had apparently rendered me useless to the boys. It’s not all bad- I’m relatively close with the older one, Dean, since we’re both hoes for a good time and good movies/music. And before the accident, I was happy to kill evil sons-of-bitches with Dean any day of the week.

And of course, Castiel is a right sweetheart- showing him new human things is the sweetest experience in the whole wide world.

But you know what ruins the laughs and the nice moments? The younger brother. Sam “Little Shit” Winchester.

I don’t know how he found himself upon the moral pedestal he crafted for himself, but lord I want to remove his kneecaps and slap him with them. Little baby giraffe looking shit.

I don’t like the way he acts, plain and simple. Between the way that he treats Dean and the way that he talks so condescendingly to me- I’m about two seconds from starting a fight every time we’re in a room together for too long. He seems to feel the same way. It’s helpful in a hunt- both of us are smart enough to concentrate that anger towards our monster of the week instead of each other in the field- but now, when there’s no field to take the anger out on? Dean’s had to break up at least 3 almost-fights, and I’ve only been back on my feet for a couple months.

***

The boys looked especially pissy coming home today- they’d grumbled something about a “stupid fucking vampire bitch,” and went their separate ways, Sam to the med bay and Cas trailing Dean like a golden retriever.

Great. Looks like I’m on Douchebag Duty.

***

“What’s your problem?” Sam snaps as I tug the thread on his stitches a little too roughly.

“My problem, you dick? I’m the one that’s stitching you up right now, why don’t I just let you bleed out?” I retort, yanking on the surgical needle with the string attached to a particularly nasty cut on his upper arm. Cut’s an understatement- it’s really a bullet wound. I’m just too proud to have pity for the jackass.

“Yeah, your problem!”

I set down the needle at that, my fists clenched at my sides. “You’re a whiny little bitch who can’t sit still and shut the fuck up for two minutes! That’s my problem.”

“I think you’re a little too high and mighty there, princess,” he scowls, standing up to full height, presumably so that he can use his stature to literally look down at me.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking, Mr Morals,” I seethe, staring up at him. I snatch the needle, on my tiptoes, and hastily finish the stitching on his scar, while standing up.

“Out,” I spit as I cut the thread.

“No,” he retorts, glancing down at me through long lashes and stupidly overgrown bangs.

“What? Is five minutes away from your big head too much to ask?” my hands are on my hips. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of staring up at him, so I stare at whatever’s eye level. He’s wearing a bloodied white tank top, which is not doing much for the whole vibe we’ve got going on right now.

He bites his lower lip, still looking down through his annoyingly long lashes. And my dumb ass is attracted to it, apparently.

“Get. Out,” I say, anger laced in my words.

“No,” he says through clenched teeth. I start to turn away, as if giving up, before pulling a Dean Winchester and turning back around on my heel, punching him in the abdomen. He grunts, keeling over. “Ow!”

“You should’ve listened, you ass,” I say, looking down at him. He looks pathetic, his eyes gone wide and pretty in pain. I shouldn’t be into this, not one bit.

Keeled over, Sam is at eye level. Our gazes lock, his hazel eyes boring holes into mine, searching for something. I don’t dare waver, looking back at him with just as much intensity until he surprises me, leaning in and crashing his lips to mine. He roughly grabs my face, holding me close as he forces his tongue into my mouth, exploring. I hate how easily I give him access, I hate the way I let out a gasp against my will. By the time he pulls away I’m already leaning back in. He smirks, humoring me for one more kiss.

“How do you like me now?” he says cockily, lips plush and pink from the kisses, hazel eyes blown out by lust.

“I don’t,” I mutter, pushing him back so that he’s forced to sit on the med bay bed. His legs are spread wide, and of course I fit perfectly between them, much to my distaste. I kiss his jawline, using mostly my teeth so that it scratches as I go, especially once I start on his neck, biting and sucking dark marks everywhere I see fit. He’s into it, little breathy whimpers further fueling my unfortunate attraction to him.

“Take off your shirt,” I tell him, stepping back and smirking at how this time he leans into my touch instead of the other way around. He thoughtlessly pulls the hem of the ruined fabric over his head, throwing it to the side, exposing an obnoxiously fit physique and an anti possession tattoo. There’s little scars everywhere, and something deep down urges me to kiss every single one of them, but that can be later.

“Take off yours,” he tells me.

“Why?” I ask, trying to play smart.

“Cause if I have to be shirtless you do too,” he says.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Better think of a better retort next time, Winchester,” I say as I take off the oversized concert tee I had been wearing.

“Bra too,” he orders, cocking his head to the side as he looks me over.

“Who made you the boss?” I ask, already unclasping my bra.

“I did,” he says, far too cocksure.

“We’ll see about that,” I grin, letting the lacy fabric fall to the ground as I lean in to kiss his damnable hot mouth. This time I take control, taking pride in the little noises he makes.

“I’m gonna suck your dick,” I say crudely, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Go right on ahead,” and I can tell there was meant to be spite behind those words, but it quickly fades away into sighs as I start kissing down his pecs, his abs, lightly scratching anywhere I can find with my nails. I hate how hot the heat between my thighs is, but at this point, I can’t help it, especially as I sink to my knees, nose perfectly level with his crotch.

I take his belt into my hands, grazing over the obvious tent that lies underneath it. He throws his head back at that, biting back a curse.

“What’s the matter Sammy?” I tease.

“Shut up,” he grumble, words morphing into a proper moan as I graze over the tent again.

“Uh huh,” I agree, tugging off his leather belt and yanking down the zipper of his jeans.

“Boxers? I had taken you for a ‘Tighty Whities’ girl, Sammy,” I mused, doing my best to work him up even more.

“Sto-,” he starts, immediately losing his words as I free his cock from his confines, pulling his boxers down to his knees.

You know, just cause a guy’s a big guy doesn’t always mean that everything’s proportionate. Sam’s six foot five-ish, long and lanky with lean muscle. And naturally, because everything about him is meant to spite me, his dick also fits the physical bill. My mouth waters, and the only prospect that excites my overly-horny self more than having it in my mouth is having it in my slick soaked pussy. And I will, if I have anything to say about it.

“Oh Sammy, you’re a big boy, huh,” I taunt, running a hand up and down his shaft slowly. He moans in agreement, no more fight left in him. It’s too easy.

I let go of it, ignoring the bead of pre cum leaking down as I move to kiss his thighs, grazing my teeth on them like I did on his neck. He seems to like it, legs moving in towards my mouth. Finally I move my mouth towards where he obviously wants me most, rubbing the bead over his tip with my thumb. I’m a little wary about taking the whole thing, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

I start simple, kitten lips around the base, licking a long stripe up the underside before wrapping my lips around the head, and he moans, a little too loudly. I brace my hands on his thighs before taking a deep breath through my nose and forcing myself down far enough that my nose is touching neatly trimmed hair. Thankfully my gag reflex is still gone-it’s been a minute- as I hold him there for a moment, before starting to bob my head up and down, testing the waters. He whimpers and whines, and it’s pathetic, and I’m far too into it, unable to do much else than keep up my ministrations.

One of his big hands find the back of my head, fingers weaving into my hair. I don’t think he does so with intent of forcing me to move, but the idea is so hot that I lock eyes with him with my mouth on his cock.

“What? You want me to fuck your mouth?” he asks, panting. And once he says it out loud I get impossibly wetter, and I moan yes, unable to nod at all with him buried as far as he’ll go.

“Damn, you’re a slut,” he grins, and I moan in agreement before he starts moving my head slowly. Forward and back, forward and back, before I lock eyes with him and he gets the hint to take it harder, hips starting to thrust meeting my throat as his hands push. I just keep sucking, doing my best not to choke as involuntary tears leak out. But it doesn’t hurt, not at all. If anything I’m just doing all I can to not start rubbing on my own sensitive spots.

Before I know it his whimpers get louder and his whines get needier, and he grits out “I- I’m going to-“

So I release him with a pop, taking a hand and rubbing up and down his length furiously before he bursts. Once he does, with the most pathetic whimper yet, I get my mouth right back on him, taking every drop of his hot release down my throat. When he’s done I stay there, opening his mouth so he can see that there’s nothing there.

“God, you’re such a slut,” he mutters, echoing what he said before as he catches his breath and pulls me up by the hair- gently.

I shrug cockily, moving back as he stands up.

“Strip and have a seat,” he lazily demands as he puts his perfect cock away.

I roll my eyes but comply, taking off my remaining clothes so that I’m left in all my glory.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?” he compliments, a moment of tenderness as he crowds me against the bed so that I’ll take a seat. I blush, letting him hoist me up so that my ass is on the edge of the dinghy bed. “My turn,” he grumbles, voice low and hot against the column of my neck. He’s even rougher than I was, nipping at every square inch of skin that he meets, sucking dark marks down the side of my neck and over the tops of my breasts. I’m like a bitch in heat, responding to every touch in ways I can’t control- pornographic moans, leaning into his touch. He’s pulling on my hair to give himself more access, and I’m starting to worry that I’m soaking the bed. His mouth continues to work wonders, especially as he travels southwards, playing with my breasts.

He’s mean, outright biting the one and pinching the other, and it’s just what I need. I tangle my hands into his annoyingly long hair and tugging, not missing the way he moans into my chest.

Finally, finally, he gets down on his knees. He rests his chin on the bed, breath heavy on my heat. The sight of his head pillowed on my thighs as he looks up at me with those puppy dog, blown out eyes is enough to get me to come on the spot.

“This all f’me, princess?” he asks roughly, collecting some of the gratuitous wetness on two long, thick fingers.

“N-no,” I stammer, clutching his hair tighter. He bites back his moan in favor of a smug grin.

“N-no,” he mocks, turning to the side to bite the inside of my thigh, and I whine. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought.” His nose is eye level with my clit, and the only warning I get before he dives into my pussy is a small smirk that meets his hazel eyes.

“Fuck!”

He moans in between my thighs, setting my entire body on fire. I try to wiggle away from him, but it only takes one big, strong hand to hold my hips in place as he fucks his tongue into me, his nose rubbing on my puffy clit. It’s wet and it’s gross, but so, so hot.

He’s a little too good, knowing all the buttons to press that leave me tracking wetness all over his face, before taking two fingers and roughly pushing them into my core, giving me no time to adjust. They’re thick and long, and when he makes the come hither motion I know I’m fucked, doing everything I can not to gasp his name.

“S-s-oh my god,” I cry as he plunges his fingers all the way down to the knuckle every time, reaching deeper and deeper and rubbing on my g-spot. He’s too busy sucking on my clit to say anything, his attention overstimulating.

He adds a third finger, and that, combined with him tracing patterns on my sensitive bud, sends me straight over the edge with a an unintelligible cry.

Of course the bastard doesn’t stop, not until I’m physically shaking from the overstimulation, legs quivering, and on the brink of a second release.

He removes himself from my heat, laying his cheek on the inside of my thigh, looking up at me smugly.

“Good, huh?” he knows it was.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, voice weak.

“That’s what I’m getting to, princess. So impatient,” he taunts, standing up to full height again. Sam haphazardly wipes the slick off of his face with his forearm, not really caring how much he removes. He kicks off his shoes and socks before taking off his slacks and boxers in one go, revealing that gorgeous cock again. He stands before me, looking like some kinda statue of physical perfection. I have to physically close my jaw looking at him.

“Like what you see, princess?”

I stick out my tongue and blow a raspberry.

“Real mature, sweetheart,” he rolls his eyes. “You have a condom?”

I shake my head. “Don’t need one, I’m on the pill and I have morning after. Want you to fuck me and fill me,” I tell him honestly.

“God you’re a slut and you’re freaky? I’d never have guessed,” he mused, stepping between my thighs. I assume he’s clean as well since he doesn’t really… get out much.

“Yeah, that’s cause you’re not the brightest,” I tell him, scooting as close to the edge as I can without falling.

“Uh huh,” he says sarcastically, before picking me up and slamming my shoulder into a nearby wall, yet gently resting my back against it. Gentle with my injury, wow. Wouldn’t have expected it. I gasp, surprised by the sudden motion.

“Payback for the gut punch,” he explains.

“Oh yeah? I’ll punch you again if you don’t fuck me,” I say, a mean edge to my voice.

“Mkay,” he says, obviously not swaying either way as he aligns his tip with my entrance.

“Fuck me,” I order through a gasp, unable to wait anymore.

“Careful what you wish for there, princess,” he warns, before sheathing himself in me in one go.

Look, I can get laid whenever I want, especially back when I was on duty as a hunter. I’m no stranger to sex, and I have a decently high sex drive. If I can’t get some, then I always have backup- toys and vibrators, you name it.

But Sam? His dick was big in my mouth, but in my pussy? I feel like I’ve been split in two, my mouth is dropped in an o. But it feels so, so good.

“Move,” I demand after a few moments of adjusting.

“Say my name,” he cocks his head, pushing impossibly deeper so that he’s practically touching my cervix.

“Sammy,” I say with as much sass as I can muster, my voice high from the added pressure. I know he hates the nickname, it makes him feel like a baby. Because he is one.

“Nuh uh, princess. Say my name,” the pad of his thumb flits over my clit.

“Unh- Sam!” I moan, unable to stop myself.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Now ask me to fuck you. Nicely.”

“No.”

“Guess I’ll be on my way then,” he starts pulling out.

“No!” I whine.

“Ask nicely.”

“Sam, fuck me please?” I ask with as much sweetness and doe eyes as possible for me.

“You really are sweet when you’re horny,” he remarks, pulling back, before setting a brutal pace that has me raking my nails across his back and moaning his stupid name. He’s pounding into me with all of his might, sweat sheening on his brow.

It’s so hard that I can barely get any words out, and I hate it, but it just feels too good.

And of course, Sammy has enough words for the both of us.

“Fucking you dumb, huh? Got such a big attitude until I’m in you, just needed this dick,” he says, laughing meanly as I involuntarily clench at his words.

“What? You like me being mean to you? You get wet every time we fight?” a particularly hard set of thrusts accompanies each of the words in his third rhetorical question. I moan, not even sure of the answer. Probably? Maybe? Gah.

“Look at you, taking it like a good slut. You’re so tight and wet, and it’s all f’me,” his raspy voice starts slurring with lust. He brings one of his hands between us, finding my swollen clit and rutting on it, tracing patterns just as he did before with his tongue.

“S-Sam, it’s too much-,” I cry, unable to handle the overstimulation.

“Good,” he grins wickedly, before upping the ante both in thrusts and in rutting, unraveling me into a mess in his arms. I cry his name, helpless as I come down for the second time.

“So soon?” he tuts, not slowing his pace.

“Sh-shut up- ah-,” is all I can say as he gets impossibly rougher, chasing his own release.

“Gotta finish the job, princess,” he stutters, before growing more and more erratic. He’s got me on edge again as he does so, but mercifully comes before I can. I feel his hot release in me, filling me up just a little too full with his dick that he hasn’t yet pulled out.

Eventually he wordlessly puts me down, fingers plugging our mixed release in me. I can’t even complain- him keeping me full is unfortunately kinda hot.

“So…” he starts, looking down at me.

“Get out,” I interrupt.

“No,” he says, not moving.

This is going to be a long afternoon.

****************************************************

“Did you guys finally get into a bout?” Dean asks as we walk (re: stumble) out of the med bay and into the kitchen where he and Cas are sitting playing Uno, Bon Jovi playing in the background. “Oh- oh.”

Yeah, it’s pretty obvious the fight we got into. There’s no hiding it, even if we had tidied up our hair or faces- there’s scratches and bruises everywhere. Whoops.

“Are you guys in need of healing?” Cas asks innocently as Sam and I sit down a chair apart.

“No, Cas… these are, uh, special bruises. The fun kind. And they’re everywhere, apparently… damn, Sammy.” Dean comments as he surveys his brother and I. Sam coughs, and I reach over to punch him from my seat away. He grunts, and then we all go quiet.

“So… all in favor of never talking about this?” I ask after an uncomfortably long uncomfortable silence.

“Aye,” say the brothers in unison. Cas also agrees after Dean elbows him. “Fantastic.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #BTW Destiel in the background ain’t subtext it’s clear text 💪

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wazzappp · 1 month ago

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WERE DOING SPECBIO STUFF AGAIN BABY. Feels fucking good to get back to my roots (i get to close 50 tabs worth of research now. Delightful)

Terminators are made of a Titanium Alloy (Im going with ferrotitanium which is a mix of iron and titanium. They never specify in the movie what the titanium is mixed with so fuck it we ball baby)) skeleton contains limited amounts of Mimetic Polyalloy (fake material used for the terminator in terminator two). Mimetic polyalloy can be hard or flexible and will be used to create new structures that the iron collected from food will later fully establish. This will allow his metal endoskeleton to mimic standard growth that a regular skeleton would have growing up.

When first introduced to the foster system (medical checkups are required once entering the foster system. The police probably do some checkups on Robbie also just to make sure hes okay when they find him), medical tests show that he has anemia, so it’s recommended he be put on iron supplements. My reasoning is any iron in his blood is almost instantly sent to work on growing his endoskeleton. That means the actual amount of iron left in his blood is pretty low (the opposite of this is hemochromatosis which is when there's too much iron in your blood). I could see him probably trying to stop iron supplements but I think there would be some side effects to convince him to start taking them again. His joints might ache or I could see child terminator Robbie saying some mildly concerning shit like ‘my bones feel hungry’. I also think he might crave foods that are high in iron. Like beef/chicken liver, canned tuna, and seafood. Idk how frequently he could AFFORD these things but yk. The endoskeleton hungers eternal ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Nanobots are used to repair wiring for his nervous system, synthetic muscular system, acts as his immune system and sometimes accelerates healing for his organic systems (organic parts of his muscular system, skin, and nerves). For the most part his organic systems heal on their own at about the same pace as a normal human person. Nanomachines/nanoparticles are fueled by glucose (if Robbie needs work done by the nanobots he might need to eat or crave sugar both before and afterwards).

He probably has a fairly (?) normal digestive system and circulatory system. The spread of his circulatory system is just more limited because some parts of him don't really need blood. . The primary job of the nanomachines when they aren't busy healing or growing his body is to harvest as much heme iron from the food/supplements he consumes as possible so that it can be repurposed later. His immune system is taken care of by the nanobots so all he has to worry about is red blood cell and plasma production. Similar to adults, most of this takes place in his spine, ribs, skull and breastbone. The red bone marrow is stored inside these metal parts and the red blood cells are then released into his bloodstream. Plasma is created in the liver and also in bone marrow so most of that stays the same

Another fun bit about the endoskeleton:

Bones close to his skin that are in danger of being exposed (knuckles, kneecaps, cheekbones) have a very thin enamel coating to preserve the illusion that they are bones. But underneath it’s all just the same Ferrotitanium.

onto the muscular system

Muscles are laced with a Shape Memory Alloy called Nitinol. A flexible (SURPRISINGLY durable godamn) metal material made of nickel and titanium that reacts to electrical and thermal impulses. It’s already used in the medical field (I can not fucking BELIVE that this is real thats so so so SO fucking cool). Superficial muscles are more organic (80% muscle 20% nitinol) but as the muscles go deeper they become more and more synthetic (20% muscle 40% nitinol 40% titanium wiring for durability). Superficial muscles are more muscle for stealth purposes. If injuries go deeper than anticipated he will still be able to fly mostly under the radar, assuming no wires have been significantly dislodged. If he’s been injured into the deeper layers then there’s no use in trying to lay low anymore. He’s clearly in a combat situation and stealth protocols no longer matter.

ALSO I did some math to try and figure out how heavy Robbie would be with all this metal in his system. Heres the logic for my equation:

CONTENT WARNING. MATH.

About 12 - 15% of your body mass is bone. A person weighing 155 lbs will have about 22lbs of bones. One Cubic centimeter of bones will weigh about 1.85 grams.

Ferrotitanium alloy is 4.5 grams per cubic centimeter.

The equation 1.85/4.5 = 22/x in which x is his new bodyweight. Multiply 1.85 by 2.43 to get 4.5. Because the equation must be symmetrical you then multiply 22 by 2.43 to get 53.5 lbs.

With all of the extra metal in his system, I think it would be reasonable to assume that he LOOKS like he should be about 155 lbs but his actual weight is around 250 lbs. I have. NO idea how doctors are going to deal with this.

Had some VERY FUN hypotheticals from @moosemonstrous (thank you for proofreading my insanity once again <3) about his body shedding as much water as possible and like. shriveling his organs to drop as much weight as possible before doctors appointments. But given that he is a cyborg and not an android I do think that might kill him so Im thinking??? Maybe people just assume the scale is broken.... every single time he's in.

IDK man if they have access to his wack ass file then his breaking the conservation of mass is the least weird thing in there.

OKAY YAYYYYY NOW THAT I HAVE HIS INTERWORKINGS LAID OUT I CAN DO FUN CYBORG GORE!!!!! <33

#YAYYYYYY FINALLY DONE #ghost rider terminator au #my art #robbie reyes #specbio

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meowzilla93 · 11 months ago

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Love Language with the Boys!!

I feel like its quite self explanatory in the games but I wanted to explore more into it so

Here is the primary and secondary Love Languages the Boys have!

Derek Suarez

Primary - Acts of Service!

This boy loves and needs someone to just make his life even a fraction easier

You need someone on your side boo? We got you!

Lets start the day

Are you a night owl and sleep in? Well, you made sure to make some snacks and prepare his workout drinks in the fridge the night before – gotta make sure muscle man is eating right and getting his protein

Early bird like he is? Sweet! If you both go to the gym you pack his bag for him as he is getting dressed, or maybe you’ll go ahead and make a quick breakfast for the two of you to get some energy before a work out

Not going to the gym? No issues! You give him a kiss on the cheek and hand him his protein shake as he leaves, then whilst he is gone you can start prepping a good after workout breakfast for him to come back to

Has he got work or meetings he needs to go to afterwards? You could make sure his clothes are ready to go, or maybe the papers he was reading through the night before are packed away into his bag

You’ve got the day off work? Maybe we plan a nice dinner surprise with his favourite meal

Or you order in cause it’s a Friday and its game night (GO TEAM SUAREZ) and you both aren’t getting much sleep that night

Oh you noticed his favourite protein powder is running out? Better put an order in and top it up before he notices (of course he notices, he is absolutely touched!)

Poor boy has gotten sick? You just know he doesn’t want to let that slow him down

Guess what you are doing?

You are one step away from strapping him down to that bed (kinky, but not really HE IS SICK) but he finally relents, so you get to nurse him now

Mama Suarez has told you his favourite go to home remedies to get better, and you make it all! Tea, soups, hot chocolate, you name it

He is going to know what it means to be taken care of

You have Dereks Day! But its not once a year, its once a month

He needs to have one day every 30 days where its just about him and letting him let loose

The Boardwalk is always a winner, but sometimes its just a picnic, or go to the water park, or go to the movies. Whatever he wants to do, its getting done

Secondary – Words of Affirmation!

I swear this man, LIKE ALL THE OTHERS, doesn’t understand when we compliment him or anything

So guess what guys

Daily Affirmation Texts

He really needs these ones

Just a reminder of how amazing he is, that he is kicking goals (pun intended)

That we are so happy to be with him

Just remind him that he matters, because baby, you really do!

Cove Holden

Primary – Quality Time!

So we know how much Cove loves just spending time with us

Its his favourite hobby, pastime, memory, you name it

Oh our favourite resident merman has a new fish?

You are sitting down and letting that man gush about it, telling you all about its species and what the care is going to be for it

You don’t even have to say anything, just sitting there and listening to him is all that matters

Hard day at work?

He just needs to vent to you, same thing. You could even provide tips (im talking like, hit them in the kneecaps advice) to him just to get him to smile and laugh about it

Some think that Quality Time means you need to give each other attention all the time, but not for you two

All he wants is to be in your presence, and you don’t even have to be doing the same thing

You guys have aced Parallel Play

The most important thing is making sure you are within each others vision and you Gucci

He is reading, you could be watching something on your phone

He is cleaning the fish tank, you could be there just listening to music and maybe doing a hobby of your own

He just wants your presence

BE IN HIS PRESENCE

Any time away is torture to him, every Step in the game literally explains that

Secondary – Gift Giving!

Remember how excited he gets over the orange shell? The poppy? The fudges? The windchime?

This man is so ecstatic that you thought of him WHEN HE WASN’T EVEN THERE

And you are giving him something that he would like, and you did it unprompted

Prepare for waterworks

Listen, sometimes you just need to leave it on his pillow to come back to

You got up earlier than him (shocker that one) cause of work, so as you are quietly bustling around getting ready, you leave him a little letter or a present on the pillow next to him

When he finally wakes up and sees it, there are tears, and then there is an urgent call coming your way

Because of course he needs to thank you for it!

Just be prepared that you will get gifts too. That’s his way of showing his love and care too

Baxter Ward

Primary – Physical Touch!

Look, I swear this one is so obvious, but in case it isn’t I will go into HEAVY DETAIL OF WHAT HE LIKES

See he loves being in your presence all the time, but it simply isn’t enough

He needs some part of him touching you, even in a minute way, he just needs it

Driving? You are holding hands, this is a rule

Walking? Holding hands or he has your arm draped on his all gentlemanly like

Sitting together at a function? Somehow you have contact

You could be holding each others hand on the table

Or simply linking fingers, even just the pinky finger (YOU MJST BE TOUCHING)

Linked ankles underneath the table

Pressed up next to each other so your thighs or shoulders are touching whilst talking to others

Home alone and you are sitting on the couch together?

Position A: he is laying his head in your lap, you will brush your fingers through his hair that is the LAW

You could always give him a small head massage, he would love you even more for it

Position B: leaning against each other, watching a movie, he will have his arm wrapped around you and holding you in close, you could hold his hand as well

Position C: You are lying on him. Oh he will be brushing you hair, but say you don’t like that, he is content holding you hand instead

Oh this man is a sucker for hand holding (have you read anything above)

But you know what would make him weak?

Giving him a hand massage. Or just caressing his hand, feeling his fingers, brushing them across his palm. The lot of it

Can say the same about his neck and head; you could just be caressing him, admiring him and his skin and softness and he would 100% be lulled to sleep by it

Or, if you do it the right way, something else entirely would be on the menu (play prawn-hu- gets shot)

He is making dinner for you? Gently hug him from behind

Come home from work? A hug and a kiss is required for this tired man

Is there music playing? Oh a dance is required. Doesn’t have to be fancy, just a chance to hold onto you and sway is enough for him

Kisses – lord this man would accept a kiss any where

Hands, cheeks, chin, nose, shoulders, legs (alright we need to get back on track)

But forehead touches are supreme

Sharing a hug, foreheads pressed together, just being in each other space?

His heart couldn’t be more full

Bedtimes? You would consider yourself lucky if you can untangle yourself from him

You are 100% wrapped up in a Baxter Burrito and you aren’t escaping

But if that’s not your thing, don’t worry he is respectful of that

At this point as long as he can feel your body heat and movement in the bed, he will be content

After all he gets all the touches during the waking hours

Secondary – I Feel like this is almost two, cause He does need Words of Affirmation even though he doesn’t believe in it half the time, but also Quality Time is a big hitter for him...

With Baxter, because he is emotionally stunted, there is only so far you can provide him in words of affirmation before he just doesn’t listen anymore

So these ones need to happen sporadically, and during very important moments

Like when he is really beating himself up, rather than tell him he is wrong, you just need to flip the conversation to be positive

Sometimes you do just need to give him time to process what has happened and let him come back to you to talk, and that’s when you can gently re-affirm the positives with him

Quality Time just links in with Physical Touch

He loves being with you, and just plain talking with you

If you are long distance, he just wants to make every moment count, over the phone or in person

And if you do that back to him, well then you are just the more remarkable person ever

Don’t need to be doing anything fancy, voice calling is just fine

Going for a walk and chatting

Trying a new restaurant when you are both together again

DANCING COME ON

Thank you for reading my TED talk.

A small part of me is sad that Coves is so little, but honestly mans gets so much screen time, the other boys deserve a chance to shine!

cough I do not have a favourite cough

#our life beginnings and always #olba #baxter ward #our life #olba baxter #our life headcannons #baxter x mc #olba cove #cove x mc #olba derek #derek x mc #love language #olba mc #headcannons

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andypantsx3 · 2 years ago

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fingerprints | 8 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 3.3k of est. 37k words | 8th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

Cooking with Shouto turned out to be a disaster.

Though armed with a coherent recipe and what were ostensibly all the correct ingredients, what you produced barely met the metric for edibility.

Shouto, for his part, chopped ingredients as though he had never once encountered terminology such as careful and uniform, producing an array of sliced vegetables whose size varied from microscopic to nearly fist-sized. He looked so handsomely put out when you set upon him to correct his work that you had to smother a laugh into the collar of your sweater for risk of offending him further.

You, however, did not actually fare much better. Ordinarily you were a passable cook, nowhere near gifted but not quite helpless either. But the sight of Todoroki Shouto in your kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows and a little pout on his mouth as he concentrated, was way too distracting for you.

You missed entire steps in the recipe, only to have to circle back later, and the amount of time your eyes spent glued to Shouto’s firm biceps as he chopped meant you also missed huge swathes of time, leading to a slightly-burnt tasting sauce and overdone chicken.

Shouto made things even worse by consulting his phone, murmuring directions in his mind-numbingly low tone, so gentle and hypnotic that you forgot to listen to the actual steps.

In the end, though, it didn’t even matter. You were so pleased to just be with him, in the same space, doing something distracting together.

You loved the way he took up space in your peripheral, his broad shoulders making the kitchen seem smaller than it was. You loved the scrunch on his nose when he concentrated particularly hard, the way his elegant fingers curled around the handle of the knife, the way he’d lean in close to you to get something at your side.

He was such good, easy company, and it made you fall even more helplessly in love with him than you already were.

The two of you ate stuffed together at your coffee table, reaping the inedibility that you had sown, but you found yourself too satisfied to care. Shouto, too, did not look like he minded much that whatever you made probably in no way approximated the recipe Fuyumi had given him.

When it was finally time for him to go, Shouto leaned in and drew you into another hug, pressing you tightly against him once again.

It made your head swim with all of the questions that were beginning to crop up about this new phase of your relationship. About what it meant that you’d been exposed, and things were only going to get more public from here. About what it meant that Shouto was getting notably free with your person. About what it meant that he’d bought you a property for your animal rescue, and had roped his own mother into helping him fund it for you.

None of those things had seemed at all possible just twenty-four hours ago—and yet here you were, a publicly-recognizable, thoroughly-hugged future owner of an animal rescue.

Shouto left with a final press of his fingers to the skin of your hand, watching raptly as the color flooded your skin. He leveled a kneecap-shattering smile at you, and promised to see you soon.

And then he left you alone, feeling better, but with about a zillion more questions than you’d had to start with.

The ensuing weeks only made things more confusing.

You were mostly confined to your apartment as the Todoroki Agency did its level best to combat the rampant speculation on your identity and the nature of your relationship to Shouto. The tack they seemed to be taking so far was that Yoshizuki Ayumi’s speculations were intended specifically to hype up sales of her book, and were not grounded in any true knowledge of who Shouto had come into contact with that day.

Shouto’s terrifying manager was in the news daily, running circles around the press in her little pearl set and tight ponytail. You knew it was only a matter of time until the truth was fully revealed, and you’d have been more sorry to her if Shouto hadn’t sent you a litany of texts implying she was having the time of her life cooking and eating reporters for breakfast.

Shouto continued to text you updates from his patrols, pictures of things he’d seen, lunches he’d eaten, cats he’d rescued from trees. He called you after every shift, sometimes directly after, and you’d hear the unbuckling of his uniform in the background, the rustle of cloth as it slid off him.

Those phone calls gave heart palpitations of the worst sort, though not as bad as when Shouto himself turned up at your apartment, greeting the rotation of heroes who’d taken to guarding your neighborhood. You met an entire slew of heroes you’d only ever heard of—Mudman, Lizardy, and most excitingly, Cellophane, all of whom you learned had been Shouto’s classmates at UA.

You spent your free hours consolidating your rescue funding plan, and working with a contact Shouto had provided on the plans to remodel the building he’d purchased. You tried to keep costs down, already overwhelmed by the amount of debt you were in to him, but Shouto seemed to have stipulated to the contractor that no dollar amounts were to be provided to you.

You reamed him out over text once you’d figured it out, only to be immediately steamrolled into silence by a selfie of Shouto with Princess, her cream-and-orange face pressed contentedly up against his inhumanly handsome one. Your mind blanked once confronted with that kind of cuteness, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to text back that wouldn’t give away how horrifyingly whipped you were.

Shouto was notably smug the next time you saw him.

You also worked up the nerve to start cold-calling possible donors to the rescue, armed with an opening date and operational model. You registered for non-profit status, drowning in heaps of government paperwork. You posted job listings for volunteers and full-timers, and reached out to Mari to gauge her interest. Handed in my 2 weeks!!, she texted you immediately.

You set up an accounting system and budget, a mission statement, and got in touch with every kennel, shelter, and veterinary office within thirty kilometers, alerting them to the impending opening of your rescue, your policies, and your capacity.

It was unbelievable that you were finally getting to do the thing you had always wanted to do, and that Todoroki Shouto—your soulmate—had made it happen for you.

And that left you with the final, most dizzying question of your relationship to him.

Because Shouto was being confusing as hell.

It still needled you, weeks into these new developments, that everything Shouto was doing for you was too much. It was absolutely beyond what a normal friend would do for someone, even if that friend was as rich and well-known as Shouto was. Opening an animal rescue on someone’s behalf itself was huge, and possibly within the bounds of platonicness and professionalism if you squinted. Maybe.

But Shouto was in touch so constantly that you wondered how he had time for anyone else. The end-of-shift calls were long, sometimes taking you both hours into the evening as you chatted idly while you cooked, while you cleaned, while Shouto played with Princess. When he spoke, he mentioned time with his mother and sister and his friends, but nothing about time with Yaoyorozu Momo, and between all the time he spent on shift, sleeping, and speaking to you, you thought he had very little time left.

He was more forward than ever, too, sitting close whenever you were together, pressing his fingers to your skin in greeting or in parting. But he never made any particular move that might be construed as romantic—he never moved in to kiss you, even if sometimes (very privately) you thought he looked almost like he was waiting again.

You didn’t know what to make of it. All of it taken together–the gifts, the rescue, the time together, the personal space—it all seemed too unbelievable. You knew you were just an aggressively plain, average girl, and the daily tweets that were still flung your way confirmed that. But Shouto made you feel—made you feel—

He made you feel different. Special. Precious.

Confused as hell.

It was the impending release of Yoshizuki Ayumi’s book, however, that pushed things to a head. Though Shouto’s agency had been able to delay the book and cast doubt on Ayumi’s publicity efforts, there were no legal grounds on which the book might be stopped altogether. And you honestly didn’t think that would have been fair, even if there had been. Technically, she wasn’t wrong. And technically, you had thrown her under the bus first, all those months ago.

You didn’t like the thought of being publicly known.

But you had been able to avoid it long enough to get to know Shouto naturally, organically, peacefully, without any of the pressure of public opinion that might have otherwise altered the nature of your relationship, ambiguous as it was. And when you thought about it deeply enough, that’s all you really could have asked for.

It was roughly a week from the revised book release date when Shouto told you the agency would need to make a definitive statement once and for all. And then he shocked you.

“I will leave it up to you,” he told you, one evening in his living room, where he’d finally been able to smuggle you for a change of scenery.

Princess had seemed thrilled to see you when you’d arrived, surprisingly, almost twice the size of when you’d seen her last and looking more haughty and elegant than ever. She’d padded over to give you a greeting sniff, and had immediately seized the hem of your pants with her claws, a familiar routine. You’d sank onto Shouto’s couch and let her highness do her worst to the bottom of your jeans.

“You what?” you’d echoed, staring at him in the soft buttery light of his lamps.

Shouto watched you carefully, his handsome face solemn. “I have thought about it,” he said in his low, soft tone. It was gentler than ever, and yet strangely shuttered, as though he didn’t want to betray any of his own opinion in his voice.

“I will not pressure you to be my soulmate publicly,” he said. “There are options. If you wish it, I can tell the public we are not. I can tell them I am a donor to your rescue and our relationship is purely professional. I have discussed it with my manager. It would be feasible that we would have spoken in debriefs after the attack, and that I’d identified your rescue as a charitable cause for the agency to invest in.”

The idea of continued privacy was admittedly tempting, but you did not like the carefully blank look on Shouto’s face as he continued. “However, we would be watched after that. I…We would no longer be able to meet like this,” he said.

He paused a long time, before finally adding, “I would do it, if that was what you wanted. It will be…difficult for you, once you are known, you can never regain that privacy again. I do not want you to have to experience that.”

You sat there, shocked by the idea. You hated the idea of not getting to see Shouto like this anymore. Much as you’d resisted it at first, you loved the time spent with him–how easy, effortless, comfortable it was–yet heady, thrilling, exciting. He took up so much of your headspace every day, the person you wanted to run to with news, the person you wanted to turn to when things felt overwhelming. Even if he wasn’t in love with you the way you’d always wanted your soulmate to be, the thought of giving him up just like that was unbearable.

But you also couldn’t help but wonder, privately, if there was anything else that motivated Shouto’s saying so. You knew he cared for you—there could be no doubt, after everything these past few weeks—but if he really did have a girlfriend, if he really was committed to someone else, if you really could never fit into his life the way you had always wanted…

You didn’t know how to weigh it. Your privacy vs the uncertain balance of this soulmate relationship. Your disbelief that Shouto meant for you to feel as special as you sometimes did versus the unshakeable feeling that he did mean it.

You needed more time. More information. More perspective—

You wanted to choose Shouto. You knew you did. You just wanted to be sure that Shouto wanted you, more than anything, to choose him too.

There was one last thing you wanted to scope out, you thought, before you made the choice that would define your relationship forever. One last corner of his life that you hadn’t been directly privy to, to figure out how you would fit into it, and what his relationship was to everyone once and for all.

You summoned up the courage and turned to Shouto, as Princess victoriously tugged a thread free from your jeans, letting out an ugly yowl that nearly drowned out your next few words: “I think…Shouto, would it be okay if I met your friends?”

The former members of UA’s hero classes gathered biweekly at a dive bar downtown. Chargebolt and Red Riot had apparently picked it shortly after graduation for the central location and cheap drinks that paired well with a brand new pro hero’s meager starting wage.

Over the years, most everyone from Classes A and B had rocketed their way up the ranks, but they had become so accustomed to and so unreasonably fond of the place, that it was still their go-to meeting spot almost a decade onwards. It certainly looked divey from the window, dark and dim, decorated mainly in neon beer brand signs and crammed with cheap stools and tables bearing decades of scratches.

Despite its shabby appearance, your spine still prickled with nerves as you approached, Shouto a long, lean shadow beside you.

“What is it, love?” he asked, leaning in.

Your heartbeat kicked into your throat. He’d been calling you that so much lately—love—and every time it sent your head spinning. You really didn’t think it was all that platonic of a nickname, and it was just another reason you had to make sure this evening that Shouto really meant for you to choose him.

The back of his hand pressed to yours, and you gratefully seized it, shuffling a little nearer to him like you could absorb his calm demeanor if you were just close enough. Your whole body prickled with awareness of his hand in yours, those long, pretty fingers gripping you carefully. You didn’t look down, but you knew the pads of your fingers were leaving smudges of color all along each other’s skin.

“I’m just a little nervous,” you admitted. “I want to make a good impression.”

Shouto’s heterochromatic gaze picked over you carefully, and he bent his head to look you in the face. “You already have.”

You looked at him curiously, and he took a step forward, gently tugging you with him, steering you into the bar’s interior. You could have sworn you saw the tip of Shouto’s right ear go a little pink against the white of his hair.

“You were all the Class A group chat would talk about, when it first happened,” he said, his tone carefully blank. “Some of them quite liked that you made me give chase.” You thought if his tone wasn’t so meticulously devoid of emotion, he might sound like he was pouting.

“Hell fucking yeah we did, that was the funniest shit I had ever seen!” a bright voice chirped, and suddenly a wide smile and electric yellow hair were filling up your vision. “I’m Kaminari Denki,” the man introduced himself, and you realized you were speaking to pro hero Chargebolt. He appeared to be attempting to blind you with a million watt smile. “I’m a huge fan of the running.”

You took his proffered hand and gave your own name, unable to help laughing. “I didn’t really mean to leave him there like that. I just panicked.”

Kaminari’s smile widened and he was joined by Mina Ashido—pro hero Pinky—who grinned brightly at you too. “I think it did him a little good,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He’s never had to chase a girl in his life.”

Your face heated at the implication, and Shouto’s fingers tightened in yours almost possessively. Mina just looked at him and laughed, blowing him an apologetic kiss, and then turned and beckoned you over to the corner that Class A had taken over. They’d pushed several tables together and dragged over some stools from the bar, and a dozen members were already present, sipping beers, chatting and laughing, some of them waving invitingly.

Mina found you a seat between her and pro hero Cellophane—Sero Hanta, who you’d already met a few times on duty at your apartment, who fist-bumped you in greeting, smiling his huge toothy grin. Then he turned and fist-bumped Shouto, who looked long used to this treatment.

“Shouto, man, good to see you. Even better to see you, Y/N,” he said. He introduced you to the rest of the people at the table—which included some truly dizzying names, like Midoriya Izuku, the number one hero Deku, who smiled sweetly at you from beneath wild green curls, waving a heavily scarred hand.

It wasn’t even a minute before Mina was plonking some aggressively pink drink in front of you—”My favorite, trust me you will love it!”—and you were immediately absorbed into the group’s conversation, like you’d always been there.

They were a friendly, rowdy, extremely tight-knit bunch, as anyone would be, after all they’d been through together as a class. You were fascinated by the dynamic—Shouto was alternately roasted within an inch of his life and indulged as the baby of the group—all it took was a little pout from him and he instantly got whatever he wanted. You appreciated that you weren’t the only one who was helpless against him.

When Shouto ordered his first drink—something fruity, served in a voluptuously curvy poco grande and garnished with a rainbow of fruits and a little umbrella—Kaminari seemed to start down the well-worn grooves of an old conversation. “So secure in his masculinity,” he sighed as Shouto sipped, his long fingers toying with the pink umbrella. You stifled a fond smile in the collar of your jacket.

Mina kept you in a steady rotation of luridly-colored, juice-heavy drinks, all of which Shouto seemed to want a sip from, and you slowly relaxed into the ease of everyone’s company. You thought maybe you did have a place in Shouto’s life, could fill the space at his side, and it would be as easy as breathing.

You just needed to confirm one more thing.

You were on your third drink, beginning to smile a little bit goofily, when the door blew open and in walked the final piece of your mission this evening. She was tall, elegant, and as dangerously curved as Shouto’s poco grande glass had been, her hair pulled up in her iconic dark ponytail, swinging daintily.

Yaoyorozu Momo: pro hero Creati.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x you

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 1 month ago

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"Dominated by Compulsion" by Siegfried Mandel (1959)

(Mr. Mandel, on the British faculty of Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute, is a critic of modern fiction from both sides of the Atlantic.)

Readers who became acquainted only recently with Mary Renault through her magnificent historical novel, "The King Must Die," may be surprised to learn that she has seven earlier works of fiction to her credit. Since the Thirties, she has had a large English audience for what might be called "psychological romances" placed in contemporary settings. "Middle Mist," for instance, concerns itself with three young ladies in Cornwall who slowly work out their personal problems; "Return to Night" features a plaintive duet between a small-town lady doctor and a would-be actor; "North Face" allows two strangers to solve their marital difficulties while mountain climbing. In all these novels, Miss Renault masters a lyrical style, meticulous and probing, and introduces us into a world of emotions so delicate and private that the reader often feels like an intruder. Much the same can be said for "The Charioteer," an early Renault novel which pictures the subtleties and crudities that mark a subterranean fraternity of homosexuals in wartime England. Since Miss Renault deliberately refrains from sitting in judgment on her characters and offers no hashed-over sociological explanations, the entire novel hinges on the effective portrayal of Laurie Odell. We must infer that because Laurie never really knew his father, he was disposed to seek a masculine image and ideal among his surroundings. At prep school (which in fiction seems to be a breeding place for taboo relationships) Laurie "was lifted into a kind of exalted dream, part loyalty, part hero-worship, all romance. Half-remembered images moved in it, the tents of Troy, the columns of Athens, David waiting in an olive grove for the sound of Jonathan's bow." In answer to this dream comes Ralph Lanyon, a campus hero, who symbolically offers Laurie a copy of Plato's "Phaedrus," a discourse on love. Later their lives become more firmly entwined when Ralph saves Laurie at Dunkirk. While recovering from a kneecap wound, Laurie meets other members of Ralph's fraternity - chillingly etched by the author. Some of them carry their inclinations to excess, and in distress Laurie turns to a mild-mannered hospital orderly for understanding. This relationship is doomed because Laurie is so completely dominated by compulsion and instinct that he has no choice but to commit himself to Ralph permanently. As if to illustrate Laurie's expressed regrets that he was not born in ancient Athens where bisexuality was permissive, where he could have had a family and a lover, too, Miss Renault wrote a sequel, "The Last of the Wine," a novel set in the times of Plato. Viewed from a historic distance the subject becomes less unpalatable. While working against the inevitable odds of deviational material, the author has a breadth of insight that rarely permits "The Charioteer" to falter. At times Miss Renault echoes the demonic tone of Proust's "Cities of the Plain" and adopts the outspokenness of such related contemporary novels as Charles Jackson's "The Fall of Valor."

Originally published in the September 1959 issue of Mattachine Review magazine.

#mary renault #the charioteer #the last of the wine #literature #lit #gay literature #lgbt literature #lgbtq literature #bookblr #history #gay history #lgbt history #lgbtq history #gay #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #50s #1950s

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zvdvdlvr · 2 years ago

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this dance | ellie williams

🎟️ - OVERVIEW : it wasn't ellie's fault she was basically in love with the queen's daughter (aka: The Princess of Zypher). however, as her highness's personal knight, ellie herself would never be allowed to make a move on her feelings. when the neighboring Kingdom of Peace shows, will Ellie accept a dance with Princess y/n?

🎬 - PAIRING : knight!ellie williams x softie!princess!female reader

📼 - WARNINGS : possible ooc ellie, homophobia is not a thing, kissing, religious use of 'your highness' and 'princess', fluff, inexperienced ellie, kinda sub ellie idrk,

🎧 - K.J.'S PLAYLIST : die for you by the weeknd, juliet by cavetown, bad idea! by girl in red, girls by girl in red

📓 - K.J.'S DIARY SAYS... first ellie williams thing, be nice pretty please

"Your highness," Ellie greeted stiffly. The sight of Zypher's future queen in a just-barely opaque light pink dress that fell just below her kneecaps was enough to make Ellie salivate.

"My favorite guard! Good morning, Ellie. When did your shift start? Pardon my forgetfulness, my timetable has been jam-packed since the first full moon of the month." y/n's light, conversational tone was genuine. Ellie had been watching over the Princess for years and new when she had her professional face on.

Ellie swallowed, falling one step behind y/n's right side. "Don't trouble yourself with the shifts, Your Highness, for they are incredibly confusing." Ellie knew it wasn't right to be conversing with her charge, but Ellie religiously followed the rule 'only speak when spoken to', and there was no way she'd break that, especially when y/n was the one asking tge questions.

"I see," y/n nodded.

On the way to the dining eoom, Ellie took this time to gather her thoughts and admire the princess. Her dress had maybe three or four thin layers of the same shade of light pink the Queendom of Love was known for. Both of the current queens were quite fond of light colors and because every couple is known for the favorite color and motto, light pink was the Kingdom Color. The bottom of the dress flared out the tiniest bit- something Ellie smiled about.

Princess y/n wasn't known for gravitating to long, puffy dresses. She really only wore the bigger dresses to important ceremonies or celebrations.

"What do you think about the upcoming ball tonight?" y/n asked, starting her way down a staircase.

Ellie hummed. "So long as you are content with these plans, I am happy." In truth, Ellie quite liked when events like these happened. Not because she got free food from the castle, no, she got to see Her Highness float around with a bright and mostly genuine smile.

"That's not what I asked," y/n mused. She stalled at the last step, lifting her hand in a manner as if she was offering herself to a dance. Ellie carefully stepped down and lifted her uncovered hand to y/n's.

Immediately pleased with y/n's happy reaction, Ellie helped y/n off the stairs. "Why thank you," y/n smiled, looking up at Ellie. "Now please tell me if you do or do not anticipate the arrival of the Kingdom of Peace? The Kings are really quite nice, in case you didn't know," y/n asked. It was true, the two married men that let the infamous Kingdom of Peace were very patient and joyful people, so there was really no reason to not want them to arrive.

However, the Kings' daughter, Princess Dina, was rumoured to have been quite taken with Princess y/n. Of course this would be good if they ever decided to marry, but Ellie couldn't help but feel a bitterness bloom in her gut because of another person liking Princess y/n.

"I am not, uh," Ellie started, nodding in greeting to one of her fellow on-shift guards. "I'm not one for dancing, I think. I never have been."

"Oh," y/n said quietly. "Do you not know how to dance or just don't like it?"

Princess y/n was a façade. The cool, calm, calculating personality was false. y/n, however, was curious and childlike. Princess y/n acted if she knew a lot, never doubting herself because that's how she was raised. y/n wanted to be proved wrong, to learn. Ellie thought it was cute how y/n would feel safe enough to be herself around Ellie.

"I was just preoccupied with different things. I was never taught, but I would probably be a horrible dancer even if I was tutored," Ellie explained, trying to keep pace with the fast-walking person in front of her.

"I see," y/n murmured. The rest of the walk was quiet.

"Are you ready, Your Highness?"

Ellie's breath lodged in her throat when y/n pulled Ellie by the arm into her quarters. "I require assistance!" y/n said, pulling Ellie down the short hallway into her room.

"Uh, where are your maids?" Ellie asked, averting her eyes to the floor. She felt bashful seeing the princess in her undergarments.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," y/n shrugged. "I do not want advice from the maids... They try too hard to spare my feelings. But you, I know you. If I order you to, you will give me your honest answer and I need an honest answer."

Ellie nodded, still holding a staring contest with the floor. "I see. What do you need help with?"

"My eyes are not on the floor, El."

The nickname made Ellie look up and realize just how taken she was with the princess. "How can I help you, Your Highness?" Ellie asked. She felt herself sweat under her armour, knowing that she was nothing compared to the woman in front of her. y/n's hair was pulled back into a braid halo. Two pieces were pulled from their spots and curled, framing y/n's face beautifully.

"What dress should I wear?"

Stepping aside, y/n gestured to an array of gowns hung up from a rack. Ellie felt her jaw slacken at the array of fabrics and designs. y/n wanted Ellie, who had no taste in fashion, to pick out a dress for y/n to wear? At a piblic event, no less. Ellie looked back at y/n to make sure she wasn't joking. When the princess only gave a small smile, Ellie turned back and examined the dresses carefully.

Withing thirty seconds, Ellie had chosen the three dresses that would look the best.

The first one was, of course, a light pink dress that hugged tight ffom the collarbone to the waist. From there, it was a beautiful mix of a blinding white and the same light pink. It was strapless.

The second dress was a dark blue dress. It had a matching pair of gloves. The dress was also strapless, hugging tight to the wearer's breasts. An intricate bead pattern was sown from the bottom of the dress up to the lower thigh, sewn with silver beads.

The last dress. The last dress took Ellie's breath away. Ellie decided the person that picked out y/n's dress liked exposed skin because this, too, was strapless. It was a shade of viridian with matching green jewels attatched in patters. All along the bodice were patterns of jewels placed in swirls.

"I quite like the green one," Ellie murmured. She stepped forward and raised her gloveless hand as if to run a hand along the fabic. Upon realizing y/n was suddenly very close to Ellie, the latter stilled and let her hand resume its place: clasped behind Ellie's back.

"I like it too." y/n replied, watching Ellie. Ellie never let y/n close enough to see her face this close. But now y/n could count the freckles dotting Ellie's skin. Beautiful patterns made the sun made y/n smile. "Thank you for your help."

The peacefulness of the moment was shattered. Ellie nodded and looked back down. "I will be outside to take you to the ball. Night has nearly fallen, my lady." Ellie paused and looked up. "If you need anything else, I'm outside." With that, Ellie turned and left.

y/n dressed with a smile, thinking of the soft contemplative expression on Ellie's face. It almost made y/n a little dissappointed that her dress fit perfectly without needing to unzip the back- another excuse to pull Ellie back into the room.

After slipping on her heels, y/n dabbed some blush on the apples of her cheeks and swiped some dark tinted lip gloss onto her lips. y/n couldn't help but stare at herself in the mirror. She knew Ellie would never dabble in any kind of relationship with her, but it never hurt to attempt to get closer to Ellie. It wasn't like y/n didn't see the way people from all the different Kingdoms, Queendoms, and those places between but y/n didn't fancy Princess Dina or Prince Jesse the way they liked y/n. No, y/n only had eyes for Ellie.

Even if y/n's mothers had cautiously given the okay that y/n could date anyone (despite job, gender, pay roll), y/n didn't want to overstep with Ellie. Ellie was someone that had opinions and knew what to say. Ellie's a hard worker, someone that doesn't slack off and y/n didn't want to ruin the relationship that y/n had worked so hard for.

"Time to go," y/n whispered to herself. She exhaled as if to rid the anxiety from her mind and then started for the door.

Ellie's pacing was cut off abruptly as the door entering the princess's room opened. All at once, the air was sucked from Ellie's lungs.

The beautiful green dress was nothing compared to y/n, but Lord did it make her look amazing. There was a faint childlike pout to y/n's lips, something that Ellie couldn't help but smile about. There was a glint in y/n's eye, but from what Ellie could not figure out.

"May I be the first to say you look..." Ellie trailed off, searching for a word that would do y/n justice, "untouchable."

y/n laughed, even if she was slightly puzzled behind the meaning of Ellie's statement. It was a compliment, nonetheless. "I think you may be the first and only person saying that to me tonight." y/n offered Ellie her arm, and the two set off to the ballroom.

"If I may," Ellie started, helping y/n down every granite stair, "why am I the one that always escorts you to palace events? I don't mean to sound... abrasive, I just would think one of the Queens or... a partner would escort you."

y/n seemed to think about Ellie's question. "I, for one, am not courting anyone because I happen to fancy someone. As for the parent suggestion," y/n paused. "I have no idea. Maybe mama- sorry, Queen Tara just wants her own dance with Queen Jillian. It doesn't matter to me because I get there less then five minutes later."

Blinking, Ellie reeled back to y/n's first sentance. Who does y/n fancy? Is it someone Ellie knew? Why hasn't y/n made a move? Not speaking because of her status, but y/n could get anyone she wanted! Obviously Ellie wasn't expecting y/n to reciprocate Ellie's feelings, but it was still a hard medicine to swallow when y/n talked about liking someone.

"Ellie," y/n spoke. She was very close to Ellie, one hand on Ellie's upper arm and one on her lower arm. All at once, Ellie cursed very colorful words that her armour was so thick. "We're here. Are you okay? You zoned out."

The worry in y/n's tone actually made Ellie want to kiss y/n. "I'm well, my lady," Ellie murmured, eyes still locked on y/n. "Shall we go?"

"Yes of course," y/n nodded, pulling her hands from Ellie.

The enamoured knight took y/n's hand and the pair rounded the corner into the ballroom. Immediately all eyes were on Princess y/n and the knight. "Good evening," y/n greeted with a polite smile.

"Princess!" A feminine voice rang out. The crowd cleared and the visiting royalty emerged. Dina first, her dark hair pulled back into a hairstyle similar to y/n's. Princess Dina's bright smile pained Ellie.

Was Dina the one y/n held out hope for?

The two princesses embraced, Dina fawning over y/n's dress while the kings and queens made their way over. Everyone else besides Ellie went back to what they were doing before.

Ellie stood, rigid. She greeted Princess Dina's parents with a firm handshake, and fell back behind y/n. King Finland and King Derrick greeted y/n in a similar fashion as their daughter had.

The Queens smiled at each other, probably talking about the dress y/n was wearing.

"You are relieved, Williams," a familiar voice said.

Ellie nodded without looking back. When the hugs were done and over with, Ellie approached y/n and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I will be around if you need me," she said quietly. Ellie was close because the joyful music was loud. In fact, Ellie was so close, she almost fainted at the feel of being so close to y/n.

"Thank you," y/n replied back, touching Ellie's armoured forearm.

"Hello!"

Ellie turned to see y/n standing in front of Ellie expectantly. There was a devious smile on y/n's face and she swayed slightly. "Hi," Ellie greeted back.

"May I have this dance?" y/n asked. It had been many hours since y/n had arrived, and the ball was nearing the end. The music had slowed down considerably, letting the adults replace the spots on the floor their sleeping children had left.

"You know I can't dance."

y/n shrugged. "We don't have to dance... We could just sway," she proposed, waiting for an answer.

"Very well," Ellie sighed. She obediently followed y/n to a small area on the edge of the open area.

"Put your hands around my waist, El," y/n ordered, placing her hands around Ellie's neck and letting them rest on Ellie's cool to-the-touch armour.

Shyly, Ellie followed imstruction. The knight swallowed, eyes trailing from y/n's waist up her bodice to ending up looking y/n right in the eyes.

"Come closer."

Ellie scooted closer to y/n, appreciating the warmth that radiated off the princess. "Are you having fun?" Ellie asked, getting lost in y/n's eyes.

"I think I'm having a marvelous time," y/n smiled. "Thank you for doing this with me."

"Of course. So long as you're happy."

"You should know I value your happiness as much as mine," y/n scolded. Ellie couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Yes, Your Highness," Ellie groaned teasingly.

Silence reigned between the two of them after that. y/n and Ellie, lost in each other's gaze. After a long moment, y/n scooted closer. Now the two were just a hairs length apart.

"Ellie."

"My lady."

"Ellie you never asked the question I wanted you to ask," y/n murmured.

"I apologize... What question was I supposed to ask you?" Ellie was confused. Had she completely ignored something y/n had said? If so, that would probably be awkward.

"When I said I favored someone..." y/n explained slowly.

"Yes?"

"And then we arrived at the ball..."

"I don't follow?"

"You didn't ask who I fancied," y/n stated. Her eyebrows furrowed as she searched Ellie's eyes.

"Oh." Ellie said. "I see."

"Yes," y/n muttered uselessly.

"My lady?"

"Yes?"

"Who do you fancy?"

"Do you really wish to know?" y/n asked, smiling up at her guard.

Ellie scoffed playfully and rolled her eyes. "Yes," she answered. Her tone grew serious again. She felt y/n fiddle with the little baby hairs on the back of Ellie's neck. The warmth and tenderness of y/n's smaller, softer hands compared to Ellie's made Ellie want to hug y/n and squeeze her until she passed out.

"I'll give you three hints. Okay; first hint... you know her very well."

Her. Ellie almost had an aneurysm. Her. Ellie had a chance if things with y/n and her current crush didn't work out. Her.

"That's probably a little more than half the kingdom's population, My Lady," Ellie pondered.

y/n tsked. "Then that eliminates a good 40% of people anyway. I'm joking. Hint number two... she is often seen with me."

Often with her? Like, physically with y/n or in a necklace or ring or something?

"Third clue: she picked out this dress for me."

Suddenly, all movement stopped. Ellie's heart stilled in her chest. Ellie picked the dress out for y/n, but maybe not officially. Maybe it was a maid y/n was talking about. Princess y/n was known for being good friends with some of the maids. Oh. Ellie's heart dropped.

"Oh? Is it... Esmerelda? Veronica? I can't remember how many maids you've made friends with over the years," Ellie started. Her voice cracked and she had to look away from y/n's soft face. The face Ellie fell in love with.

"No, no. Not them. Would you like another hint?"

Ellie nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

"She's standing right in front of me."

Tears burned in the corners of Ellie's eyes. "If you're joking, My Lady-"

"No, no, angel," y/n cooed, wiping a tear from Ellie's face with the pad of her thumb. "Ellie I love you. I'm in love with you."

Ellie's eyes closed and she leaned forward to rest her forhead onto y/n's. Ellie's hands that were situated on the small of y/n's back brought y/n closer until the two were both practically molded into each other.

"May I kiss you, El?" y/n whispered.

Ellie pulled her head back. "You never have to ask, My Lady."

With great care, y/n cupped Ellie's cheeks and pulled her closer until their lips touched.

Ellie tasted like salt and coffee. Her lips were careful, as if she'd never been kissed before. A content sigh came from Ellie as y/n kissed Ellie more intensly.

y/n, Ellie concluded, tasted the faintest bit of alcohal. Her lips were a drug, however. A drug Ellie wanted to overdose on daily.

Finally y/n pulled away, heart melting when Ellie chased her lips. "We should talk about this tomorrow. I'm afraid I'm exhausted and Queen Jillian has already excused herself. Will you escort me to my room, Ellie?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Ellie mumbled, lips puffy. "Are you... going to say goodbye to the Kings? Princess Dina already went to bed," Ellie explained.

"No. They're having their own fun, we shan't disturb it. Let's go."

The walk to y/n's chambers was quiet. Silent, even. y/n reached for Ellie's hand, twining their fingers together.

"Will you kiss me good night?"

Ellie looked up. Here y/n's room is. "Would you like me to?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't want you to," y/n replied.

In response, Ellie leaned forward and awkwardly pecked y/n on the lip. "There. More tomorrow. Good night, my lady."

y/n shook her head, laughing. "Good night, El. Sleep well!"

Ellie went to sleep on her cot thaf night with the largest smile ever seen.

fin.

whoa this kinda dog water. anyway ill edit tomorrow i just wanted to post smth even if its buttfuck 1 56 in the morning good night im tired sleep well you gay whores <3

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 3 months ago

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just a thought, I feel like the song "surface pressure" is a perfect fit for Romeo

Just as Leo at some point felt the weight of everyone on his shoulders and felt useless if he were to fail, Romeo now feels the same burden of being the oldest of all his brothers and cousins even if his parents assure him that is not the case.

For sure he does! He is his father’s son, and that can be curse and a blessing.

Romeo is a skilled fighter, no doubt about it, but I could easily see him getting so caught up in being the perfect kid, that he at one point might accidentally alienate himself from the others.

We have to remember that Romeo’s pressure doesn’t just come from being the oldest - and the oldest som of the leader at that - but also that his birth was this thing that shouldn’t really have happened, but it did, making everybody realize, that it could in fact be possible for them to have children as well. Romeo’s conception was the start of the domino effect, that led to his cousins and siblings (also in real life. He was the first of the children I came up with. With the rest I always had in mind that Romeo was there, so they wouldn’t have to care too much about being the oldest).

Romeo is very much under a lot of pressure, and that is partly why he has so much tension with Marcello at times. Romeo gets a lot of praise from their father - praise which Marcello really wants as well - but I could also imagine that Romeo might be defensive of this praise. If he isn’t told he is the best, then who is he? Is he a failure? Is he not as good as he thought, nor “worthy” of being the oldest.

It’s a stark contrast to how Joan is with her siblings. She can be tough at times, but that is also because her father is tough as nails. She is skilled, but she doesn’t have the same pressure, nor does she feel a need for the same praise. Often times she will stay back and watch what her siblings does, but on the occasions that she steps in and takes leadership of them, she does it for a short time. She doesn’t feel the need to be a boss at all time, though she may come across as bossy at times.

While Romeo trains, Joan might use training as a way to teach her siblings a thing or two. Both Minerva and Ragnar struggles a bit with fear and self esteem, so she takes the time with them. In these times failure is okay, and at times even needed.

Romeo in the other hand doesn’t train his siblings in the same way, mainly because he doesn’t. Could it be because he views his father as the best teacher? Maybe. Is it because he fears that failing his brothers’ training could cost not just his own status as the oldest golden, but could led to them getting seriously hurt? Could be.

We are just now seeing Romeo’s first growing obsession outside of training and his role as the oldest - that unnamed girl broke his kneecap in. And already now we’re seeing to different reasons from Romeo. First time he met her, he was calmer. It was his first patrol. He didn’t know what to expect. Even while he was in pain and shock, he told what had happened and what he saw. Second time however, Romeo has a much stronger reaction to her. Anger, annoyance and a strong need for some form of revenge, leading him to swearing that one day he will get a hold of her and make her pay. A little bit of a strong reaction from Romeo’s side, even for Marcello’s standards.

One would think that hot tempered and easily emotionally bruised Marcello might have such a reaction to that girl, but he doesn’t. He gets mad when he realizes it’s the girl that caused his brother pain, but other than that, he just feels conflicted. He doesn’t like the way Romeo reacts to her, and he doesn’t like the way he himself feels about her. And for the first time, we see Romeo and Marcello almost switch places. While Marcello retreats and stays quiet, which is rare for situations like that, Romeo is openly angry. It was more than just his knee that got damaged that night.

Did I just do a character analysis of my own oc?…

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt mikey #tmnt bayverse #tmnt oc #tmnt bayverse oc #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse x reader

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ilguna · 2 years ago

Text

☼ drowning in love (Johanna Mason) ☼

summary; you promised Johanna you'd support her with anything she needed when she came back from the Capitol.

warnings; swearing, they shower together, torture mention.

wc; 1.6k

–

“I’ve changed my mind.” Johanna says, you tilt your head at her, unamused.

The two of you are currently inside of, what must be, the smallest bathroom you’ve ever seen. You thought that when the medical team of Thirteen said they had a private bathroom, they meant something bigger. You weren’t expecting it to be the same size as the bathrooms in the Capitol, but at least half that. It isn’t, though. Everything in here has been crammed to ensure that every inch of space is used.

Johanna’s sitting on the toilet lid, hunched over in her towel, arms wrapped around her abdomen to make herself smaller. You’re standing directly in front of her, your kneecaps touching hers because there is nowhere else to stand in here. You’re lucky that there’s even enough room for the two of you to shower together in the first place.

“Babe, that’s what you said ten minutes ago, you can’t keep changing your mind.”

She shakes her head, staring at the floor, “I’m not ready.”

“You’re going to have to do it either way.” You tell her, “If you don’t do it with me, then the nurses will do it, and they don’t really care about your feelings.”

She meets your eyes, “They’ll sedate me.”

“And then you miss out on an opportunity to start the process of healing. You can’t keep pushing it back. What will you do when the rebellion’s over and we’re no longer in Thirteen? There won’t be anyone to sedate you.” You raise your eyebrows.

“You will, if I put up a big enough fight.” She says, you think you can see a smile hinting at the corners of her lips. She’s not entirely joking, though. She knows that you don’t like seeing her in pain.

“You’ll be okay, I’ll be right here.”

“Except, I don’t want to go in there alone. What if—what if I have an episode?” She asks, you watch her shudder.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” You ask, “You know I will.”

“What if I attack you? Like Peeta did to Katniss?”

“You won’t. They didn’t use tracker jacker venom on you.” You say, “And the doctors would’ve caught it by now.”

Johanna begins to bite on her bottom lip, face contorting while she thinks. She knows you’re right, but she doesn’t want to admit it. She just wants to find a way out to avoid having to face the water. And you understand why, the issue is that you won’t be putting up with sponge baths for the rest of your life.

Her eyes dart to the door momentarily, possibly planning an escape. She won’t make it far, not with you standing in front of it. She wouldn’t be able to pull it open before you have her on her ass again.

“Johanna, the water can’t hurt you.” You slide down the wall, taking her hands in yours, “You know you’ll have control in there. You’ll be able to move the shower head off to the side if you can’t handle it, and change the temperature if it’s too close to what they used in the Capitol.”

She presses her lips together, “I don’t want to freak out, (Y/n).”

“You won’t. I’ll get in there with you. You’ll be safe with me in there, you know I would never let anything happen to you, not when I’m right there.” You squeeze her hands.

She nods.

“It’s only a few minutes, we’re just getting your body washed. You’ll feel so much better once the grime is gone, and you’re washing away their touch.”

“Okay.” Johanna breathes.

“Okay.” You echo, letting go of her hands as you get back to your feet.

You slide the glass door open, leaning in to turn the shower on. You can feel her hands grip around your wrist when the water starts. And without you even saying anything, she begins to take deep breaths in through her nose, and exhales through her mouth. A technique she was taught by the head doctor, it looks like she’s paying attention after all.

You guide her hand to the water slowly so she can feel the temperature, adjusting it the way she tells you to. She goes on the hotter side, staying away from the warm to cold range. You’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.

“Alright,” You hold your hand out to her.

“Can you go in first?” She asks.

“Johanna, if you run out of the bathroom, I’m going to be pissed.” You tell her.

“I won’t. You’ll be closer to the water.” She says, “Please?”

You watch her for a couple of seconds, gauging whether or not she’s telling the truth, and find that she is. You pull your hair up, figuring that you’d rather accidentally get the ends wet than your whole head. You then take off District Thirteen’s jumpsuit, and the underwear underneath.

You keep a hand on Johanna when you open the glass door, backing inside a few steps. This forces her to her feet, where she uses a shaky hand to release the towel, letting it fall to the floor.

“It’s only a couple of minutes.” You remind her, “One step at a time.”

“I know.” She breathes, “I don’t think I can get my face wet.”

“How about we do your collarbones and down?” You ask, “Does that sound okay?”

She hums in agreement, coming into the shower. She slides the door shut behind her, and you watch her begin to take deeper breaths. You reach back to feel how close the water is, and find it only an inch further back.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask her, “You have to face the water.”

“Just my back right now.” She closes her eyes.

You move her around, slowly backing her into the water, watching as her face twists at the anticipation. When it begins to rain down on her back, she jumps slightly, a shudder running through her body. You can see the goosebumps rise on her arms.

You step closer, placing your hands on her hips, watching her face. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to focus on not freaking out. She moves slightly to allow the water on her shoulders and down her sides.

“Do you think I’ll be better by the end of the rebellion?” She asks.

“If we keep working on it, it’ll be a step in the right direction.” You tell her, “It won’t happen overnight Johanna, as much as I know you wish it would.”

“I wish he’d chosen something else.” She mutters, eyebrows drawing in, “The District borders will finally be down and we won’t even be able to see the ocean. Finnick makes me so jealous when he talks about how beautiful the beach is. And all we’ve got are fuckin’ trees.”

“That’ll be our goal, then.” You say, she opens her eyes, “To go visit Annie and Finnick on the beach.”

“That could take years, (Y/n).” She says.

“Good thing we’re gonna live for a while.” You smile, she lets out a laugh, “Ready to turn around?”

She nods, you let go of her hips, allowing her to turn around to face the water. She lets out a breath, hesitating.

“I didn’t take you as a beach person.” You say, hoping it’ll take her mind off of the shower water, and instead put her somewhere else. She doesn’t move for a second, before stepping forward. You place your hands on her hips again.

“Yeah, well, neither did I. Finnick talks about the summers there, how he and his family would jump off the docks as kids. The water is cold and refreshing. The sand is warm, and sometimes too hot to walk on with bare feet.” She murmurs, reaching over to grab the bar of soap on the shelf, you smile slightly. “They build sandcastles and play games. It’s like a picnic we have at home, but on the beach. And the best part is the sunsets apparently.”

“I think Finnick just wants us to move there.” You laugh.

“Probably.” She agrees, “I wouldn’t mind, Annie and Finnick are our best friends. It’d be nice to be close to torture them often.”

“I’m sure it’s an option.” You say, “Even if you’re not ready to see the water, I’m sure they have houses away from the water.”

She pauses, “You’d move there with me?”

“Where else would I go?” You laugh, “Do you think I’d stay in Seven?”

“Well, no.” She says, carefully rubbing the soap over her skin. It’s still tender from the scabs that have recently fallen off. “I just thought you’d be more against it.”

“We’ve lived in Seven our whole lives, I’m sure it’ll be okay if we move somewhere new for a while.” You tell her.

“That’s true.”

You lather her back in soap, so it’s less effort for her. She rinses the scentless bubbles down the drain, and then steps out to dry herself off. You get rid of the soap that she’d accidentally gotten on you, before shutting the water off.

When you step out, you’re able to see Johanna wiping her eyes, sniffing. She looks at your briefly, eyes already turning red.

“Hey,” You pull the spare towel around your body, before pulling her into a hug. She wraps her arms around you, letting out a sob. “It was so easy, you didn’t even think about it.”

“I know.” She places her forehead on your shoulder, “I know, I’m afraid it won’t be like this every time.”

“It can be, though.” You press a kiss to her cheek, squeezing her tighter, “And I’ll be here with you the entire time, I promise.”

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gaybananabread · 27 days ago

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•• @hexalianrebel-blackfeathers #16 (Cackle) with Gwen as Lee, possibly a little comfort with her being embarrassed of her laugh. Miles obviously adores her laugh, and Hobie just likes making her happy. ••

TickleTober Day 16 - Cackle

~YESSSSS I love it when tickles are simultaneously evil and loving (> w <) These goobers are always so fun to write. Going from silly, to reassuring, to a fun mix of the two is never not enjoyable to write. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy! Happy spooky month!~

Lee: Gwen

Lers: Hobie, Miles

Summary: During one of their rooftop lunches, Gwen lets it slip that she doesn’t like her laughter. Miles and Hobie are quick to remind her how much they love it; of course, what good’s an argument without a demonstration?

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

“I'm just sayin’, I totally could've taken that guy by myself.”

“Oh, come off it! I did, like, ‘alf the work, ya brat!”

Miles laughed as a fry was flicked at his face, expertly catching it in his mouth. Him, Hobie, and Gwen were hanging out atop a random skyscraper for lunch after patrols.

It wasn't a rare occurrence for them to relax on the roof of a random building, goofing around while hundreds of feet from the ground. Pav was out on a mission with a few other spiders, sadly missing that hangout. Still, it was actually pretty nice up there.

“Alright, no fighting. Eat your fries before I do.” Gwen snatched a fry from each of their little baskets, making them gasp and snatch their precious cargo away.

“Oi, oi!! Message received, sticky fingers.” Hobie mock-glared at her before grabbing a handful of fries, nudging Miles, and shoving the entire wad into his mouth. He grinned, raising his brows as his cheeks puffed all the way out.

That wasn’t incredibly funny on its own, but seeing Hobie, the cool, badass Spider-Punk, stuffing a boatload of fries in his mouth? And his cheeks? Gwen and Miles were dead.

Miles barked out a laugh, dropping into a peal of amused giggles. Nothing too obnoxious – just an entertained reaction.

Gwen, on the other hand, reacted much more clamorously. With a snort, she broke into loud cackles, immediately covering her mouth when she realized how she sounded. The girl’s entire face burned with embarrassment, resembling a fresh strawberry.

“What’re you covering your mouth for?” Miles was the first to call her out, his brows quirking in a troubled manner. Why was she hiding?

“I…c’mon, Miles. Nobody wants to listen to that.” Gwen huffed, squirming from the suddenly serious mood shift. Damn her and her big mouth…

Hobie put a stop to that immediately, swallowing his fry hoard as quickly as he could. One of his large hands hooked around her waist, easily pulling the girl into his chest. Tilting her head, he looked her dead in the eyes; even with fry crumbs in the corner of his mouth, he looked resolute.

“Shu’ up wit’ that. We love you, loud laughs an’ all. You couldn’ scare us away if ya screamed bloody fuckin’ murder.” Hobie’s tone, while loving, was firm, leaving absolutely zero room for argument.

Mile’s hand settled on her knee, tracing gentle shapes on it. She resented the smile that immediately tugged at her lips, trying to force it down.

“Who cares how loud or crazy you laugh? It’s unique, Gwen. If every painting looked the same, who’d bother with ever thinkin’ about them?” The teen’s tracing grew more intentional, his nails scraping across the most sensitive spots on her kneecap. They wouldn’t seriously…

Oh, who was she kidding; they absolutely would.

“G-guhuys, I get it. Just- EEEK! L-lemme goho!” Gwen flinched as a large hand squeezed her side, sending jolts of teasing electricity all throughout her midriff. It really wasn’t fair, how easily such a simple touch could put her on edge.

“Nah, see, I don’ fink you do, Gwenny. We gotta show ya.” Hobie gave her hip a little squeeze, his eyes lifting up to meet Miles’s. “Ain’t that right, smiles?”

Miles, who was grinning adoringly at the blonde, blinked and nodded. “Uh, y-yeah. If you’re not gettin’ it, it’s our moral responsibility to make sure things sink in.”

“Thahat doesn’t even make any- pfffFFAHAHAHA! FUHUHUCK, HOHOBIE!” Gwen didn’t even get to finish her sentence before the punk got to work on her belly, squishing and teasing the soft skin beneath her navel. Miles was quick to join in, gently fluttering his fingers beneath her knees.

Gwen immediately began to thrash and squirm, not even trying to hold still. Hobie just brought his legs around to hold her thighs and waist, saving Miles from a kick to the face. Their combined efforts tickled like crazy; of course they went for some of her worst spots right off the bat. Chivalry truly was dead…

“W-WAHAHAHAIT! HOHOBIE!” Shaking her head, Gwen’s stomach bubbled with giddy anticipation, feeling Hobie’s teasing move towards her navel. The jerk just chuckled and blew her a kiss before dipping a finger in, causing her to lose her mind.

“NYAHAHAHA! *snort* FAHAHAHACK!” Gwen broke down into loud, shrieking cackles, with the occasional snort peppered in. Hobie just rolled his eyes affectionately.

“The lip on this one. Oi Miles, ‘ow can a gal wit’ such a pretty laugh ‘ave such a foul mouth?”

“I dunno, man. Sure is fun to listen to, though.” Miles’s voice was tooth-rottingly dreamy, revealing just how mystified he was by Gwen’s laughter. She felt her face heat up even more, her blood practically turning to molten magma beneath her skin.

“SHAHAHAT UHUHAHAP!” Gwen tried to protest, but it was fruitless; she obviously wasn’t going anywhere until she either admitted her laugh wasn’t terrible or hit her absolute limit. Eh…she wasn’t gonna cave. If they wanted her to fluster herself, they’d have to work for it.

“Ooo, she sounds happy. Want me to get her feet?” Miles offered, making Gwen scoff through her laughter. Hobie smirked and nodded, not letting up on her poor navel for even a second. “Be my guest, Miles. Just watch fer flyin’ kicks.”

“T-TRAHAHAITOHOR!” Technically, he’d “betrayed” her the moment he touched her knee, but going for such a ticklish spot felt like the final nail in her tickly coffin. Miles was so getting it later.

The moment his fingers pressed into her arches, Gwen saw stars. Her cackling, screeching laughs echoed across the rooftops of New York, disturbing any poor house pets within the area. No matter how fiercely she thrashed, Hobie held strong, Miles’s headlock around her ankles never loosening.

“OHO- OHOHO MYHY GAHAHAHAHA! *snort* HAHAHAHA!” The blonde couldn’t even speak, the only thing on her mind being the intense sensation of the tickles. Then, of course, the two shitheads somehow made it worse.

“Hear that? Music to my ears, luv~” Hobie hummed in her ear, barely audible over her own ruckus. Miles joined in as well, though he had to speak much louder to be heard.

“You look so beautiful right now, Gwen. Like, seriously. Never hide this from us.”

Wow. She hadn’t been expecting such a vehement statement from Miles, feeling as his words set her mind and heart alight. It was all so much. Too much, at that point. Her closed fist began pounding on Hobie’s thigh, tapping out in the most sane way she could manage.

Hobie stilled his fingers immediately, kicking Miles’s back to let him know she’d tapped out. He, too, ceased his tickling, instead crawling over to cuddle up against the other two spiders.

Hobie’s warm hands softly rubbed her stomach to help her calm down. He offered her his half-bottle of Arnold Palmer, which she greedily gulped down. The tea refreshed her and soothed her throat, while the sweetness of the lemonade left a nice taste in her mouth.

Miles’s hand found hers, gently running his thumb across her knuckles. The other wrapped around her, pulling her closer so they were leaning against Hobie in a three-way cuddle.

“So, Gwenny, what’d we learn today?” The punk’s lovingly smug tone made her want to both hug and strangle him at the same time.

When she didn’t answer, Miles skittered his fingers along the top of her thigh, making her squeak and jerk her leg up. “Ohokay, okay! Jeez…”

“Answers, luv.”

“Thahat my laugh isn’t terrible, and I shouldn’t hide it,” she grumbled, snuggling into their warm embraces. Man, even if the tickles were ruthless, the aftercare felt heavenly… “Especially from you boys. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. I might even do a little dance.” Miles wiggled his eyebrows at Gwen, earning an endeared huff and a boop from the exasperated girl. Hobie just chuckled at the scene, giving them both a squeeze as he wrapped them up in his long arms.

“Al’ight, bo’fa you behave. I still got some tickles in the tank, an’ I ain’t afraid to use ‘em.” That made them both settle back down rather quickly. He rolled his eyes and pecked the tops of their heads, listening to their breathing mingle with the sounds of the city. It was so perfect…

“Love you two.” The simple words were said so softly that both sets of eyes below him snapped upwards, each full of some kind of gooey emotion. They weren’t used to that tone from Hobie; it was wonderful.

“Love you too, Hobie.” Miles gave his arm a squeeze, his gaze warm and contented.

“Same here, Hobs. Even if you are a big meanie.” She tacked on the extra sass, but it honestly only made her statement feel more genuine.

Hobie laid back on his discarded flannel, pulling them with him. They were definitely having lunch there again. Sometime very, very soon.

#atsv tickle #lee!gwen #ler!hobie #ler!miles #ticklish!gwen #augtickletober2024 #sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle #across the spiderverse tickle #loving tickles #augtickletober #tickletober

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pedge-stuff · 1 year ago

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it's not that kind of cold shower (pedro x gn/m!reader)

a/n: POLL RESULTS ARE IN... and this was the result! would y'all still be interested in a "pedro takes care of sick reader" fic, too?

(this story specifically comes at the request of two anons, who requested bathing/showering while sick, and emetophobia. I don't have much experience on the latter, so I apologize if it's incorrect??)

you knowwwwww it had to be the Dieter pic, tho.

as always, same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug.

summary: 2am on the bathroom floor.

——————————————————————————————————

You wake up alone.

This doesn’t register, at first. You roll over, running a hand over your face as you blearily open your eyes. You’ve gotten used to having a bed to yourself, with Pedro’s current production schedule. (Although the dogs always end up migrating from the foot of the bed in the middle of the night.)

Except, the bed beside you is still a little warm. Pedro is home— has been home, for two days now. He took a car straight from the Disney lot to LAX, and was on a flight to JFK about three hours after the voice work for Mando wrapped. Something about “needing to see his boy,” which he swore was Edgar, with a wink and a kiss blown over Facetime.

The room is dark, still, and quiet. But as you sit up, a sliver of light becomes noticeable under the crack of the bathroom door. You blink the last dredges of sleep away, waiting for him to finish his middle-of-the-night pee. It’s nice, having him here. Waking up beside him always kinda feels like a luxury; you savor it while you have it. His next job— some stupid commercial for a game on an app? He explained it twice but neither of you really understand it— doesn’t start until the end of the month. If you fall asleep before he finishes peeing, you’ll miss an opportunity to fall asleep wrapped around him. These are sacred in their scarcity, at the moment.

Except, the toilet never flushes. After a few long moments, you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

A quiet knock yields nothing. Frowning, you gently push the door open.

Knees to his chest, head propped backwards on the edge of the tub, Pedro is lying on the bathroom floor. His eyes are squeezed shut against the fluorescents.

“Baby,” you whisper, “Pedge, what’s going on?” You kneel down, rubbing a gentle thumb over his kneecap. He’s just in a t-shirt and boxers, the cold tile leaving his exposed calves littered with pinprick goosebumps.

Without opening his eyes, Pedro grimaces. “I dunno,” he says quietly, in a rasp that makes you wince. “Woke up feeling like this.”

“Nauseous?”

The muscle of his jaw twitches. “Hate throwing up.”

“I know, love, I’m sorry.” You bring your hand upwards, carding a few fingers through his hair before palming his forehead. Alarmed, you brush it with the back of your hand, as well. “You’re really burning up, Pedro, Jesus.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows reflexively, but says nothing. Then swallows again.

You reach for the closed lid of the toilet, before returning to your feet. “If you need to throw up, throw up. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Busying yourself with filling a glass by the sink, you purposefully don’t look, attempting to give him some privacy. But he doesn’t move. Barely lifts his head up, when you offer the water. A sheen of sweat glistens on hollow of his throat, and the collar of his sleep shirt (yours, actually— some soft old 5k thing he always reaches for) is damp.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Thought I escaped the curse this time.”

The curse, of course, being your nickname for the way his body absolutely freaks out at the panic of having downtime. Without fail, every time he gets a break, he’s down with something— at best a cold, at worst, what was eventually dubbed the “shittiest Christmas present ever” last year. It’s like his immune system decides it’s on vacation, as well. You’ve started planning around it, blocking off the first few days he’s home just in case. After two days, though, it really seemed like he was in the clear.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sounds of a grown man gagging. All you can do is kneel behind him, rubbing a hand softly down the length of his back. The muscles flex and tremble beneath as Pedro coughs and coughs. Any part of you that might have been grossed out, is eclipsed by concern. You can feel the heat of the fever through the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

When he finishes, you flush without looking while he reassumes his position against the tub. “M’sorry,” he says, after a sip of water. “Go back to sleep, I’m good.”

“Don’t apologize, and don’t be dumb.” You press a kiss to his shoulder before resting your cheek there for a moment. “You gonna puke again?”

His jaw clenches again. “I don’t think so?”

Abruptly, Pedro sits up, and you tense in anticipation of another round of heaving. Instead he reaches back, grabbing the collar of his shirt to tug it over his head. Lacking his usual gusto, he tosses it towards the hamper in the opposite corner of the bathroom, and misses spectacularly.

“I won’t tell the Lakers,” you tease, “if they call to offer a job.”

Pedro huffs a quiet laugh. “Snitches get stitches.”

“Real tough threat from the man on the bathroom floor.”

He pouts. “You have to nice to me, I puked. I could be on my death bed.”

You press another kiss to his shoulder; the skin is clammy. “America’s Peepaw Pedro Pascal Found Dead at 47, In Bathroom Like Elvis But Way Less Cool. Turn to A7 for story.”

“Now who sounds old! Who reads celebrity death announcements in tabloid magazines anymore?” The joking puts you at ease, a little. He is less green in the gills than he was when you found him, although the tops of his cheeks are still flushed with fever. It seems like he has to convince himself to reopen his eyes after every blink; his eyelids rest at half-mast.

“Mm. You got me there, I guess. Do you feel okay enough to go back to bed?”

Pedro runs a hand across his chest. “Think I might need to rinse off first.”

He braces himself on the edge of the tub, and you reach out a hand to steady him as he slowly rises to his feet. If his knees audibly crack, well, you didn’t hear anything.

Pulling off your own sleep shirt (his, also stolen; some old Fleetwood Mac shirt that hangs to your fingertips), you tuck it into the towel rack, and move to turn the shower on.

“What are you doing?” The invalid has paused changing with his boxers halfway down, in a way that would be so fucking funny if it wasn’t equally, achingly endearing.

“You are leaning on the counter to stand up right now. I’m not gonna let you slip and fall to your actual death in the shower.”

He looks down at his own hand in betrayal as you adjust the water to an acceptable lukewarm— not so cold as to be unbearable, but cool enough that it might take the edge off the fever. Pedro frowns mournfully as you step out of your own boxers.

You roll your eyes. “We will do this again when you can enjoy it.”

The shower is plenty big enough for the two of you, and you position yourself behind him, legs splayed, arms wrapped around his waist. Cheek smushed between his shoulder blades, close enough to let the warmth of his skin deflect the chill of the water.

It’s not really a shower for washing. Moreso a “stand under the water until you feel human again” type of rinse. But you twist anyways for the body wash Pedro likes, when you are sure he isn’t about to faint into the glass door. He sighs as you rub the gel across his shoulders, reaching around to wash the sweat from his chest and stomach. It does something to you, having him here— within arm’s reach, pliable, soft with sleep. Comfortable beside you.

You stay there awhile, letting the water wash over you, until you feel him sway, ever so slightly.

“Love,” you say softly.

“Mm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

Pedro reaches blindly for the handle, twisting until the spray subsides. You place a kiss to the wet center of his back. Revel, one last time, in the feeling of his body against yours, before you hand him his towel.

There is a coordinated, albeit wearily measured, return to bed. Pedro foregoes a new shirt, choosing instead to fall face-first on top of the rumpled duvet. You track down some Tylenol PM, with fingers crossed that maybe this is just a 12-hour thing. But, just in case, the bathroom waste basket is also placed beside the bed.

Finally, you slip beneath the comforter, maneuvering your patient until he is at least partially covered as well. And then, in turn, allow him to manipulate you into precisely the position he wants to be held: your face tucks into the damp, curling hair at the base of his neck, arm wrapped snug around the middle of his torso, legs entangled.

In the morning, you’ll deal with the next hurdle. Hopefully not the next hurl. But for now, you sleep.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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shinjisdone · 1 year ago

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Ticking Springs

(A Yandere Pinocchio X fem!Reader fic from Lies of P)

Pɑɾt 1; Sluɱbeɾ

capitolo uno

capitolo due

capitolo tre

capitolo quattro

capitolo cinque: is here

capitolo sei

capitolo sette

Capitolo otto

Capitolo nove

Capitolo dieci

Pɑɾt 2; Awɑƙeƞiƞƍ

It was a privilege to share the same blood as Giuseppe Geppetto. To be his family, his niece and take part in the marvelous worlds of puppets. The privilege to learn from him as his apprentice. The privilege to care for the things he cares for and to have the things he cares for, care deeply for you.

Tag List:

@greeknerd007 , @mitsureigen , @kame11a , @thirdblogsacharm , @sarah22447 , @blueberryhitosh1 , @written1nthest4rs , @huicitawrites

TW in general: Yandere behaviour, creepy and still puppet, dubious intentions and relationship, still in WIP more warnings may occure in time, also I am running out of pictures of P he looks the same in every pic (but prettily so)

[Also, I am gonna be like that and mention that I would not mind any comments or reblogs! This series is definitely gonna have short chapters and is currently building up settings but there's gonna be good ol yandere Pinocchio tailing after you like a puppy afterwards, no worries!]

This night also proved itself to be a long one. As well as lonely.

The prattling was thankfully easy to stop, or at least cut down to simple replies when requested. The complete silence once you shut the two butlers down however, felt like a sudden and bare contact with ice.

All windows were tightly shut to fight off the howling wind and rain and the only flickering light left in the workshop was that of your own. Just as Geppetto had returned and hung his coat, it was taken off just as quickly.

You've paid it no mind. Uncle was a busy man. Always has been.

Usually having a part of your table be empty and clean felt like a load of work was finished and tidied away but you found yourself musing over the doll in your hand. You put it in a sitting position before, only for it to fall again and again on its back. Feeling bad enough, you decided to have it sit on the edge of the table while supporting it from both sides.

You remember clearly how you were able to have it sit on a tiny, little stool, that you borrowed from your father's office, and pretended to have it listen to your whimsical stories. Now it feels like an old lady unable to properly stay still without help.

Uncle even inserted kneecaps to have it bend or, as you liked to pretend when you were younger, swing its legs at the edge of that small stool.

She was a friend to you in older times who was constantly nice to you. Not just sometimes.

Though in this state, holding it in your hands like this, the doll felt more like an obstacle than a friend.

A sigh of frustration escaped you. No matter how enticing the image was, you could not insert a voice box in it. Not yet.

Your dear, old friend was too outdated. Too small and not meant to serve and entertain as a puppet, but to be a little girl's companion as a doll. That little girl has grown though, and the doll offered her nostalgia rather than actual help. A doll, the size of a forearm, could not offer any aid in becoming a puppet maker.

It would have to grow like the little girl did.

Nodding to no one but yourself, you quietly promised the doll your return as you walked out of your room and skipped down the stairs. In a flow you turned around the corner to collect an oil lamp and made sure to flick on the hallway's light. Though when taking a peek outside, the stormy weather adviced you to look for an umbrella.

"...I know you, that glint in your eyes...is so familiar..." With a quick but playful gait, you found an umbrella leaning abandoned in the corner. Uncle must be collecting these like dust and setting them aside whereever he may find himself to be considering Krat's predictable moderate rain.

The floors creaked at your steps and the walls seemed to replicate the wind's howl in their own manner. You'd rather interpet it as that than believe that the old wood is not strong enough to withstand the noise outside.

Geppetto once mentioned that this was his way of forecasting the weather and if he could go outside at an nice day. Yet you did not really feel like taking advantage of that little 'quirk' the workshop offered.

"...a gleam...", Testing out the waters first and if that umbrella number uptenth was indeed not used up, you quickly made your way outside. Uncle's coat was still not hanging there and it made you let out a sigh of relief.

He would be incredibly upset at you. Being up and about at this hour and singing! Now you are even stepping out into the rain.

The door was shut a bit too roughly as you rushed through the plaza. The destination was an stone's thrown away but the walk still proved itself to be a hassle through the pouring weather. Nevertheless, you felt it would be worth it.

The plaza was rather empty. A few silhouettes hidden by their long cloaks, as dark as the sky, were standing or talking idly in the corners, a few with peers and some with puppets. Alongside the chatting and tinny that accompanied the rain, your footsteps were the loudest as you approached the bulleting board. The dim lights illuminated the stained glass but you could still make out the newspaper clips. There on the corner was an edition posted from this month still.

KRAT NEWS ISSUE 1089

Tailor shop Cherry now offering new fabric for your puppets! In collaboration with the WORKSHOP UNION now having materials in stock!

Tailor shop Cherry

ROSA ISABELLE STREET 27

NEAR THE CITY'S...

You skipped over the trivial information, writing down the street's name. It admittedly made your stomach drop a bit at the sight of such a prestitious place known for its luxury and...expensive prices. Yet the monthly pay you earned should be enough. Your wallet could suffer just for once...right?

Oh, if your parents ever heard of such an endevour...they surely wouldn't be pleased.

Your shoes ended up soaked in the rain but nothing too difficult to clean and hide. The wet umbrella could be hidden in your room...as well as your coat.

"And I know that visions are seldom all they seem..."

You neatly folded the paper - only to throw it away once it was too wet to store anywhere. Writing its content in your notes, you shoved the notebook back into your cupboard. "...but if I know you..." Skipping the last few stairs, you hummed as you tidied the place.

Or; 'Getting rid of evidence' - it sounded so foolish and cheesy but also exciting.

The wind continued to howl and the rain aggressively hit the walls but your mood nor your plans would be deterred. Even if they were the only sounds to accompany you tonight.

"...I know what you'll..."

Passing the hallway with hand towels in your arms your quick gait became slower and slower. Stopping mid-way, your gaze mustered the dimly lit area. You heard that right.

"...do...?"

Your foot took one, careful step as you leaned further to the wall. That didn't come from the outside, couldn't have now, could it?

No. The rain and wind came from the window to your left. And to your right...

Nose scrunching up, you turned around the corner. You held up the oil lamp above your head, narrowed eyes scanning the table and your song continuing in a soft and confused tone.

You turned the butlers off, didn't you?

"...You'll love me...at..."

Yes. Yes, you did, certainly you did this morning. Neither you nor your uncle touched them since then.

So why are you hearing rattling?

Those were springs. You were so, so incredibly sure, the sound as familiar as the beating of your own heart.

"...once..."

You bit your lip and decided to stay still. Head tilting to the other side, you listened again. The rain, the wind, the flickering flame in your hand...

And that's it.

Waiting a few moments more, you sighed through your nose before continuing where you halted. If you don't hurry, Geppetto will be back.

You really hoped he wouldn't end up being right that staying up late would bite you later.

#yandere lies of p #Lies of p #lies of p x reader #lies of p pinocchio #yandere pinocchio #Pinocchio #Lies of p pinocchio x reader #Pinocchio x reader #P x reader #Yandere #ticking springs

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ruvviks · 1 month ago

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– Nosebleed.

Characters >> Rogue Amendiares, Vincent Mayer (oc), Vitali Dobrynin (oc) Total >> 4.6k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention, blood, violence Context >> This fic takes place a few months after the conclusion of King of Fools!

‘EAT SHIT!’

The screams and cheers in the Afterlife were disorienting, a whirlpool of colors and bright neon lights blurring Vitali’s vision as the room spun around him in his fall and he rolled on his back over one of the standing tables and collapsed on the floor. He coughed, blood splattering on the already slippery tiles under him– chest painfully tightening as he pushed himself back up with no hesitation, readying himself just in time for a second merc to ram into him and, rather than send him flying now, roughly shove him into a pillar.

He hadn’t come there with the intention to fight.

Quite the opposite, in fact; had simply wanted to sit down for a civilized meeting with his partner and the club’s owner and have a drink or two– or just a glass of water, really, Vitali wasn’t sure if Vincent was letting him reach for the liquors any time soon– and discuss business, see if the Council was ready to meet again after months of uncertainty with the Broker on the loose.

A fist directly to the jaw made Vitali regain his senses and he grunted as he grabbed the wrists of the mercenary, dragging their arms to the side to give himself the space to ram his forehead directly onto their nose. He kicked against their kneecap and slammed his elbow across their cheekbone, then shoved his foot directly in their stomach to push them into the arms of one of their allies.

‘Just a relaxing night out,’ he mockingly stated out loud, hooking his finger into the collar of his shirt to rip the top button open and give himself a bit more air while spitting some more blood on the floor. ‘Circumstances have settled down enough. What could possibly go wrong?’

‘Spare me the theatrics!’ Vincent yelled, grabbing a merc by their hair and dragging them backwards down to his own level to shove his shoulder against the side of their face and ram them into the same pillar that now had some of Vitali’s blood on it. ‘Forgive me for forgetting you’re the Afterlife’s second most hated guy after Johnny fuckin’ Silverhand!’

Logically, this should have come as no surprise to either of them. Not once in his life had a visit to the nightclub in Watson gone well for Vitali– either receiving an only partially deserved beating, or a scolding from the Queen of Fixers herself no less– and the consequences of the very wrong assumption he could simply waltz in there after the shit that had gone down during his last two visits were starting to make themselves rather painfully known.

Next time we’re meeting at my club.

The mercenaries had Vincent and Vitali surrounded now, six against two, so far with the unspoken rule of “no guns allowed in a fistfight” still in place though Vitali could not say for certain how long it’d continue to last. He took a few sauntering steps forward, steadying himself positioned between the most dangerous looking assailants and Vincent– he really did not need to collect the hits reserved for Vitali alone, especially not with several of their friends watching.

His gaze was drawn to the crowd that had gathered near the bar. Cato– stood between Eddie and Huxley– grinned, and waved excitedly at him.

‘Surely we can talk this out like civilized people,’ Vitali said, slowly raising his hands when the mercs collectively started closing in. Not as much of an attempt at a parley, but moreso to give them the chance to walk away while they still could; Vitali valued his free time and his rest, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been itching to get back into the field now that business had picked up as usual, and what better than a good ol’ scuffle during his night out to get him back in the rhythm?

‘We lost everything because of you!’ one of the mercs spat, parroting a sentence the fixer had heard just a few too many times in the past months; yet another gaggle of the Broker’s left behind mercenaries still out for revenge over something that had been mostly out of Vitali’s control, and if anything it’d been blown out of proportion to the point he wasn’t even entirely sure anymore what they were being so difficult about in the first place.

‘Have you tried lost-and-found?’ Vincent asked, noticing Vitali’s now tightly clenched jaw and stepping closer to ready himself for a possible incoming attack. ‘Box is just outside the entrance, right next to get-off-our-dicks-and-move-on-with-your–fuckin’–!’

Two of the mercenaries instantly charged forward, lunging at Vincent– but Vitali cut them both off before they could even get close, body-slamming one into the other to knock them off their feet. He dodged an incoming fist from a third assailant– but was too slow to step aside for the fourth and landed on his back on the floor before he could realize what was going on, vision blurred by involuntary tears as the air was violently slammed out of his lungs.

Hands wrapped tightly around his throat and for a split second he panicked, the situation reawakening memories of Ravager– the ex-Maelstromer on the Broker’s payroll who had tried to kill him in very similar fashion– but he shook the fear before it could take hold and reached for the knife hidden in the side pocket of his pants, flicking it out and taking a swipe at the mercenary’s wrists.

Not a gun, right?

The pressure was lifted from his neck and he gasped for air, kicking his assailant off his chest and rolling over to create more distance between the two of them– only to immediately receive a kick in the kidney by someone else and he couldn’t stop a pained cry from leaving his lips, cursing in Russian as he flailed the knife around in an attempt to hit, well, anything at that point.

Okay, he was a little off his game. Who could blame him? The last year had not been kind to Vitali and while it was nice to no longer be actively hunted down for sport by a fixer and his mercenaries blaming him for a bunch of lies and things he hadn’t had any control over, the nightmares and dissociative episodes that had followed still held him tightly in their grasp and they had made it difficult for him to focus on anything else.

The tallest of the mercenaries– what Vitali could only assume was their leader– grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and effortlessly lifted him up while avoiding his poorly aimed attacks, Vitali’s feet hovering a few inches above the floor as his wrist was pulled to the side and the knife was forcibly removed from his hand.

‘Nothin’ personal, Dobrynin,’ the man said, grinning as he held Vitali’s own knife up to eye level, threatening to sink it directly into one of his sockets while Vitali grabbed the hand holding his shirt and kicked his legs in an attempt to get down. ‘Simply just settin’ the score. Fair and square.’

All the chaos surrounding them seemed to blur and fade out, Vitali’s mind focusing only on the merc holding him up, and the knife lingering mere inches away from his face, the blade steadily centered at the height of his left eye.

He scoffed in return, baring his teeth as he briefly struggled in the merc’s grip– right before turning his head and biting the man’s hand, as hard as he could, teeth sinking deep into flesh until they hit bone and he was dropped back on the floor, the mercenary crying out in pain and yanking himself loose as if he’d touched fire.

‘First fucking mistake–’ Vitali breathed, straightening his back and wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand.

‘– Assume that I play fair.’

Someone fell into Vitali’s side and it instantly drew him back to reality– he grabbed them by the shoulders and used the momentum of their fall to launch them in the direction of the merc leader, to knock him off balance and make him drop the knife. He looked around, eyes frantically searching for Vincent– and found him all the way in the back of the club pinned in a corner, kicking and screaming as he fended off the two last remaining mercenaries at once.

Vitali walked over, noticing his cane on the floor– he had lost it directly at the start of the confrontation, as it had been the first thing that had been kicked out from under his weight– and he hit the bottom end of it with the heel of his shoe to kick it up into his hand; tossed it up in the air to catch it by the bottom end of the shaft and swung it directly into the head of one of the mercs from the side, the impact hard enough to send them skidding across the floor.

‘I got it, I got it–!’ Vincent protested, but Vitali had already grabbed a handful of the other merc’s hair to yank them back– but before he could do anything Vincent grabbed a stool from the side of the bar with both hands and rammed it directly into the merc’s face, causing them to go limp in Vitali’s grip and fall to the floor.

‘I said I got it,’ Vincent repeated himself, a slight hint of annoyance in his voice as his gaze failed to meet Vitali’s– yet he took a step closer anyway, bumping his forehead against Vitali’s still held up hand and the latter gently ran his fingers down Vincent’s temple and cheek, a futile attempt to wipe some blood off his face.

‘Oh, of course. Thought I heard something.’

Vitali turned around and immediately noticed the sudden wide opening in the crowd on the opposite side of the bar, Rogue Amendiares herself stood with arms crossed in front of her chest right in the middle. The merc leader seemed to pay her no mind and charged forward– though before he could get even close Rogue kicked a broken off pole from a stool in his direction right under his boot and he comically slipped on it and fell backwards, the pole slowly rolling further until it came to a stop at Vitali’s feet.

‘Party’s over!’ Rogue called out and loudly clapped her hands together, the urgent undertone in her voice causing the rest of the Afterlife’s clientele to scatter instantly. ‘Everyone get back to your business, if I see any more drawn weapons I’m shuttin’ the place down for the night.’

Vitali sharply exhaled, allowing his heartbeat to settle as he set his cane down on the floor and leaned heavily on it to relieve his leg. The pain wasn’t as bad as it used to be, and he had made decent progress with taking better care of himself and taking his rest– though he had no doubt he’d feel this in the morning, and already considered leaving the office closed until noon to give himself some time to sleep it off.

‘I don’t give a damn how bad of a bad leg day you’re having, Dobrynin,’ Rogue sharply said, lowering her voice and pointing a finger in Vitali’s direction as she briskly walked closer to the two of them. ‘Next time you make a mess of my club I’m handing you a mop to clean your fucking blood off the floor and you’re not leaving until I can see my own reflection in it. We understood?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Vitali replied, barely able to keep a straight face when Vincent mumbled something about attaching a mop head to the end of his cane– and he could tell Rogue heard it too.

As much as he hated to admit it, the fight had done Vitali good. He felt alert, now; more awake than when he had entered the club a little under half an hour earlier, and he felt surprisingly refreshed despite the several hits he had taken directly to the jaw and cheekbone.

Of course it could easily be a byproduct of the adrenaline still coursing through his veins; but a little excitement from time to time– or his cravings for it for that matter– really wasn’t gonna be the end of the world.

Rogue gestured at some of her mercs to clean up the mess at their feet, turning on her heels and returning to her booth in the corner of the club. Vitali followed suit, Vincent at his side– both of them carefully watching their footing as they stepped over the unconscious mercenaries and several puddles of blood from various sources, including Vitali’s nose and mouth, which both still had yet to stop.

‘Now to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Rogue sarcastically asked over her shoulder, glancing to her side and giving Cato, Eddie, and Huxley a wave as she passed them by. ‘Usually never a good sign when either of you shows up on my doorstep.’

‘Wanted to come and say hi, if you can believe it,’ Vitali answered, equally as sarcastic in tone, and he smiled softly at Eddie when they handed him a tissue to clean himself up.

‘We’ve been over this, Vito. Could’ve called.’

‘Rather talk to you in person about this, if you don’t mind.’

Rogue’s movements briefly faltered in the midst of sitting down, glancing back in Vitali’s direction as she realized what he was talking about– and a shadow washed over her face, understandably so, while she slowly let herself sink down onto the couch.

Of course Vitali could have called; nothing he was about to say could not have been said on holo and it would have saved him and his mercenaries the trouble of traveling there– and a whole lot of bruises and sore muscles, too.

He slowly took a seat opposite of Rogue, the gravity of the situation a little undermined by the tissue held up against his nose filling up with blood at an almost comical speed. But Rogue understood the urgency either way– flicked her hand to send off the security stationed at the booth’s entrance, and Huxley and Eddie immediately took their place while Cato wandered off to keep an eye out in the rest of the club.

‘Okay,’ Rogue said, taking a deep breath and leaning back in her seat while draping her arms over the back of the couch. ‘Indulge me. How’s the family?’

A rather pointed question, and a little touchy of a subject at that. Vitali bit the inside of his cheek and shoved the memories of when he had last seen most his family members aside– he knew Rogue was not asking about them in the slightest and she did not need to know he hadn’t heard anything from his siblings or his mother since the conclusion with the Broker back in August.

‘Situation is back under control,’ he replied, carefully allowing himself to relax a little now that his heartbeat had returned to normal. ‘I assume you’ve been informed about the intel provided to the Council’s checkpoints? And the returned resources to the warehouses on the docks?’

‘In passing.’ Rogue paused, giving Vitali a moment to grab a new tissue. ‘Your doing?’

‘My father’s.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Why would I lie?’

The atmosphere in the booth had taken a rapid and sharp turn, Vincent shifting uncomfortably on his seat as Vitali held Rogue’s gaze and moved along with her to stay in her view when she scoffed and tried to look away. She licked her lips and squinted, pulling her arms from the back of the couch and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

‘After all the damage he’s done,’ she slowly said, ‘why this? Your old man, the Broker– full 180 degree turn, do-gooder of the fucking year. Why?’

‘Does it matter why?’

Vitali exhaled sharply, pausing to let his heart settle down again– not entirely sure why it had decided to speed up in the first place. He finally averted his gaze, allowing it to wander off back into the rest of the club; business had gone back to normal and the unconscious mercs had been disposed of outside, leaving just puddles of blood behind for an unfortunate cleaning crew.

Rogue raised valid points, and he was well aware. Matvey had shown a rather curious amount of determination to set things right and if Vitali didn’t know any better he would have assumed it was simply part of his father’s plan to manipulate people into trusting him.

But he had lost everything, too.

Vitali watched in silence as Rogue reached for the box of tissues, taking one out while moving forward and leaning with one knee on the low table stood between them to grab Vitali’s face and wipe some blood he had missed off his cheek and jaw.

His parents had gotten a divorce. Naturally so– Nadya’s affair with Ravager had been nasty enough as a deed on its own, but especially in the bigger picture of things it’d been a dirty move considering Matvey’s loyalty to her and he had not wanted to stick around even with the ex-Maelstromer six feet under.

Matvey had lost his job, his wife, custody of two of his children, and all his mercenaries in his professional life as a fixer. If all he was doing was still part of some bigger plan, if he was still trying to manipulate everyone in some desperate attempt to get back what he lost, Vitali would declare him mad– but he knew his father better than that, and he knew that he knew when to accept defeat.

‘I will be honest, I have yet to figure him out,’ Vitali softly admitted, wincing a little when Rogue pushed his face to the side a little too roughly. ‘But he went after all of this by himself, with no one telling him he had to do so. It has to mean something.’

Vitali knew it could easily be wishful thinking. It could easily be him wanting it to mean something, and his judgment could once again easily be clouded by the fact it’s about his own blood– but after everything that had happened, it only felt fair to give Matvey the benefit of the doubt now that it looked like he was actually trying.

Rogue sighed and shook her head, giving Vitali a pat on his cheek as she tossed the tissue on the table and moved back onto the couch. For a second, it looked like she wanted to say something– but visibly changed her mind and looked at Vincent instead, a questioning look decorating her face.

‘I dunno what to think,’ Vincent said indifferently without missing a beat, as if he had already been waiting for his cue. ‘It’s definitely a situation. All I can say is that Vitali isn’t lyin’, and that I’ve seen plenty of people waste a second chance the moment they received it. This doesn’t seem like a waste to me.’

The knot that had taken shape in Vitali’s stomach over the past few minutes of the conversation instantly disappeared, and he turned his head to give Vincent a soft smile; the merc by his side had been avoiding all eye contact with anyone before but crossed gazes with Vitali for a split second now, and despite the hesitance in his voice when he had spoken and despite his feelings on the matter– which Vitali was more than well aware of– he still returned the smile, moving a little closer on the couch to lean against Vitali’s arm.

‘So I can take your word for it when you tell me it’s all under control?’ Rogue asked, picking up her drink from the table and slowly taking a sip.

‘You have my word, Rogue. Always.’ Vitali paused, giving himself a moment to pick the right words to say. ‘You know I will act swiftly if things change.’

A scoff, and a laugh. ‘Will you?’

Alright, he had that one coming.

‘I have the full picture now,’ Vitali calmly continued, knowing very well he had not been as proactive back when the Broker had still been an ongoing issue. ‘He strays off the path again, it’s over. I have given him a chance to prove himself, and no more. I promise.’

‘Good. Glad we got an understanding now.’ Rogue licked her lips, ticking her fingernail against the side of her glass. ‘Shame if I have to dispose of two Dobrynins at once.’

Perhaps a little harsh, but a fair reaction, still. Vitali did not bat an eye and instead put a reassuring arm around Vincent’s shoulder, who had perked up a little upon Rogue’s comment– but Vitali knew she was not throwing a threat his way, but merely a warning.

And he understood– the situation had dragged on for long enough and it partially was his fault alone. His mercenaries and friends were a lot more forgiving on that front, but he knew very well that Rogue was getting tired of his bullshit and in order for their collaboration to survive, she needed his ass back in gear.

‘So what’s next?’ Rogue asked, as Vitali clicked his tongue to signal to Eddie and Huxley they were dismissed, the both of them wandering over to the bar to get themselves something to drink before they’d have to leave.

‘I’d like to meet the Council,’ he answered, pulling his arm back from around Vincent’s shoulders and holding his cane between his knees in both hands, slightly rolling it back and forth– a habit he found himself doing a lot more often those days, especially when he was starting to feel a little on edge.

‘I doubt they will hear me out considering the– V, what did you call it again? The “clownfest” this year has been, so I won’t even try– but we have to look at the future. We still have to work together.’

Rogue nodded and smiled lightly at the comment, glancing into the rest of the club and waving someone of her own entourage over to give her a refill on her drink.

‘Agreed,’ she said, slightly wiggling her glass between her fingers with a questioning look in Vitali’s direction– to which he simply shook his head. ‘V?’

‘Gotta move on,’ Vincent simply answered, also politely declining Rogue’s offer on a drink with a shake of his head. ‘We’ve picked things back up, there’s work to do. Loads of it. Need to know if the Council is on the same page with that.’

‘And are you two? On the same page?’

Another pointed but fair question.

They hadn’t been, for a while– in the heat of all things they had ended up with different perspectives which had led to a lot more tension Vitali had ever thought he would have with his partner, and in the midst of it all he had for a moment truly believed they were done for.

‘We are,’ Vincent said, not a single hint of hesitation in his voice as he spoke. ‘I’d’ve handled things differently, but everyone would’ve handled things in the way they thought was right. There’s no bad blood. I get why he did what he did. I’m just glad we both lived to tell the tale.’

He turned to look at Vitali again, that same reassuring smile lingering on his face– and it took all of Vitali’s self-restraint to not lean in to kiss him right then and there, the relief that washed over him in that moment strong enough to keep him going for the next few months.

He still worried sometimes. He still felt bad about what had happened.

But Vincent was right– they had to move on, in every sense of the word, and Vitali’s guilt could not hold him back from that.

‘Very well.’

Rogue set her refilled glass back on the table and briefly rubbed her hands over her thighs, signaling to Vitali their conversation was coming to an end. All three of them stood up simultaneously– and he could already feel the consequences of the scuffle from earlier in his legs and hip, the pain searing through his muscles.

‘I’ll call in a meeting as soon as I can,’ Rogue said, escorting Vincent and Vitali back to the bar where the rest of Vitali’s mercs had gathered to wait. ‘Expect a couple days turnaround, I’ll have Nix send you the detes. Who’s hosting?’

‘We can do Prodigy.’ Vitali paused, stepping aside to let some mercs pass by without getting shouldered out of the way. ‘Doubt they will want to visit the Crest, and I am not coming here any time soon anymore. No offense.’

‘None taken. I’ve been tellin’ you to stay away.’

‘So you have.’

Vitali took his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them at Huxley, giving Vincent a soft nudge forward to signal they could go and get ready outside. He watched the four of them wade through the crowd to make their way to the exit on the right, and the second they were out of sight he leaned on his cane a little heavier than before.

‘Take it easy, alright?’ Rogue said, stepping a little closer when she noticed the change in his demeanor. ‘Stupid gets you killed, Vito. I’ve seen it before, don’t wanna see it again. And right now? You’re givin’ me the massive impression you’re being stupid.’

Obviously she was right. While he had been taking his rest, Vitali had gone back to work entirely too soon and he was already starting to feel the consequences of it now– but what else was he to do? He loved his job; he could not sit still even if his life depended on it, and one more day of pure boredom at home would have led him to places he would’ve normally not even gone to with a gun.

Vitali’s gaze trailed the club, carefully watching the clientele around him– and of course he caught a rather large chunk of them staring, quickly avoiding their gaze the second his eyes crossed theirs, though he no longer knew if it was because of his reputation, because of Rogue, because of the fight from earlier, or because his brain was simply making it all up.

‘I’m trying,’ was all he could manage to say. ‘To take it easy– I’m trying.’

‘I can tell.’ No hint of sarcasm, but Rogue simultaneously reached out to fix the collar of Vitali’s shirt, the bloodstain on it still a little damp against his skin. ‘Try harder.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

He knew there was nothing else he could say.

Rogue carefully watched his expression, her hand lingering on his collar for a little longer than necessary as she tried to read him– then slowly pulled away with a little nod of approval, and she began to turn on her heels to return to her business for the night.

‘And– Rogue? Thank you. For everything.’

Vitali meant it.

She had been the only one to know that his father was the Broker, and she had trusted him through it all– had not once turned against him like the rest of the Council had, and she had shown him patience and kindness he knew he had been undeserving of while he had tried to sort things out for himself.

Rogue glanced back at him and scoffed, shaking her head– though he could see the softness on her face even from a distance, and he could not stop a smile from spreading across his face.

‘Get out of here, Vitali,’ Rogue said, waving her hand in the direction of the Afterlife’s exit, and she began making her way back to her booth.

‘And no funny business on your way out.’

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian, @estevnys;

@elgaravel, @aezyrraeshh, @carlosoliveiraa

#nuclearwriting #scared for my life posting this but hi. baby's first actual full piece of writing in monthsss i hope you guys like it!!!#let me know what you think!!!#this fic is inspired by the chapter in which vitali does basically this at the afterlife as well but like. it's happening again now #it feels on brand for him to just get into fights basically every time he goes there LMAO everyone is tired of him #i feel like this gets a little sloppy at the end but it's ok i'm allowed. it was a very self indulgent fic i just wanted to write a fight

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sleepy--anon · 8 months ago

Text

Day 3: Bet

Prompts found here

Reblog first, like later please, reblogs do more

Dream and Sapnap sat lounging on their comfortable couch together after having a hearty meal just the two of them.

"Its been a while since just you and me hung out." Dream said fondly, propping his head up with his hand as he stared at his friend.

"Yeah, no British screaming and insults this time." Sapnap joked back, chest swelling with pride when Dream giggled at it. His hand that rested softly on Dream’s knee gave him an idea. Sapnap rubbed his thumb against his knee cap with a soft hum.

"Hey Dream?"

"Uhuh?"

"I bet you can't keep your legs in my lap for three minutes." His tone turned playful as he gave Dream a lazily challenging look.

"My ADHD isn't that bad Sap, I took my meds today, you reminded me." Dream chuckled, slightly intrigued by where this was going.

"Who said anything about your ADHD being the reason you move~?" Dream felt a slight blush dust his cheeks as he tensed his legs.

"W-what's in it for me?"

"Well I originally had the idea of if you won I would do the cooking for the next week."

"Cooking and clean up! And throw in my laundry and you have a deal!" Dream stuck his hand out quick, watching Sapnap pretend to contemplate.

"Deal" Sapnap shook his hand firmly before sitting back setting the timer on his phone as Dream slowly rested his knees on Sapnap’s lap. He laid himself against the armrest and tried to relax, knowing that if he worked himself up on anticipation he wouldn't stand a chance.

"One hundred and eighty seconds Dreamy~ You ready~?" Sapnap showed the phone to Dream, giving him proof that it's only three minutes, Dream’s toes curled as he nodded, watching Sapnap set his phone down, flinching at his hand resting just above his knee.

"Alright Twitchy, here we go~" Sapnap started the timer with a soft ding, giving Dream a slight pat before dragging his nails down the outside of his thighs, watching Dream grip the couch cushions and twitch violently, breath shaking.

"Don't implode~" He teased, skittering his nails all over his shaking thighs. The thin pajama pants he wore did little to nothing to help.

"Shuhuhuhush" Dream's blush darkened by the second, his whole body shook as everything in him screamed to pull away.

"Thihihis is soho AAAHH!" Dream shrieked as Sapnap jellyfished both his knee caps at the same time.

"Oh I knew George wasn't the only one affected by this~" Sapnap repeated the action, watching Dream’s whole body jolt. Dream felt like lightning was shooting up his legs every time he did it. A minute had passed and clearly Sapnap was getting sick of playing nice, he grabbed his kneecap with one hand and his inner thigh with the other and squeezed, differing the pressures and always squeezing one after the other, never the same time. Dream threw his head back and all but cackled at the sensation. His legs drummed from their place on Sapnap’s lap, fighting the urge to pull them back. The adored look on Sapnap’s face accompanied by his lack of verbal teasing definitely wasn't helping.

"HOHOHOHOW MUHUHUHUHUCH LOHOHOHOHONGER!?" Dream whined, hugging himself through the tickles. Sapnap glided his nails up and down his shins, running them over his ankles, feeling him shiver as he looked over at his timer.

"Just slightly over fifty seconds." He answered honestly with a squeeze to his calf, chuckling at the squawk it pulled out of Dream.

'I can do this I can do this I can do this I CANT DO THIS" Dream's brain screamed at him as soon as Sapnap’s nails slid over the sides of his socked feet.

"NO!" He shrieked panicked, yanking his legs back.

"Awww Buddy, so close~ Twenty-five seconds left~" Dream pouted at him, flashing puppy eyes at him.

"Oh absolutely not, you do not get to do that mister are you serious~?" Sapnap crooned playfully, lunging at Dream giving him quick little sporadic tickles along his sides, belly, and ribs, staring fondly at his red, giggling face.

"OHOHOHOHOKAY! YOHOHOU WIHIHIHIHIN! IHIHI LOHOHOHOSE! STAHAHAP IHIHIHIHIT!" Sapnap soothed Dream softly, pressing gentle kisses around his face.

"No punishment Bud, that was enough of an award on my end. Thank you for letting me do that." Dream felt a surge of affection and quickly wrapped Sapnap up in a hug, pulling him down ontop of him like a weighted blanket.

"Yeah yeah, you're welcome..."

#sleepy's ler!sapnap week #sleepy's fics #mcyt tickle #mcyt tickle fic #dsmp tickle #ler!sapnap #lee!dream

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tieronecrush · 1 year ago

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the lakes

joel miller x reader

rating: M

word count: 1.9k

summary:

take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die / i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you / those windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry / i'm setting off, but not without my muse

warnings: nudity, skinny dipping, talk about grief, death, family tension, self-doubt, self-deprecation, idk man it’s just sad

a/n: my first song for the folklore anthology!! can’t wait to share others & read all the other great works from my pals <3

The sounds of birds chirping surround you in echoes across the valley, mountainous hills convexing in front of you and dotted with evergreens. Underneath you is sun-warmed sand, interspersed with smoothed rocks from rushing water shaping them over hundreds or thousands of years. The fresh, gentle waves of the lake lick against your bare feet, knees bent up as you sit at the shore, eyes trained ahead on the glassy surface reflecting the late summer sky above. Joel is sitting next to you in the same position, his hands joined together in a circle and forearms resting on his kneecaps.

It’d been a quiet hike to the spot you discovered while on patrol. Lately, Joel has been his own worst enemy — closed off to you, stewing in his thoughts about his strained relationship with Ellie and continuing to adjust to life in Jackson, a world so slow and still that he can’t seem to find a place he fits in after moving for so long. His inertia hasn’t caught up to his lifestyle change; he is constantly picking up patrol shifts, and volunteering to oversee new construction and renovations across the town, but even through his go go go, he can’t find a place to land.

This place was the perfect spot to take him; to abate the anxious energy that vibrates throughout him every day with the halcyon elements of nature. Animals that live their lives with no concept of time, a lesson in living in the present, trees that have been around for hundreds of years, solid and strong like the man himself, and the lake. The lake that provides for everything growing around it, that reflects beauty in sunrises and sunsets, that finds itself full no matter any barriers built in its feeding river, replenished by other means from rain to groundwater.

The silence between the two of you breaks for the first time in hours.

“You know what I first thought of you when I met you?” you question him, eyes trained forward on the view. Joel offers a soft grunt in response, hinting for you to continue.

“I thought: Wow, this guy is an asshole,” he scoffs with the hint of a smirk, shaking his head while your own grin plays at your lips, “But then, I got to know you. Forced proximity really tells you a lot about a person. And I very quickly learned how much you care. This world should have jaded you, should have broken you to the bone with what you have been through, but yet, you still find means to nurture. You protect, and you provide. You love so deeply, so incredibly much. Every day I wake up next to you, I thank the lucky stars that I have Joel Miller in my corner. By my side. Watching my back.”

“I know you are feeling something, thinking about something in that head of yours all the time. And I want you to know that I love you as deeply, that I care as much for you as you do for everyone in your life. You can share with me, whatever you feel like sharing.”

Joel is quiet, squinting in the sun as he tosses a round pebble from the sand between his legs into the shallow waters. The ripple appears and dissipates before he speaks.

“That sounded like a eulogy, darlin’.”

You scoff now, that same type of soft smirk that he held minutes before pulling the corners of your mouth up.

“Is that all you took from all of what I said?”

“No, ‘course not. Just, I don’t know, felt like I was listening to what you would say about me after I’m gone.” At that you turn towards him, hand wrapping around his nearest forearm and squeezing with even, steady pressure that says ‘We are not talking about that, I can’t talk about that.’

“I do wanna share with you, I just—I don’t know how. I’ve kept all this inside, locked down in my chest. Anger, temper, violence, even, as armor to keep me alive. Don’t ever think I’ve been very nurturing since, well, since…” His throat chokes up, head drops to stare at the ground. Another squeeze to his arm, this time to say ‘It’s okay. I know. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.’

Something that he said sticks out in your head, a means to attempt to combat his walls going up again now that they have crumbled slightly. You stand, glancing around out of habit before you pull your shirt over your head, your jeans following with your undergarments in their wake. Joel looks up, expression puzzled as he watches your naked form wade into the water. You hiss as the still-icy water engulfs you from the shoulders down, treading and turning back to your man on the shore. A gentle smile covers your face, beckoning him in with one nod of your head.

He follows suit with stripping down, clothes mixing in a pile with yours as they do on the floor of your bedroom. His own pained expression from the cold lake makes you giggle quietly, a scolding stare aimed your way. He paddles over to you smoothly, the water hitting his chest where he can continue to touch with his feet at the bottom. Your arms slither around his neck, wet fingers carding through the hair at the back of his head. The leverage against him is used to tug you closer, his large palms settling at your waist under the surface while the two of you bathe in the fresh Adam’s ale of these cliffside pools. Two pairs of eyes communicate without words, the soundtrack of the birds and rustling trees occupying the dead air until you speak again, hushed despite the fact that you are the only humans for miles.

“You can take your armor off around me.”

Joel’s eyes flutter closed, a long sigh exhaled as his hands grip your curves tighter. When his burnt chestnut and amber irises are revealed again, he speaks in the same reserved volume that you had.

“I don’t belong there. In Jackson.”

Silence gently urges him to carry on.

“What I’ve done, to strangers, to myself, to Tess, to you, to Tommy, to Ellie…I don’t deserve any chance at life. With what I have taken from others, I don’t deserve to be given anything. Kindness, respect, care, love. From anyone.”

“I’ve been selfish this whole twenty years. I almost left Tommy alone. I dragged us up north to Boston. I got Tess into smuggling. I kept Ellie at a distance for so long because I couldn’t bear to feel that kind of responsibility, that familial tie. And then I chose for her, in that hospital. I couldn’t lose another kid.”

“It—it feels like I should be over the past, over what I have done now that I have a chance at a fresh start, or as close to a fresh start as I could possibly have here in Jackson. I have a shot to build a life with you, to work for Ellie’s forgiveness, to be an uncle to Maria and Tommy’s baby. But what has been chasing me — what has been over — it feels like it’s burrowed under my skin. And all I can feel when I start to forget is these—these heartstopping waves of hurt.”

“And I don’t know how to move on. I don’t know how to forget when my body, my mind, my soul won’t let me.”

Across his cheeks, salty tears have carved rivers, the dampness still in his eyes shining in the midday sunlight. The water sounds as if it’s rushing in your ear, your pulse racing as you attempt to process his confession. His head has bowed in a prayer position, awaiting your means to reconciliation or absolution.

Hands settled on his broad shoulders, another communicative squeeze, this one to say ‘I don’t know either. But I know how to try.’

“You let your people heal you,” Joel’s eyes meet yours, drops cascading from the damp bits of hair hanging over his forehead, attention completely and utterly on you, “Time can’t fix everything. The past can hold us in its grip even with all the time in the world. But people can help you forget. They can help to lessen the pain in your body until it’s merely a pinch. Their love can pull you up when you fall. Their care can nurture your soul to grow resilient again. Their reassurance can teach your mind to hear those sordid thoughts you have but pay them no attention.”

“I want to do this for you, Joel. I want to help you. To care for you. To love you, completely. Your people want to do it for you. And if you can learn from experience, you can do it for Ellie…” Your hands move from his shoulder, skating across his glistening skin and wrapping around the sides of his neck, thumbs resting against his jaw.

“You made choices you had to. Including for Ellie. She was — she is a child. Your kid, if not by blood. She may not understand now, but I know she will find a means to forgive you, or at least understand you.”

“Maybe when she’s older, if she has a kid of her own, she’ll understand.”

Joel’s mouth quips to one side with a faint smile, tears drying on his cheeks as he thinks of the image.

“Reckon we’d be pretty fun, well, sorta grandparents.”

“I think so, too,” you speak with a grin stretched and thumbs brushing back and forth at his jaw, “I can’t wait to grow old with you. To sit on the porch and watch you still yell across the street to your brother for full conversations instead of the two getting off of your asses —”

“Watch it, darlin’,” he warns playfully.

“Hey, it’s true. I listen to it nearly every day. Now, back to what I was imagining, cowboy.”

He nods for you to continue, a full-blown smile on his face.

“We’ll have Ellie over weekly dinners, and whoever else makes up her family. You’ll play me guitar and sing whenever I ask ‘cause you love me so much. I’ll help to heal you, and we will be happy together. We will take our second chance. And you will enjoy your time with your family. And me, hopefully.”

“Definitely with you. My beautiful girl,” his own hand leaves the water, wetting your hair as he brushes it out of your face with tender eyes, “You’re like—like a red rose that’s grown out of my ice-frozen ground. I am so lucky to have you. That you chose me, and continue to choose me every damn day. My grief sometimes feels insurmountable; like I am going to be stuck here forever with no way out of that feeling. But if I get stuck here, with you in my arms and all my people around me, I’d be fine if I simply grow old and wither away back into the earth.”

“I love you, darlin’. So much it might just end in tragedy, that my heart might just explode from lookin’ at you one day. But I do love you.”

A gentle kiss is shared between the two of you, the bitter water combined with your torrid love stirring up a tornado of tingling nerves.

You pull away, only enough to get the words out that you have told him, Joel, your man, every day and will continue to tell him every day you have him, “I love you.”

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