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oleander-nin · 6 months

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Horrortober Day 19- Curiosity(Yandere Rise Mikey x Reader)

A/N, not important: You know, if life screws me over today and I can't finish tomorrows, I think I'm okay with 19 consecutive posts. I'm not happy, but I don't think I'd do anything drastic over this one. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Kidnapping, hinted disturbing imagery w/out detail, obsession, mention of gorey drawing, snooping, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 1776

Summary: You finally get access to Mikey’s locked notebook and aren't sure the bubbly turtle is as innocent as he seems anymore.

The concrete floor of the lair’s living room was cold, the freezing stone seeping into your shirt and numbing your stomach. You shiver at the feeling, unsure how pleasant you truly thought it felt. Despite insisting for the past thirty minutes it was fine, you were starting to regret your call as the cold latched onto your limbs and was starting to take your arms down too. You never realized how difficult it was to draw with numb fingers. You take a small breath, grumbling quietly as you shift on the floor in an attempt to get warm.

“Hey Mikey?” You catch his attention, frowning slightly because you knew you were giving in to winter's touch. You didn’t think you’d bail so soon. Mikey looks at you, his warm eyes also seeming to know exactly what you wanted, as if he was more surprised you lasted this long.

“I have a big blanket in my bed.” He says simply, turning back to his work. You nod gratefully, pushing your palms against the floor to pick yourself up. You shiver as you walk towards the orange turtles room, your teeth chattering from the brisk air. You didn’t understand why Donnie was so insistent on waiting until one of his projects was complete before cranking up the heat since his lab had its own separate thermal system, but no one dared to complain. Donnie wasn’t against ‘accidentally’ shutting off the system entirely while his room is unaffected. You were all certain it was just to keep Leo away from Donnie’s inventions anyway.

Pushing the door aside, you walk into Mikey’s room. It was the same temperature as the hallway, but the more colorful walls made it feel warmer. If you tried hard enough, you were fairly certain you could have a conversation with the paintings on the walls.

You spend little time admiring the graffiti Mikey covered everything in. You had been here millions of times before, and it had been a few weeks since Mikey added another masterpiece to his room. You drift over to the hammock and shuffle the pillows and blankets around to find your favorite, the large fluffy one Mikey always lets you use. You wrap the plush blanket around yourself, convinced you had just stolen a piece of heaven to sink into. The little warmth your body was generating is trapped within the blanket's fabric, quickly returning the color to your face.

Your eyes drift around the room one last time as you walk to the exit, merely scanning for oddities than truly taking in the details. Your eyes land on a bright red sketchbook sitting inconspicuously on Mikey’s desk, the usual diary lock that kept it closed sitting open and to the side. The sketchbook was open, showing off a drawing of someone familiar. You move closer, ignoring the nagging voice that was scolding you for snooping.

The drawing was of you, sitting next to Mikey on the couch. You were both leaning on each other, hands and legs entangled in the silly pose. Your face was happy, the graphite drawing somehow capturing the light and care in your eyes. You smile softly, kneeling down to take the sketchbook in your hand and admire the drawing more. It was a surprise to see, but a very welcome one.

You thumb the pages over to the beginning, looking through the drawings more. You seemed to be the main focus of most of the drawings, which helped you feel justified in looking through the sketchbook. There were so many sketches of you, the first couple innocent and sweet like the one you first saw. You frown as you glance over the fourth and fifth pages, the detailed drawing of you chained and gagged making you feel uneasy.

The next few pages were similar, all depicting you in ways that made you uncomfortable or sick. You stop looking through at the eleventh drawing, the dead bodies being too similar in looks to your friends and families. You shakily set the book down, unsure how to feel about what you just saw. On one hand, they could very well just be practice, and he found you easy to draw. On the other…

You shudder, not wanting to dwell on the implications of that. You quickly thumb through the drawings, trying to not look at them as you try to return to the original page that was open when you came in. You’re so engrossed in your mission, you don’t even notice Mikey entering the room and shutting the train car's door behind him. He walks forward, startling you as he grabs the notebook from your hand and carefully closes it, making sure to not bed any of the pages.

You gape at him, eyes wide and barely breathing. You struggle to speak while he locks the notebook, his face blank except for the smile on his lips. It was like he was glad you saw his drawings.

“I-I’m so sorry Mikey, I saw it open and then when I went to grab it, I dropped it and I was trying to fix it, but I couldn’t find the page and-” Mikey kneels in front of you and covers your mouth with his hand, stopping your desperate lies from falling. His eyes were still the same, warm and kind and oh so innocent, something you were starting to not believe. He looks down at the sketchbook in his hand, then sets it back down on the desk.

“It’s fine,” He lies, the words coming easy. He keeps his hand firmly over your mouth, not trusting you to not interrupt. “I was going to give it to you anyways! I’m just a little disappointed you peaked so early. It kind of ruins the gift.”

He pouts at you, his hand finally dropping from your mouth. Before you can speak, his arms wrap around your lower back and pull you forward, sending you crashing into his chest. You grunt in discomfort, your head knocking comfortably against the dull points of his plastron and the blanket being the only thing that kept you from the rough texture.

“So, how much did you see?”

His soft voice sends chills down your spine. You weren’t used to so much forced happiness in his voice, and no longer being able to see his face from your position made it so much worse. You gently try to push him back, your heart thudding against your ribcage. Your fists slowly close, his arms holding you tight against him so you have no chance of moving. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, desperately chasing down the fear that was starting to consume you. You try to think of what to say, unsure of how to step to calm down the young mutant.

“Not much,” Your throat is dry when you speak, causing your words to be quieter and harder than you wanted. Mikey shifts you closer to him, his face pressed into your hair. You don’t try to struggle in his arms, wanting nothing more than for him to calm down and let you go. “I just saw the first couple pages.”

Mikey hums in acknowledgement, his chest lifting higher as he breathes deeply for a moment. His voice is tight, almost nervous. You weren’t sure how to take it. “What did you think?”

“They were… Nice.” You say, your stomach churning once more as you remember the drawings and what they contained. The blood and gore of your family members from the final page would haunt you for years to come. Mikey nods despite your unease, seeming to brighten at the answer.

“Good. I’m glad you like them. I really really like you, you know. I wanted to give that to you before I asked you out but…” Mikey takes a deep breath, his voice darkening and his arms growing tighter around you. “Well, you ruined it. You ruined the surprise, and I’m really mad at you right now.”

Your blood runs cold at his words, unease biting at your heart and soaking into your veins. Mikey doesn’t speak for a moment, his body tense. You weren’t sure what he was thinking, but you got the feeling you had to leave. Now.

“Hey Mikey?” You mumble, trying to tread lightly. You didn't want to make him more upset. He squeezes you, letting you know he was listening without making a sound. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I need to go home. I- I have homework, remember?”

Mikey doesn’t answer, his grip tightening more and you were sure you could feel your bones stress under the pressure. You open your mouth to continue, but he cuts you off, the usually bubbly turtle's words turning cold.

“You’re not leaving.” He says shortly, an almost whine in his voice despite the cold words. You tense, unsure how to respond. The growing fear in your heart wasn’t helping you think clearly, and you couldn’t see a good way to get out of this.

Mikey breathes through his nose, trying to calm himself so he doesn’t do anything brash. You both sit there for a few moments, your face forcefully pressed up against Mikey’s plastron. Your breathing is starting to get more laborious as panic continues to set in, Mikey’s compressive hold not helping in the slightest. The turtle himself also seemed unsure what to do next, his arms shaking as he held you. Neither of you move nor speak, not wanting to break the heavy silence that fell upon the room.

“I’m sorry,” MIkey says suddenly, his voice making you both jump. He licks his lips before continuing, your silence encouraging him to finish. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave. I need you. This, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Before you can ask what he meant, Mikey stands up with you in his arms, his spots and eyes glowing as he lets his powers flow. Your panic escapes you now, screams and cries erupting from your float as chains wrap around you and lock you in place. Now fully bound, Mikey sets you down in his hammock bed, his eyes shaky while he backs away. He looks over you, seemingly looking for injuries while you continue to scream and curse his name. Mikey seems upset at the outburst, quickly walking out of sight before reappearing with a small cloth he shoves into your mouth. The dusty rag burns on your tongue, making you choke and cough.

“I’ll be back.” Mikey mumbles, his eyes disappearing as he turns around and marches off, leaving you to steam alone in his cold, treacherous room.

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goodeapple · 3 months

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someone could come love me, if somebody knew me

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny.

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating.

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true.

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest.

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.”

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable.

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?”

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat.

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy.

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.”

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body.

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck.

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees.

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it.

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck.

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin.

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.”

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath.

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week.

Cheeky brat.

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so.

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees.

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone.

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely.

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks.

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales.

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.”

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs.

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?”

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see.

“No.”

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him.

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat.

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.”

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness.

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock.

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind.

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up.

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary.

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.”

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong.

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes.

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #ysilla targaryen #someone could come love me if somebody knew me #my writing

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ry-b0y · 5 months

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I loooveeee finding followers blogs and its just wholesome fandom stuff like aww. You just spam liked all my posts about eating people erotically and being a silly little whore and getting fucked in my sleep and getting hard watching torture films. I wonder if your followers know you're a weird freak sick little oddity.

#ry writes #nsft #i see you.#everytime I see one i go teehee!!

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schafpudel · 1 year

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What Kind of Duck, is Duck?

OK. So first, let's get this out of the way:

Duck is not real. Duck is, first and foremost, the vague idea of a duck. Duck... is not strongly based on the reality of ducks as an animal.

She is extremely stylized, a blobby little chibi-mascot in a world of anime humans and realistically rendered animals and animal-people. She has contradictory traits - the yellow coloration of a duckling, on the functional flight feathers of a bird that's entered its adult plumage. Her thoughts and actions are noticeably less bestial than those of Mr. Cat or any of the talking-animal students, not beholden to instincts.

When asking what kind of duck our friend Duck is, we must first admit to ourselves that this is a silly question. Ducks like Duck do not exist. She has little candy-cane legs, for god's sake. God bless her.

(If we want to get real meta, perhaps we could speculate that she isn't a real duck because she is a story-duck: escaped from her narrative like the prince and the raven, and the wilis maiden, and the ghost knight, oblivious to her origins. It would, if nothing else, provide a fun watsonian explanation for some of her oddities.)

But fandom is all about getting fucking silly with it, and building elaborate though exercises about shit the creators didn't think about. And I'm an animal nerd. So this is how I choose to have fun. Let's go.

Analysis of the Birb

Duck can be safely assumed to be a Anas platyrhynchos domesticus, or domestic mallard, as this is the typical barnyard duck throughout Asia, Europe, and... really almost the entire world. I say she must be a domestic mallard, and not wild, for one simple reason:

On the left is the typical appearance wild mallard duckling. On the right are various domesticated ducklings. That's right; the solid yellow color we associate with baby ducks? Specific to domesticated ones! Solid yellow is a sign a duckling will grow up to be a white duck; ducklings that grow up to be other colors have darker fluff mixed in.

(That's right. She'll have white plumage like a swan...)

Many white ducks have orange bills, legs, and feet; other white ducks, especially as ducklings, have orange legs and pink bills. Duck's bill is far more pinkish than her feet, but it's still noticeably orange-y, putting her in sort of a middle area. (By the way, have you ever noticed that Duck's hair color as a girl is the same as her bill color as a duck?)

If she's intended to be anything in particular (which I doubt she is), it might be the German Peking - native to the area, and the creamy-yellow tinged adult plumage of the German Peking compared to other white ducks seems to be reflected by the tint of the duck-feather quill Autor provides as a substitute for Drosselmeyer's swan-feather quill.

However, let me provide my personal baseless headcanon.

Come and see the humble Call Duck

The Call Duck is a Dutch breed, speculated to be descended from a variety of duck imported to the Netherlands from Japan. Call ducks are a smaller-than-average breed, with a note-worthily "cute" appearance compared to other ducks, even as adults: large forehead, round cheeks, short bill. They're also noteworthy for being sociable and friendly with their human keepers, making them great pets compared to other ducks... as well as very, very noisy and talkative.

(Nobody's perfect.)

There's also a certain... symbolism, I think, to the Call as a breed.

Call ducks are friendly and talkative because they were bred not for eggs, or for meat, but for hunting. Not that they themselves hunted! But their innocent, friendly talkativeness, their cheerful noisy voices, were shaped as a siren song to lure wild ducks into funnel traps. Unwittingly bringing the demise of its own kind, the Call duck's sweetness is exploited by hunters to draws other ducks to their doom.

Duck is kind, and sweet, and wants to be friends with people, and wants to help them. She saw the Prince on the lake, like a wild swan, and wanted to help him in any way she could.

In Drosselmeyer's eyes, this made her the perfect person to become Princess Tutu, to set the story back in motion... and through that friendly kindness, send every "character "in the Story to their doom.

#princess tutu

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shatcey · 23 days

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1st anniversary (Liam)

William Victor Victor epilogue Liam Liam epilogue

The event is full of Liam's oddities. If you haven't read his route, you probably won't even understand what's going on. The boy has very big problems. And, considering that the event take place a year after the main route, he got better, but not much. This is especially noticeable compared to Ellis, who has become almost normal. Yes, I also read Ellis's event. He's my favorite after all. But I still can't decide whether I should write about it or not. I'm sure someone will do a full translation, so there's no point in giving you a summary.

So...

The story begins with Liam being unable to concentrate at rehearsal because Victor has already given him an assignment. Spend the day with Kate and decide whether she should stay at the Crown or not.

Tom noticed that Liam was not himself, and gave him the day off. So Liam left the theater earlier thinking…

He doesn't even want to imagine his life without her. But… As if summoned by his thoughts, she stands at the entrance to the theater and waits for him.

He was a little ashamed of his selfish decision

So… He decided in his own way to convince her to stay, showing her how wonderful the Crown was. He likes it here, so he has a lot to say.

He remembered asking her out a year ago. It turns out that it wasn't entirely out of the goodness of his heart.

In fact, I'd like to see a person who hates you. Really. It's like hating the cutest animal in the world… what is it… koala… penguin? Whatever…

So… He invites her to test his newly invented tour. And she happily agrees. The first stop was at the Crown building. And for a moment he was afraid that she might not like this building.

I wonder what Her Majesty would say to that. I would definitely laugh. It's so silly…

The next stop was the entrance. There they met Jude and Ellis, who had just returned from a mission. Jude gave Liam the canned fish.

My first thought was… Why do you want to poison my boy? It sounds like… I don't want to throw it in the trash, so I'll give it to you. But I completely misunderstood him.

Jude gave him really weird, unusual things that an ordinary person wouldn't dare try, but it's perfect for our curious kitten. And it definitely won't kill him. Jude, you're so kind! But, of course, not for free.

After Jude and Ellis left, Liam told how Jude first approached him. It was the day Liam screwed up his mission. So Jude overwhelmed him with work and…

An interesting phrasing. "Kind of like Jude" or "Jude's way of showing kindness". I'm not sure which of them Liam meant, but I like both.

The next stop was the dining room. All of Kate's favorites were there.

Where they meet Harrison. When they tell him what they are doing, Harry just smiles and asks Liam to explain it later. Harrison deffinetly noticed the lie. But Kate didn't find anything strange in this remark and asked Liam to introduce Harrison.

Yes, sweets. It's very easy to please you)))

And the last stop was the dance hall. William was there, playing the piano.

Before William pointed this out, I hadn't thought about it… they really are a cat and a bird…

Willy said if they wanted, he would play another song for them. They cannot decide, so William does it for them. Chopin's waltz No. 9, which is often called "Farewell".

I just listened to it… very familiar and very beautiful. I can easily imagine William playing it…

William explained that Chopin wrote this waltz for his beloved when they were in a relationship. But later her parents opposed him and they broke up. And despite the fact that the waltz was written at the happiest moment of their lives, it still sounds very sad… like a farewell…

Liam thinks William probably knows about his assignment, which is why he's telling this story…

Oh, Willy… My sweet romantic…

They went into Kate's room and Liam asked her what she thought of his tour. She said that everything was fine, but she felt that the most important thing for her was missing…

NO! No, no, no, no, no, no! Liam! Babe! It's OK… You did nothing wrong! Don't bottle up! Everything is fine…

And on this wonderful note, we have two paths.

Normal ending

Kate tells him that no, he didn't make a mistake. But she didn't have a chance to explain herself because Victor suddenly showed up.

And they go on a mission. Liam uses his ability to be invisible and sneaks into some place to gather information. On the way back he had a seizure. He had a very odd internal conversation. But he suddenly came back when Kate hugged him.

She explains what she meant earlier. He talked about everyone, but never mentioned himself. He is a part of the Crown, and she, like any other new member, would like to hear about him. That's why she wanted him to tell her about himself. They laugh and apologize to each other. But Liam is thinking…

He asks her if she will stay as his fairy taler. At first she is surprised, but of course she agrees.

So Liam signs the agreement

He literally cannot imagine any future for himself without her in his life...

Premium ending

Victor didn't showed up in this ending, so Kate immediately explained herself. And Liam remembered that at every stop of the tour, she tried in a roundabout way to get him to talk about himself.

This time he tells her about agreement and asks her what she wants. And she, of course, asks him to let her stay.

After that, Liam came to Victor with a signed agreement. Victor, as always, tries to spend more time with his beloved kitten, but Liam is in a hurry. This time, Kate is giving a tour. And the title is…

Completely agree with Victor. It's cute.

And, remembering the story Will told them, Liam thinks. That in the future people will perceive their story as a "tragedy" or a "farewell story", but they will not know that until the very last moment they were happy together…

Oh, Liam...

So… I still can't decide whether to buy his epilogue or not. Probably I will. But I still haven't decided whether I should read the normal story of Ellis or Jude… or even Harrison. And after that I'll chose which epilogue I wanna read. I have time, so I'm not worried. And considering that I spent all the crystals (or whatever they are called here) on the last premium attire at Ellis route (it was too pretty), I can only buy one epilogue. Decisions. I hate decisions…

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weirdest-blorbo-throwdown · 11 months

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do you have a strange blorbo? a real oddity? well, submit them here!

here at the weirdest blorbo throwdown, we truly love and appreciate every single weirdo this website has to offer. so much, in fact, that i want to make a group of them fight to the death. submit your favourite here:

rules:

for the sake of fairness, there's only one blorbo allowed per source material UNLESS they come as an inseperable pair. in the case of an inseperable duo, they compete together. as besties. or possibly worsties

no Harry potter characters sometimes i like to feel happiness. any other source of material is fine though teehee

i am so sorry. no real people. the characters someone plays are allowed, but no actual people

the character has to be canonically strange or unsettling in a notable way

we are only accepting thirty two submissions at first. in the case of a second round, any late submissions that didn't make the cut this time around will be automatically placed in the second round

have fun, be nice, stay eternally silly

all confirmed participants will be listed under the cut. i am submitting my own champion too, but i will keep it a secret who they are until their elimination or in the event they win. somehow

confirmed fighters: (please let me know if i've misspelled anyone's name) (this is also subject to change. i am going purely off of submissions at the moment)

Ace - The Powerpuff Girls

Gubble D. Gleep - Gubble

Stephanie McGermanotta - Entropic Float

Minion - Megamind

Magical John and Twitch Chat - RTgame Miitopia

Elijah Volkov - Camp Here and There (the funniest submission i've gotten yet)

Lilo - Lilo and Stitch

Simpson the cat - fleetways sonic the comic

floofty fizzlebean - bugsnax

aha - honkai star rail

SCP 2030 - The SCP Foundation

The Showman - Welcome to my nightmare

Sgt. Norm Allan - Dialtown

the Administrators - ADAMANDI

Tomodatchi - Vocaloid

Loraine - Guardian Tales

josafat - benedikt bualfur (WHADDA HELL IS THAT)

Baroness Von Bon Bon - Cuphead

Rabbit - Steam Powered Giraffe

Terezi Pyrope - Homestuck

ENA - Joel G

Air Force One Angel - The Monument Mythos

Orin Scrivello - Little Shop of Horrors

Trexel Giestman - Stellar Firma

Idia Shroud - Disney Twisted Wonderland

Agnus - Devil May Cry 4

Blue - Test Subject Blue

Kat - Kid Vs Kat

Jevil - Deltarune

El Seed - The Tick

Dejiko - Fi Gi Charat

Solaire - Dark Souls

#submissions post

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wander-over-the-words · 6 months

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BioFluff Week 2023 Fic #2

Title: Close Encounters of the Rapture Kind

Prompt: Monsters/Costumes

Summary: The one where the Big Daddy and Big Sister suits come in handy, and Eleanor’s going to her first Halloween party, for which there are some ground rules.

Characters: Subject Delta, Augustus Sinclair, Eleanor Lamb; mentions of Little Sisters, Billy Parson, Big Daddies, Big Sisters, Splicers, Sofia Lamb.

Pairing: Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta, with some family fluff with Eleanor.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption and physical assault.

Notes: Second submission for a new BioFluff Week! Here’s the response to the prompt ‘Costumes’! Realistically, I’d imagine Delta would’ve been long-since cured by the time Halloween comes around, but fuck it, I like this idea. Happy Halloween!

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Fic also available on AO3.

…

“I remember this Sinclair guy from when I was a kid,” one woman says to the other, frowning lightly as they lead their children through the iron gates of the most expensive and lavish house in town, which currently has three HAPPY HALLOWEEN banners strung up above the doors and across the outer fence on either side of the gates.

“He never used to open his gates to anybody who wasn’t givin’ him cash. He used ta sit on his porch and smoke sometimes, but other’n that, he’d just pop up in town every so often and then disappear again back into his house. Used to give me the creeps, him and this place. No idea why he’d be entertainin’ trick-or-treaters now…”

“Didn’t he go missin’ some time ago?” says her companion, holding her own child by the hand as they walk down the path toward the house.

“Yeah, ‘bout twenty years ago or so. My ma thought she was hallucinatin’ when she saw him in the street the other day, with that girl by his side.”

“Well, there ya go: he’s got a child now. Bet she’s got her daddy wrapped around her little finger an’ asked him to open the doors to trick-or-treaters this year, so he has. Just had a change of heart, is all.”

The first woman hums, clearly holding no hope for Sinclair’s character, but keeps it to herself as the four of them climb the steps, up onto the porch that they used to see Sinclair sitting upon as kids.

There’s a sense of trepidation in the air; Augustus Sinclair was considered more-or-less an oddity to the people in town at best, since he hardly interacted with anybody who wasn’t a client or staff (either his own or the ones working at the shops in town, during the times he’d magically pop up). The older folk in town knew him better; they would say he was a horrible man and would tell true stories of how he screwed good people over with that ‘fancy law degree’ of his, no sense of morality or empathy to him. Just before he disappeared, he abruptly fired his entire house staff, uncaring how much they were relying on his money or not.

Meanwhile, the kids would share theories of what he got up to in that big house, ranging from being some secret serial killer to actually being a ghost. Made him seem so much scarier during the times he’d appear in town, the suspected murderer or spirit being so much closer to them.

Now, here they are. On his porch. Previously forbidden land. Like something from a legend.

They share a look, then shake their heads at themselves, feeling silly, and then the second woman encourages her daughter to knock at the doors.

The little sugar plum fairy toddles up and knocks the hardest she can.

It takes a few moments, but then there comes a thump-thump-thump from behind the doors, like large boots hitting wood, and then the doors open, and the two women feel their faces pale as they look upwards.

“Oh, wow!” exclaims the first woman’s son, dressed up in a cardboard costume to look like a robot.

The little girl gasps, then grins and exclaims, “I love your costume!”

The large diving suit figure stares back silently, yellow-glowing porthole pointed at them all, and does nothing as he simply stands there, bowl of sweets in his hands - hands so big, they look like they could crush the four of their skulls in one fist, which only serves to make the women’s faces pale more.

“M-Mr. Sinclair?” one of them stammers.

“Nope,” comes from beside the doorway, and Augustus Sinclair pops his head into view before stepping forward to stand beside his…friend, “that’d be me. Evenin’, now. Happy Halloween an’ all that.”

“Uh…who’s…?” the second woman says, slowly pointing at the…person before them.

“Hm? Oh.” Sinclair looks up at them, then pats their arm. “This here is Delta. He takes the holiday all seriously, as you can see. He’s, ah, dressed as a haunted divin’ suit.”

Finally, ‘Delta’ moves: he turns at the waist to look at Sinclair, then looks back at the two women and lets out a little grunting noise.

“Uh - the, ah, helmet blocks his speech, ya see, heh,” Sinclair quickly says. “I’m his little helper for the evenin’, just here to play translator. Ha - I told him this costume was gonna be a pain in the neck ta greet trick-or-treaters with, but he don’t listen ta me, hehe. Like I said before: he jus’ loves this holiday.”

He looks down at their children and hastily changes the topic, clasping his hands together.

“But here I am, gabbin’ - I’m sure your little ones are just itchin’ for some of that candy they’ve been promised.”

He nudges Delta with his elbow.

“Go ahead, chief.”

Delta looks at Sinclair, then tilts himself forwards at the waist to look down at the children. His shoulders lifting upwards, he lets out some…noise that - call them crazy - sounds like whalesong, and Sinclair flashes them a grin, even while the women’s eyes widen.

“Aw, he’s just sayin’ that he likes the looks of your costumes,” he says, and the women can only wonder how the hell he knows that.

“Thank you!” says the little girl, curtseying to Delta in her little pink tutu, which prompts another one of those strange noises from him.

Carefully, Delta lowers himself down to one knee, and even when he’s kneeling like that, he looks huge compared to the rest of them, thanks to how thick his body is, seemingly all muscle even when the suit is a little baggy.

It does nothing to calm the ladies’s opinions of him; they continue to stare at him like they’re worried he’ll drag them into the house and prove those childhood theories about Sinclair being a murderer correct.

However, he doesn’t do anything like that. Instead, he just innocently holds out the bowl of sweets to the children, who, surprisingly, ignore it in favour of descending upon him.

The little robot boy boldly goes over to poke at Delta’s bicep and tug on his sleeve, coming over so quick that Sinclair takes a small step back to keep the kid from entering his personal bubble, while the little girl is staring, fascinated, at Delta’s left hand. After a moment, she reaches out to touch his finger, and Delta passes the bowl to his right hand so that he can offer his left one to her for her to get a proper look at it.

The women look like they don’t know what to do with themselves; it’s obviously not appropriate for their children to just go poking at a stranger like this, but he doesn’t even seem to care that they’re doing that, and to be honest, this…’Delta’ is giving them the creeps.

“Uh - honey,” the first woman tries to say to her son, but Sinclair holds up a hand to stop her.

“Aw, now, it’s alright. He doesn’t mind a little curiosity.”

“Are you a robot?” the little boy asks Delta, tilting himself to look at Delta’s porthole from where he stands by Delta’s side.

“No, no,” Sinclair says in his place, “there’s a man under there - flesh ‘n’ blood, like you an’ me.”

“Are you really super tall,” the girl asks, then, “or do you got stilts on?”

“Ah.” Sinclair holds up a finger. “‘Fraid we can’t tell you that, little lady. Trade secret.”

The boy raps his knuckle against the bottom of Delta’s helmet, testing the material that it’s made from, and gawks when he realises it’s real metal and not something like painted papier mâché.

“Is that helmet really heavy?” the boy asks. “You must be really strong!”

“Oh,” Sinclair chuckles, “trust me, son, he is. Could lift a car with those big ol’ arms o’ his.”

“Where did you get your costume?” the girls says, undeterred by the lack of a proper answer to her last question.

“Uh,” Sinclair’s smile turns slightly awkward, “I, ah…I know a guy. He, uh, made it an’...I paid for it all.”

“What’re these?” the boy then asks, tilting himself the other way now to look at Delta’s back, pointing.

“Those’re oxygen tanks, son - so’s he can breathe.”

“But what about those ones?” the boy adds, pointing now specifically to the glass tubes that contain some kind of gooey liquids that glow red and blue.

“Oh. Uh.” Sinclair’s smile falters, then he picks it back up, if a little uncomfortable-looking now. “That’s his, uhh…ectoplasm - s-since he’s a haunted divin’ suit and all.”

Coming back around to stand in front of Delta, the boy looks over at his left arm to follow the tube of blue going into Delta’s wrist; Sinclair watches the kid like he’s worried the boy’s going to ask another question about that ‘ectoplasm’, but when the kid doesn’t, the tension leaves Sinclair’s body and he subtly gives a sigh of relief.

The little girl is still investigating Delta’s hand. She pats at the rings on his gloved fingers, then moves around to stand beside him so that she can press her hand to his, the bottoms of their palms matching up, and she breathes a soft “Wow…!” at how much bigger Delta’s hand is compared to hers. She then moves back around to stand in front of him and takes hold of Delta’s finger in the entirety of her little hand, squeezing it and tugging on it to test Sinclair’s answer that Delta really is human and not some spectacular machine he’s programmed. When she evidently feels flesh and not metal or wires, she gasps and turns to her mother.

“Momma,” she calls, “I wanna dress like this next year!”

“Me too, me too!” the boy exclaims quickly.

The women look only more nervous, and Sinclair barks out a laugh before nudging Delta’s shoulder.

“Why, do ya hear that, chief?” he says. “You went an’ got yourself a coupla little fans here.”

Delta lets out a long note of that…whalesong he seems to be talking in (what kind of helmet is he wearing that reduces his speech to that?), before he holds out the bowl of sweets again, giving it a little shake.

“He’s askin’ if y’all wanna grab your candy now,” Sinclair says. “Go on, now - one a piece.”

The kids look at him like they forgot that was why they came here at all, then both rush to the bowl Delta’s holding out between them, each taking a stripey lollipop from the collection in there with words of thanks, grinning at Delta as he comes off of his knee and gets back up to full height. The kids only just grace his knees.

Just as the children are getting fascinated with Delta all over again, their mothers start ushering them off the porch, telling them there’re still plenty of houses to visit, and so the kids wave goodbye to Delta and Sinclair.

Sinclair wiggles his fingers in a goodbye wave, while Delta waves goodbye to match them, which just delights the kids; they’re grinning and giggling all the way up the path.

“He’s neat,” the boy says to his mother.

“I like him!” the girl exclaims. “He’s pretty!”

Their mothers, on the other hand, are still the picture of nerves as the second leans over to the first and hisses, “I thought you said he just had a daughter?”

“I have,” the first says, “no idea who that was.”

Behind them, the doors to Sinclair’s home are shut - and now that they are, Sinclair grins up at Delta as Delta lets out a long crooning noise, his own version of cheering.

“What’d I tell you, kid?” Sinclair says, hands on his hips. “I knew they wouldn’t be able ta tell you ain’t jus’ wearin’ a costume! I reckon we mighta just found a day where you can blend in!”

Leaning down to put the bowl of sweets on the nearby low windowsill, Delta’s crooning again, his shoulders perked up high in his symbolism for happiness.

His first human contact since arriving on the surface, outside of fellow Rapture survivors, had gone off without a hitch! He’d been worried that his appearance would be frightening for the kids - the Little Sisters only loved him, after all, because they were designed to - and he does feel a little bad for scaring their mothers like that, but they’d liked him! They’d really liked him! Reminds him of finding that one audio tape in Dionysus Park made by that little boy, Billy, who thought the ‘yellow-eyed girl’s’ dad was ‘strong and nice’.

He doesn’t doubt that there may still be some kids who might find him scary, but for now, he can bask in the feeling of having interacted with people outside of his loved ones.

Of course, he adores Augustus and Eleanor, and they’ll always be his favourite people, but…it’s nice, to be able to show his (albeit covered) face to other people. Makes him feel a little less like some freak they have to hide behind closed doors.

Delta reaches out and throws an arm around Sinclair, bringing him in for a grateful, overjoyed hug, and Sinclair nearly stumbles with how suddenly he’s brought in, then ends up laughing into Delta’s chest and hugs him back the best he can with their size difference.

Delta squeezes him as gently as he can without harming him, then pulls back to point toward the doors with his free hand, uses the same finger to tap the corner of Sinclair’s lips, then briefly struggles to think of how to communicate his message before he gives an awkward thumbs up.

Luckily, Sinclair understands what he’s going for.

“Aw, now, ain’t that sweet? You think nothin’ of it, honey,” Sinclair replies. “I’m happy ta play translator for ya - not like I got anythin’ in particular to do tonight, anyhow. Though - those kids were gettin’ a little too talkative for my tastes. It’s probably best for me ta talk to the grown-ups, make sure they know you only look a little scary, such is the theme. They ain’t had the experience of takin’ a train ride with you, now, have they?”

Delta croons, still delighted by how this has all turned out, and gives Sinclair another squeeze before letting him go, feeling Sinclair pat his side and pull back from the hug.

“Now, you just watch, chief,” Sinclair says, starting to turn around, looking over his shoulder at Delta and oblivious to the footsteps coming down the stairs, “cause I’m bettin’ that this time next year, you’re gonna have every child in town dressed as little Big Daddies. A-heh. Suppose that’d mean we’d call ‘em ‘Little Daddies’, now wouldn’t we?”

He chuckles at his own joke, earning a laugh from Delta, and then turns his head to look in the direction he’s intending to walk - only to come face-to-face with a Big Sister.

Instinctively, Sinclair scrambles backwards, letting out a burst of a panicked shout and reaching for Delta - which has Delta lurching toward him to protect him, purely instinctual too - before Sinclair’s brain catches up to the situation, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to block off anymore sound. The same hand goes down to his heart a millisecond later, before he fixes the Big Sister with a stern look.

“Now, I thought we mentioned not wearin’ the helmet when you’re home?” he says. “Break the rule if you want, but you’re responsible for the heart attack I get.”

Delta gives him a sympathetic little pat on the back, crooning to him softly to try and be comforting, as the Big Sister reaches up with both hands and pulls her helmet off.

“Sorry,” Eleanor says, hugging the helmet to her chest with one arm while moving strands of her hair out of her face with the other hand, smiling sheepishly. “I just heard the trick-or-treaters and got so excited.”

She looks up at Delta brightly.

“How did it go, Father?”

Shoulders rising higher than ever, Delta lets out a long croon of excitement, clasping his hands together with a fondness.

“Aw, those kids had no idea that that wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill Halloween costume!” Sinclair exclaims, grinning up at Delta, all panic from before dissipating in a moment as he’s overcome by pride and secondhand excitement. “Even went an’ got called pretty by that little girl out there! They just loved him.”

Delta lets out another delighted note of whalesong.

Eleanor reaches out to touch his arm.

“That’s fantastic, Father! I’m so happy for you,” she says. “Your first contact with the outside world! And it’ll only get better once we remove you from your suit, and then,” she grins, “you can come outside with Augustus and me and you can see the entire town, as we have!”

Delta looks as though he could explode from the excitement, the way his body language starts to bunch up, and Sinclair chuckles and pats him on the chest.

“Sure, but if that’s the case, then we’re just goin’ ta hafta hope you’re still beefy enough to carry this here suit on your back. Otherwise, once Halloween comes back around, we’ll have to find somethin’ else for you ta wear to the door.”

Eleanor smiles at her father, then looks to Sinclair, raising an eyebrow.

“Speaking of which, Augustus - aren’t you going to dress up as well…?” she asks, looking him up and down, in his usual attire. “It’s well into the night for you to be without your costume.”

“I’m as dressed as I’m gonna be, honey,” Sinclair replies bluntly, “as a businessman who doesn’t do Halloween.”

Eleanor gives an exasperated scoff while Delta lets out a long note that decreases in volume as it goes and sounds something like booing, giving Sinclair a little nudge in his own way of telling him not to be boring.

Sinclair holds up his hands. “Now, don’t give me that - I told you both from the start: I don’t do Halloween. Only reason I opened the gates at all this year was cause we wanted ta test if your daddy could get away with showin’ himself tonight. That’s it. I just don’t partake in the tradition.”

Delta lets out a huff that echoes in his helmet, and Sinclair looks up at him with mock offence.

“Why, I just went an’ spoke your words for you, chief, an’ this is how I’m repaid? Heartless of you.”

Delta repeats the huff.

“Downright shameful,” Sinclair says, then looks to Eleanor as she giggles. “You gonna be headin’ out soon?”

Eleanor grins excitedly at him.

Couple days ago, she comes to he and Delta in the evening, while Delta’s watching television on the floor and Sinclair’s reading the newspaper, and requests their attention in that tone that let them know that she - as a teenaged girl - was about to ask for something. Delta’s attention was on her in a second, and Sinclair looked at her over the tops of his glasses, otherwise not moving from the pose he’d been in when she interrupted his reading.

She’d nervously shuffled on the spot, then said, “My friends from school have invited me to a Halloween party. May I go?”

The two of them had looked at each other, then fired off a few questions, like where the party is (across town, at a friend’s house) and who will be there (only people from school). She’s spent time around her chums outside of school hours before, though never late into the evening, and parties are a different deal altogether. Lots of things can happen at parties with teenagers - especially to someone who’s never been to one before - so they (mostly Delta) had been wary.

But…she’d looked so hopeful, and part of the whole reason of coming to the surface was so Eleanor could be free to be a normal teenager, so…they’d said yes, and she’d been so excited, she’d physically jumped for joy and then gave them both hugs, exclaiming a flurry of thank yous before requesting to use the phone to call her friends and tell them she’s coming to the party.

“I think so,” Eleanor tells him, her hug on her helmet growing tighter as she gets more and more eager to go.

“An’ you’re sure you don’t want me ta drive you over there?” Sinclair asks. “It’s quite a walk, across town.”

“No, it’s alright. I’d prefer to walk - then I get to see how everybody else is celebrating.” She looks towards Delta. “And besides, you ought to stay here, in case any more trick-or-treaters come by, then you’ll have to translate for Father again.”

Delta gives a dismissive wave of the hand and mimes that he could write things down instead.

Eleanor’s smile twists at the end, growing awkward.

“There is no pen in this house that you could hold successfully, Father,” she says, to which he gives an admitting grunt, shoulders drooping slightly. “I’ll be fine, though. I promise.”

She takes a deep breath, nerves joining her excitement in a cocktail that makes her tummy flip. It’s the same way she’d felt when going to school for the first time, and Sinclair had had to give her a pep talk in the car.

“Alright,” she says with a determined nod, “here I go.”

Eleanor starts to go toward the double doors - only for Delta to slide into place in front of them to block her path, folding his arms.

From the knot his arms make, his index finger extends and wags at her, while he lets out a rhythmic set of noises that sound like the traditional “Ah, ah, ahh.”

Eyes wide, Eleanor’s excitement turns into confusion, face falling, then looks at Sinclair as he steps up beside Delta to block the doors as well, arms also folded and expression looking more stern than it had a second ago.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, “but I reckon the big fella wants ta hear the rules we set, just one last time ‘fore you go.”

Delta grunts in confirmation.

“Wouldn’t mind hearin’ ‘em for myself, if I’m ta be honest,” Sinclair adds.

Relenting and understanding, Eleanor smiles to herself and holds her helmet by her waist as she threads her fingers together underneath it, in lieu of humbly putting her hands together like a schoolchild.

“I have to be home by ten o’clock - at the latest - and not a second more. Otherwise, you’ll come looking for me - and you’ll embarrass me in front of my friends, for added measure. You would prefer that I stay at the site of the party, but if I do happen to leave the area for any reason, I’m to tell you once I get home. If I do go somewhere else and you find out about it, I will be grounded for anywhere from two weeks to a month, depending on other factors of the situation. As I’m not legally allowed to drink alcohol, I’m not to have any at the party. If I feel that I need to call you to come and collect me, I should. I’m also to be careful not to use any of my Plasmids or other ADAM-related abilities. Oh - and if anybody asks, I’ve come dressed as a haunted diving suit, and you paid for my costume.”

Sinclair - who’s been holding up his hands this whole time, lifting fingers to count off every rule Eleanor mentions - pointedly wiggles the next finger on his second hand to indicate a missing rule.

“And…?” he says.

Eleanor suppresses a laugh, barely managing to not grin as she says amusedly, “And absolutely no -” she gives a little snort, covers her nose and mouth with one hand, then drops it to finish her sentence “- ‘canoodling’ with any boys. Or girls, for that matter.”

Delta gives a very huffy little grunt of confirmation; clearly, to him, that’s the most serious rule of the lot.

“And what do we do if someone we don’t like keeps botherin’ us after we’ve told ‘em ta scram?” Sinclair asks.

Eleanor’s smile drops as she becomes more serious.

“I’m to deliver a kick between their legs and make it clear that they were disturbing me and not the other way around, just in case they try to lie about it to others.”

“That’s right.” Sinclair nods. “Now, there’s one last rule you forgot ta mention.”

Mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape, Eleanor looks confused, looking away as she ponders it, then her expression scrunches up as she looks back at him, silently asking what she could have possibly forgotten when she’s certain she’s said everything.

Sinclair’s stern expression gives way to a smile as he and Delta step aside and gesture to the doors in nearly perfect unison.

“Go an’ enjoy yourself,” he says.

Eleanor immediately brightens up, grinning wide, and rushes over to throw her arms around him.

He lets out a little “Oof!” since she’d practically barreled into him, making him take a step back and, still unused to physical affection that isn’t coming from Delta, Sinclair stiffens up immediately and winces. But then he slowly puts his hands on her back to loosely hug her in return, smiling awkwardly.

Grinning still, Eleanor pulls back and then runs to Delta, who is much more receptive to a hug from her; she practically leaps at him to hug his torso the best she can, and he’s all too happy to catch her and hug her close, crooning gently.

“I’ll see you later, Father,” Eleanor says warmly.

Delta strokes a hand over her hair, warbling softly to her, before he lets her go and watches as she excitedly hurries to the doors, practically bouncing, and gives them one last grin before taking another deep breath.

“Now,” she says, “here I go.”

And she opens the leftmost door and disappears through it, out into the Halloween air.

Delta goes to the window, pressing his hands to the glass, to watch her skip down the path and exit through the front gates. He keeps watching until he can’t see her anymore, stands there a little longer in case she comes back, then he sighs softly and comes away.

“She gone now?” Sinclair asks.

Shoulders drooped sadly, Delta grunts a yes.

“D’aww,” Sinclair cocks his head, looking up at Delta with a sympathetic smile, “chin up, now, kid. She’ll only be gone for a few hours, then she’ll come rushin’ back home ta tell us all about it. She’s not leavin’ the nest forever just yet.”

The thought of that happening makes Delta’s heart hurt worse than it did when separated from Eleanor down in Rapture, but he supposes Sinclair’s right. Just a few hours - Eleanor can handle herself for that long. She fought an army of Splicers alongside him down in Persephone, she can handle interacting with kids her own age at a party.

(Hopefully…He’s prepared to go racing across town if she decides she needs him.)

“I know it’s worry-makin’, her bein’ out in the dark like that, but you oughta get used to the idea, chief,” Sinclair adds. “She’s a teenager now, an’ this is what teenagers do. She ain’t gonna wanna spend every wakin’ moment with old men like us (presumably, in your case) anymore.”

Delta lets out a gasp, then his shoulders droop even more and he lets out a low, depressed moan.

“Oh - Oh, now, that ain’t what I meant, sugar.”

Sinclair goes over to put his hands on Delta’s chest, looking up at him with his brow furrowed.

“Now, that girl adores you, an’ you know that. But you understand, kid, that it’s good for her ta be spendin’ time around folks her own age, don’tcha? I dunno ‘bout you, but,” he gives a puff of a laugh, “I can’t relate to what young people are goin’ on about these days. Besides, you don’t wanna find yourself becomin’ another Doc Lamb an’ restrictin’ her on her comings and goings, now do ya?”

Delta lets out another puff of a gasp, straightening up a little.

He hadn’t considered that. Of course, he’d never hold Eleanor prisoner like that - his worries are his worries, and he won’t allow them to affect his parenting - but he also doesn’t want her to be under the impression that she has to stay home for his sake. He can relate, after all, to her desire to see the outside and not be cooped up in here, lovely and spacious as the house is. He is happy she’s made friends and wants to spend time with them, he is, it’s just…well, he’d missed so much time with her when he’d been dead. Makes him want to spend as much time with her as possible.

But Augustus is right - she has her own life, and it is a good thing that she’s spending time with people who aren’t decades her senior. He gets to spend time with her when she’s home, anyway, and none of her friends can say they get to spend that much time with her, in retrospect.

“Plus,” Sinclair says, reaching for Delta’s hand to hold it, “the time she spends outta the house is time you an’ I get by our lonesome, and I should hope that doesn’t sound like such a bad plan, now, does it?”

Delta straightens, briefly worried he’d implied he wouldn’t like that, then his shoulders lift happily as he pulls his hand from Sinclair’s grasp and uses it to cup the side of his face, rumbling softly enough that it could be mistaken for a purr.

Sinclair smiles up at him and places his hand over Delta’s, nuzzling his glove as he says, “Precisely, pumpkin pie. Y’see? It’s a win-win situation, when ya tilt it on its head.”

His smile becomes a smirk.

“Though, while we’re on the topic of romancin’...there might soon be somethin’ else you should quickly get used to, chief.”

Delta tilts at the waist, curious.

“You know it an’ I know it,” Sinclair points towards the doors to gesture to Eleanor, “that there may come a time when Eleanor starts mentionin’ some boy she wants us ta get acquainted with (or some other young lady cause - heh - we ain’t ones ta judge), and you’re gonna hafta act as though you don’t wanna toss that poor thing through an upstairs window.”

Delta lets out a little gasp, then immediately growls, his free hand curling into a fist.

“Ha ha!” Sinclair barks. “Well, now, I was just messin’ with ya, but - you’re really gonna prove yourself as one of those fathers, are ya? Shall I…fetch one of your old shotgun shells so’s you can scratch her sweetheart’s name into it and you can show it to ‘em as a warnin’?”

No, no, he won’t do anything like that. He…understands that Eleanor will start to get…interested in people her age, like how he and Augustus are interested in each other, and he’s…fine with it. He is. It’s normal, it’s a regular part of life, he’s fine with it.

And he won’t deny the person entrance to their home, should Eleanor wish to introduce them to he and Augustus - he’ll just take them aside and ask for every detail of their life that he dubs important (like their hobbies and if they have a criminal record and if they’ve ever wanted a criminal record, and what their intentions are toward his daughter, stuff like that) and then watch them like a hawk for the entire time they’re on the property, in case of any canoodling.

And if they dare to try canoodling with his daughter whilst they’re in his home - why, then he’ll throw them out the (downstairs) window!

(Or, in the very least, make them think he’s going to, since Eleanor would never forgive him if he harmed her…person of interest like that.)

Delta lets out a low huff, displeased, and Sinclair titters.

“Not sure if I’m lookin’ forward to that day or not, now,” he says as he rubs his chin and averts his gaze thoughtfully, then cocks his head and gives Delta a smile. “But how ‘bout for now, sugar, we put the focus on our own whirlwind of a courtship right here, ‘stead of focusin’ on hypotheticals?”

He gives Delta a wink, and Delta perks back up, warbling so delightedly that one might picture cartoon hearts floating about his head.

“You’re speakin’ my thoughts exactly, pumpkin,” Sinclair replies, then starts to tug Delta’s hand toward the living room. “Now, c’mon, let’s see if we can find some flicks on the picturebox or somethin’. Might be that that show you like is on - what was it called, now? The Addams Family?”

Delta grunts to let Sinclair know he’s correct.

“That’s the one. If it ain’t, then we might hafta settle for somethin’ a little scarier, par the course for the holiday. And if that’s the case, then you better make sure you hold me tight, honey,” he cups his own cheek, face creasing up in fake worry, and adds a little more drama to his tone, “cause I might get scared an’ need someone ta bat away the danger. Reckon you could do that for me?”

Delta chuckles, then bypasses Sinclair to sit in his usual spot on the floor, between the couch and the television. He spreads his legs and pats the spot between them to offer it to Augustus.

“Seems like you’re capable,” Sinclair says, then takes Delta’s offer and sits down on the floor between his legs.

Tilting forwards, Delta wraps both arms around him to hold him close, making sure not to lean on him too much lest he hurt Sinclair’s back, then lets out a contented sigh.

“Snug as a bug,” Sinclair says in agreement. “I couldn’t be safer if I tried my hardest.”

He looks over his shoulder to give Delta a smile.

“Happy Halloween, chief - I’m glad this holiday’s worked out so well for ya.”

Delta gives a delighted note of whalesong, sending vibrations through Sinclair’s back, and then reaches over and picks up the remote from where it lays near his thigh. He holds it out to Augustus, who takes it with a thanks.

“Now,” he says, then points the remote at the TV, “let’s see what’s on tonight.”

#My writing #BioShock #BioShock 2 #biofluff 2023 #biofluff #Subject Delta #Augustus Sinclair #Eleanor Lamb #Deltaclair #Topclair

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summerwritesfics · 6 months

Text

🍓No Tricks, Only Treats

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 1316 Words Rating: Teen Warnings: Costume Party, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Party, Fluff, Bunny Girl Outfits, Kuai Is A Cutie Pie, Hanzo Has Vague memories Of Either MKvsDC or Injustice (whichever you prefer lmao) @anyfandomfluffbingo: Costume Party

Summary: Hanzo & Kuai Liang attend Johnny’s Halloween party.

AFG Fluff Bingo Masterlist

Notes: Heeeyyyyy Happy Halloween :) I was looking through my bingo prompts because tbh, I need to really start working on them, and I realised this prompt was perfect for a short little Halloween fic! So, enjoy!

Halloween was an oddity to Hanzo.

He didn’t really get the point of it if he was being honest. Trick and treating, while he could understand it being fun for kids, didn’t really sound appealing to him. Dressing in silly costumes even less so.

But when Johnny Cage invited you to a party, it was very hard to say no. Especially with Kuai Liang extremely enthusiastic about the idea, wanting to experience as much of what a normal life would feel like as possible. The fact that it was a costume party just seemed to excite Kuai more. He’d never worn a costume to a party before, the idea so novel that he’d been basically talking about it non-stop. The kids had offered to take him shopping for one and he’d eagerly agreed.

Hanzo hadn’t gone with them, and hadn’t seen Kuai’s costume yet. Due to their schedules they were also arriving to the party separately. He wondered what ridiculous outfit they’d managed to persuade Kuai to buy. He’d heard Cassandra pitch some ice queen outfit from some animated movie, but if that was the direction they’d gone in he didn’t know.

Hanzo himself had just gone kind of simple, and a little classic according to Johnny Cage. His pirate costume had been relatively inexpensive, and it was not exactly good quality, but he hadn’t wanted to spend a lot on something he was going to use once. The other guests' costumes seemed to vary in effort. Cassandra and Jacqueline had gone all out with quite intricate outfits. Supposedly they were a pair of supervillain lesbians, but Hanzo had no idea what they were referring to. Then you had Sonya, who’d thrown a bit of fake blood onto a blouse and called herself a zombie. According to Johnny, that was her outfit every year.

“Nice costume, Grandmaster,” a voice broke him out of his musings. He turned to find Kung Jin standing next to him.

“Thank you.” Hanzo looked Kung Jin up and down. He wasn’t completely sure on what Jin’s costume was, but given it was green and he had a bow and arrow he could make somewhat of an educated guess. “Are you meant to be Robin Hood?”

“I’m Green Arrow!” Jin sounded offended at the idea he was anything but this “Green Arrow” person. “Anyone would think you’ve never read a comic book or something.”

“Uh huh,” Hanzo sarcastically hummed. So he was also a superhero then. Seemed the kids were going for a theme.

From the corner of his eye, someone else peered around him. Even with an almost full face mask on, Hanzo could tell it was Takeda.

“I’m Batman,” he announced, putting on a gruff voice that made Jin burst into laughter.

“See, now, Batman I know,” Hanzo told Jin, lazily pointing at Takeda. “I don’t like him, but I know him.”

“What?” Takeda exclaimed, dropping the voice and standing straight. “How can you hate Batman?”

“I just have a weird feeling about him.” It was like something had happened in a past life in relation to the caped crusader. Which was absolutely ridiculous when he thought about it. Batman was a fictional character and didn’t exist, so the feeling was completely irrational. Still, something about it made him uneasy. He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject with “so, what? Did you four convince Kuai Liang to be a superhero as well?”

“Nah, we let him do his own thing.” Takeda made a dismissive motion with his hand. “He seemed happy with what he got though.”

“Think you’ll be happy with it too,” Jin quietly chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. Hanzo couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously.

“What did you guys let him buy?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at Jin. He could just imagine that Kuai was about to walk in wearing the most absurd thing the kids could convince him to buy.

Jin bit his lip and smirked, “oh. You’ll see.” He then pointed across the room. “In fact, he’s here.”

Hanzo looked around just in time to see Kuai Liang walking into the party. His jaw dropped at what he saw.

Kuai Liang in what Hanzo could only describe as a bunny girl outfit.

He watched as Kuai was greeted by Johnny and Sonya, both clearly amused by what Kuai was wearing. It was a light blue bodysuit without straps and fishnet tights. He had a pair of bunny ears perched on his head, a small ball of fluff attached to his ass like a tail, and to top it all off a pair of high heel shoes the same colour as the bodysuit. Hanzo could feel his face getting hot, he completely understood Jin’s snide comment. Kuai did have a habit of wearing revealing clothing but this was the furthest he’d ever gone in public before.

“Have fun~” Jin sang in a teasing way, reaching under Hanzo’s chin and closing his mouth, teeth loudly clacking together. Hanzo glared at him, but Jin just laughed in his face. All Hanzo could do in retaliation was watch as Jin and Takeda walked away.

“Hanzo,” Kuai greeted cheerfully as he made his way over. The bright smile on his face was a beautiful sight. Even if Hanzo had originally had reservations about coming to the party, it was worth it to see Kuai experiencing pure joy from something so silly and simple. “I like your costume.”

“Ah. And I like yours,” Hanzo admitted, taking a better look at it now Kuai was closer. God damn he pulls it off a little too well. “Was this your idea or the kids?”

“A little of both,” Kuai explained with a sheepish grin. “I wanted to but wasn’t sure and they convinced me.”

It occurred to Hanzo that the kids' encouragement was probably an effort to make Hanzo flustered. Kenshi had warned him the group were on the warpath to break past the “Grandmaster Grumpyface” persona. He supposed this time, they actually won. He glanced across the room at them, where the four were now grouped together, watching Kuai and Hanzo, giggling to themselves over their victory.

They are the worst Superhero group I’ve ever seen.

“Apparently Sonya is jealous because my legs are nicer than hers,” Kuai continued, holding one of the aforementioned limbs up as emphasis. Hanzo snorted at that. “Her words, not mine, to clarify.”

“Well, I do agree with her, you do have fantastic legs.” Hanzo cleared this throat slightly as he stared at the body parts in question. “As well as other assets.”

“Other ass-ets?” Kuai questioned, stressing that particular part of the word, making it obvious what he thought Hanzo was getting at.

“That’s not what I meant,” Hanzo clarified with a huff. Kuai just tilted his head at him. “I mean don’t get me wrong that part of you is magnificent but it’s not the only part of you that is.”

The grin on Kuai’s face just emphasised the point. It made all the features on his face light up and just proved how beautiful he was. Hanzo couldn’t help himself, he lent forward to press a kiss on the tip of Kuai’s nose. Kuai snorted and pulled back slightly while gently pushing Hanzo away, which was exactly the kind of reaction he was looking for.

“Want to go get a drink?” He asked casually, trying to resist another kiss as Kuai’s cheeks were turning red.

“Hm, I could do with one.” Kuai lent forward slightly, bracing a hand against Hanzo’s collarbone. “Lead the way, Captain.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes in jest, but held out his arm so Kuai could link with his. Kuai gladly accepted, letting Hanzo guide both of them. The night was young, and as long as Kuai Liang had a good time, Hanzo was happy to indulge him until he decided it was over.

#mortal kombat #subscorp #kuai liang #sub zero #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #🍓afg fluff bingo

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mdhwrites · 10 months

Text

Why Can’t Clark Kent Control His Strength?

TL:DR: This Supes is only NOW starting to actually get used to his powers. He spent years fearing them and so when his nerves are high, he doesn’t have control because he used to be purely afraid of them. Afraid of what this other side of him can do and what it might do to others, despite his nature meaning that naturally he wouldn’t harm a fly which is a GREAT bit of characterization to go with the seemingly main theme of the show of “Who am I?” Who is Clark Kent, especially as he figures out who Superman is as well.

Spoilers for the first two episodes of My Adventures with Superman:

So this has been one of the topics I’ve seen thrown around about My Adventures with Superman (MAWS). In the first episode we get a couple cute and silly moments of Clark not quite controlling his strength and breaking something. He breaks his alarm clock when he wakes up, is practicing on his sink how to shake hands with Perry White before Jimmy yells at him, at which point he breaks it and then he also tears off the handle to a push door when he tries to pull on it.

However, the first scene of the show lets us know that probably around ten, and he’s probably in his early twenties during the current day, he gains his powers. That’s a LONG time to go without mastering your powers or at least being 98% in control. So what gives? Is this just a throwback to other superheroes? Just a cute gag? What?

Well first... He is 98% in control. Most of the time he doesn’t have any issues with his powers because when he’s not thinking about them or relaxed, they’re fine. In fact, in two episodes we’ve really only gotten this montage showing Clark not having control over his super strength... And only his super strength which actually makes a lot of sense, at least for Clark. Yes, he doesn’t want to be caught and superspeed would ruin his identity... But the strength hurts people.

And this Clark Kent doesn’t do that. Period. In fact, helping is so ingrained into his being that using his powers to help others is the most natural thing he can do. We see this with saving the cat, which he does fine, and we see it when at the end of the first episode, he has to rush out of nowhere to push Jimmy aside before a giant robot can kill him. Is Jimmy even hurt? Nope.

Because it’s natural to Clark. His body IS adapted to his powers, his mind just isn’t. So when he’s not thinking, not worried or doing what comes naturally to him, the powers don’t go out of control. They are perfectly fine for him and he can do what is necessary to help others.

And this actually makes a LOT of sense with how episode 2 begins. Episode 2 shows us that when he tried to get answers as a young boy, those answers almost hurt his parents. Not only that but scared the ever living shit out of him at the same time, reducing him to tears and never wanting to see the pod again, at least until as an adult he sees the true good, and potentially the necessity, of these powers. With that as context... Why the fuck would he have trained? Why would he be 100% with his powers? He has avoided using them as much as possible for over a DECADE.

So here comes one of the most important days of his life, he’s only just woken up, and he’s trying to calm himself. So he puts a little too much oomph in turning off his clock. When his buddy distracts, he yanks on the thing he was holding. When he forgets which way a door to a gas station opens, he accidentally puts too much strength into it. Buuuuut he doesn’t saving a cat because that’s how natural saving people is to him.

And this plays into the question posed three times in the first two episodes: “Who am I?” Clark doesn’t see these powers as an extension of himself yet. They are the scary specter that makes him abnormal. That makes him potentially hurt people if he messes up, or scare them with his oddity. Superman is not a part of who he is yet, even though who Clark Kent is is exactly why Superman exists at all as the paragon he normally is.

Could it just be for the gag? Absolutely. A good, lighthearted way to introduce Clark, and even have a parallel gag with Lois failing to turn off her alarm, while also implying that Clark is early in his powers and strength. That plays into the concept of the show and is charming. But I like that it can be read in a way that plays into the greater thesis and really emphasizes how this writing team is tackling early Superman.

And I think that’s super personally.

=======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead, If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#my adventures with superman #Superman #Clark Kent #Analysis

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captain-mj · 1 year

Note

after canon mw2, price is working alone in his office at night and shadow creature!graves surprises him because price thought graves was dead but graves is just a silly little man who's basically immortal :3c

ermm go will on whatever you wanna make this like angsty, smuty, fluffy or gen!! ^^ i wanna see ur take on this

Hey Bites!! I made him a very mischievous boy since he’s yours

~~~~

Price had music playing, turned almost all the way down. Occasionally, he’d stop to smoke some of his cigar before working on even more paperwork.

They never found Graves’s body. While it being burned was a given, there should’ve been something. A skeleton, some clothing, remnants of the fact that he had been there, but there was nothing.

It drove him up the wall.

Graves was a traitor, but before that, he wasn’t half bad according to his team. They liked the guy even.

Shame it all had to be ruined like that.

Something moved behind him and he glanced back. Nothing there. Weird.

The Floors were Old. Probably just settling for the night.

A breath right next to his ear had Price standing up with his gun in his hand.

The room remained empty. Taunting him. For a moment though, he swore he saw a flicker of movement in a shadow.

“Guess I’m more tired than i thought…” Price set his gun down slowly.

“Haven’t been sleeping well?” Graves hummed, sitting on the desk behind him. Price aimed his gun, freezing as he stared at him.

He didn’t have any burn scars that he could see. A few shadows covered his face though so maybe that was it. Their eyes though...

Price took a tiny step back, blinking. From one blink to the next, Graves disappeared again. He slowly put his gun down and left the papers as is, scattered across his desk.

The floors creaked under his feet as he moved, trying to get to his door. He hesitated.

“Graves?”

“Yes, Price?” Right in his ear. He could faintly feel weight on his back but no warmth.

“Are you real?”

“Maybe.” There was suddenly nothing again. Price could tell when he was being toyed with. He turned slowly, forcing himself to relax against the door.

“Don’t scare me, Commander.”

“I don’t want to.” There he was. Right in front of him again. Antlers and deer ears poked from his hair. Despite the oddity of the sight, Price wanted to touch them. To feel the soft fur. “Just wanted to get your attention.” Graves smiled, leaning closer.

“You have it. Been messing with anyone else?”

“Oh. You know. Soap may think he has a sleep paralysis demon. Nothing too bad.” He looked very mischievous, spinning away from him. His movements made Price’s eyes hurt, a slight shifting present at the edges that shouldn’t be.

“How long have you been here?”

“Ever since you guys blew up my tank. I didn’t... My shadows were gone.” Graves stopped for a moment, becoming increasingly blurry around the edges. “I understand why. But they’re all dead now.”

Price gently put his hand on his shoulder, almost surprised to find him solid. “You alright?”

“I was alone for a long time before I made them.” Graves said softly, smiling up at him. “I grieved when I was tormenting you guys.” Price didn’t think he had done anything that heinous, at least nothing that anyone had told him about. He pulled him closer, feeling Graves lean against him. Vaguely, he felt a soft press against his leg and looked down to see Grave’s tail.

“Did us killing you make you like this?”

Graves laughed. “Oh, John. No. I’ve always been like this.”

Price frowned. “When we were fighting them...”

“They could’ve changed at anytime! I could’ve changed at anytime.” Graves turned around in Price’s arms. “Could’ve faded into shadow and snuck up behind you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Graves tilted his head. “I’m here now. And what are you going to do about it?”

“Get an exorcist?” Price joked, relaxing when Graves laughed.

“Don’t tell anyone just yet. It’s fun this way.”

“Why did you tell me?”

“So you can think of me next time you feel watched.” Graves laughed before disappearing.

Price would have to get used to this. He fell asleep that night and when he woke up, he half convinced himself it was a weird dream.

As he started getting undressed for a shower, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, a sense of eyes on him making him nervous.

Very faintly, he heard Graves’s giggling.

Price groaned. He would have to get used to this.

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price

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tonberry-yoda · 1 year

Text

Lab Assistant - Sigma

Pairing - Sigma x reader

Warnings - none!

Word Count - 1,491

Notes - this hot scientist man is SO FINE, okay?!??! I SAID IT! This is actually really wholesome and I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you all enjoy!! Please stay hydrated and have a fantastic day!!! and @thatoneartistinthecorner this one is for you <3

Occasionally, you would remember what it was like to work for Dr. De Kuiper. He was an intelligent man who always had his priorities straight. He was also funny, so he was really easy to work with. But ever since the... incident, you just... stopped talking. He was taken to the asylum and no matter how many times you tried to visit, either the doctors, or De Kuiper himself would deny you.

You were alone for years. Research never felt the same so you quit and found new jobs. The world felt quiet without his silly jokes and his random piano playing way too early in the morning. You missed him and you really wanted him back.

And then, by complete coincidence, you met a woman. She was tall, very tall and one of her arms was a dark shade of purple with long claws like an animal. She went by Moira and she worked with a powerful group. This group was called Talon and you were asked to join it.

"You're great at what you do," she had told you, flipping through your old research notebooks and binders. "And I want you to join."

You had not a clue how she had made her way into Dr. De Kuiper's old office, but to be honest, you shouldn't have been there either. You just wanted to see how run down it was... that was all.

You didn't deny. You honestly didn't have a choice. You had no job and were living off of the little money you had left, trying to find something that would fit you, but nothing did. But when Moira told you what potential you had and what you could be doing, who were you to deny?

Stepping foot into the Talon headquarters was like a bad dream. It was dark and cold and the only noises were coming from leaks in the ceiling or from Moira's office. Everyone gave you death glares as you walked in and your eyes immediately locked onto a man with a skull mask, his breathing sounded weak. You quickly turned away, not knowing what his expression was saying under that mask and continued to follow Moira.

"What will I be doing here?" You asked, shivering knowing that the gaze of the other members were burning into the back of your neck.

"You will be my assistant," she said, unlocking a large door with a big klunk. "I saw the work you did for Dr. De Kuiper and needless to say, I'm impressed. Follow me."

She led you into a large, freezing cold room, and you swore you could see your breath. "Why is it so cold?" You shivered, looking at all of the oddities on the counter tops including a large centipede in what looked like a pet's cage.

"For the experiments, of course." She threw open a closet at the end of the room and pulled a lab coat over her shoulders, handing you one as well. "Ready to start working?"

You nodded and pulled the coat on quickly. It wasn't as thick as a coat, but it would do enough to keep you warm for a little while. "What are we working on today, doctor?" You quickly pulled out a notebook and a few pens and looked around the room.

"A friend," she said with a faint smile on her lips.

You tilted your head, confused and she excused herself. You didn't know what to make of this new job, but honestly, who were you to judge?

Moments later, Moira walked back into the room, empty handed.

"Where's the-"

"He's getting prepped," Moira interrupted, knowing what you were going to say. "Sigma should be in here eventually."

"Sigma." You echoed. Talon did have some strange names for their crew.

"Sorry about that, doctor," a voice said, the door sliding open. "I didn't mean for that to take so long! I've just had this song stuck in my head all morning and I've been trying to recall the melody!"

You froze, dropping your binder. Was this real?

The man who walked in looked at you with shock painted on his face. "y-y/n?"

"Dr. De Kupier?! I thought.... I thought you were in the asylum! What are you doing here?!"

"I should ask you the same! You're supposed to be taking care of my lab, aren't you?" His tone sounded serious and you got quiet.

"M-My apologies, doctor, I just-"

"I'm just playing with you!" Siebren laughed, wrapping his arm around you. "God, is it good to see you."

You couldn't help yourself and you completely encased him in your arms for a hug. "Doctor, it's been too long."

"Please," he said, rubbing your lower back. "Call me Seibren, okay?"

You looked at him with teary eyes, lightly tracing your fingers over the scar on his face. "Alright. Just... what are you doing here? Why aren't you back at the lab?"

"My place is better here," Siebren said, pointing to the room. "I have potential with my new abilities and I've been told that I can hone that potential here."

You smiled slightly. You weren't sure if he was right. This place made you feel... uncomfortable and cold. You didn't want to picture Siebren here for the rest of his life. "Siebren... I just don't know if-"

"Shall we get to testing then?" Moira gave you a glare that could break diamonds. It wasn't your place to tell Siebren what was best, so you were to keep your mouth shut.

"I would love to," Siebren pitched in. "But, I would really love to catch up with y/n here!" He smiled at you, placing a kiss onto your knuckles.

"Fine," Moira said, putting down a syringe, looking very upset. "You may 'catch up' but I want you back in no less than 20 minutes, do you understand?"

Siebren beamed and grabbed your hand, rushing out of the room. "Thank goodness we got out of that one for a little while, y/n. I'm very tired."

"Is Moira treating you well?" You blurt out. He looked exhausted and much thinner than you remember.

"She's alright, but this isn't about her, right now, this is about us!" He sat you both down right as the sun was setting.

You frowned and grabbed his hand. "Siebren, you mean a lot to me. I don't want to see you hurting."

"Oh, I'm fine, y/n, don't get all hung up on me, now."

You couldn't help it. You must've really missed him.

"How are the new abilities treating you?" You quickly changed the subject.

"They're great!! Though I can't get this damned song out of my head." He looked at nothing, his mind leaving for a little while before his attention turned to you.

"What about you? How's life been treating you, y/n?"

"It's been alright..." you admitted, twiddling your thumbs while watching the sunset. "I just miss my old job, that's all." You looked at Siebren and immediately got butterflies in your stomach.

"Is that so," he giggled, pushing a chunk of hair behind your ear. "I miss my old assistant."

You knew you were blushing, but you really couldn't help it. "Siebren, do you think things will be the same ever again?"

"No." He decided to be honest. How could they when he literally had the power to control gravity and the fear that he could lose his entire mind in a moment. "I don't think they will. I'm sorry if you wanted a different answer."

"That's alright," you sighed, staring at the sky. "At least your honest."

"Well, think of it this way, y/n: this gives us an opportunity to start a new life and have new fun experiences. We don't have to be doctor and assistant anymore, we can be something entirely new."

You nodded, feeling your face go warm again. "I like that."

"Me too." Siebren scooted closer to you, his hand landing on yours.

You turned to him and he did the same with a bright smile on his face. "It's so good to see you again, y/n."

"It's so good to see you again."

Siebren cupped your face and you leaned into it. His hands were cold, but strangely warm at the same time. He pulled you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning you down, your arms going around the back of his neck.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, y/n."

"Think?" You giggled, pulling him in for a kiss. His lips were so soft and you didn't want to let him go. You pulled him closer, cupping both sides of his face and he smiled into the kiss. When you pulled away, there was a bright smile on Siebren's face.

"Nevermind. I know." He giggled and you both jumped, hearing Moira's voice.

"I guess we'll start with a test of your serotonin and dopamine levels then, doctor."

~~~~~

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