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steviesummer · 11 months

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inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook. With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh, let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

#steddie #my writing #fic #legit read that fic like 6 times in a row and had to write a follow up #have a handful of extra pieces as well #or thoughts anyway #like steve telling eddie about christopher #and eddie helping steve make a character and play in the future #after lots of talking and eventually getting together #his character is a dwarf paladin named after christopher #i haven't written in forever this felt so good #barely proofread so apologies for any mistakes

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crystalflygeo · 4 months

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Virgin-killer Sweater ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: Riding, fingering, handjob, tit play, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, inappropriate use (or is it?) of the virgin killer sweater//jk

notes: Hi hello I hope this breaks my dry spell happy 2024 I didn't expect to write this at all but @ainescribe (<3) tested my horny braincell by giving me this prompt and wHEW it got good

You blinked in surprise at the item that dropped out of the small plastic bag onto the bed as you were organizing the closet. Thick light blue wool greeting your eyes as you picked it and stared at it confused until it clicked. It was some stupid thing a friend had prank gifted you some years ago, you were surprised to find it bundled up in a corner after all these years a so-called ‘virgin-killer sweater’. It used to be all the rage, but you swore you could never wear something so… revealing, at all.

Yet you kept it.

You bite your lip and sneak a glance at the mirror.

You’re older now, your body a bit more… ahem… shapely. And enjoyed indulging in some sexy clothing once in a while, if only for the confidence boost and the look on your dear husband’s face.

Hm, what would he think of this? Your cheeks warm up a little, it’s so silly.

With a slow hum you stand up and shrug off your current lounge shirt, unclasping your bra and kicking off your shorts before sliding the wooly article over your head, shivering at how it feels over your bare skin. The material is thick and warm, soft yet admittedly a little ticklish.

“There is no way this is meant to be worn with nothing under…” You mumble blushing a little as you struggle to adjust it. The openings at the sides are impossibly deep and no matter how much you tug and pull at the bottom it either dips way too low on your lower back or reaches too high on your thighs.

Maybe it’s a little… short on you?

You stare at the mirror from different angles and twirl around, it’s fuzzy at the neck and front the front it looks kind of cute but everything is else is… well…

You huff a little embarrassed. Well, you suppose it could be nice if matched with another top, using it like a vest or something… maybe with a backless top or lace just so some of the skin still showed thro-

The sound of the apartment opening caught you attention and immediately made you heart speed up.

“Darling, I’m home.”

Oh, no!

No no no no no no-

“J-Just a moment!” You scramble for your clothes while trying to take off the atrocious garment when you slip over some other clothes and items scattered around in your cleaning spree.

The loud thump and your following yelp coming from the room was surely enough to gather even the neighbor’s attention.

You hear quick footsteps and then Zhongli appears at the bedroom’s door, eyes wide in worry before stopping dead in his tracks.

Squealing you struggle between sitting up and trying to cover your crotch and your butt with the offending piece of clothing.

“T-This is not-! Wait! D-Don’t look!”

A flush spreads over your face as you try to curl up into a ball in embarrassment. Zhongli’s golden eyes study you for a few tense moments before he quickly reacts, coming to help you up.

“Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I’m fine…”

He regards your outfit with fascination and you shrink under the intense gaze. Zhongli is observant, he doesn’t merely stare, he evaluates… appraises things with those mesmerizing golden eyes.

“What is that?”

“A sweater… sort of.” You mumble, still uncomfortably pulling at the hem and the bottom and feeling it dip lower than intended at your butt, again.

“It’s very unique.”

“it’s stupid.” You puff out mortified, picking up your shorts from the corner of the bed.

“Wait-” Zhongli’s hand stops yours and you feel goosebumps rise along your naked shoulders. “Let me see you, please…”

You gulp and feel your heart thump in your ears, buzzing with some sort of giddy nervous excitement.

You’re being ridiculous, it’s not like he hasn't seen you in less… or nothing at all.

You push the thought away standing back a few steps, the deep cuts down the sides granting him a glorious peek of sideboob. You nervously fidget with the hems.

“I-I think it’s a little sma-”

“Let me see the back...”

Oh. That deep tender sound. It was not a demand but a plea, a hint of sensual hunger under the calm stillness of his voice, soft and humming like he does when he holds you close.

You turn and brush your hair out of the way, straightening up as you had in front of the mirror, showing off the low low cut at the back, the hem of your panties peeking through.

“it’s…” You start.

“Tantalizing…” He hums.

You can see his Adam’s apple bob and his eyes darken just so, and your lips part with a soft sound.

“You look gorgeous, my dear.”

Your skin breaks into goosebumps again. “I-It’s embarrassing.” You insist, yet any other complaint dies in your lips with a squeak as Zhongli’s palms runs over your exposed shoulder blades, large and warm, and you feel his breath on your ear, a soft sigh.

You whine when he drags his knuckles along your spine, savoring the dip and arch of your back, caressing the tender skin, tracing the edges of the fabric along the swell of your butt and dipping lower to fondle it.

“Zhongli…” You whimper breathlessly.

“Shh… I got you.” Zhongli soothes you with a low croon, nuzzling into the slope between your covered neck and onto your shoulder. The skin there is hot and he nibbles at it gently. “I could just eat you up.”

“You could…” You mumble, the anticipation boils between your legs.

“I think I might.” He replies low, words heated at the shell of your ear before he nips there too, his hands sliding back up the smooth skin of your naked back, fingers teasing at the edges of your breasts before slipping under the knitted garment and cupping them. You gasp.

Your nipples are already hard, little peaks against the wool, so sensitive as they rub the soft material while Zhongli massages and plays with your chest. “Hnnng… ah!” slender fingers take one of the little buds between them, pinching and tweaking just enough that your back arches and your mouth opens in a silent moan.

“So, so beautiful…” He kisses the top of your spine, teasing there with his teeth.

“S-Stop teasi-oh Oh!” A chill runs down your body as he unexpectedly licks a stripe along your back and then you hear him chuckle against your skin, it makes your heart jump.

His hands never stop caressing your breasts, and he cups both before giving them a squeeze. Zhongli tilts forward pressing against you and you can feel a certain hardness against your ass. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes… feels good- hah.” You pant, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmm… Li… more please.”

Oh, how he loves seeing you like this, face flushed and eyes half lidded in bliss. He rubs his thumb against your pebbled nipple and then pinches it again making you gasp and squirm. Your hips buck and rub back unconsciously, seeking fiction.

“Come here.” He kisses your cheek and sits at the edge of the bed, gently stringing you along. “Take off your panties, let me help you darling.” His hands roam your thighs and pull the hem of the sweater just a little, hunching it at your hips. You’re too horny to care at this point and brace your hands on Zhongli’s broad shoulders as he slips your underwear down your knees, you gingerly step out of them and sink into his lap with practiced ease.

Your lips meet in a kiss as you circle his neck with your arms, immediately licking into his mouth and moaning as he adjusts your position, cupping your ass and accompanying the soft sway of your hips as you grind against his bulge. Zhongli groans on your mouth.

The slight coldness in your naked back makes for such a contrast against the hot wetness between your legs, the sweater’s fabric rubbing on your chest as you move, further stimulating as he continues to devour you, just as he said.

His hands move to your thighs, tracing patterns that have your legs quaking and tensing before his fingers dips lower below the cotton and brush your heated pussy. You break the kiss with a mewl.

“Ah… f-fuck… wait-”

He traces those sinful fingers along your folds, poking and prodding, smearing your wetness and finding your entrance. You kiss him fiercely again, combing your fingers on his hair pulling him closer and tilting your head.

It’s needy, it’s desperate, it’s…

He sinks the tips of his fingers inside you and you muffle another sound, shifting and grinding on his lap again. He works you open slowly, sinful fingers following the pace of your kiss becoming more and more daring. Oh, his pants have to go. Now.

Fumbling hands work his belt open and struggle for a few moments with his pants, enough so two of his fingers sink down to the knuckle. You whine and he chuckles, both gasping as your lips separate again.

“Let me- fuck, please-” You paw at Zhongli’s crotch incessantly, worked up. Finally, that perfect thick cock springs free, leaking slightly at the tip and gods your mouth waters.

“So impatient.” He grunts as you trace a finger along his length, thumb rubbing at the tip collecting the bead of precum there and wiping it on your tongue before you can even think, the musky tart taste makes you burn with want.

You notice how his length is trapped between your bodies, pressed against your navel and rubbing on the dumb sweater… and a wicked idea comes to mind. You smirk.

You wrap your hand around Zhongli’s cock, pumping slowly and firmly, and once you feel him resume the movement of his fingers inside you, you start canting your hips again, purposefully making it so the thick wool of your attire strokes against his sensitive shaft, adding another layer of stimulation.

“You- hah…” His words dissolve into a moan as you bite your lip and try to keep up the pace, it’s clumsy but the sounds you pull from him and the way his fingers stretch and pump you is so delicious, feels so good…

In no time your breath quickens. You pump your hand faster. More and more. Hot, so hot, so good. Your eyes fluttering shut, concentrating on the feelings. Your mind slow and hazy, just chasing that delicious pleasure. Only you two exist at this moment.

“Li, I’m… I-I’m…”

His thumb brushes against your clit and you come undone with a sharp cry, a quick and hard orgasm wracking your body and you keen and cry out, vision going blank.

His cock throbs in your palm, hot and hard and you gulp, moving a little sluggish to rise on trembling knees “More please, want you, need you…” You whisper and pull the sweater up to your waist. He helps you get it out of the way and then sink down on him, inch by inch filling you way more than his fingers did.

He hums and tips his head forward to rest his forehead against yours, basking in the closeness for a moment. “Are you ready?” Your eyes meet and you nod.

He leans down to kiss as his hands slide to your hips for support. You love the way Zhongli kisses you when he’s inside you. He tastes like sweet decadent tea, like hunger, passionate, unyielding, insatiable hunger.

He lets out a low growl as you lift and drop your hips against him, that thick cock molding your insides and rubbing all the right spots. You feel his fingers tightening their grip around you as you pick up the pace, grabbing his shoulders for support as you ride him. Your kiss dissolving to fleeting pecks as you pant and moan against each other’s lips.

His hips move under you, matching your rhythm as he rolls them in time with your hips. Heavy lidded eyes take in your figure writhing on his lap before he leans forward with a wicked thought of getting even at you and he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, wetting the fabric as he mouths and sucks at the little peak. You let out a high-pitched whine and claw at his back.

“So close, so close, please please please…” You babble as that sweet climax builds closer and closer.

Your thighs quiver and Zhongli takes over, planting his feet on the ground and beginning to thrust in earnestly. You sob and arch your back, clinging to his shoulders as he slams into you chasing his pleasure.

“So beautiful… your little sounds… your skin…” He hisses, his breath coming in hard gasps. “Come for me. Come, come, come, come-”

You arch your back and keen as your orgasm washes over you, shuddering on his hold as it drags this time. You feel a pulse and then a flood of sticky warmth inside you as he cums, groaning low and resting his head against the valley between your breasts. Your body melts against his as you both rest there, catching your breaths.

You nuzzle at his hair as you come down from your high, pressing a fond kiss to the top of his head. In turn, his arms surround you and hug you closer, sighing into your chest with contentment.

“Hm… want to accompany me for a shower, my love?” He asks as you pull back a little to stare at him, his hands cup your face.

You test your legs as you try to stand up but your knees wobble and there’s a tingling feeling still simmering on your skin. “You’ll have to carry me.” You decide, plopping back on his lap.

He chuckles, deep and precious as he kisses your nose. “Anything for you.”

“Hmm, you know Li… I think I’ll keep it.” You smile mischievously as your hand brushes the wool at your neck.

#crys writes #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #fem!reader #lmao the start is so cliche I feel//HIT #OH THIS FELT SO GOOD TO WRITE #dgchjvbdshvbs tit play my beloved//HIT #to think this is what started it

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toytulini · 10 months

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listen im ace and im pro kink at pride and whatever, but the way some of yall are wording your posts in response to the backlash against it is uh. really taking me back to the ace shitcourse era.

yall know theres nothing wrong with being a "virgin", right? that its not inherently shameful to have not had sex, to never have sex, even if youre not ace, even if you do want to have sex someday, like, its fine that you haven't had sex?

maybe if your problem is that theyre trying to police your behavior and shame you for expressing your sexuality, you can say that? instead of resorting to "haha stupid virgin gets no bitches" like my god. do you not hear how fucking regressive that attitude is? i know, i know, youre "joking".

get a better joke

#toy txt post #god im going to regret this post im gonna regret it so much i can feel it in my bones #let it flop..........pls #internalize my message let it sink in and understand what i am saying and then let the post flop #i say. knowing the ppl who need to see such a message are the ones who will make me regret this post and regrwt not having #1 million bajillion disclaimers #virgin is in quotes bc its a bullshit made up stupid purity culture concept anyway and quite frankly i hate even seeing the word #disclaimer: the previous sentence is not me saying that it is a slur for asexuals. it is me a single individual saying this specific word #grosses me out to read and see everywhere when its a stupid bullshit binary made up or at least historically largely used #to shame largely women and i dont know why we're still using it in 2023 #and ive just been. seeing such an uptick in this whole like. attitude? lately and like #im ace im minorly sex repulsed. mostly about anything sex at me bad. other adults sex at each other consensually? go wild #i like to think im pretty chill about it. i try to be. i think its fine ig to be like 'my meat is huge i fuck so much so good'#like okay not my thing but good for you. love that for you #but then some of yall have started turning it back around back to. 'haha your meat so small and shriveled you get no bitches'#'haha stupid incel virgin' like okay. didnt realize we all went back to fucking. middle school but okay #god im gonna run out of tine to get ready for my thing writing this stupid post UGH evil #but like idk we've kinda circled back to being like haha being a virgin still is stupid and silly and shameful #and if im quite honest. i do think the acecourse played a part in that bc i felt like we were making good progress in like #hey guys is fine to not have sex ever if you dont want to its fine to not want sex its fine #and then aphobes went fucking rabid on us and splintered and destroyed online communities all over but especially on tumblr #and so many aces went back in the closet we stopped talking about it we stopped spreading awareness and now this stupid goddamn like #and now this stupid bullshit attitude is back where its like funny to call someone a virgin as an insult but like no bro trust me its okay #its okay for me to do it bc im a hot queer person with huge meat instead of a cisstraight frat bro with huge meat #? like you know the issue was the behavior right? not the fact that it was straight dudes saying it? its bc the thing being said was shitty?#you know you can dunk on the puritan bitches trying to police your behavior at pride without getting us as collateral damage right #stop making me read that stupid ugly ass word ur not cool or funny #whatever #if you come on to this post to start shit i will not only block you but as many of your mutuals and followers as i can find. i will scroll #i will block this entire fucking website if i need to do not test me. i am exhausted and the acecourse ate up all my tolerance in 2015.

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teddybeartoji · 2 months

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it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

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stuckinapril · 3 months

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I will entrench myself in literature this year no matter what the fuck it takes

#forgot how euphoric it felt to just be seen by a piece of writing #I’m excusing myself for last year bc I was having the busiest semester of my life & then traveled shortly after #so I didn’t make reading a priority #but no more. i have to consume more this year. it makes me feel so good whenever I’m down in the dumps #it’ll be hard in tandem w all the other shit I’m juggling but I’ll make it work #I’ll make it a priority for my mental health lol #just like I have to pop my vitamin pills every day I have to READ MORE to STAY SANE #teen me consumed so many books & i wanna go back to that. full on literature girl for 2024 #p

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sensitivesiren · 7 months

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writing is crazy because you can sit there for hours, going through the entire human spectrum of emotion, all five stages of grief and then some, and literally nothing happened. it's all in your head. you made it up.

#my roommate knocked on my door and i felt like someone dumped ice water on me #i nearly fell off my bed #classicmeg #sensitivesiren #fathoms below #fan fiction #fanfic #good omens #ofmd #supernatural #ao3 #wattpad #ineffable husbands #destiel #blackbonnet #writing

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starry-bi-sky · 20 days

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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #amnesiac danyal al ghul au #songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart #musician danny has my heart and soul #yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks #implied good mom talia al ghul #danyal is a momma's boy send tweet #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au #no beta no edits we die like danny fenton #poc danny fentons #i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense #ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later #morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it #since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous #phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe #not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him

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jasperyourmutt · 1 month

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“Just a bit more, pup,” he exhaled, pressing deeper into my hole. His knot was nearly half way in, and he was taking his sweet time opening me up. He had one hand on my ass cheek, watching his work, the other pulling my leash taut. I laid out in front of him on my stomach, my head and neck slightly pulled back from the collar. I whined, wiggling my butt a bit to try and push him deeper.

“Patience, mutt- “ He scolded before yanking the leash lightly. I grumbled, keeping my backside still this time.

He had been going slow the entire night, to tease and frustrate me, while he enjoyed himself. I couldn’t put up a fight, his orders willed it so. He methodically lulled me into my puppy brained state, first cradling my face and looking me in my eyes, calling me a good boy, rubbing my poor cock through my pants. How could I have kept it together? I knew my place, properly beneath him, like I was now. I could barely respond with words, mostly just whines and desperate barks.

“So tight, pretty boy, ahhh.. There you go,” He groaned as he drove in deeper, the widest part of the knot now pushed in.

“Hhru.. hruff,” I could hear the noise escape my mouth, but my mind swirled from the sensation of his cock deep in me. It wasnt long til he easily entered the rest of his cock into me, my hole closing over the other side of the knot. His hand loosened on my leash and he gripped my hips, a low growl emanating from him. My mouth opened and my tongue fell out as I panted.

“F-Fuck.. what a good dog,” he mumbled as he began to rut into me, slow at first. The composure he had until that point began to slip. His hips bucked into my ass, the knot preventing him from fully pulling out. Our sweaty skin smacked together, the wetness from my leaking cunt getting onto our thighs.

He pulled a bit harder out to reveal part of his knot before pushing it back in. I moaned, and he did it again, and again. His knot popped in and out of me, and it was all I could do to bite onto the blanket I had underneath me. I felt my legs shaking from the pleasure, my mind swimming, unable to focus on anything else. His nails dug into the soft skin on my hips, and he began to lean more forward, over me, as his knot now easing in and out of me.

His speed picked up, and he began to pant and bark as well. I loved when he lost himself in me, letting the dog in him take over when the time was right. I felt his teeth dig into my shoulder as he fucked me deeply, now fully pulling his whole cock out, and then deeply back into me. My face burned hot and red. I couldn’t form words, the animalistic noises from the both of us confirmed where we both were at.

“Fuck.. fuck, I’m going to breed you,” He managed to make out from biting down on my shoulder. I barely heard his words through the waves of pleasure. He pulled out his cock from my ass and easily lined it up with my neglected cunt- desperate to be filled. There was no hesitation as he pushed in, my excessive wetness made it entirely too easy. His tip hit my cervix and I yelped softly, but he disregarded it. He fucked me like a jack rabbit, or a rabid dog, like he were to die if he had to stop. His hands held my waist in place, holding me as if I were just a fleshlight to be used.

“Ah- ah- ah- ah-” I yipped in time with his repeated thrusts. My head spun, and I quickly felt myself approaching orgasm. I knew this would make him happy, but yet not mean much for him otherwise- he would keep going until he was fully satisfied.

#hi I wrote this last week when I was offline and felt like it was too good to keep to myself <3 #WOOF WOOF WOOF #i ah. i also had a plug in while writing and g.gh! god damn.#anyways laying on my tummy kicking my feet :3 #jasperbarks #ftm puppy #t4t puppy #puppy sub #nsft t4t #nsft puppy #ftm nsft #bark bark bark #drooling #petpl4y

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mothprincess · 11 months

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serena crane, on turning 30 and relationships between humans and angels

#poetry #my writing #serena crane #poets on tumblr #the orangery literary society #haven't written in abt 2 weeks #this felt good #uncertain but good #hbd to me

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frostfangalphabitch · 8 months

Text

The rest of the base has gone to sleep, but you don't sleep anymore. You don't join them in the mess hall anymore, either. You barely eat organic food at all these days, and when you do, it's mainly for pleasure. You can take the organics out of the pilot, but you can't take the love of sweets and pizza out of the organics, you guess. Despite that, you're so far removed from your humanity that it's gotten difficult to relate to most of them. It's not like anyone else is sharing your meals of titanium and copper.

The other pilots look at you with fear and disgust, knowing their inevitable fates if they're ever pitted against you. The mechanics see you as an oddity, a fascination, and heap praise and adoration upon you, but it's hollow in your eyes. It feels more like they're ogling a rare car rather than talking to a pilot. The corps see you as nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at their enemies, or whoever has less money than them that week.

The only person who still respects you as an autonomous individual is your handler. You adore her just as she loves you. Certainly, you're still a weapon - that's what the relationship started as after all - but you think she might be the only human in the base, including the mechanics, who could truly love a weapon of any kind. She's been so good to you through all of this, taking each stage of your radical transformation in stride as naturally as a lover watching her partner go through a more mundane transition. She's only gotten more attracted to you as you've grown into your new form and become more comfortable and confident with yourself. You'd burn the whole world down just to make her happy.

There's one other who respects you for who you are, though: your girl. Your beloved Wolfrun Mk.X, heart of Coral, veins of electricity, and arms of 5 ton power-guzzling metal-shredding AC-devouring WB-0010 Double Trouble carnage. Before all this started, you always thought of her like a weapon, just as the others see you now. Then she started changing you. The Coral in your augments connected with the Coral in her systems, and something changed in both of you. At first, it was just a whisper. Something brushing over your psyche, speaking just on the edge of hearing, incomprehensible but unmistakable.

Then your body started following suit. Your teeth, jaw, and digestive tract were the first things to change, presumably to allow you to consume and digest - you're not even sure if that's the correct term - the materials your girl needed to keep changing you. After your first meal, the tastiest 20 pounds of scrap you've ever eaten, your skin started changing too. The docs couldn't give you injections anymore. Their needles bent or broke when they tried to push them into your skin. You figured out why a few weeks later when what was left of your epidermis sloughed off and revealed armored plating underneath. They had to take an angle grinder to your arm in order to access your veins. You didn't feel any pain when they did. At the time, you thought that should have disturbed you a lot more than it did.

By that point, you'd been noticing Wolfrun's thoughts coming in a little clearer. In transit to your jobs, it was feelings of curiosity, probing, and wonder. In combat, it was a spark in your vision when you needed to dodge, a wordless warning about approaching enemies. In the base... still nothing but a whisper. That's when you started feeling lonely: when you couldn't feel her presence anymore.

As you became more and more monstrous, more and more like her, you began to visit her night after night. Maybe it was because you sensed an intelligence within her 65 ton body, or maybe it was simply because being near her drowned out the silence. You had no way of verifying this, but you felt like she relaxed as well when you were around. She was shut down in the hangar, of course, and there was no way any part of her could still be engaged, or so you thought. But as time went on, the whispers got louder, the words - feelings and thoughts, really - more comprehensible. And all the while, your body changed.

The 5'6" chubby trans gal who went into debt and subsequently under the knife to get a hand-me-down set of 4th gen augments all those years ago is long gone now. The thing you've become, whose claws clanged against the metal of the hangar's floor, had long since cast off that form. Where once was skin had become plated metal. Despite having no screws or rivets to speak of, it stayed firmly in place no matter how much the techs tried to pry it off. The augments which before had stuck partially out of the left side of your skull had seamlessly integrated themselves into the sleek plating that had cropped up on your head, looking far more natural than they ever had before. Your hair had fallen away, and the metal around your skull became angled and sleek, looking more bulwark than biological and with aerodynamic fins sprouting from it.

A sleek black plate had formed where your eyes once were. The day you woke up with that, you thought you had gone blind. You panicked, begging for help, afraid they wouldn't ever let you pilot her again. You had been moved into your new warehouse home at that point, and it took time for the maintenance techs to find you. Before they did, though, you felt someone - your girl, you realized - beckoning to you. She could help you. When the techs finally got there, you begged them to put you in her cockpit. It took them a while to figure out who you meant by "her", but your handler, who had come running the moment she heard the news, was on top of it. She barked at them to get you to Wolfrun, and with great difficulty, the three of them helped you get your then-8 foot form into her. You spent the next week inside her cockpit, refusing to get out except to eat and drink. She was there with you, and she let you see through her eyes. The world as she saw it was far more vivid than human eyes could ever see, infrared, ultraviolet, gamma, magnetic, smells, sounds, vibrations, on top of the visual spectrum you were used to. And when the delicate sensor plate where your eyes once were finally engaged at the end of that week, that's how you saw the world, too.

When you finally left her cockpit, you realized you could still hear her. From then on, she was with you always. That made you happy. It made her happy, too. You started letting her choose her own parts, and she was happy to. She still insisted you choose some too, though, since according to her, it was your body just as much as it was hers. True enough, whatever force was altering your body changed you to match her. When you tried out digitigrade legs, you stumbled getting out of bed the next morning after yours had reconfigured themselves to match. When you got her bulky, high capacity arms, your arms - fully synthetic by then - had bulked up considerably.

Even cosmetic changes started to affect you. You painted menacing, sharp teeth onto her head over the sensor plate with mechanical precision, and you found your own mouth elongating and becoming more of a muzzle as a result. You'd have thought being so malleable would have unsettled you, but you found you were more excited about the possibilities instead. It felt more like becoming who you were meant to be. Besides, it made wolfing down your metal meals easier. You figure intention, either yours or hers, or both, affected how you changed, but no one else had any satisfactory explanation for any of this. You'd stopped caring long ago in any case.

What you and Wolfrun ended up settling on for her, after earning a mountain of COAM for you and your handler with your unbeatable, utterly synchronized performance, was a mid-lightweight build focused on tearing apart the battlefield as quickly as possible with heavy machinery. What you became in response was anything but lightweight, at least compared to the humans around you. The finned bulwark and the black sensor on your head never really changed, but the rest of you seemed plenty mutable. Your arms grew long and powerful, your shoulders tipped with decorative spires. Your waist grew slender, tapering inorganically in nested panels to allow for plenty of articulation. Your torso got wider, too, though for whatever reason, the outline of breasts remained constant on your new chassis. You kept the digitigrade legs. Over time, hydraulic supports seemed to have formed on yours. The snout stayed, too. You were too proud of that paint job to ever take it off even with the changes to your own body. BECAUSE of the changes. You might be more machine than woman at this point, by you're still you, pride and all.

The techs estimate that only about 5% of your body is still organic. Probably most of your brain and maybe some other systems, plus a few symmetrical patches of skin. They suspect that you had either some kind of sympathetic Coral connection to your AC that rearranged your augments and allowed the changes to start, or that somehow repair nanites adapted to your form and began "fixing" you. In any case, they think the bulk of your changes are done with at this point. You're a little disappointed by that. Wolfrun likes the new you, though. She's happy for your connection and to be able to get even closer to you. Your handler appreciates your new form just as much. She doesn't even bat an eyelid when you tell her that you've been talking to Wolfrun. If anything, she seems a little sad that she can't talk to her directly. As for your relationship with your handler, you might be nearly twice her height, standing at a hulking 10 feet tall, but that doesn't stop her from loving you, or from jamming her fingers lovingly between your legs after missions.

But she's sleeping now. It's late, but you're still lonely. There's only one entity up at this time of night you'd care to talk to, so you climb the catwalks to meet her, claws clanging against the metal of the hangar. You smile your toothy, metal smile as she greets you, opening her cockpit so you can crawl inside and be one with her for a few more hours before your next mission.

#this one's probably too long to get attention #but it felt so good to write #armored core 6 #ac6 #mechaposting #mechposting #transhumanism #transformation #handler x pilot x AC

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