#because I think that all Knives are touch starved

[messier-jin]

Trust Me!

I’m here to elaborate on my touch starved Knives with a reader who has “physical touch” as their love language. It’s been a while since I wrote anything in English so I’m sorry in advance if I’m rusty...

I’m hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons!

Content warning: gender neutral reader, maybe OOC, physical affection, skin-to-skin contact, fluff in general.

Song I listened to while writing: Trust Me! by DREAMCATCHER.

Knives does not like being touched. Or more precisely, he never lets anyone touch him. You, on the other hand, touching is how you prove someone you care about them, reassuring them with your presence and gentle touches.

The first time where, out of habit, you reached out toward Knives to place your hand against his back, you did not have to time to come closer enough that he stopped you. “Don’t.” A simple word which sounded like a warning.

As frustrating as it was, not matter how much you wanted to pat his back, no matter how much you wanted to give him a hug, no matter how much you just wanted to even bump your shoulder against his, you did not. You were patient and accepted his boundaries.

Well, until one day, where you found Knives fuming, alone in a room. It was not the first time you ran across him, isolating himself as he mumbled things about his brother, humans, “that woman”... And with intimidating aura around him, nobody dared to come near, scared to lose a limb or worse.

But this very day, you decided to move. You called out his name in a gentle voice. And before he had the time to reject you, you extended your hand and tenderly patted his head, promising that everything would be okay.

And at this very moment, time stopped from Knives. His eyes were focused on you and only you. He felt the tension leave his body. He never realized how much he needed the comforting pat (not that he would ever admit it anyway).

From this moment on, Knives has never rejected your touch ever again. He accepts every touch you offer, and inconsciously leans into it.

Placing your hand against his back when you leaned over to grab something? Yes. Casual bumps on his shoulder? He accepts them. You playing with his hands and fingers when you’re talking with him? Please, do. Giving him goodnight cheek kisses when you head to bed? He melts on the spot. A goodbye hug each time you have to go working? He does not want you to stop.

Knives got used to your physical affection faster that he thought he would, quickly becoming addicted to it. He even complained that one time you were sicked and you were the one refusing to touch him to not give him your germs. “I can’t get sick. Come.”

With time, Knives would start to initiate the touches himself. Except that his ones were more daring, as I can picture him liking skin-to-skin contact (in a not sexual way).

Sometimes, when you go to bed, Knives follows you to lay down and has some rest, even if he does not need it as much as you. He slips his hand under the top of your pajamas to place it against your belly, gently stroking the skin there.

When he feels more comfortable with the idea, his hand moves up to rest on your chest, just above your heart. He just likes to feel your heart beating under his hand. And with your permission, he would lay his head against your chest to listen to your beating heart (with or without your top on, but this man has his preference for without because, once again, skin-to-skin contact). And if you were to gently play with his hair, caressing his scalp with your fingers at the same time, he would just melt in your hands.

(Also, if someone dares to come and bother you two during these kind of moments, Knives would destroy them on the spot, no question asked).

All in all, Knives would never admit how much he fell in love with your gentle touches, nor how much he actually craves your physical affection and seeks it when you’re not here to offer him any... But it’s obvious he loves it. After all, you’re the only one who can touch him.

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #millions knives #millions knives x reader #gender neutral reader #knives x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #trigun maximum x reader #nai x reader #it can be read with any Knives in head really #because I think that all Knives are touch starved #this is really self indulgent because my love language is physical touch #and I think that Knives deserves comforting touches #I would kill this man with physical affection watch me #jin writes #and yes I had to put DREAMCATCHER in here so enjoy a gentle ballad from them #and I just remembered one of friends follows this blog so IF YOU SEE THIS DON'T JUDGE ME

[monsterbunny69]

König NSFW alphabet 🤭

A=Aftercare

Aftercare w him🫶🏻

König will clean you both up and run a bath or shower for you both and he will admire you a lot after sex, especially the makes you left on each other

B=Body part

What body part of yours is his favorite?

He can’t decide. Probably your ass, maybe boobs (if you have em)

C=Cum

Anything to do with cum

When he comes for the first time after a few days without masturbating or having sex there a LOT. If you guys go for multiple rounds or he has been jerking off a lot lately then there will be barely any.

D=Dirty Secret

What is one of his dirty secrets?

Sometimes teasing him without actually having sec with him or touching his dick much can make him cum because he is so touch starved.

E=Experience

How experienced is he in bed?

Honestly? Not that much, but everyone believes he’s fucked lots of women

F=Favorite position

Self explanatory 💀

He LOVES it when you ride him

G=Goofy

Are they goofy or serious in bed?

He’s pretty serious, but sweet

H=Hair

What’s his Pube grooming situation?

He trims his pubes but doesn’t fully shave unless you really want him to

I=Intimacy

How romantic is he in the moment?

He’s very romantic in bed and sees sex as a romantic thing

J=Jack off

How often does he masturbate?

Often. Like twice a day

K=Kink

What are his kinks?

Oh boy here’s a list of all the ones I can think of: (if you have any suggestions lmk🤭)

-bondage

-pain

-he’s a switch

-blood

-cock warming

-tbh a lot of BDSM

-will choke you if you want

-spit

-orgasm denial

Tbh my brain is fried and I can’t think of anymore rn

M=Motivation

What turns him on?

You 🙌🏻, your body, when you show skin, when you tease him, making out with him, pressing him against a wall, teasing him into being dominant with you, if you can intimidate him

N=NO

What he wouldn’t do in bed.

He wouldn’t do non-con or heavy pain and gore, he will use knives but no other weapons on you because he really doesn’t want to hurt you.

O=Oral

Preference for oral

He loves giving and receiving, whatever you want bb

P=Pace

How fast does he like it?

He will start off slow and speed up as he gets closer or if you want him to

Q=Quickie

Does he like quickies?

Yes, specifically at work 🤭

R=Risk

Will he experiment with you?

Yes. As long as what you want to do is safe for you.

S=Stamina

How many rounds can he go for?

Many, pretty much as many as you want.

T=Toy

Do they use or own toys?

He doesn’t own any toys, but he will use them on you if you want

U=Unfair

Does he like to tease or be teased

Yes to both, he really likes teasing you ;)

V=Volume

How loud is he?

He can be loud if you want him to, he mainly grunts and moans pretty quietly

W=Wild card

Random sex head canon.

Let him cream pie you

X=X-Ray

What’s in those pants? How big is he?

7 and 1/2 inches hard, 4inches soft

Y=Yearning

How high is his sex drive

High, he’d fuck you everyday if you wanted

Z=Zzz

Does he fall asleep after?

It depends on how many rounds you guys go for

#konig modern warfare #konig smut #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig #könig modern warfare #könig x reader #könig smut #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig #könig x you #könig fanfiction #könig x y/n

[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter ii

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), a little bit of blood/gore (at the very end), scars (NOT self inflicted), knives, mention of stitches, mention of masturbation (if i left out any, let me know!)

word count: 2.9k

authors note: thank you guys SO MUCH for all your kindness on chapter i. writing this story thus far has been cathartic and challenging and wonderful. i hope you enjoy this next chapter🤍

series masterlist | masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you don’t think of the people you worked with before jackson. out of self preservation or self suffocation or some amalgamation of the two, you let the whole of them go, frozen over and pieced off into nothing by the town and your garden and the little house you took up. on your path to the stables, wind curling about your torso and squeezing there, you can admit that you loved them, and this was your greatest concession. still, with trembling fingers you’d let the thing go, out a half-open window somewhere within you, and starved yourself the satisfaction of the remembering. now, though, coming up on the stables and knowing joel waits for you there, you think of the softness of them, which survived in spite of the killing, and suddenly you’re reeling in the line you cast when you hauled the memory of them over. 

you walk through the great doorway of the barn. the line of joel’s back shakes a little as he tightens something on his horse’s saddle, and the hardness of it makes you quiet and hot between your legs, a wanton thing that reaches for him, but you are certain it would be the reaching that scares him from you forever. his hulking figure casts a long shadow, and you feel it grazing your ankles as you saddle your own horse, but still he is as terrified as he was when you first met him, perhaps now more so in the face of his residence here. by his gait and the jerk of his movements you determine the permanence of jackson disquiets him some. it’s your first patrol with him, and so in the early morning light you allow his terror to consume you to make no room for your own.

the patrol is silent, save for the give of snow under your horses, though this is unsurprising to you. you seek out silence, or have sought it, at least, but you find the quiet unbearably difficult with him, what with the warm wood of his eyes and the carving of his silhouette. the fire of him, which he wraps his arms around in a frantic sort of way, catches on you when your horses drift together, and so you mind the gap between your paths and time your glances towards him.

despite yourself and all the rest, the time passes quickly. you return your horses to the stables, again in silence (forever in silence, it seems) and walk together in a staggered sort of synchronization towards the dining hall. 

but he sits with you, here.

surely, he’s no less comfortable with you than the rest of the town, who have filled the tables now, and so you figure he resigns to your company in favor of the unthinking of it. the weight of him next to you presses at your stomach and you constrict with it, your mouth swallowing around your tongue, and your thighs make to wrap around one another because still, you want him to touch you. you do your best, at his shoulder while you both eat, to pull the sweetness of your wanting from around your neck and wrists, but it refuses to extract itself. you suppose if joel can yield to your closeness, you can do as much for the lust, but immediately regret drawing any sort of comparison between you. you think again of the group before jackson, and your heaving of the creature of them into an ocean like blurriness and a faint sort of penitence, but the line of yourself has run out, and so the wanting of joel stays ashore with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you haunt the garden later in the evenings, now that your mornings are spent in the cold, looking silence of joel, and the soil is cooler in your palms then. your strawberry came and went, the vines of it flowering and fruiting into sugar and seed, and perhaps it’s the chilled hands of the twilight along your sides, but you can’t help a selfishness with them. you’d left a basket of them in your kitchen before stalking back to the planter boxes tonight, and even in the dirt that touches you like a baptism you are glad for this sweet little monopoly. all the rest of your garden you’d given, nearly willingly, to the dining hall for eating; a thankless sacrifice you took sated pleasure in, believing only the soft and good could be capable of such a donation. but the strawberries are yours, you decide, to eat or let rot or preserve in resin like flowers.

as you scoop in the last palmful of new soil into the planter box, you sense joel’s little creature, in all her skittishness, contemplating coming into the greenhouse. she watches your fruits in the daytime, you know, with or without you, inspecting how the greens and reds of things come along. like joel she is silent, and like you she measures her distance. you turn your head, and she’s watching her reflection in the door.

“you can come in, ellie, i’m almost done,” you call through the glass, shifting back to your cucumbers. she moves only when you aren’t looking. 

“that one’s fucking ugly.”

your spine stiffens and locks in place. it’s the first full sentence she’s ever given, and the sound grabs right below your collarbone. the profanity of it, and the mundanity, too, unspools something within you. ellie came back to jackson even more vicious than when you’d first met her, though her face was made new with a sort of vacantness now, and the whole of it resembles the youth of you from years ago. but she’s talking to you, suddenly, about the cucumber by your left hand, which hangs hideously misshapen, and your fingers tremble in the dirt with the leadened weight of her effort.

“yeah, yeah,” and you smile a little, but keep your head turned, “it’s pretty grisly.” you hear her swishing responses on her tongue, and from your shoulders down to your forearms drips the yawning need to make her a vegetable and protect her in mulch. the sins of your adolescence, done by and to you, remain a plague to you, and you feel as though ellie is your chance to mend them (a selfish thought, a selfish thought). you know that to indict her as your adolescent self is an accusation too unfair to voice, but all the same you find yourself looking for forgiveness in her in a gasping kind of way. the gasping pushes the words out.

“you can help me in here, if you want. i could show you how i take care of everything.” and you do look at her, now, a leaf standing at your back, but her eyes are probing over the soil along your fingers. it strikes you that she’s smart enough to figure you wear the dirt to be cleansed, and you think it’s in this figuring that she steps closer to you.

“yeah.” but she doesn’t kneel, yet. “but not tonight.”

you nod. “okay, not tonight.”

and you don’t say it with any resemblance of conclusiveness, but nonetheless she takes it like goodbye, backing out the greenhouse doors and absorbing again into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

weeks go by like this. you brave the snow, unprotected and newly fallen, with joel at daybreak, and let him follow you into the dining hall like you don’t think about how his cock would feel. the brutish quiet of him eases none, but in the evenings you help ellie (coarse as anything, but a tender thing) care for the things growing in your garden. this you do in silence, too, but it’s a filling sort of stillness that strikes you as a gift. 

you feel less venomous than you used to. joel, the selfish violence of whom bares itself in his posture, makes you something soft and yielding. even against the rushing water of your wanting of him and his neglect of you, you return to the stables every morning like a pull upstream for the knowing that you aren’t doomed for hell alone. and ellie, now, has become a harbinger of your caring, and you’re reminded of the ease with which you used to love. you loved, once, and to be faced again with this loving is a sanitizing pain you relish in. walking home from the greenhouse in what must’ve been the very early hours of the morning, you brush your dirtied hands down your jeans and drop your brutality to hang loosely at your side.

you’re a few yards from your porch when you see him standing there, hands warming in his pockets and his shoulders strung up by his ears. the night clings to joel, dark accumulating on his shoulders and broadening him further, but he’s scuffing the toe of his boot back and forth against the wood of the deck and you have half a thought to hold him. it’s a horrific thing you slice through immediately.

“can i help you?” and it comes out a little unkind, pained as you are to speak with him, but you find you mean it sincerely.

“uh,” pause, “yeah.” the cold snaps at you, but you know if you see him inside your home you’ll never sleep again, so you do not invite him in. “i was…well,” pause, he’s pausing, “well, i was noticin’ ellie comes by to your greenhouse.”

sometime in the last few seconds you’ve found your way in front of him, the bass and scratch of his voice tugging desperately at you. you nod a little. his eyes will kill you, surely. “mhm. she’s not…” and you let a breath of a laugh out through your nose, “she’s not a natural, really. but i like having her there.” and then, “she seems to enjoy it.”

he nods back at you, the swing of his head cautious while he keeps his eyes tilted down to yours. the moon peeks through his curls in silver pillars. “and she’s been okay?”

there’s a worry in it, in him, that startles you, an unknowing you’re unused to. you hum to comfort the both of you. “yeah, i think so. she doesn’t really speak to me, but i don’t mind it.” 

you know you’ve made a mistake as soon as you say it in the way his eyebrows pull together. you see, through and across his eyeline, his own refusal to speak on your patrol rounds; it stands in the space between you now, and he crosses his arms over his chest to push it further off him. 

“you don’t mind it.” and he’s only parroting you, really, but his question sinks to the ground at your feet. what about my silence? do you mind that?

“no, i guess i don’t.”

a pocket of silence passes through the both of you, rigid, and then he sucks on his front teeth, jerking like he’s made a decision and walking past you, back down your porch steps. “i’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he mumbles out as he goes, but you’re choking on the leathered scent of him, and so you offer nothing in return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“why d’you work in the garden?” 

daybreak had come as a surprise to you, the dawn reaching through your curtains to paw at your floorboards. still, the habit of your days lets you float unmindful through the morning, and so you’d mounted your horse and slipped out the gates with joel with little pomp and circumstance. but now you’re squeezing your horse’s reins through the lines of your palms and willing yourself not to tip off the saddle. you’re shuddering, now, because he is talking to you, he is talking to you. and the flames of him, of that voice and of those hands (you aren’t religious but you pray about the hands) are released from the hold he’s kept on them, extending to lick down your spine. and you want him, desperately and unrecognizably. 

“i don’t really know.” your own answer disappoints you, for how much you’re affected by the asking. the squeak of his gloves scratches behind your eyeline. he’s never ridden next to you; the rhythm of his horse stays behind the line of your shoulder, always.

“did you…” and you can hear he’s considering scrapping the whole thing, defaulting again to the quiet, “did you garden? before?”

“i didn’t do much of anything before.” you run your fingers through your horse’s mane. “i was eight on outbreak day.” you don’t know why you add this part.

“jesus.”

you can only nod. “what did you do?”

he considers your question and kicks into his horse a little, finally, mercifully, lining you up side by side so you can see his face. he doesn’t look at you, but the side of him devastates you just as much. “i was a contractor.” he grunts, at you or the memory of it you’re unsure. “y’know, fixin’ houses and la-”

“i know what a contractor is.”

he’s hardening and you’re watching it happen, but you don’t think you can help it. “christ, you were a kid,” and he starts gesturing with his hand now, “i figured…” but you never find out what he figures; he lets the end of the sentence brush away with the wave of his hands. you think of him, last night on your porch, and the way he’d searched so earnestly in you for pieces of his little creature, who might not be as much his as you had thought.

“you’re welcome in the greenhouse, too. you can see how ellie trims the plants and things.” he turns his face fully to you then, examining you, you think for the first time. joel’s eyes bump around and poke at the space you take up, noting where you end and begin, and though he lets you watch him think, he takes great care to tuck the thoughts away from you. even still, it makes your cunt throb beneath you and you look for your own embarrassment, but it slips between your fingers. you grin at him a little, instead. again you cannot help it, you cannot help yourself with him. “you can always help out, too, if you want.” and then, “but if you manhandle any of the plants i won’t let you back.”

he lets out a breath that sounds like amusement, but only just. regardless, it fogs in front of his face. “manhandle?”

and he’s giving you something here, by entertaining your jab at him, but you don’t know what to name it. your little grin grows curious; he’s surprising you. “yeah, they’re delicate. you have to be gentle or i’ll kick you out.”

he turns back from you to the road in front of him, but you make out the slight pull of his cheek into what could almost be the twitch of a smile. it’s gone in an instant. “alright. no manhandlin’.” and then, mostly to himself, “scouts honor.”

“okay then.”

he hums, low and stilted, and that’s the end of it. and, really, it shouldn’t shock you as it does that joel drawls like tommy, but still you bask in how he sips on his words, all honey and southern heat. the rest of your patrol falls into silence again, the elastic of the moment snapped back into place, but you remain tacky with the stick of the accent and the shapes of his voice. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

everything is muted around you, and you’re halfway shocked to find yourself running. your mark focuses ahead of you. someone is screeching your name behind your head, but you don’t dare look.

the thing you’re chasing is human. it moves like it’s new, but the size of it slugs ahead in the whole expanse of your vision. your father’s knife tethers you to its handle and you ready it in your hand.

and the killing is easy, your body suddenly pressed against the back of this poor creature, who gurgles its life out as you twist your knife in its neck. it should disgust you, and it does not, and there is nothing else to say about it.

the world falls away, then. you’re alone and the knife has been kicked from you. a deep gash traces down your bicep. the wound begins to grow, stretching from your arm to the whole of your chest, and your body is consumed, gone, gone, gone, eaten up by the hurt and the blood and the unseemly edge of skin, and

you’re awake. a bead of sweat drips a line down your neck as you heave in place. you look down, the scar covered by your right hand, which claws at it and holds it still. you go long stretches without thinking of this mark, what with the cold of jackson and the sleeves you wear; the forgetting is blissful, and the remembering nearly reopens it. you unlock the vice grip of your hand on your arm to inspect the stitching, still jagged all these years later, the seam of you raised into something like healed. and yes, the mark of your stitches remembers that someone had attempted to put you back together. but the bulk of the tissue, which healed over by way of pure spite and refusal to die, feels a lot like an indictment. alone in your bed, you clasp your hands together, and plead that god is as cruel as you have been, so she may take pity on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chapter ii !! i KNOW these conversations between our little gardener and joel are tense but she’s trying and he’s trying and it will all come to a head soon i PROMISE ! hope you liked it :)🍓🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog (if anyone wants to be added let me know!!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #on strawberries and masonry #jackson!joel #fem!reader

[yurinaa-world]

Hello! all good? I'm here again hahaha!

And here we go: how do you think vash, Wolfwood and Knives would react or interact with a reader who is a demon with humanoid appearance.

Like the reader has an energetic and playful yet somewhat chaotic, yet extremely kind-hearted personality who doesn't even seem like a profane creature.

And when it's night, the reader disappears or leaves their sight, because the reader goes out to hunt some humans to drink their blood

But when they find out about the reader's diabolical nature, he tries to show some of his demonic form, like the horns, strange marks, syrup or even a pair of wings.

And I wish there was some reference to chainsaw man, demon slayer or even helluva boss.

Characters: Vash, Nicholas, and Knives x Gentral-neutral Reader

Synopsis: them with a demon reader with a humanoid appearance

Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, and mentions of blood and corpse.

Notes: I was thinking of zero two, power, or kaneki from Tokyo ghoul

𝒱𝒶𝓈𝒽 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑜𝒾𝒹 𝒯𝓎𝓅𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓃"

He trusts you a lot; just because you're different doesn’t mean you're a monster. He doesn’t understand why people judge you for being different; they say such rude things to you or kick you out of their shop like that! ｏ( ><)o

He thinks horns and tails are super cute; whenever you're really happy, it sways. Vash is a bit awkward when it comes to physical affection, but Vash can’t help but want to touch your horns to see how they feel.

This boy is amazed by your beauty; you look as if you're out of this world to him. His gaze is filled with wonder and awe.

You know you’re meant to be when you both always somehow get into messes together, whether it’s getting chased or getting guns pointed at. At least he’s not alone; he has you now by his side.

You often surprise Vash with your strength and speed, which he finds very attractive. I just know that he trusts you whenever there is anything dangerous that you can handle yourself.

He loves that you have a habit of cuddling up against him when you're feeling particularly affectionate, wrapping your long tail around him. He’ll try to give you the same affection.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

TW mentions blood and corpses.

Vash doesn’t want to get into why you disappear during the night; after all, he trusts you a lot, but what are you doing during the night? You just come back as if nothing happened.

He felt his heart sink when he saw you with blood all over, as well as the fresh corpse you ate from; you looked different, now with wings, strange marks on your body, and the white part of your eye now black.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"What have you done?"

Looking up from the corpse, you saw Vash looking at you with those eyes—the eyes of someone who's been betrayed. "V-Vash," you mumbled, "please say you didn’t kill them." Vash begged while stepping closer to you, "I didn't think they were already dead to begin with." You looked away. "If I didn’t eat them, I would kill myself." You continued mumbling. You didn’t want him to see you in such an ugly form.

Vash grabbed and pulled you by your bloody wrist. The pull made you look him in the eyes: "You can’t be eating a corpse like this; I won't let you starve either!" He shook your arm lightly, but you didn’t reply, and he sighed. His expression softened when he said, "Let me help you." Vash takes his metal hand and wipes off the blood on your mouth, and he hugs you.

It felt wrong to you that he was hugging you like this, but you felt so happy that he did.

𝒩𝒾𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓈 𝒟 𝒲𝑜𝓁𝒻𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒫𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓇"

Nicholas is protective of you, ignoring the insults people throw at you, but when you both got kicked out of a shop, Nicholas was ready to fight the man, but you dragged him away and told him to calm down.

He thinks your horns and tail are a tiny bit cute, but he’s not going to tell you something when he feels a bit curious and teasing. He’ll grab onto your tail and tug on it; he’ll do the same to your horns.

You always banter with each other. If he tugs on your tail, then you’ll tug his hair; he curses you out for it, but it’s fair, isn’t it? He started it first after all, so he has to take responsibility!

Nicholas ruffles your hair and calls you cute nicknames like "little devil" or "my little demon."

When you both rest in a cheap motel during the afternoon, cuddling up to him and wrapping your tail around him, he would complain, which doesn’t mean he hates it, but he won’t tell you that either.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

mentions of blood and a corpse.

Nicholas is overvant person. It won't take long for him to disappear at night without explanation, then come back the next day as if nothing happened. He notices the little details, like how there's blood on your clothes

.

 When he does confront you about this whole thing, you just brush it off. He's pretty good at telling when people are lying, and you're lying through your teeth.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You grab the arm of the corpse; they were already dead to begin with, so there's nothing wrong with it. You bite into the rotting flesh and tear it in your mouth, tasting it on your tongue and enjoying the taste as the blood spurts from their arm onto the ground. You licked at your lips, feeling the salty taste of the flesh.

"So this is what you're doing at night," you think, looking up to see Nicholas with a lit cigarette in his mouth, letting off the bloody arm, feeling your heart drop—you didn't want him to look at you when you were like this. Nicholas walked toward you, got on one of his knees, rolled up his sleeve, and held his arm out in front of you.

Singling to drink blood from his arm, you were tempted, and you bit down on his skin as gently as you could so as not to hurt a lot. He let out a grunt of pain, but the fresh, warm blood tasted good before moving from his arm—the arm with bloody, sharp teeth marks.

"Next time, just ask instead of drinking blood from some corpse."

𝒩𝒶𝒾 “𝑀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈”

He finds you rather annoying at times. How can you be energetic and playful and not get tired of it, because he sure is; you're always getting into things without really causing him to have a headache?

Doesn’t think anything of your horns or tail, but if you ask if he wants to touch them, he’ll say no, but if you keep asking, he might touch them, with a big emphasis onmight," but if he does, he’s pretty gentle, creasing them.

Doesn’t say anything when you sit beside him on the piano as he plays and you wrap your tail around his waist after he finishes his song; he just looks at you confused as you smile at him.

If you ask him to go on a walk with you, he’ll tell you to go on your own and that you're not a child. how mean. One way to make him go with you is to just keep on asking; he’ll break sooner or later!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

TW mentions blood and corpses.

He always knows, but it doesn't matter to him if humans eat; at least their bodies are good for something like being your food.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"What a sight," Knives smirked as he looked at you, eating a corpse, the blood all over your mouth and clothes. Him watching you like this was something you thought he wouldn't care about at all; it was irrelevant to him, but he seemed to enjoy it.

You feel his hand land on top of your head, almost patting it and ruffling your hair just a little bit. "You never disappoint me; you'll always be by my side." He told you as his hand moved to your chin and lifted it up, making you look at him.

"You and I will always be together."

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#trigun #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun stampede #vash x reader #vash x you #trigun stampede x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood #nicholas x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #millions knives #millions knives x reader #Millions knives x you #Trigun Millions knives x reader

[malthegal101]

Trigun Stampede Headcanons with Vash and Knives X GN Reader!

Vash with an S/O that is clingy!

- Loves it and hates it so much, it causes lots of inner turmoil, because yes, he's touch-starved, he wants to be loved, he loves being loved by you but also overthinks what he would do if you suddenly left him one day.

- Loves it when you ruffle his hair, steal his glasses, play with his hands and hug him, he loves your company and finds it soothes away a lot of inner problems he has when he spends too much time alone, he's glad you're there for him.

- Always smiles kindly and warmly at you whenever you make a point to stick with him, holding his arm or refusing to depart with him always makes his heart go crazy, he's charmed by you! He loves how much you love being around him, he needs someone like that.

- Always without hesitation reciprocates, if you go to hold his arm he extends his arm out for you to grab and makes sure you stand pressed up against him, if you want to hug him he makes sure to squeeze you tight, occasionally twirling you around in his arms if he feels excited. He loves you, he wants you to know it, if you want to be clingy, he'll be clingy back!

- If you just love being in his presence while doing your own thing he really enjoys that too, he loves to watch you focus and work, he thinks you're talented. He loves being able to be with you even if you're not paying attention to him.

Knives with a clingy S/O!

- Refuses to understand the appeal, he makes all sorts of 'hmph's and 'mmph's when you go to cling to him, but simultaneously a small blush creeps up his cheeks as he lets you cling to him.

- Bends over backwards trying to prove to you that he doesn't like it when you cling but he doesn't sound very convincing when you notice he instinctively holds out his arm for you gently to hold his fingers and his hands, he inclines his head to you as if subtley asking for you to come closer, but when you question him about it he always says something like, "I'm just tolerating your oddness, keeping you contained."

- Finds it awkward when you talk about why you cling to him, he doesn't understand that much, you can't really blame him as he's never truly had an authentic 'human' experience to save his life. Usually he just thinks you're unnecessary, yet doesn't go out of his way to stop you.

-He doesn't understand why you hold his hand, why you insist on staying with him, finds himself often groaning and panicking on the inside because it definitely makes him feel things but he doesn't have the confidence to explore those emotions. Instead he chooses to think; "well that's just what weak creatures do," and excuses the slight shade of red that creeps up his cheeks with; "it catches me off-guard, as I've never seen such a weak thing dote on me as if I need protecting, I'm flushing from second-hand embarassment." Surely he just needs more time to recognise his own feelings.

- If you just like to stick around as he's doing work, playing the piano or travelling from place to place for plants and the like, he'll let you tag along if you can keep up, sometimes he rationalises how much he lets you tag along by saying, "they're weak, they need an example like me to take from." And he pretends like he doesn't secretly wait for you on the hot sands when you get tired from the heat, occasionally makes up excuses that he lies to his own self into believing so much so just so you can accompany him on his journeys.

#trigun stampede #trigun vash #trigun knives #trigun headcanons #vash x reader #knives x reader #Gn reader

[cherryatombomb]

Simon Riley headcanons

help girl this man is rotting my brain. anyway here r things that might not show up in my fics but i still think apply to him :] some of them are explicit autistic! ghost others are not but. he always is in my brain u get me. could be considered x reader bc i only mention s/o vaguely so go wild gang

Good with body language, figuring people out via how they act. Mostly good at understanding tone and such - but passive aggression is where he falters. He just doesn't get it mostly, struggles to register it. Surrounds himself with people who are pretty blunt so it doesn't matter, but oh man he hates passive aggression

Speaking of, he's so blunt. He just doesn't see why he should need to sugarcoat himself and will speak his mind all the time. Doesn't see it as being rude, he's just an honest guy.

Love language is physical affection he just has no idea. He's SO touched starved please hold him.

When he gets comfortable with an s/o he's just so cuddly when sleeping. Like, full on limbs everywhere, you have no idea whose limbs are whose. He loves it.

Favourite positions for cuddling are either his s/o on his chest, or him on their chest. Both becoming weighted blankets for the other, it's GREAT.

Also loves quality time, but when the person he's spending time with and himself are doing separate things in comfortable silence, it's so cozy.

The mask is a sensory comfort for him, that's why he wears it so often. He also doesn't emote expression-wise that much, which some people find disconcerting, so it helps. Mostly communicates physically through his eyes.

He's got a secret sweet tooth, and has multiple snacks stashes hidden throughout the bases he stays on. Gummy sweets + chocolates are his favourite.

He has dimples bc I think they're cute. That's all.

Good with kids but they scare him in the like "they're so sweet and I'm not sweet how do I handle it??". They think the mask is cool and just think he's pretty cool. Uses his shitty jokes for good if he's ever in a situation where he needs to calm a kid down, but makes sure they're more pg. Everyone thinks it's so funny to see this intimidating masked man make a joke abt fish being so-fish-ticated (sophisticated) when wearing bowties, but its okay bc it makes the kids giggle

Shows his affection in subtle ways when in public, he's not really a PDA guy. Like, pinky fingers intertwined, or feet touching when sat down. Not very obvious about it, but he's there nonetheless.

If his s/o is in the military he'll like do their armour straps before a mission, or clean their gun in between missions

Loves petting hair. It's so soft and feels so nice under his hands ohh he loves it. Lay on him and let him pet ur hair and he can die happy

Has a list of names of people who his s/o has mentioned hurting them. If they ever show up this boy will just glare the Whole Time.

Speaking of he's so protective but tries not to be overbearing with it. Like if someone's hitting on his s/o he trusts them but will just loom behind them to see if they need help. Waiting for them to either leave, or for his s/o to sic them on him like a guard dog, bc lets be real, that's who this man truly is

Loves picking his s/o up he's so strong so he can pick up most people. Only done in private time but will sling his s/o over his shoulder or stuff bc he loves hearing their response it's so fun

Good at art, but only really does charcoal landscape paintings. Very protective over this because he's kind of embarrassed about it but he finds it comforting

Not really a gift giver, he mostly just gives people money so they can buy it themselves because he's very practical.

For those that are close to him, though, I can see him making some effort - a personal sentimental gift alongside the money

Gifts his s/o one of his knives so they can protect themselves. Will teach them how to use it if they aren't military

Likes to fuck with new recruits who are scared of him because he thinks it's hilarious. This man is a MENACE

Cat person for SURE. They just get each other. The need to fuck with people and seem kind of hostile but also love affection on their terms? That's so Ghost.

#i love him so dearly #i wanna give him a little kiss #wrote this bc i had the sudden urge to whilst writing another ghost fanfic LOL #i mean hey if u wanna preview of my next fic in the 'tism ghost series #itll be him getting unmasked by a rookie whos bein a dick #so look forward to that #so much hurt/comfort gang #call of duty #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley headcanons #ghost headcanons #could be read as x reader #but i wont tag it as that bc i dont wanna clog the tag up :]

[danddymaro]

What’s written | Revenant x Reader

As soon as Catalyst came out with her lore I was like “YOU KNOW WHAT I”M THINKING RN?” lol

Idea : You start to spend too much time with Catalyst, and Revenant doesn’t like it. Once he confronts her, she offers him a reading. 

Word count: 2283

What’s written

Black lips which reflected a nearly cyan shimmer stretched into a soft, small smile as glass blue’s narrowed lightly down at the literature held within a hand.  

Catalyst couldn’t help but gently glow before the mechanical beast, the woman not at all troubled by the way he eerily glared at her from afar. She went as far as to act aloof, as though she hadn’t sensed his presence while she briskly lifted her eyes up to him.

It took him a while before he moved, his menacing stalk one she briefly eyed with interest, curious as to what was his game as she watched him flex his fingers, the points awfully sharp and dangerous.

Calmly, she marked the page down of her book before placing it down, her eye skimming over the simulacrum with a mindful glimmer.

“What?” Catalyst said with an eyebrow raised as she acknowledged the dark look he shot her, all while remaining quite unaffected by the animosity he radiated.

As for Revenant, he kept his eyes on her, silently throwing invisible knives at her with the malicious gaze.

Part of him was hoping she’d just drop dead. And another told him to skewer her with his sickle and do the favor.

It’d be so easy, but none were plausible.

There existed one factor, one singular thing that kept him drawn back ;  You.

He hadn’t cared much for the newcomer. Much more, he wouldn’t have spared her a thought if not for how much of a liking you'd taken to her.

 Especially with how much you’ve been trailing behind her as of late, singing utter praise, showing your favoritism by even buying a bit of the new merchandise already out for her. 

You’d said it was out of support, but he’d thought about it so much he wasn’t sure anymore.

“I like Tress,” you say while staring down at your hand. 

You looked down at the details of it, the thin lines that exist on it so interesting he can see you trail each individual one with those pretty eyes of yours, and there was hardly a trace of a blink there.

The whole time, your smile is fond while your eyes are terribly soft in serenity, and there’s something about your lovely look that makes him feel incredibly uneasy.

It's like someone's pulling you away, doing so in a painfully slow fashion, and it's unbearable that all he can do is watch. 

All he can do is stay by you.

You suddenly look at him with a silence that’s filled with a low, thoughtful hum from you before your entire expression softens, and he can feel anxiousness eat at him.

“Oh...” you say simply before breaking out into a short grin as realization seems to be expressed in that brief moment.

"No one could ever replace you," you say, and he doesn’t tell you how much those words mean to him, even if you say them so casually. 

-Even if you’re entirely too playful about it.

He inwardly curses at your buddy-buddy nature. 

He detests how now he is no longer  the same uncaring beast as before,  that  now he’s filled with moments of bliss with just your words alone.

Unlike before looming over you isn’t just a game to frighten and tease you, because it affects him more. 

Being so close to you makes him feel strange... drugged even.

You're daring enough to caress his cheek, and like the touch-starved creature he is, he leans into it and he wonders if you know how much he yearns for more.

He wonders if you know all of the sacrifices he would have to bring you just to have you offer him something more than those occasional, mocking gestures that have him stupefied.

There's a moment when he looks at you, and you smile at him so prettily he nearly forgets why he feels so scorned by you.

However, it all comes back to him the second you pull back, giving him a cheerful goodbye.

You do so before blowing him a playful kiss, one he scoffs at and turns away from to try and pretend that it doesn’t have its little effect on him.

 He knows what it's like to feel envious, scorned for certain, and in the mix there's a touch of betrayal.

Even if you're not his...he doesn’t want any one else to have you.

Lately, he's rarely had a moment alone with you, and it was starting to get the best of him, because he’d gotten so used to having your full attention, and if not that, your presence, at least. 

“Don’t tell me…” Catalyst started, “you want me to read your future too?” She asked with a sly grin. 

A couple of the other Legends' have toyed with the idea, but she knew well that this wasn’t his reason.

She leisurely rose from her seat before slowly approaching him, her saunter calculated as she eyed him for any movement that’ll say he’ll strike. Her true intent was to stay alive, but that didn’t mean she’d cower before him.

He made an annoyed sound before he spoke, 

 "I don't need anyone to read my future," he started, and it made the woman tilt her head to the side, 

" Oh?" she hummed, "Then why are you here?" she asked, but she already had an idea.

- she’d expected him sooner or later.

With a sly grin, she then tilted her chin up, looking at his right hand as it stayed on his side, practically twitching to rip through something. 

Revenant noticed her narrowed gaze and sneered, to which she tutted.

“My...What a gruesome palm...it’s a surprise there’s anything about love written on it.” she comments, and it has the simulacrum curl his fingers down harshly. 

There's a minute of silence before he extends his arm, shoving it before her. 

“Get to reading skinbag,” he orders and Tressa grins before looking down at the painted metal.  

“Lets see...” she starts and she briefly looks up at him through her long dark lashes to see him glare down intently, truly in suspense.

“I see… unexpected content, “ she voices, her voice elevated with amusement towards the end. 

"You have a special someone," she says, and he opens his hand furthermore,

 “You better give me something good before I slice through you,” he warns icily, a certain desperation there in his voice that makes Catalyst feel a cold sweat drip down her forehead. 

She’s now basically stepped into the beast’s jaw, and within her a touch of anxiousness strikes her that curses at her for being so playful with danger. She had a tendency to do so, and now was one of those moments she mused that a little dangle from a high ledge would have been a better rush than what now could end with her severed into bits.

In all fairness, she hadn’t thought he could be bated so easily, or believe her for a second.

"Alright, alright,"  she says with a little huff as she stepped back, her hands up in defeat.

“I was just kidding,” she says, quick to add more as she watched his eyes take on a fiery, dangerous glow.

" I can’t read yours," she admits, and it makes him sneer, he’s nearly shaking before her words suddenly still him.

"- But, I’ve read hers," she immediately says, not willing to play any longer with him. 

" That’s how I know… yours," she proceeds, and even if he didn't have a face, she could somehow read it.

He was silent, and held a heavy set anticipation which was somewhat endearing to her as she noted that it was because of you.

“Speak,” he demands icily to which Catalyst’s shoulders fall.

" She’s… strange, isn’t she? " Tress started with a soft smile because she'd meant it in the kindest way. 

To her, it was more than just a compliment ; It was true praise.

“- Loving too," she added. 

"How you’ve managed to snare that woman is a mystery to me,” she says with a touch of amusement, though she wasn’t truthful.

She knew what it was that had you at his side.

" Against all odds, she’s completely devoted to you, “ she admits, and his entire stance slacks for a moment as he hears it.

“ -something your just starting to appreciate,” catalyst voices as she fixes her eyes on his.

"- And you are now terrified of losing, " she says with a slight edge.

The synthetic nightmare stands before her with a complete lack of maliciousness, something that only you’d ever had the privilege to live through.

" I see tragedy has touched you: You've survived a sorrow you thought was inescapable," she voices, "Needless to say, you’re strong," she recognized.

"- Resilient," She commends.

" And It’s something others admire too. " 

And it’s then that catalyst softly chuckles,

"- Oh," Catalyst peeps, her eyes playfully glowing, giving you some new information.

she then hums before her other hand covers your palm, gently warming it while she brings her eyes to your interested riddled ones.

There's something about the way she looks at you that has you on edge, concerned.

"What is it?" You whisper softly.

 With a bit of worry, the woman leans in closer, the hand moving before finding comfort on your cheek. 

Her touch is faint, though affectionate all the same,

" You’ve been blind to it," she notes, finding it amusing how you'd unknowingly snared more than one person.

" You’ve moved more than one heart," she reveals to you, and it genuinely surprises you.

Your eyes grow wide before you nearly scoff. 

"But," she starts, "How would you notice, when only one of them has you, entirely," she says, and you nearly shrink. 

Deflated, you look at her before your eyes melancholically downcast.

"You could see that?" you ask quietly and she offers you a short nod and proceeds to tell you the summery of what has been indicated by the cards she demonstrated you, and your hand. 

“can you see who?” you ask.

"He’s... covered in darkness, " she stated and you nod, knowing. 

- You yearned to lead him out of it, to hold his hand throughout it and make him feel...human. 

"But that's what draws you to him," she muses while tucking locks of her hair behind her right ear, and she's truly touched by your affection.

 So much that she feels warm in her chest. 

"You're truly are a gem," she states, and you softly chuckle before leaning in closer, 

"Can you tell me...is it possible?" you then ask her, anxiously. 

"Is there a chance that he feels the same way I do," you question her, "And if not... then do I at least make him feel something?" you ask, and she breaks out in a high-spirited laugh. 

"something?" she asks you, " Darling..." she breathes before looking up to the ceiling that’s decorated by hanging gems, " you make him feel everything," she lets you know.

"he hasn't felt anything in so long... you terrify him," she chuckled. 

“-And There’s been just as much push as pull between you both,”

And you shake your head,  "Terrified of me?" you say while leaning back because you can't imagine Revenant being afraid of you in any way. 

He was the same guy that tried to spook you out of matches. 

You'd never forget your first encounter. He'd been the same one to snarl at you for requesting an item, but was now the first to hand things over, 

Revenant...that awful creature is the same one who continuously looks back to see where you are and has won your heart with that hidden, sweet nature.

“Is that why you’re here?” Catalyst asks with a raised brow, receiving only a fleeting look as Revenant's face points down.

How the hell was he supposed to admit to some stranger that he was jealous? 

How was he supposed to admit to her that he’d searched for her with the intention of making her back of... with the possibility of killing her if he couldn’t control the impulse.

He takes a moment before he lunges forward and his right hand captures Catalyst. His entire hand fits most of her slim neck, but he doesn’t bother to lift her up. 

He merely holds her, glaring down with a fiery gaze filled with malice, 

He fights against the first instinct that tell him to slice through, choosing to simply hold her down. 

“Fighting me serves you no purpose,” she tells him. 

“I’m not the one that wants to take her from you,” she hinted. 

“Then you tell me who does,” he said lowly, and she grits her teeth hard. 

She’s panicked, but smart enough to know he’s not truly out for her blood as he only gives her a touch of what is his true carnage.

“ You don’t want to do this...” she says, “ she’s only drawn to you,” she reminds him. 

“You don’t have to do anything to win her over,” she adds. 

And after some consideration,  he let go entirely, 

“You’re not gonna say a word about this to anyone , you got that skinbag?” he said as he glared down at her. 

Clarity hit him as he realized that while she’d been a threat before, she could be a better ally.

-Besides...even if he didn’t admit it, she was right. 

He didn’t want to lose you. 

He wasn’t going to. 

He’d  rather feel your warmth within his arms than stare down at cold bodies.

“ As a token of my gratitude... I'll let you continue to live,” he said lowly. 

#revenant x reader #revenant x reader insert #revenant x you #revenant x y/n #apex x reader #apex legends #apex revenant #revenant one shot #revenant oneshot #revenant fanfiction #revenant fanfic #Revenant #revenant imagine #catalyst

[avelera]

I wanted to mull over a few possible takes on how Hob Gadling’s immortality works. Upfront, let me say this is for fic purposes, the true answer to how it works in the show and comic is, “Whatever works best for the story” and “Don’t think about it too hard” but as a fic writer it is my mission to think about stuff like this too hard so here we go.

So as far as we know, Hob’s immortality flavor is, “doesn’t age, doesn’t die” plus a few other tidbits and hints like:

- He can’t starve to death, he will just continue to feel hunger. Also apparently doesn’t lose weight which, I know, I know, the Doylist explanation is of course the actor wouldn’t change weight between scenes for something this short but the Watsonian explanation is actually far more interesting to me that while Hob’s hair still grows, feast or famine don’t alter his physique. Basically, except for a few aesthetic details like hair length, we can assume his body is completely frozen in time.

Other factors:

- Hob’s not afraid of being stabbed. He’s very definitive on the fact he can’t die. As a connoisseur of different types of immortality that opens up some variations of possibilities:

- Instant healing. Bullets pass through, knife wounds are gone the minute the blade is removed. He is completely impervious to harm. (Not my personal take since Dream says he can be hurt but Hob’s lack of concern at getting hurt does put this on the table and maybe the hurt is very fleeting, just like if Dream was shot with a non magical bullet.)

- Fast (but not instant) healing - anything that touches him can get shrugged off in moments, like The Old Guard or Wolverine. A pretty standard take on immortals, all told, and probably the one that needs the least explanation if put in a fic. He got shot or stabbed? That’ll be gone in a minute or two, but it’ll sting until then.

- Note, Hob doesn’t seem to worried about people seeing him get wounded which can mean either he’s gotten good at hiding his healing (by just avoiding combat and smooth talking out of suspicion for other injuries) or he doesn’t heal faster than a normal man. Dream does say he can be hurt, we just don’t know how long getting hurt sticks to him.

- Edit: I will add I find the idea of “heals fast but not as fast as superheroes” intriguing. Like he takes wounds and will still have them in a few hours, but they will otherwise heal much faster than average and completely (without infection). I could see a scenario where getting badly injured in full view of a lot of people is a pain in the ass because it means he has to fake his death and start over as a new person. But for less than fatal injuries, he’s got time to go somewhere and get a cover story together about the injury not being as bad as it appeared before it fully heals.

- One nightmarish possibility is that he heals at an entirely normal pace, nightmarish when one thinks of things humans don’t heal from like decapitation or being blown up. (Or perhaps he would just be able to humorously reassemble himself for catastrophic wounds, that would be a matter of what tone you’re trying to set. )

- One possible take on Hob’s immortality vis a vis healing is that he has insane luck rather than healing. Bombs and bullets just miss him. Knives deflect. Punches fail to connect. His immortality is tied to the whims of powerful beings so it’s not out of the question that he just fails to take serious injuries and can just walk away from anything fatal. Not necessarily how I think it works in the show but it could be a fun variation that doesn’t actively conflict.

Overall, Hob seems dismissive of any fear of being hurt or injured, which leads me to believe that he either bounces back quickly or instantly. He’s not out there fighting bad guys, however. As far as we know, while he does have combat experience, fast healing isn’t a huge factor in how he chooses to live his life. Indeed, given how put-together he seems in most of his centuries besides the misfortune of 1689, he errs on the side of operating as a gentleman, out of harm’s way.

That’s all I’ve got! Curious and intrigued to see if others have a take.

#hob gadling #the sandman #sandman meta

[purpleyin]

Time for an angsty many years post-Crooked Kingdom Kaz whump concept. More of a not!fic style but I hope it's still enjoyable🖤

all the nightmares I’ve had

Years after Kaz gets his revenge, Pekka Rollin's family is killed in a tragic accident. It has nothing to do with Kaz or the Crows but Pekka is convinced Kaz is responsible. Pekka is deep in his grief, reckless and has no fear for what he could lose any more, Inej's threats to himself forgotten. He surprises Kaz, and his touch aversion works against him, so Pekka does manage to take him down along with the help of some chemicals. Kaz had made progress on that, less guarded and covered up these days, but if there's one person guaranteed to take him right back to the barge mentally it's Pekka touching him. Pekka gets him into the coffin so easily after that, buries him six feet deep, but he doesn't just want to kill him. He sets up a way that Kaz won't run out of air down there. No, it will be dehydration that kills him as he slowly starves down there too. He's groggy from the drugs and injured from the scuffle with Pekka but he knows well enough he has no way out this time because it isn't locks he can pick that trap him, instead an oppressive mass of earth bearing down on him, gravity itself working against his escape. Even those who try to pull off such tricks as entertainment often die trying, so Kaz has no hope he can evade this when the circumstances here are designed to kill. As he comes back to more himself, the dawning reality is so much harder to deal with. Being left for dead is his worst nightmare happening all over again, despite that it isn't the barge, it's still too close. He won't call out via the spout in case Pekka is listening, waiting for him to beg - he won't give Pekka that satisfaction. Pekka won't have been foolish enough to bury Kaz where anyone else would overhear any cries for help anyway. Pekka's hubris is much the same as Kaz's was, abandoning the simple solution of a quick death because he wants him to suffer as long as possible, for it to be fitting. Just how long Kaz can last is partly a matter of willpower, how long he can remain calm and hang on to the will to live. Hope has never been something Kaz put much stock in but he clings to the hope that people will miss him, that they will care to look for him, that he will be found in time, not forgotten down here as he grows groggier again with lack of water. To distract himself, he stews on plans for his own revenge once he gets out of this, until it becomes too hard to think properly and the old fears creep back into his hazy mind. Water starts to seeps in from rain down the air spout, leaving him wet and cold and losing any remaining faith that he will get out of this nightmare. The Crows don't know Kaz is missing until the next day and they spend over a day searching the city until Jesper finally gets a feeling drawing him towards Black Veil island, hoping desperately that the incredibly rare mineral he's sensing there is indeed from Kaz's rather unique wedding ring Inej got him on her travels. They scour the cemetery for the exact source, silent as the grave once they find the freshly dug ground someone had tried to pack down harder, now sodden with the night's rain as well. Inej is the one to spot the strange pipe coming out of the ground. "He's still alive," she proclaims, and Jesper just hopes she's right about what it means. Inej starts scraping back soil in swathes with her knives, while the rest of them go to locate some metal Jesper can fashion into shovels. The time spent digging up that grave feels like the longest time of Jesper's life. When they pull Kaz - pale and wet and shaking but alive - from the coffin, Jesper is witness to the most public display of affection he's ever seen by Kaz and Inej. Kaz clings to Inej like she's his lifeline to the living, though Kaz is careful once again to not touch any skin. Jesper has to look away, giving them their privacy as best he can, until the moment passes and Inej turns to ask Wylan for the water bottle they brought along.

When Kaz seems a bit more focused, Inej asks “Pekka?” with her voice like a knife. “Pekka,” Kaz confirms sharply, but his eyes taking on a dark far away look, staring past them all in a way that worries Jesper. Inej leaves abruptly, with murder in her eyes, so it falls to Jesper and Wylan to cautiously help Kaz to the carriage. They're careful to keep their touches firmly over Jesper's coat that they help the shivering Kaz into, in case their proximity might trigger him like it used to. They go back to the mansion, setting Kaz up in the guest room they all know is really his anyhow. Kaz is quiet, no smart remarks and no refusal of the help they give, accepting any comfort they can provide him that isn't touch. Wylan brings up a pot of hot, very sugary tea and so much food. The tray placed on the side of the bed is laden with far more than he could possibly eat, but every item is a favourite of Kaz's; foods Kaz would deny caring one jot for but anyone observant enough would know to be true. Jesper waits by his side, wishing he could hug Kaz, however briefly, to feel him solid and safe in his arms, but he doesn't dare ask right now. Being there is hopefully enough. With Jesper watching over him, Kaz sleeps, curled up in the layers of soft, warm blankets they gave him that he'd normally scoff at and turn down.

When Kaz wakes, Jesper's heart skips a beat in anticipation as Kaz reaches out his hand as if to touch him, only for that hope to be dashed as Kaz snatches his hand back suddenly, not able to complete the intended action. Kaz scowls, looking down at the floor. But then he says something that surprises Jesper, “Thank you, Jes.” Kaz's gaze shifts to looking down at the bed covers as he says it, a discomfit evident in the tension of his shoulders and the tight grip of one hand on his other in his lap. “You don't need to thank me, you podge.” Jesper replies, exasperated but fondly said nevertheless. “This is what we do, we look out for one another.” Kaz simply nods and Jesper decides now is a good time to fetch more food and drink, to leave Kaz to his thoughts for a bit.

Inej comes back in the evening, her clothes freshly changed and the scent of the cleaner she uses on her knives trailing in her wake. She only says "It's done" to the room when she appears suddenly, no one needs to ask what. Then she climbs onto the bed with Kaz, prompting Jesper to quickly leave them be. The newspapers the next day don't show the gruesome detail of a man taken to pieces in a depiction of any sort for that would be far too improper, but they spare no words to describe the unexpected downfall of a once barrel boss practically forgotten and by now only remarkable in his manner of death. That morning, when they take up a tray of food and the paper, he sees Kaz smirk, for the first time since they rescued him, at the sight of the headline.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #angst #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #whump #hurt/comfort #soc fics #six of crows fanfic #purpleyin #purpleyin: fanfic #kanej #but it's more of a gen fic really #soc aus #not!fic #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #pekka rollins #my kanej fanworks

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

got an ask on curious cat and wanted to crosspost it here because it's trigun meta!

hihi, really really loved your thread on knives/vash and the masks they wear. it was an insightful read and i admire your grasp on vash and knives' characters! (your post-trimax kv fic is also one of my favs in this fandom, GREAT shit right there) i would be curious to hear your thoughts on vash and how he experiences/deals with his trauma in trimax (PTSD/C-PTSD, rem and tesla, guilt from the big fall, the separation between him and knives, aftermath from the July/fifth moon incidents, plant body horror and all that jazz) i know there's a lot sjdfksjh you don't have to touch on all of those points but only if ur interested ofc!

HELLO. I REALIZE YOU SENT THIS TWO WEEKS AGO. IIII UHHH FORGOT I EVEN HAD A CURIOUS CAT SKNFDKLMFKDSSD HI, SORRY!!

thanks! i'm glad you enjoyed the meta and the fic!! seriously i think i blacked out while writing "we've got to get back to that stinking garden," i was so ill about them. still am. 

anyway. trauma, huh? i think i usually gloss over talking about vash's trauma only because it feels so clear to me. knives's is so easily misinterpreted for the purposes of lambasting him or woobifying him but vash wears all that pain on his sleeve. uh. literally. because of the. the arm thing. but the way he deals with it is so!! it's /so./ 

short answer: he runs away. all the time. 

long answer: it's his coolest thematic motif because his name is "the stampede," right, a horde of animals sprinting for their fuckin lives because something behind them spooked them so bad they're going to trample everything in their path just to get away. and occasionally, when he feels he /really really has to,/ because of a sense of sheer responsibility, he runs toward the Bad Things. said bad thing is usually knives because vash believes that his brother is inherently his responsibility, and also all the guilt from the big fall. that's trauma, as you mentioned, that manifests over and over again as soul-wrenching guilt. 

the reason vash fashions himself into gunsmoke's friendly neighborhood jesus figure is because he's tortured by that guilt, especially in stampede, because of that lil addition the writers made to the canon: that vash is partially responsible for letting his brother Commit Atrocities. and that's something that clearly drives him batshit insane. how can he laugh when the suffering of a whole planet sits partially on his shoulders? how can he eat when they're starving? how dare he /not/ be their meat shield over and over again when he's the reason they need one in the first place? 

his trauma drives him to atone for a sin that can't really be atoned for and can't really be ascribed solely to him. he was, of course, 1 year old (mentally ~6?) when he helped knives perpetuate the fall. it's an impossible, Sisyphean endeavor, but because he's functionally immortal and never /really/ had a chance to grow up properly, he's going to fuckin try. 

mf i'm running out of characters here this is evil!! anyway. i think his guilt about rem is why he develops such an, uh, oedipus complex about her that has even wolfwood thinking he's talking about a dead girlfriend. and i think with tesla he just. put her out of his mind. how the fuck do you even begin to cope with a sister dismembered and brutally killed, a sister kept in a jar, a sister you never knew you had or got the chance to love. i think vash just avoids it. it's too big, the ramifications too Much, when all he wants to do is move on and live his life. 

(in contrast, nai is forever stuck in that room, in that horrifying moment. he can't escape it even as vash runs and runs and runs away.)

The same thing happens post-July. Post-fifth moon. Vash sees the horror he’s wrought (that knives has wrought) and goes. Fuck this shit i’m outta here. Fight or flight more like flight or flight even fuckin faster amirite. But knives always catches up to him in the end, is the thing—nai is the physical symbol of his trauma, the narrative vehicle for vash’s pain. He is everything that has traumatized vash made flesh. It’s part of what makes every fight between the two so gripping, imo. By overcoming knives, by putting his brother in the ground, that’s him trying to atone and appease the guilt. This is vash overcoming his trauma. Trying to, anyway. 

Which is what also makes the ending of trimax so. So utterly vash. Because he says fuck this there’s another way, and it happens in a split second when he has to decide if he really and truly wants his brother dead. His trauma!! Does he want to overcome it like this!! With violence and blood and the corpse of nai rotting in the ground!! 

No. the answer’s no. 

He saves knives. He declares that even though nai has done all of these things to him, he still doesn’t have it in him to kill his brother. And that’s a way of coping with trauma, too, isn’t it? The declaration that you won’t let it rule you. Won’t let it dictate what you do anymore, how you live your life. It makes me so, so fuckin emotional ;-; 

Anyway, thanks for the ask! Didn’t touch on the plant body horror as much because i haven’t. Uh. read enough of trimax to properly talk about all that. My reading order is a little unhinged. Hope it satisfied regardless <3

#trigun stampede #trigun maximum #trigun meta #vash the stampede

[marvelmaniac715]

This fic comes from a dream I had where Chucky was actually trying to be a good parent. I know, Chucky actually trying to be a good dad? It has to be non-canon, right? I’ve forgotten most of the dream, but I remembered this tiny bit of it, and because I’m a sucker for Chucky and Glenda’s dynamic, I’ve decided to write it down. Oh yeah, and I gave Nica/Chucky their limbs back, because I don’t think this will work without arms or legs.

————————————————————-

Glenda winced as they accidentally sliced their finger. As blood began to seep out of the shallow cut, the teen was even more confused when the person in front of them- Nica- began… having a breakdown? It wasn’t quite clear, but after a few seconds, she sat up straight, but her posture was entirely different. There was also something slightly different about her face, it was almost as if there was someone else inside of her body. 

To further back up this theory, ‘Nica’ spoke, but their voice was rougher, less feminine. Making eye contact with Glenda, they asked in surprise:

“Glenda?”

Not quite sure what was happening, Glenda just nodded, deeply confused because didn’t they already confirm what their name was? At the nod, ‘Nica’ (was it Nica? It didn’t seem like Nica, so Glenda decided to refer to whoever this was as Person Two for now) grinned and walked tentatively towards the teen, beginning to raise their arms before changing their mind at the last second. Instead, they cautiously asked:

“Can- can I hug you? Would that be okay?”

Glenda smiled awkwardly and walked towards Person Two, nodding in confirmation. Immediately, Person Two closed the distance between them and wrapped their arms around Glenda, one hand carded through the teen’s short red hair whilst the other rested lightly on their back. It was a nice moment, and for some reason, Glenda immediately recognised the gesture as something along the lines of parental affection. For a relatively touch-starved teenager, this sort of hug combined with the parental feelings attributed to it was something they secretly loved and didn’t want to end. But just as it began to feel comfortable, Person Two’s arms tightened around Glenda as they mused aloud:

“Wait, I’m awake, and the main trigger is… so that would mean…”

Immediately, the hug ended as Person Two immediately pulled away and frantically looked Glenda up and down for signs of… something. Then, they took hold of Glenda’s hand, the one that was still actively bleeding, and gasped. Their eyes landed on the blade resting on a nearby table, and some kind of realisation seemed to wash over them. Then their focus was back on Glenda, and the teen was given a reproachful stare that somehow seemed more meaningful than their mother’s more half-hearted attempts at discipline over the years.

In a mildly exasperated tone, Person Two admonished:

“Glenda, did nobody ever teach you to be careful around knives? Accidents can happen, people can get hurt. It’s wonderful to see you again but it shouldn’t have to be because-‘

Because what exactly Glenda never learned, because this borderline stranger guided them to the bathroom with a determined expression on their face. Once there, Glenda was instructed to sit down on the edge of the bathtub whilst Person Two rifled through drawers to find a first aid kit. It took a little while, but once they found it, they held it up with a triumphant grin, immediately tearing it open and searching for disinfectant spray and bandages. 

Glenda tried to weakly protest that it was nothing, and that a band-aid at most was all that they needed, but Person Two shook their head and insisted:

“No, no, this is the least I can do. Let me help, kid. I have experience with this kinda stuff.”

True to their word, Person Two immediately set about rinsing the cut with a paper towel and warm water, apologising ever time the teen winced in discomfort and giving them a reassuring hand squeeze. Then, they uncapped the disinfectant spray and briefly warned:

“Brace yourself for a second, this might hurt, but it’ll be worth it.”

The warning was very much appreciated, because when the spray hit the cut, Glenda felt like their hand was on fire, and they yanked it back abruptly with a soft yelp. Person Two offered them another reproachful stare and wordlessly held out an expectant hand, leading Glenda to immediately place their still bleeding hand in their’s.

As Person Two finished wrapping and tying the bandages, with a band-aid underneath, they smiled at Glenda and asked:

“There, now how much better does that feel, huh?”

Glenda grinned in relief, because it really did feel a lot better, and nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. Then their survival instincts kicked back in, and they asked what really should have been the obvious question from the start.

“Wait, who are you?”

Person Two tried to change the subject, but when Glenda fixed them with a reproachful stare of their own, they admitted in a voice that was barely above a whisper:

“I’m Chucky, and I’m… your dad.”

Glenda shook their head in disbelief, unable to do anything except repeatedly mutter the word ‘no’ under their breath. A hand on their shoulder snapped them back into reality as they said the first thing that came to mind: 

“No, you can’t be. My dad bailed when Glen and I were babies, mom said he was an asshole who didn’t care about us, but you’ve been so nice… you can’t be my dad.”

Person Two (or Chucky, as he was apparently called) shook his head adamantly and rushed to explain himself.

“I didn’t want to leave, you have to understand that. Your mom and I… had our differences, and we still do, but it doesn’t mean that either of us love you or your twin any less. I didn’t know where you guys were, and your mom wouldn’t tell me. I tried to get in contact, you have to believe me. But when I found your mom again, you were both off at school, it’s just been a long string of bad timing and unfortunate circumstances.”

He paused for a moment to let this sink in, then he tentatively cupped Glenda’s cheek with his hand and said again:

“I didn’t want to leave.”

Glenda didn’t know how to feel. Their whole perception of their mother, of their entire family, was beginning to crumble. But their father seemed genuine, and they were exhausted from the bombshell revelation that their father loved them. So they gave in to the childish impulse inside of them to lean into the only taste of paternal affection that they’d ever experienced, savouring the moment for as long as it lasted.

————————————————————-

Chucky was still new to the whole ‘being a decent parent’ thing, but after his catastrophic attempts to interact with Glen, he took a good long look at himself in the mirror and asked himself: was this really the type of father he wanted to be? A father that terrified his children and had no bond with them whatsoever? It wasn’t even a question for him. That wasn’t the sort of man- the sort of father that he wanted to be.

He had years to reevaluate his memories of the twins, and the more he thought about how he’d handled things, the worse he felt. After a few years of analysing where he’d went wrong, he began to feel genuinely sick to his stomach whenever he saw his kid quivering in terror… because of him. He made himself promise that if he saw the twins again, he’d do his best to be a decent father, no matter what it would take. 

He wasn’t entirely prepared to talk to Glenda after all that time, but when he saw the cut on their finger, all of his dormant fatherly instincts that he didn’t even know he had kicked in. Did he handle things in the best way? No. Did Glenda seem confused and mildly traumatised as a result? Unfortunately, yes. But Chucky figured that tending to his child’s injuries and proving to them that he was not a threat was a decent start when it came to establishing a bond between them.

#chucky #chucky series #childs play #seed of chucky #charles lee ray #tiffany valentine #glen ray #glenda ray #nica pierce #horror #fanfiction #fluff

[abeltownshipslittlebitch]

Can I hear about some of your Tom/5 headcanons? It's my favourite rarepair 🥰

Yes yes yes yes yes!

Okay so like I have a lot of random things for Tom/5. Headcanons are under the cut.

TW: Mentions of torture from ZR canon events, mentions of scars, nightmares, brief mention of sex (nothing explicit), thoughts of murder (idk if that’s needed for this fandom but still), medication and mental health.

I think that’s it. Let me know if I missed anything.

My personal 5 is an amazing cook, so I always like to say that 5 makes Tom cookies or sweet bread or just anything when she (my 5 uses she/her pronouns but replace them with whichever you prefer) thinks Tom might need a little pick me up.

Seeing how it’s canon that 5 collects random stuff, Tom has definitely given 5 little trinkets he found while out on runs. Even before they got together.

While out for runs and choosing weapons, Five prefers an ax or a gun. Tom prefers knives.

Tom, 5 and Peter all meet up on nights they can’t sleep. Peter and Tom will probably smoke a stale cigarette. 5 probably drinks. (Those three are a bunch of besties and I will stand by it.)

I always hc Tom as either demisexual or graysexual so IF he and 5 ever have sex it’s not until a long time into their relationship. Also you can bet your ass it’s very sweet and soft.

Like Janine, Tom knows multiple languages. He has tried to teach 5 one of the many he knows (take your pick. I personally think he’s try to teach 5 French.) He doesn’t think they’re going that well/doesn’t think 5 is really interested in learning until he overhears her practicing vocabulary in the township library and the man just melts.

Because Tom is canonically on medication I say that if 5 also has to take medication (for my 5 it would be anti-depressants) he is the one that makes sure 5 remembers to take them.

The first gift 5 ever gave Tom (besides cookies) is a pair of very soft pajamas because Tom deserves some comfort and softness.

5 and Tom practice sparring and hand-to-hand combat. Tom wins 9/10 the man is a trained MI6 agent what did you expect.

During said practice, he’s the one who calls it quits first because 5 is horribly competitive and will literally keep demanding to go again even if she’s very tired or injured because she hates losing.

“If anything happens to them, I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself.” Except that’s both of them in their relationship.

Tom knows a shit ton of classic literature so of course he’s recited it to 5 by heart.

5 hates the cold so Tom always brings an extra jacket just in case it’s needed.

Whenever Tom’s nightmares gets too bad because he’s dreaming about being back in prison in Algeria with those guards and he wakes up, too scared to go back to sleep, 5 will stay up with him and make up the random stories to help calm him down.

When it comes time for Tom’s birthday, 5 will literally risk it all to get him the nicest things possibly even if it means running into a store full of zombies. Tom deserves nice things and damn it 5 is going to make sure he gets them.

Someone made 5 cry once. Tom had to remind himself that even being the brother of the township’s leader wouldn’t keep him from being charged with murder. Even then he still thought about it.

Tom and 5 are both incredibly touch starved, so the cuddle sessions are immaculate.

Because of all the scars Tom has using his time in Algeria, he wears long sleeves constantly. Cue 5 always have water bottles to make sure he doesn’t get dehydrated and have a heatstroke during the summer.

Speaking of Tom scars, if someone says so much as a word about them to Tom, 5 will try to stab a bitch. Tom has had to drag 5 away from a fight more than once. Same goes for if anyone treats Tom differently because of his mental healthy issues.

Because of the height difference, Tom usually gives forehead kisses and 5 usually gives chin kisses.

Even with the height difference, they take turns on who is the big spoon and little spoon.

Neither of them have the same taste in music but they will listen to each other’s favorite songs because it’s their favorite songs and what kind of partner would they be if they didn’t know the lyrics to their partner’s favorite songs?

Tom’s favorite color is navy blue or forest green. So you can bet your ass 5 will give him trinkets she found that are in that color.

5 has a stuffed animal or something of that nature (for my 5 it’s a Winnie the Pooh plushy because childhood nostalgia) and when 5 is away for a mission longer than a day you can bet Tom will guard that thing with his life.

Overall they are very sweet and in love and they would die for each other and kill for each other if they needed to.

#zombies run #zr #zr ask #five/tom #runner five #runners five #Tom de luca #Tom de luca my beloved #I love this ship so much

[dazzle-writes]

Hey! I saw you had match up open and I almost jumped for you seeing trigun on that list and I practically ran to your asks to send this.

So obvious I'd like a trigun match up (any type/timeline is fine) and possibly headcanons!

I am a adult male and I have albinism. I have purple/pink eyes, white really messy hair and pale skin. I am the holder of adhd and autism and love to collect random trinkets like rocks, feathers or just like a fistfull of moss and keep it. I'm a pretty lone liver and like to have my own quiet time but I seek out people who can respect my boundaries in when I do and don't want to be touched, be around noise or people. I am a gardening student and I love learning about different flora and plants and what good they do in gardens or forests or how they can be used as simple remedies like sore throaths or headaches. I like to travel and hike but at nights I like to just take a moment to breathe and adore the surrounding. Also I'm a big fan of cuddling even tho I'm not a fan of much touching, cuddling is for the level 10 friendship only. Idk what else to put here but sorry if there is writing mistakes, English is not my first language and I'm super excited

- Moon

(Don't worry I also saw the second ask!!)

omg I've been WAITING to see someone I could match up with my pookie tristamp Knives and its YOU!!!

~I think you'd both stare at each other for a few long seconds and he's internally going "Is that me? Is that my reflection?" because he has never seen a human with albinism before!!! Your relationship definitely starts out more clinical, he wants to observe you a lot because he lies to tells himself that since you're so different, you must be used in the doctor's experiments!!

~he takes one look at your eyes and goes "Nope, this one is Mine To Observe" and tells people its because you look so much like a Plant he wonders if you have any Plant heritage. Nobody believes him, but who's going to call Knives out? He wants to learn EVERYTHING about you, and also understands the need for quiet time. Sometimes he will just. Stand and leave. Because he needs a break.

~Loves learning about autism from you

~Quickly learns that he has autism from this very fact

~(I see you say "holder" and have a signoff so I'm assuming you're part of a system!! If that's not true then pardon my ignorance!!) You explain to him what D.I.D. is and what you hold and he goes "what" and immediately needs to leave and process. (If you tell me more about others alters I'll make a part two with how he interacts with them!! ;).) He comes back with a million questions which makes you need a break and just. Its a long game of phone tag with the Tism Social Timer.

~When you explain what flora is and that you are a gardening student, it's all over. He falls right then and there. Hard. And in denial.

~He does mess up a lot, so be patient with him!! He is navigating so many new territories with you and his own emotions.

~Always speaks softly to you, but his tone is always stern.

~Will occasionally just. Stare. He likes looking at you.

~Introduced you to his sisters and god they thought you were one of them. I hc that Plants make noises like birds or dolphins but smoother and softer and the just are like OwO?!?! Is he one of us?!?! And they chirp at you and freak you out a bit.

~Knives is very touch starved but also cannot stand touch if not with someone very close. He loves to lie with you in bed and hold pinkies.

~His face is always kinda neutral? Don't take it personally.

~He kinda starts slowing down on his violence once he meets you, and just steals plants and leaves instead of Murdering Everyone, but starts to collect little things for you because of your crow-habits.

~Once yall are close enough, he cuddles you in his blade snuggie. He loves leaning up against the bedframe with you on top so he can put his head on your head.

~Possesive of you when you aren't around. If someone mentions you he eithers threatens them with bodily harm for being close to you or begs commands them to tell him what they know about you.

~Is not unreasonable, if someone talks to you/touches you without knowing you are taken and you correct them he gets butterflies because omg you like him so much and you only wanna be his-

~If they disrespect your boundaries? Game over. They become the doctors newest subject.

nsfw!!!!

~This hoe is a big ass VIRGIN

~Eveyone is always like "omg hes so top and dom and sex god" Knives has never seen a human penis in his life and has no clue what to do.

~Very clinical and experimental at first!! Like slearning what works for you both

~It would please him greatly if this man can cockwarm pLEASE LET HIM-

~no noise except for gasps and asking questions

~Medium sex drive, but never initiates. Always teases that you humans are so "carnal" and only he can truly make you feel like this.

~Surprisingly talkative? He'll be telling you about his day and jerking you off at the same time. There's a pop quiz at the end. Once he gets more into sex and anything kinky he will punish you if you don't answer correctly.

~Gets more playful once he gets intimate like that. Occasionally grabs your ass and just??? Walks away???

~Starts to wear his blade snuggie more because his body is for YOU babes.

~Plant genetalia is weird because he has? Both? And it all glows?

~Definitely has glowing cum.

~Plant do have a mating cycle where they go through "Blooming" season. Gets really clingy and irritable from Plant hormones, so be gentle with him.

AHHHHHH I hope you enjoyed!!!!!!

#millions knives x reader #matchups #tristamp #trigun #razz writes

[aeroargonic]

After last question Eclipseshipping does sound fun even if the only thing I can remember about Shade is S4, have you got any headcanons? (Either the charas alone or the shipping itself)

Here's some character headcanons:

He's a bisexual disaster. Has had crushes on both Kai and Nya.

The same age bracket as the ninja.

He grew up in the slums of Ninjago City, very poor.

Man has an iron stomach, he can and will eat anything.

A god at makeup. Go to him if you want your eye shadow to look amazing.

He can be rather flirty once he gets comfortable around others, might take him a while to reach that point.

Touch starved, though he won't admit it.

A twink (lol)

Collects knives because he thinks it makes him look cool and edgy.

Taught himself lockpicking as a kid also in an attempt to be cool and edgy, but really he was just trying to impress a crush.

Ace-bi solidarity with Neuro. Also really gets along with Tox. Has a a playful rivalry with Griffin; they race a lot.

Cannot cook without setting something on fire.

Loves animals, especially cats.

For eclipseshipping headcanons:

Kai loves using PDA to get a ride out of Shade. Shade pretends to hate it, secretly loves it.

Kai is almost always stuck being the big spoon because Shade just likes being cuddled.

Kai loves using pet names and only uses actual names when being serious. Likewise, Shade only uses pet names when being serious.

They do each other's makeup.

Kai is always the one who has to drag Shade out of the house.

Shade is over at the monastery pretty much all the time. Everyone just rolls with it.

Shade's love language is drawing pictures for Kai. Kai keeps each and every one of them.

Shade is the only person allowed to touch Kai's hair, and that's only when Kai is in a good mood.

Between the two of them, they own so much hair gel.

They don't go too public with their relationship because they're not super comfortable with the spotlight.

Nya is their number one supporter.

#ninjago #ninjago shade #eclipseshipping

[visceravalentines]

So this fic reached 1000 hits on AO3 today...I’m absolutely blown away by the response I’ve received from that community and this one.  I stopped writing for a long time and could never start back up again, in large part because I was afraid it wouldn’t be good enough for anyone to read and enjoy.  Anyway, thank you all for proving me wrong and here’s the next part a few days early. 💚

Don’t Fear the Reaper:  Chapter 4

Rating:  Mature

Length:  2.4k

CW:  manhandling, knives, law enforcement

Reader POV

The Shape stands in the doorway of your kitchen while you assess the state of your pantry.

It is a baffling feeling, doing something so mundane with Death mere feet away. You move aside the crackers. His weight shifts subtly on the floor. You pull butter from the fridge. The knife shines in his hand. You fill a pot with water. He looms in the corner of your eye like a specter. You think you might lose your mind before he decides to kill you. The way he watches you, it almost seems like he expects the same.

The silence as you start water boiling is oppressive. You don’t like the silence. You always have music playing or a podcast or – God, what a cliché – a horror movie in the background. Now the silence has eyes and a crushing grip you have become intimately familiar with. It feels like your throbbing neck may snap under the weight of your skull.

You make boxed macaroni and cheese. It is not a culinary masterpiece, but you deserve a break, maybe just one, maybe your last one. You are well aware that his standards are not high either way. You remember the size of his appetite from this morning so you dump two boxes of pasta into the water. When you turn to take two full bowls to the table, he is blocking your way.

You stare at him for a long time, a waking nightmare in your kitchen. “Could you…go sit down? Please?”

He pivots back out of the doorway to let you pass instead.

You set the bowls down across from each other and sit. He watches you, doesn’t move for so long it makes your breath heavy, then at last he sits as well. You have a split second to wonder where the knife went before he drives it into the tabletop near him. The sound launches you out of your skin and you almost scream. Several seconds pass before you realize he is waiting for you to start eating before he does. Once you take a bite or two, he surreptitiously slides the mask up and tucks in.

Even though he starts after you, he finishes first, pulls the mask back down, and then sets his palms flat against the tabletop on either side of his bowl. You are simultaneously starving and sick to your stomach, but you force noodles down your bruised throat. You have to take care of yourself. That’s what this is all about.

“Can we…set some ground rules?” you ask, looking at him sidelong. He cocks his head, just a little. “I can agree to cook twice a day…but I have to go to work – ”

His fist slams sharply on the table.

You flinch, recover. “Okay, I can take some time off.”

He stares at you. You push your macaroni away.

“You need somewhere to sleep. The guest room might be the most comfortable…the most private….”

He continues to stare.

You hesitate for a moment. “How are you feeling? I can check your wounds again, if you want.”

He does not reply. His gaze is a force. How are you going to do this?

Carefully you rise to your feet and collect both bowls. He turns his head to watch you but does not get up as you take them into the kitchen and set them in the sink.

When you turn around, he is in the doorway again. You’re getting used to him already; you almost expected it. It does not escape you that he has left the knife in the dining room. He approaches you and takes the edge of his mask in his hands. He pulls it up to his nose again, exposing his swollen jaw, that purple bruise. You are reaching to touch it when you stop and remember the last time you tried to touch him without permission.

“May I?”

When he takes your wrist in a grasp that is firm, but not painful, you nearly stop breathing. When he brings your hand to his face and sets your fingers lightly on his jaw, you do stop breathing.

“I think it might be fractured,” you tell him. “I can check…it might hurt. I promise I don’t mean to hurt you.”

With the utmost caution, you palpate the swelling. The growl that rumbles through his chest at the pain is a warning.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you realize you mean it. You’ve never been a fan of physicals yourself. “The best thing would be a hospital, but I guess that’s out of the question.”

You raise your other hand carefully to the other side of his face and gently feel the joints of his mandible. The stubble of a five o’clock shadow rustles under your fingertips. You realize he can’t be many years older than you. Your eyes are drawn to his lips, soft pink and perfectly symmetrical. “One more test…can you open your mouth and bite down so I can see your teeth? I need to make sure your jaw is moving correctly.”

He obliges. You are enthralled by his teeth. They are…incredibly normal, and seem to line up just fine. You draw your hands back as though pulling them from a trap ready to spring.

“Well, the best I can do is ice and ibuprofen.” You get him an ice pack while he repositions the mask. He holds it awkwardly to his jaw. When you offer him the painkillers, he shoots daggers at you and ignores them. That tracks, you suppose, with a childhood spent pumped full of medication.

You walk past him to the living room. Each time you creep by him, your chest tightens. Moving through your house feels like climbing the basement stairs in your childhood home; at any moment, the monster will grab you. Ironically, as you head upstairs to make sure there are pillows on the mass murderer’s bed, he is at your heels every step of the way, his breathing like a finger pressing on the panic button of your amygdala:  the living, breathing Boogeyman.

“This is the guest room,” you murmur, switching on the light. It doesn’t get much use, but the room is clean and welcoming, decorated with art prints of local birds and landmarks. There are indeed pillows on the bed. “Personal space is important to you, I think,” you say despite the fact his chest is almost nudging your shoulder as he crowds you in the doorway. “This can be your space. I won’t come in here.”

You chance a sidelong glance back and up. He gives the room a cursory scan and then the mask twists to look down at you. Awkwardly you squeeze past him back into the hallway. “I would…request…the same courtesy from you,” you say slowly, backing into your bedroom. He advances on you, matching you step for step, stopping at the threshold. “This is my room. I would appreciate it if you would…stay out of it.”

His eyes glitter. He quite literally toes the line. His hand snakes around the doorframe and he flips the light switch, throwing the room into darkness.

Your heart hammers. His hulking silhouette is backlit by the hall light. He flicks the light back on and you flinch. That mask is expressionless but you would bet every dollar in your savings account the motherfucker is smirking beneath the latex. He flips the light off again and you wonder if you should just save the both of you the trouble and walk into his blade.

The doorbell rings.

You gasp sharply enough to cut a windpipe. He does not move and yet he somehow grows larger, even more imposing. He is no longer playing with you.

You shake your head almost imperceptibly. “I’m not – “

The doorbell rings again, this time accompanied by a firm knocking. “Haddonfield Sheriff’s Department!  Open up!”

Your eyes widen. “I have to answer,” you whisper. He bristles. “I have to. Or they’ll just come in.”

The pounding on the door picks up again. From somewhere deep inside, you find the courage to step towards the Shape. “Come with me if you want,” you say, “but stay back.”

He melts into the shadows. You feel something akin to relief. You rush down the stairs so fast you miss half the steps and throw open the front door.

Both of the cops from yesterday stand on your doorstep. “Hello, officers,” you say, trying to steady your breathing.

“Nice to see you again,” one of them says. “We thought you might need this.” He proffers your phone.

“Oh. Yeah…thank you.” You hesitate before taking it. How would he perceive this?

One of the cops says something. The words don’t quite cut through the fog. You think she asked if you’re okay.

“I – I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

The officers exchange a glance. “Your neighbor was murdered. That would rattle just about anyone, I would expect.”

“Yeah,” you say lamely. “I mean, I didn’t…know her very well.”

“Just her cat.”

“Um…yeah.”

“Do you live here alone?”

“…yes.”

They look at you for a long time, sizing up your dubious emotional state. Can they smell the smoke on your clothes? You note the names printed on their uniforms:  Beckett and Flores. You aren’t sure where he is; you cannot see him anywhere in your periphery. But you can feel those eyes on you. You know he is listening. Still, the thought crosses your mind, darts by behind your eyes like a cat bolting across the street in front of a car.

All you have to do is mouth the words.

Help me.

He’s here.

If you make a run for it, he’ll probably kill the cops. But you might make it. You don’t have your car keys. How fast can you run? How fast can he run?

How many people are you willing to set in between you and him?

“Is there anything else you need?” Flores asks. Her eyebrows are knit together. You imagine she has seen her fair share of victims trying to play it cool. She suspects something.

Hand over hand, you reel a hoarse, weary chuckle up out of your hammered voice box. “Just some sleep, I think. Thank you for bringing my phone.”

Beckett looks ready to leave. Flores is not so sure. “Are you able to take some time off work? Maybe go stay with someone?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m actually – my sister is coming to stay. She’s…on her way right now.”

“Well, we’ll let you go then,” Beckett says.

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything,” Flores adds.

“I will, absolutely, I will. Thanks again.” You shut the door at what you hope is a normal speed.

When you turn, you spy him immediately, standing in the back of the kitchen like he’s a fucking household appliance. How did they not see him?

“I assume you heard all that,” you say.

He does not move.

“I hope you understand this is a give and take.” The boldness of your own words flips your stomach, but you don’t care anymore. Your nerves are beyond frayed. You need to make sure he understands this arrangement, otherwise you may just run screaming out the door and you’ll both have to deal with the consequences.

He cocks his head.

“I don’t give you up and you don’t kill me. That’s the deal.”

He starts towards you. Slowly, like he’s taking an evening stroll.

“That’s the deal!” you repeat emphatically. “I give you a place where you can live like a human being – ”

He is ten feet away.

“ – instead of some kind of wild animal – ”

Five feet.

“ – and in return you don’t – ”

He closes the last few feet in a sudden burst of speed and the knife in his hand buries itself in the door so close to your stomach it pins your shirt to the wood. Simultaneously you scream and suppress the scream and it becomes a grating sort of shriek. He towers over you, standing so close you can see the individual threads of his coveralls, can make out the red in the dingy purple-brown of dried bloodstains. His breathing is infuriatingly even. The wheeze of his collapsed lung is minimal. He is completely in control, of himself, of you.

He takes your phone from your hand. His fingers brush yours and they are warm.

He's going to kill you.

You’re going to die.

If not in this moment, maybe the next.

The tears break loose and roll down your face. You peer up at him. The mask, blurry, is impassive, still splattered with someone’s blood. His eyes are ablaze and they are locked on you. Your little threats don’t scare him. Your attempts to fabricate an equal trade are, will always be, futile. Because you cannot satisfy him with comforts he has never required. You cannot fill a need he does not have. You are alive only because he has not killed you.

Do not mistake this for mercy. It is convenience. It is curiosity. It is control.

Every breath you draw belongs to him.

You belong to him.

As if he can read your thoughts, as if to underscore this conclusion you have finally come to, he dips and grabs you around the legs to hoist you off the ground, toss you over his shoulder. Your shirt stretches and tears against the blade of the knife he has not yet used on you. You weep as he climbs the stairs, your weight apparently inconsequential.

He takes you to your bedroom. He does not put you on the bed. He puts you back in the closet. You are far too exhausted to even put up a fight when he dumps you on the ground amongst your shoes and shuts the door.

When he turns out the light, a sliver of silvery moonlight still stretches under the door from the window. That is, until he stretches out on the ground in front of the door. His body sends you into complete darkness.

You sit, sniveling, hugging your knees to your chest, until time melts away and your legs are completely numb and your brain pushes you into blessed unconsciousness.

Taglist:  @daybreakmistakes

#my writing #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers fanfic #michael myers fanfiction #halloween fanfiction #slasher fanfiction

[joyfuladorable]

Tagged by @maxwellshimbo in this post

Share your wallpaper: On my laptop, it's this awesome art I got from @/kosakashuntaro; and on my tablet and phone, the lock and home screens are the respective pieces from this fic fanart I made cuz I can and will be proud of the shit I make!! (and also cuz Rise Capril is my current otp, lol)

Last song you listened to: According to my playlist, it was I’m Here to Stay by Ty Lemley? Sometimes, I download songs cuz I hear them from media I like and then forget where I got em from cuz it just gets thrown in my endless shuffle playlist. It’s got a nice swaying tone and also is from 1963 apparently??? So, I’m gonna assume it’s from the ending credits of a WWDITS ep

Currently reading: Rereading the fic Pretend that I Never Left because it's one of my favorite 2k3 Mikey fics!!

Last movie you watched: In theaters, it was Everything Everywhere All at Once, which was absolutely Magical to Experience. But just in general, uh, I think it was the Rise movie? Or maybe Knives Out/Glass Onion?? I don't watch many movies, lol

Craving: A hug from a loved one! I'm incredibly touch-starved and cope by having fictional characters be platonically affectionate for me...

What are you wearing right now: Comfy house clothes for mild weather

How tall are you: 5'3"

Piercings: Double lobe piercings!

Tattoos: Eventually!

Glasses? Contacts?: Proud and eternal glasses-wearer✌🏼✌🏼

Last drink: My siblings tried to get me to drink a lychee-flavored alcohol on my b-day, and I took a single sip, made a face cuz it tasted like medicine, and put it down, lmao. Alcohol is Not for me!

Last thing I ate: Cereal for dinner

Last show: Rewatched Rise, but only the Casey episodes ;P

Favorite color: Any purple and pastel/golden yellows

Current obsession: TMNT, reignited from the constantly burning embers of my teen years

Unrelated obsession: Unrelated to my current obsession, or just non-fandom related?? Uhhh, short-sleeved button ups with neat patterns, I guess

Any pets: Nope! I long for a precious kitty, but I am very much Allergic (mildly) and live in a household not suited for one

Do you have a crush on anyone: Lol, Absolutely Not!! I do follow a bunch of artists (writers, included) who I will OwO at cuz their art is so good and I wanna SCREAM about it in a totally normal way

Favorite fictional characters: Currently, it's 2k3 Mikey, Rise Casey Jones (Sr), and Laika from Dames and Dragons

The last place you traveled to: Off Island? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Oregon??? Pre-pandemic, for sure

Tagging (only if you wanna do it! no pressure!!): @redstringraven @forestwhisper3 and @lollyholly99

#tag game #aww this is nostalgic #used to do these a lot on deviantart and during my early tumblr years #also I’m assuming I’m supposed to tag like 10 folks but #I won’t uwu #finishing this tag meme instead of sleeping cuz once again #I have woken up at 4AM and am Struggling to go back to sleep #also coincidentally I got tagged in another meme yesterday #which I will wait to do since it asks some of the same questions