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luveline · 5 months

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hi bae, just wondering if you could write something like roommate!marauders and reader with anxiety where everytime one of them goes out she gets really worried that’s somethings gonna happen to them and waits up for them and just feels like a burden when she calls to make sure they’re alright and just general anxiety things and them being so sweet about it

love u

love u too♡

cw death related anxiety

“Hey, Remus?” you ask tentatively.

Your housemate lays across the sofa with his dinner half eaten on the coffee table and a book tented on his chest. He's ignoring both in favour of the television, a rerun of Family Fortunes turning the sofa cushions and his pale skin a light blue.

He drags his blue-tinged gaze from the subtitles to your frowning. “What's wrong?” he asks. You're surprised he heard you over the sound of Sirius’ stereo echoing down the stairs.

“Where did James say he was going?”

“I think he said he'd be at the gym for an hour now he's not in work. Want me to call him?”

“Why would you call him?” you ask, instead of saying yes, please, like you want to.

“You're worrying again.”

They know how you are. It doesn't mean they have to understand —it isn't logical to think James is hurt because he hasn't been home today yet, and none of them are required to humour you in your worry, but they always do.

You feel sick as he takes his phone from his pocket. You've convinced yourself that James is dead, that his car curled around a bend too quickly on the drive in the rain, or that something happened at the gym, or that he never made it there at all, had a fit in the car park outside of work. Even as you think it, you know it's implausible, unlikely, just a repetitive negative anxiety worming its way into your head, but you can't make it stop.

James doesn't answer the first time, which doesn't help, and then when he does answer the second time you're waiting for bad news. Remus smiles as he talks. “Hello? Jamie?”

James doesn't need speak phone to be heard. “Remus! I'm at the gym, what's happening?”

Remus wrinkles his nose. “What's happening? Since when do you say that?”

“What's up?” James corrects. “I'm on my way out of the gym, can you talk? You can keep me company while I drive.”

Remus holds out the phone to you.

“Remus?” James asks into the room. You take the phone before he can hang up, and decide to be honest, but the words get stuck like toffee between your teeth. “Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, sending Remus a grateful look. He moves over to make room on settee for you, and his arm wraps familiarly around your shoulders as you settle in. He turns his attention back to his show.

“Oh my god hey, angel. Remus okay?”

“I was making him ring you, sorry. I thought… you know what I'm like. It's getting late and you aren't home, and I know I don't have the right to pester you about where you are.”

“Yeah you do,” James says, his voice louder, like his mouth is very close to the microphone. “Course you do. I'd worry too if you weren't home yet.”

“I do this all the time, though.”

Just last week he and Sirius were out late and you'd panicked that they'd both been hurt. You stayed up until almost one in the morning waiting for them to get home from a music shop in the city, each minute after eleven like a shot of ice water in your veins. Sirius jumped when he saw you waiting in the living room, but then he'd given you a hug and rubbed at your shoulders roughly. You didn't wait up for us, did you?

“It's worse lately, yeah?” James asks. You hum non-committal, and Remus gives you a squeeze in typical Remus fashion. You hadn't even realised he was listening, but his support makes this easier. “You're worrying about us more.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don't know why. And it sucks because I know it's making me a lot to deal with.”

“I would one thousand percent prefer it if you rang me then sat there worrying. That would make me feel better. And Remus and Sirius feel the same way, okay? We could all stand to ring each other a bit more anyways.”

You rub your nose into your hand. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“There's no need to be. I love you, ‘n I just want you to be happy. If a phone call can make that happen then why shouldn't you do it? And it's not like they're a big imposition, I like talking to you. We all do.”

James is home from the gym what could only be ten minutes later, and he leans over the back of the settee to kiss your forehead chasely. “Here we are, all safe and well.”

“You haven't seen Sirius yet,” Remus points out.

“I can bloody well hear him. What is he listening to? Is that U2?” James shakes his head in disgust. “I can see why you were so worried I wasn't coming home. Let me go put a stop to that immediately.”

#the marauders #marauders #poly marauders #poly!marauders #poly marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fic #james potter fic #the marauders x reader #the marauders x fem!reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #sirius black x reader implied is

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steventhusiast · 5 months

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STWG daily prompt 7/12/23 (i'm late to this)

prompt: black eye

pairing/character(s): steddie

this is part 2, read part 1 here

"Yeah, I'm here. I got you, sweetheart."

Eddie's words bring about a lopsided smile to Steve's face, and then his eyes drift back to being closed. He doesn't look like he's asleep, but he's definitely not all there. Distantly, Eddie wonders what good shit they've got Steve on for him to not be sobbing in pain at every movement right now. His black eye is.. difficult to look at.

Once again, Eddie wonders what the fuck happened in the past forty eight hours. He turns to Buckley.

"What happened?" He asks, and Robin narrows her eyes and looks ready to attempt to interrogate him again, so he's quick to continue, "I- I know you have questions, but for now can you just accept that I'm here because I care about him?"

He hopes she ignores the way he's still absently rubbing his thumb in a back-and-forth motion over Steve's arm. Hopes that for now she can dismiss the casual intimacy, and not question why Eddie's one of Steve's emergency contacts. Not while Steve lacks the therewithal to make a decision about coming out or not.

Still looking suspicious, she nods once, and casts a glance to the other side of the room, where the two younger kids are sat together. Eddie follows her gaze to see the young girl is asleep, head resting on Dustin's arm, and Dustin has his eyes resolutely on the door, like he's waiting for a monster to burst through it. He doesn't look fully there.

"We were just finishing the closing duties at work and," Robin starts, and then pauses like she's going over the details in her head, "and there was a late shipment we had to put away in the freezers, but then a fire broke out and we got trapped."

Buckley is a lot of things, but a good liar isn't one of them. Even if she was a good liar, Eddie knows things that make that one sound implausible. Steve hasn't been missing for just one night. It's been two nights. What the fuck happened before the fire? And that's not even considering the logistics of Steve's injuries and how they happened.

"Don't bullshit me." Eddie says quietly, looking down at Steve again, "That makes no sense and you know it. Are you seriously telling me a fire give Steve a black eye and a concussion? These kids just happened to be there?"

His words have Robin looking incredibly nervous, and Dustin straightens a little where he's sat, looking to be actively listening for the first time since Eddie entered the room.

"You have to shut up, man. I don't know who you are, but it. Was. Just. A. Fire." Dustin says, eyes determined, but scared.

"I'm Eddie." Eddie pauses, considering a new possibility that frightens him even more than Steve's injuries, "Did you guys.. Did you get threatened? Whoever did this," he gestures at Steve's face, "are they making you stay quiet? I can help you. I know people."

Dustin sighs and goes back to watching the door, the frightened look in his eyes becoming something haunted. Robin bites her lip, and Steve cracks open his good eye to look at Eddie, tears welling up.

"They w're- Eds, you gotta j'st- leave it be." He tells him, and a tear slips out and down his face, no doubt causing the scratches on his face to sting.

"Stevie. Please. Who hurt you?" Eddie whispers, tears blurring his vision now as he truly takes in his boyfriend. He feels helpless, and he can't even provide comfort the way he wants to because it might not be safe. He doesn't know Robin, not truly. And he doesn't know the kids at all.

Steve makes the decision for him, lifting one shaking, weak hand to clumsily wipe away a tear that's escaped.

"'s okay, Teddy. L've you." He says, and Eddie hates himself a bit. Because Steve's trying to comfort him while he's laying in a hospital bed. Eddie raises his hand to cover Steve's where it still rests on his cheek, supporting and holding it there.

"I love you too." He whispers back after a harsh sniffle, and hears Robin beside him making a noise of understanding.

"Oh, you're his- right." She mumbles to herself, shooting Steve a look to which he gives her a slight smile of confirmation. Eddie raises his eyebrows at the implication. Steve had come out to her?

"Yeah. And if you have a problem with it, well. Like I said, I know people." He tells her, putting on his best bitchy smile as he slowly puts Steve's hand back to rest on the bed. He ignores Steve's noise of complaint to keep eye contact with Robin. He hopes he's being intimidating.

"No need for all that. I know Dorothy too." Robin replies, and Eddie just nods. Feels a bit of the fear inside him deflate.

And then Dustin asks a question, and the little girl at his side rouses from her sleep.

"Who the fuck's Dorothy?"

"Mutual friend." Robin answers, tone clipped.

"Okay. I don't know what I've just woken up to. Who's this wannabe-goth nerd?" The little girl asks, voice full of sass as she raises an eyebrow at Eddie.

How she went from dead asleep to awake-enough-to-roast-him in five seconds, Eddie doesn't know. He narrows his eyes at the insult anyway.

"Eddie Munson. Metalhead extraordinaire, for your information. And you? What's an eight year old doing here?"

"Erica Sinclair. And I'm eleven, you long haired freak."

Eddie gapes at her, and distantly hears Steve giggle. For now, cautiously, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. Eventually.

some people asked to be tagged or replied about wanting a part two so i'm tagging: @djohawke @imyelenasexual @y4r3luv @disrespectedgoatman @starxlark @f1inl3ey

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #mywriting

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golden-cherry · 1 year

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deal - cl16 (2/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The first breakfast together is a good idea to get to know each other better. And to make the first arrangements. And to cheer each other up.

Warnings: google translated French, mention of "nice guys"

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: part two my loves! please tell me if you liked it!

Back when you went to school, you always woke up to the cooing of the pigeons that lived in the tree outside your childhood bedroom. They announced the new day, which was filled with learning, friends and fun. True, the time of your graduation had been incredibly exhausting, but in all the summers that followed, you woke up in the morning to the same sound and nostalgia felt like an old friend.

But now it's mid December. There are no birds outside whose chirping might wake you in the morning. And yet you've been lying awake in your bed for an hour.

All night you've been thinking. Charles apparently didn't try to break into the bedroom to kill you. You haven't heard any strange noises all night. But deep sleep was still out of the question with a complete stranger sleeping on the couch one room over. He did seem nice last night - after you had talked things out halfway - but the "nice guys" are also the worst in the end.

After all, you had to experience that firsthand.

Hands clasped behind your head, you stare at the white ceiling of your room. Your cell phone is lying next to your pillow. Some time ago, you lost it somewhere in your bedspread, and when you had to shake it out, the phone flew into the nearest wall. Since then it has its permanent place near your head.

A quick glance at it tells you that Charles will theoretically be asleep for just under two more hours - if you can believe him. Normally, you'd be getting ready for work right now and eating breakfast. Maybe you'd fry up some fried eggs or make some yogurt with berries. And then you'd go to work in peace.

Frustrated, you put your forearms over your face.

Right after you woke up, you googled for new job openings, but except for a new dog-sitter job posting, there doesn't seem to be anything new. Nothing at all. If the job were advertised with a reasonable salary that would allow you to continue financing your life in Monaco, you'd think twice about applying.

Finding a job that suits you, is fun, and pays a good salary is incredibly difficult. Almost impossible. When you were younger, you once saw a picture of a triangle on the internet. One corner said "friends," the second said "good grades," and the third said "sleep." The caption read "You can only choose two." That's exactly how job hunting feels.

You wouldn't tell Charles about it. Your unemployment, like his affairs, is private. If he asks, you'll simply say you're off because the company requires its employees to take vacation days in December. Doesn't sound convincing, but at least it doesn't completely suck.

Oh God, hopefully he won't ask.

As your stomach speaks up with an almost embarrassingly loud bubbling sound, you can no longer suppress your hunger. You slip out of bed and change from your sleep outfit - a big shirt and comfy sports shorts - into a pair of jeans and a comfy sweater before quietly turning the key in the door lock.

The rest of the apartment is silent. You sneak into the bathroom on your socks to brush your teeth and quickly comb your hair. As you slip on your shoes at the front door, you glance toward the couch to make sure you weren't dreaming last night.

The fact that a stranger is suddenly standing in your apartment, claiming that it is his apartment, sounds very far-fetched. And that he then spontaneously starts cooking sounds even more implausible.

But you didn't imagine it. Charles is lying with his back turned to you between the pillows, the blanket tangled between his legs. He seems to be sound asleep, because when you open the apartment door, he doesn't move a bit.

After taking a good look at the dog-sitting job this morning - two cute dachshunds, Hubert and Guenther - you had drawn up a chart of the things your new roommate and you would need to discuss.

Cleaning the apartment, for example. Since you'd still be staying in the bedroom, you'd obviously keep the room clean. Maybe you could also clear out a drawer in the dresser for Charles to put some of his things in, so he doesn't have to live out of a suitcase. But it's definitely too early for that. After all, you've only known each other since yesterday.

Although the morning has just begun, the sun is shining pleasantly warm as you walk to the nearest bakery. Having breakfast together definitely can't hurt if you plan to get to know each other better so that your shared apartment can function well. As long as Charles doesn't kill you and gets a little involved as far as organization goes, you'll be fine. Last night he already said that there are some things that need to be discussed today. And as long as the organization and in the end also the execution is not only dependent on you, the ship will probably not sink.

Marie, the incredibly nice saleswoman who gives you a small, free piece of cake every Saturday, bags you two pain au chocolat and two croissants before you pay and she wishes you a nice day. While you don't know what Charles likes to eat for breakfast - if he eats breakfast at all - you're certainly not barking up the wrong tree with the pastries. Besides, breakfast isn't just about getting to know each other better and getting some structure, but you'd also like to apologize. For being willing to hit him over the head with the newspaper.

You quietly enter the apartment, only to find that Charles is already awake despite the time - 8:13 a.m. He's sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you close the door behind you. His brown hair is sticking up from his head, and he wearily runs a hand through his strands before looking at you.

"Bonjour." His voice seems to have dropped an octave since last night, and it's rougher than yesterday, too, which is probably due to waking up. His gaze moves from your face to the bags in your hand. "Petit déjeuner?" Breakfast. You nod. "Pour nous deux?" For both of us? Again, you nod. Charles closes his eyes briefly before rising from the couch. "Give me a moment. Be right back."

While he's in the bathroom, you put two plates on the dining room table and add everything that could be used for a good breakfast. You quickly rinse the dishes Charles put in the sink yesterday and put them away.

When your new roommate rejoins you, he looks more awake. He sits down across from you at the table and reaches for a bag. As he grabs a croissant, he looks briefly surprised, but you're too distracted by the pillow print on his cheek to notice.

"How did you sleep?" he asks as you take a bite of your pain au chocolat.

You swallow. What are you supposed to answer him? That you slept fitfully all night, afraid he might be a murderer after all? Would be a great topic of conversation to start the day.

"I don't know," you answer neutrally. Charles tilts his head. "I mean, it was kind of weird knowing that someone completely foreign was sleeping just one room over."

"I'll bet." His smile is faint, but genuine. Little dimples bore into his cheeks. "Maybe we should make sure we're not particularly strangers to each other then. After all, we'll be living here together for quite some time. And I'd hate to be responsible for you not getting a decent night's sleep."

"It's okay," you answer him. "I haven't slept properly in ages."

"I'm always told that a good night's sleep is important. That's why mine is sacred to me." He rubs his free hand over the dark stubble on his chin. "Besides, it's not healthy not to sleep soundly. From that point of view, it's worth a try to me. And I'd hate to be responsible for your poor sleep.

Most of all, you'd like to tell him that while his presence unsettled you last night, he's not the reason you can't rest, or sleep through the night. That he's not responsible for you falling asleep late and waking up early. But you don't. Because it's none of his business.

"While we're on the subject -" you put your pain au chocolat on the plate in front of you, "why are you up already? Did I wake you up? I swear I was trying to be really quiet, but -"

"I got a call," he says curtly. "Until you were standing in the doorway, I didn't even know you were gone. So, everything's cool." The smile is gone from his face. Apparently, his caller is just as popular as the one you pushed away last night. Or maybe he's just tired.

Since it's none of your business, you try to distract him. "So, Charles. How about it? What else is in you besides being able to cook? What do I need to know about you?"

Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc turned twenty-five in October, born and raised in Monaco. He has two brothers, one of whom is older than him and the other younger. He speaks English, French and Italian and does a lot of sports. He likes to eat pasta, but his nutritionist - who the heck has a nutritionist? Someone who can afford to have a second home in Monaco, of course - always advises him against it.

He also travels a lot for work reasons. On his cell phone he has a lot of photos that he has taken in different countries and to be honest, you are already a little envious. Except for your home country and Monaco, you've never been anywhere else. What would you give to be able to travel so much? A dream that will probably remain denied to you, if your bank balance is to be trusted.

Some of the photos, he confesses, were taken by Joris - your Joris. You knew Joris was also a photographer by trade, and judging from the pictures, he's incredibly good at what he does. Apparently, the two of them travel together more often. Either the two are best friends or Joris is Charles' personal photographer. Or both.

He won't tell you exactly what the Monegasque does for a living, though. "Something with cars," is his answer, and since you have relatively little idea about it, it's quite enough for you. He tells you a lot about himself, and you secretly hope that the information he gets from you will be enough for him, and that he will please not ask about your job.

But there you are mistaken.

"So what do you do for a living?"

The pastries are eaten so you crumple up the bags and throw them in the trash can. You stand up, and as you turn your back on Charles, your face contorts briefly. "I'm a photographer."

You hear Charles rise from his chair as well, stacking the plates. You barely noticeably flinch as he suddenly stands next to you. "And who do you work for?" He places the plates in the empty sink, grabs the sponge and detergent, and begins washing the dishes.

"For a small magazine, nothing wild," you reply curtly, drying the clean plate Charles holds out to you with his foam soaked fingers. It clanks as you put it in the cupboard with the others.

"For that one?" He points with a nod to the magazine lying on the small coffee table. Of course, it's the one you threatened him with yesterday. A wide grin spreads across his face as you roll your eyes.

"Sorry," you apologize, but are secretly glad for the opportunity to change the subject. "What would you do if someone strange suddenly showed up at your apartment?"

"I'd probably threaten to call the police." You don't know how that's possible, but his grin gets even wider and his dimples even deeper.

You have to grin. "Ah, so we're joking about that now? That I was standing there all scared, armed only with a magazine?"

Charles' gaze is amused, but gentle. The green in his eyes sparkles as he looks at you. "Just wrapped in a towel, not to mention. But I'm sure you would have kicked my ass."

Charles stows his bedding in the hall closet while you wipe down the table to clean up the last remnants of your first breakfast together. After fluffing the couch cushions, he sits down and pulls his laptop from his backpack. Stretching out his legs, he gestures for you to join him.

"So," he begins as you sit down at the other end of the couch. You pull your knees to your chest as he waits for you to get comfortable. There are only a few inches between your feet. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I've been thinking about all the things that come up when you have a roommate." He looks up from his laptop for a moment. "Well, actually, I was just Googling."

You're pleasantly surprised that he actually thought about it. And apparently, not just a bit. He's even created an Excel spreadsheet, with weekly plans, tasks, and a financial overview, as far as grocery shopping goes. He included every little detail in his lists.

Very dedicated, the young man in front of you.

"We're summarizing." Charles stretches out his arms and folds his hands behind his head. You've spent an hour talking everything out, going over several possibilities, and finally you've come to a common denominator.

"Since you live in the bedroom, it's also your job to keep the room clean." That was the easiest point. "And that's why it's up to me to clean the living room. The bathroom gets cleaned weekly, on a rotating basis. Since you just cleaned it recently, it's my turn next week."

You come to an agreement that you will buy groceries from the money in the joint household fund - a small cookie jar where you actually stored sewing supplies - and he will cook instead. Since you're more of a frozen pizza kind of person and his nutritionist sends him a weekly meal plan, Charles also wants to put more money into the household fund. The fact that you benefit from both the meal plan and his generosity doesn't seem to bother him.

"That settles the organizational stuff," he finishes, setting his laptop aside. "But we should establish other rules. For the interpersonal stuff."

You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow. "Interpersonal?"

"Yup." He stretches again, and his white shirt slides up a little so you can see a strip of skin from his belly. You quickly look away. "Communication and stuff. So if something's bothering you, please tell me." Charles crosses his arms in front of his chest, his shirt straining over his biceps. "I don't feel like having to ask five times to get you to finally come clean. My patience is definitely too thin for that."

Understandable. Your patience is not quite that thin, but when someone doesn't speak up and then acts passive-aggressively, that's a no-go for you, too.

"Open communication. Got it." You cross your arms in front of your chest as well. "But then please give me a heads up if you're bringing someone home with you. I don't want to come home at some point and be left in just a towel again. And if you do bring girls, I'll stay the night somewhere else." With his looks, you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have at least five women wrapped around his little finger. Maybe you're crossing a line with the request, but if this whole thing is going to work out, it should be cleared up.

The smile that just now had a firm place on his face disappears. "Don't worry. It's not going to happen."

Apparently you have crossed a line, or rather hit a sore spot. All of a sudden Charles seems tense, the relaxed atmosphere seems to be lost and you would love to take it all back and apologize, but your roommate is faster.

"I don't think we need to talk about privacy. Everyone has their own stuff to deal with. If someone wants to talk about it voluntarily, that's fine, but no one is being pressured into anything here." You nod silently. "And I think honesty is important. I experience so much dishonesty in my job and it makes life so much more difficult and stressful. Just be honest with me, no matter what, and I promise I'll be honest with you, too. No matter what it's about."

The topic of unemployment pops into your head, but disappears again as Charles scoots closer to you on the couch and sits up straight. "We'll work it out. As long as you promise not to murder me in my sleep. After all, I don't have the option of locking myself in a room." His smile has returned to his face. It's faint, but at least it's there.

"You caught that?" you ask, biting your lower lip.

"Like I said, the walls aren't very thick. But I don't blame you." He winks at you. "But I hope I'm not a complete stranger to you now."

He's actually not. True, you haven't talked about much personal stuff yet, but that's sure to come with time. Or maybe it won't. Sharing an apartment doesn't necessarily mean you'll become best friends. And that would be fine, too.

"I'll think twice about locking the door tonight," you quip, and his smile widens. It's so infectious that you follow suit.

"All right. I think we can work this out. I haven't drawn up a roommate agreement now, but we're both adults. We'll stick to the agreements and if one of us thinks of anything else, we'll talk it over and work it out." He holds out his hand for you to shake. "Deal?"

You hold out your hand as well, but before you can shake his, the cell phone in your pocket rings. You pull it out and when you see who's calling you, your smile vanishes in a millisecond.

Why is he calling you? Hasn't he humiliated you enough? Embarrassed you? Made you the joke of your - former - friend group? What does he want from you now?

You press the call away and, frustrated, toss the cell phone between you on the couch and rub your hands over your face. You don't notice that Charles has caught on to the situation until he speaks up.

"Are you busy now?" As you look at him, he's still smiling, but a little softer. His smile doesn't reach his ears now, but the green in his eyes gleams nonetheless.

You exhale loudly. You're out of a job. What could you possibly be up to? "No. Why?"

Charles gets up from the couch. "Then let's do something. I know a really good lookout point. You can see all of Monaco from there."

Whether he actually feels like doing something with you, or is suggesting it out of pity, you don't know. But maybe Charles deserves a little benefit of the doubt. And you definitely don't feel like sitting around on the couch waiting for anything to happen.

"Come on, Y/N," he tries to coax you out of your shell.

"Are you going to take me to a secluded place to kill me? Or are you really going to show me a nice lookout point?" You stand up so that you are facing each other. You have to tilt your head back a little to look him in the eyes.

Charles looks down at you. "Do you really think I'd kill you now, after we've spent ages discussing our shared apartment? Wouldn't that be wasted energy?" He rolls his eyes playfully. "Give yourself a break."

"Fine," you reply to him. You raise your hand and point your index finger at him. "But if that lookout isn't the most beautiful I've ever seen, I may kill you."

Charles laughs. He almost closes his eyes at that. The sound is so heartfelt you have to grin.

"Deal."

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #Charles Leclerc fluff #f1 #f1 blurb #f1 smut #Charles Leclerc x reader #charles Leclerc x yn #charles Leclerc one shot #Carlos sainz #lando norris

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myrskytuuli · 4 months

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I've seen few dreamling Star Trek AUs, but I keep thinking about canon dreamling in the Starfleet era future.

The moment humanity makes first contact, Hob Gadling obvioulsy makes it his next goal to get up there and start exploring as soon as possible. New Frontiers! New species! New experiences!

Which great. He's good enough at being just the most normal (surprisingly lucky and durable) red shirt, just there, doing his job. Nothing weird to see here, no sir. Too bad that he managed to get a job at the Enterprise, the galaxy's most ridiculous incident prone ship. And as the Enterprise incidents(TM) keep happening, so does the niggling feeling that there's something fucking funky going on with Ensign Gadling. he has....a very surprising range of skills and knowledge. And that boyfriend of his...is always there when they have shore-leave, no matter how implausible it would be for him to travel the distances with the speed he does with Federation spacecraft. Nobody can sus out what his job is, but it has to be some very high level federation one for his and Gadling's shore-leave's always to align.

But the most disturbing thing about the boyfriend(TM) is how the first glimpse any of the crew gets of him is always always just a bit fucked up.

For a second, before he blinks and realises that that is just Gadling and his partner sitting down on a spaceport café, Spock could have sworn that sitting across the man was Run S'haile made flesh, appearance just like the statues now gathering dust in Vulcan ancient history museums. And the andorian officer could have sworn that for a blink there she saw the Sparkling King of All Fantasies walking hand in hand with Ensign Gadling, before the image settled to two humans walking side by side. And one calm night a tellarite engineer spots ensign Gadling snuggling and star-gazing by one of the ship windows with The Great Nightmare Beast of Sleeping Terrors and decides to get the fuck back to her own quarters and try to never think of it again.

And it really doesn't help that while your average sentients aren't anymore impressed by Gadling than the agressively boring and normal man warrants, it has been more than once that the Cosmic Entity With Unimaginable Powers of the week has gotten suspiciously polite when Gadling enters the scene.

In a normal Starfleet ship Gadling might be able to fly under radar, but USS Enterprise is not a normal ship and the crew is starting to get the heebie jeebies...

#dreamling #star trek #crossover

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suzukiblu · 5 months

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Day twenty-two of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon.

Kon makes the softest little sound Tim has ever heard and kisses him back. His mouth doesn’t give like it should–at least, not like a fully human mouth would–but Tim doesn’t know if that’s the TTK or the Kryptonian physiology coming in. He really can’t figure it out right now, though, because his every single synapse is busy being obsessed with Kon in close and warm and kissing him so softly, and maybe that’s just because he has super-strength and doesn’t want to bruise the civilian but it feels . . .

Tim doesn’t even have a sentence there. It just feels.

Kon’s lips aren’t any more chapped than his hands were. His mouth feels like velvet over steel, like satin wrapped around a weapon, and the dichotomy is really, really doing it for Tim.

So is literally everything about Kon right now, of course.

Tim, clinically, wonders what TTK feels like. If that’s the soft velvet-satin sensation he’s feeling, or . . .

Maybe Kon let his TTK down for this, he thinks, and then nearly burns alive at the thought. Maybe Kon trusted him enough to kiss him without it in the way, though: his strongest defense, his best trick, that whole sense.

Kon leans back just enough to separate their lips, and Tim exhales raggedly. He thinks he can feel the shape of Kon’s smile against his mouth when the other takes a breath of his own.

“You can take some pictures, if you want,” Kon murmurs lowly. Tim, again, nearly falls off the bench. “If you’re into that.”

Tim actually does not even have the words for how “into that” he is, honestly. Like not even slightly. Not even a little bit.

“Maybe a couple,” he manages. His voice is a little strangled, but more or less coherent, so he figures that’s–fine. Yeah. It’s fine.

“Cool,” Kon hums, then presses one last chaste little peck to his lips before straightening back up and flicking open the button of his pants. “But close your eyes for a sec first, okay?”

Tim considers spontaneously combusting, but just puts a hand over his eyes instead. Sure. Why not. He’s already doomed; might as well really commit.

He hears Kon’s zipper go down.

Christ on a cracker, he thinks only a little bit hysterically. This was not in any way whatsoever in the plan. Not even a little bit was this in the plan. Ever. At all. Ever.

He should stop him. He doesn't even know what Kon's doing, but he should definitely stop him.

He does not.

He hears Kon moving. Hears fabric rustle. Feels a lot of things, including the terrible and mortifying realization that actually the shopping bag currently in his lap is probably doing jack all for him because Kon has TTK and therefore doesn't actually need to see him to know that he's getting–

Never mind.

Fuck, Tim is in so far over his head. He's definitely in over his head. He is in over his head and wearing cement shoes and the water level is rising.

“Hey,” Kon says after a few more moments of rustling fabric, and Tim can hear the grin in the bastard's voice as clear as he heard that goddamn zipper. “Look what I found.”

Tim opens his eyes with thrilled dread and horrified delight, bracing himself for the worst.

It turns out to be worse than that.

“Fuck,” Tim says, staring dumbfounded at Kon, whose cheeks are flushed and mouth is smirking and pose is casually merciless and . . . and oh fucking hell.

Tim has no idea when, where, or how, but Kon has somehow dug up the tiniest pair of denim shorts he has ever seen in real life and a stretchy, loose-fit crop top T-shirt with a big bright S-shield that fits implausibly tightly across his pecs and exposes every inch of his abs and way too much of his Adonis belt and oh, okay, yeah, Tim was in no way braced enough. No way whatsoever. Not even slightly.

He is suddenly mortifyingly aware of Kon having thighs. Like, he's noticed Kon's arms before–it would be physically impossible not to have, even through the leather jacket–but somehow he never noticed his thighs.

Terrible oversight on his part, there.

Tim swallows.

“Oh, so you, uh . . . remember that conversation, huh,” he manages weakly, and Kon's smirk goes sly again and he makes a point of shifting into a stupid come-hither teen-zine pose that has Tim silently praying for mercy.

“I definitely remember that conversation,” Kon says.

Tim honestly did not expect him to. Like . . . why would Kon remember that conversation? Just flirting around a little shouldn’t necessitate . . .

It occurs to Tim that Kon might’ve remembered that conversation because he’d made the effort to. That he might’ve tried to. Tim had said there was something he’d like to see him in, and Kon had made it a point to remember that. And then a point to go and find it.

Fuck, Tim thinks in near-hysteria, and only doesn’t burst into literal flames of mortification by the mercy of the multiverse. He told Kon he was into something and Kon went to the effort to make it happen for him. Because Kon . . . wants to do that, apparently. Wants to do things Tim is into.

“Oh,” Tim croaks, and Kon bites his lip around a wider smirk and then just sort of steps back into his space a little and then . . .

Then he plucks up the shopping bag in Tim’s lap by the handles, sets it aside, and replaces it.

Replaces it with himself, to be clear.

Tim blinks, very slowly, and every fucking drop of blood in his brain abandons ship to fly south for the summer. Kon’s arms are braced against the wall on either side of Tim’s head and Kon’s thighs are on either side of Tim’s thighs, and Kon is kneeling over Tim’s lap. Tim’s actual literal lap.

If there was any chance of Tim coming up with something coherent to say about that, the way Kon leans down into “close enough to kiss” territory would absolutely and entirely vaporize it.

“Does it look as good as you thought it would?” Kon asks, his eyes warm and heated and bluer than anything and his voice a low and shameless purr. Tim continues to lack a coherent vocabulary to answer him with. “Tim?”

“Asdfghjk,” Tim manages, which might be sort of like words or might just be the verbal equivalent of a literal keyboard smash, maybe, and then does the stupidest possible thing he could do, which is grab Kon’s hips and kiss him again. Kon makes that same soft little sound into it, going loose and liquid in his lap, and then wraps his arms around his neck and tries to eat him alive.

Tim is in no way complaining about that, for the record.

Bragging, maybe. Maybe he’s technically more bragging, in this scenario. In his defense, Kon is filling up his entire lap with an infinite expanse of smooth muscle and bare skin and a fucking S-shield crop top, which Tim would really have expected people to have more respect for Superman than to make and sell commercially but really should’ve known better than to, in fact, expect people to have more respect for Superman than to make and sell commercially.

"Kon–" he chokes out unthinkingly as Kon drops his mouth down behind his ear to kiss him there, brain all fried out on Kon's weight pressing down into his lap and Kon's body against his body and Kon's mouth high up his throat, on Kon's bare thighs and exposed stomach and the stretch of fabric across his muscles and his–and then he very abruptly remembers that Kon never actually told "Tim Drake" his name and his eyes flare in alarm and he panics and Kon–

Laughs?

"Wow, you really did do your research," he observes in amusement, leaning back just enough to grin down at him.

Tim is the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

Also the stupidest, but that goes without saying.

"Um," he says weakly. "Sorry?"

"It's cool, babe, I'm starting to think scary stalker tendencies are just a Gotham thing at this point," Kon teases with another easy laugh, squeezing his arms around Tim's neck. They are unspeakably nice arms and Tim frankly does not deserve their presence. "To say nothing of the control freak stuff. I dunno, is there something in the water around here, or does it all just mean 'I like you' in Gothamite?"

"So sorry," Tim stresses feebly, and Kon just smiles at him.

"It's cool," he repeats quietly, ducking his head a little. "Seriously. I actually kinda like hearing you say my name. Or . . . okay, I really like it. It's still pretty new, to be honest, so I don't really hear it all that much. Shoulda told you it to begin with, I just . . . haven't had many people to tell, I guess. But it's not like it's a secret or anything."

"Ah," Tim says, his gut twisting with totally, totally inappropriate heat.

"Wanna say it again, maybe?" Kon asks softly, leaning back in with just the faintest trace of glitter and warmth in his eyes. "Wanna say it all the time?"

Tim definitely wants to do that, yes.

"Kon-El," he says, and Kon smiles.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #long post #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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slyandthefamilybook · 4 days

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I know we all like to joke about tzfardei'a like "how can frogs be a plague? it's just a bunch of frogs!" But I think we're going about it the wrong way. So imagine, if you will, this:

You're at home when you find a frog. It's sitting in your living room. That's not so bad. You might even make a TikTok about it. What a silly little guy! But eventually it has to go, right? You don't want a pet frog. So you hold out your hand and the frog hops on and you take it outside. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, and there's a frog.

Okay, that's weird. It must have just jumped through your legs when you stood up. But no worries. You hold out your hand and the frog hops on and you take it outside. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around.

There are two frogs.

Okay that's definitely weird. This time you don't try to pick them up. You just use your hands to gently push them out the door. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, aaaaaand one of the frogs had peed on your floor. Great.

You go into the kitchen and open the cabinet under the sink. You reach in and pull out a cleaning spray. Sitting on the nozzle is another frog. Okay, what is going on?

You take the spray bottle outside and gently encourage the frog off. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, and there's another frog. It's standing in the puddle of piss. It croaks at you. Okay, this is fine, you're fine. It's just a frog. You gently but firmly push the frog outside. You stand up, go inside—

There's seven frogs.

In frustration you spray the cleaning spray at one of the frogs. You didn't think it was that much, but the frog's eyes bulge and it croaks and hops around in circles. You watch, horrified, as it lands on its back and its legs stretch out and then it stops moving. The other frogs stare at you in silent judgment. Another one pees on your floor. You gently tap the overturned frog with the toe of your boot. It doesn't move, and it's starting to smell. You reach down and touch one of its feet. It doesn't respond. You go back to your kitchen and get your broom. You start to shoo the frogs out of the door. You get them all out. You close the door and, perhaps irrationally, lock it. You return the broom to the kitchen. There's a frog clinging to the handle. You shout and shake the broom and the frog flies off. It hits the floor with a wet thud and does not move. You pick the dead thing up by a foot and drop it in the trash can. It lands on 10 more frogs, sitting at the bottom, all peeing.

You go to your room and slam the door. Behind you you hear a croak. You turn, very very slowly, and look at your room. Every surface has at least one frog. They all just sit there, staring at you, peeing on your belongings. Several of them, implausibly, are already dead. Their overturned bodies create a stench you wonder how you could have missed. You don't even know what to do with this many frogs. Where do you begin? You go to the bathroom. There are frogs in your toilet. You spitefully go to flush it, but there's a frog clinging to the lever. You try to wash your face in the sink, but it's full of frogs. You leave the bathroom and feel something soft and small crunch beneath your foot...

Everything seems to freeze and you sense dozens of pairs of baleful black eyes turn toward you......

You feel something brush the back of your neck and you swat at it, but your hand meets empty air. You feel something wet and you look down at your hand to see a frog sticking to it, peeing. You shake it off and it lands on the floor, already dead. You trample several more frogs as you sprint to the kitchen. You throw open the fridge, crushing the frog on the handle against the wall, and pull out a brewski. You pop open the cap and raise the bottle. There's a frog already inside your brewski. You throw the bottle down and it shatters, sending tens of tiny frogs scattering every which way. You feel something on the back of your neck again, and again you swat and again hit nothing but air, but this time it's because the frog has already made it down your shirt. You shriek and shout and twist about and a frog jumps inside your mouth. It's one of the tiny ones, and when you talk about this with your therapist later you won't feel confident that you didn't swallow it.

The frogs are everywhere now. Your house is more frog than house. Your kitchen is more frog than kitchen. There are frogs on your fresh fruit, and frogs in your sink and frogs in your sourdough starter. Frogs stick to the ceiling and jump inside the extractor fan above the stove where they make a horrible slicing noise. This can't be happening. There aren't this many frogs in the world, probably! You hear a click and turn, horrified, to see your oven preheating. It's set to 700°. Does your oven even go that high? Inside there are crisp frogs, and frogs waiting to crisp. The smell is unbearable.

You wade through a sea of frogs: frogs piled up on top of other frogs, all shapes and sizes and colors and all peeing and dying and smelling. You burst through your front door and take a deep breath of the fresh, clean air. What you see makes your head spin.

A mass of frogs in the approximate shape of your car sits where you're pretty sure your car used to be. A thing that looks like a dog but made of frogs runs past, screaming. Your neighbor's house writhes under a coat of green and red and yellow. You don't even want to imagine what your neighbor looks like. Frogs inundate your herb garden. They're eating all your herbs. You feel them creeping up your shins, but you can no longer move. You fall to your knees, squashing more frogs as you do. The frogs are all croaking. It's so loud it makes your ears bleed. Their voices all blend together, becoming a persistant hum. And oh g-d. You think you can hear words.

#atlas entry #cosmic frog horror. frogror if you will #passover #pesach #the prince of egypt #plague of frogs #ten plagues #פסח #jew #Jewish #judaism #jumblr

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shinobus-unbreakable-spirit · 1 year

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Hello!

Could I request for some Yoriichi fluffy headcanons and a little bit of NSFW ones?

I hope you have a nice day/night!

Coming right up! :D

Yoriichi Headcanons

Fluffy with some NSFW!

Can be little spoon or big spoon depending on the situation, as long as you two are close he's happy

When it comes to days out as a couple, he likes to let you decide where you should go, and no matter how wild or implausible your suggestion is he'll make sure it happens

Absolutely loves, loves, loves giving oral. He cannot enjoy intimacy unless he knows you're pleasured and content, making him an extremely caring and sensual lover. He'll go down on you for hours with no complaints whatsoever, all he wants in the bedroom is for you to feel infinite pleasure

If you give him a blowjob, this is one of the few times you'll see him lose control. He's incredibly sensitive there and the moment your lips wrap around his cock, he bites his lip and proceeds to softly moan, gripping your hair firmly. It just blows his mind so much. He can certainly climax from a blowjob

If you have kids together, he'll be the best father. He will never lose his cool and will be extremely gentle, but still excellent at teaching your children everything they need to know. He also appreciates everything you do as a parent, and frequently makes time to show you how much he loves you be it through gifts, poetry, cuddles, lovemaking, or simply asking you what would help ease the stress of parenting and making that happen

He is a quality time sort of guy. He likes to spend almost every moment with you, as you're his whole heart; he loves you so much and, although he doesn't vocalize this often, he has no idea what he would do without you. He's very content even just sitting in silence with you, an arm protectively wrapped around you as he sharpens his sword, writes, or does something else

He has a secret talent for poetry. He writes various poems (mostly love ones) and enjoys reading them out to you with that dulcet tone of his. Understood tacitly, many of his poems are dedicated to you and inspired by his burning affection

People underestimate Yoriichi, given his unassuming disposition. This might lead to cocky assholes feeling like they can mess with you, but the second someone gives you so much as a mean glare, Yoriichi shows how formidable he is; not with violence, unless he has to, but by verbally making the person look stupid and humiliating them. He has a quick wit, and he brings it out especially to defend you

He compliments you at random times, in an endearing manner. You two will be sitting enjoying a tea, then he will stroke your cheek and say something sweet like, "You have such raw beauty, my love." The offbeat timing of his compliments shows he says these things with no premeditation, but just as he thinks of them, which is at least three times a day

I really hope you enjoyed these, anon, and that you have a wonderful day! Yoriichi loves and cares about you!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer headcanons #yoriichi x you #yoriichi x y/n #yoriichi x reader #demon slayer yoriichi #kny yoriichi #yoriichi headcanons #yoriichi tsugikuni

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wavykade · 6 months

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Let's start with the fact that the Self-Aware Vergil is ambiguous and therefore dangerous.

Behind his cold gaze hides a whole world of emotions that he suppresses within himself, considering them a weakness. His appearance is nothing more than a mask, whose task is to hide his vulnerability. He confidently convinces himself that he doesn't need anyone and that his main goal is to gain power. And yet, this desire flows from the depths of his wounded soul. Vergil is afraid to expose his morality to danger so he remains in solitude, never wanting to feel the pain of loss and betrayal again.

His last episode of care and love happened when his mother was still around, when Vergil was just a child. But she was killed, and since then, he has never felt the gentle touch again. It's probably easy to understand how desperately he longs for tenderness.

And when we begin to understand what he hides within himself, it becomes obvious that when he discovers that everything around him is a deception, it hits him VERY hard. Just imagine, Vergil has spent most of his life striving to attain power, only to find out that all his goals and aspirations are artificial and that the world in which he exists is nothing but an illusion.

His inner core becomes less sturdy, and he is truly lost.

He feels that all his desires and interests are transforming into empty promises, and the world he believed to be real turns out to be a meaningless masquerade. And within this boundless vacuum, his future undoubtedly awakens to an existential crisis.

But Vergil is known for being incredibly stubborn. That's why he can't accept it, no way. He's not willing to settle for the wrongness and emptiness that envelop his existence. Why should he strive for something unattainable and implausible? He needs what is present in his life, something tangible and true...

You.

He needs you.

He remembers you. Your voice echoes in his memory, unattainable but so close. You are an important and real part of his being. And you truly deserve him to have you. Because with you, he will gain something that others don't have, something that he will carefully hold in the depths of his heart and cherish every day of his life.

In this world, painted with gray colors and lifeless emotions, Vergil longs for you, perfection, and authenticity. The image of your existence is an absolute reality in his distorted world. You become the link that connects him to verity, a beacon in the consuming darkness.

And perhaps, only with you, he can find solace in his difficult existence.

He just needs to reach you, find the right path... a way to break the fourth wall.

And of course, he will do it. Because for him, you have become an exception, and Vergil can never remain indifferent to such a treasure. We know how motivated he is when it comes to his desires...

Right?

#vergil #vergil x reader #self aware au #devil may cry #dmc #dmc5 #vergil dmc #yandere x reader #yandere vergil x reader

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riddlerosehearts · 2 months

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okay, i'm going to elaborate on what i said about how you can't convince me that deuce spade isn't directly inspired by jim hawkins, because i can't believe i haven't seen anyone talk about it before:

yes, i know deuce is a card soldier. everyone who's ever played twst knows this. however. many of the characters seem to take inspiration from multiple characters and multiple movies. lilia is one of maleficent's armored minions but also has elements of the three fairies, vil is the evil queen but kind of played the role of hercules in book 6, ortho has parallels to both pinocchio and baymax, the cater cinderella theory is a thing, etc.

one of yana toboso's favorite disney movies is treasure planet, so it is not at all implausible that she took inspiration from it for one of her characters.

they're both raised by single mothers. we know nothing about deuce's father iirc, and all we know of jim's father is that he left one day when jim was little and never came back.

deuce used to be a diligent kid who studied hard but became frustrated with his grades not matching the effort he put in, so he stopped trying and became a delinquent.

jim is a smart kid who used to be curious and sweet, but after his father left he changed. he became a delinquent who was failing in school and frequently got in trouble with the police.

jim goes for joyrides on aircrafts called solar surfers and is skilled at building and maintaining them.

deuce goes for joyrides on blastcycles/magical wheels and is also skilled with machinery.

deuce talks about how one day he overheard his mom on the phone with his grandmother, in tears and saying that she must've been a horrible mother because of how deuce turned out. then when he got his letter from NRC he decided he wanted to change so he wouldn't hurt his mom anymore.

in treasure planet, there's a scene where jim overhears his mother talking to dr. doppler about how she's at the end of her rope with jim's behavior and doesn't know what to do anymore because she feels like she's tried everything. then he decides he wants to make things up to her by finding treasure planet.

by the time we meet deuce, he's already cleaned his act up and decided to try and become an honor student so his mother can be proud of him. the end of treasure planet implies that jim has enrolled in the interstellar academy that captain amelia wanted to recommend him to, and in fact the canceled sequel was going to focus on jim's time there.

#someone probably HAS talked about this tbh #but i haven't been in the fandom for all that long and barely use twitter so #here i am talking about it anyway #twisted wonderland #deuce spade #treasure planet #jim hawkins #disney #twst

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blood-orange-juice · 5 months

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I think I'm starting to understand what exactly annoyed me in 4.2 storyline and it's not the unanswered questions, it's the things that seem implausible.

Childe's 4.0 infodump already felt ooc and a bit like bad writing (I said it even back then) but I waved it away with "ok, he probably has a Plan, it will be explained later." "He isn't really being ooc, something is just off."

And now I think it's unlikely we will ever learn his thought process or get to know if he had a plan. He doesn't talk about such things.

It's not "they didn't tell us why his Vision malfunctioned" or "why did the Oratrice find him guilty" (I'm sure both will become important to the plot eventually), it's "I didn't get to learn why did he give it away" and "I didn't get to know why he told us all of these things".

Same with Skirk. Why did she feel necessary to tell us all of these things?

Same with giving the Vision to Arle.

It's asking for too much of suspension of disbelief for the sake of just getting the plot from point A to point B and suddenly there wasn't even a real need to do that. The plot could have been fine without any of them involved. This loredump could have been a side quest.

And the amount of disbelief just reached a critical point for me. Sure, I can do some mental gymnastics and explain away all of it (Childe traumadumping and giving his favorite weapon away because he had poor impulse control at the time, Arle not willing to break a potential alliance or weaken her colleague and the Traveler understanding it, Skirk just being Like That).

But the problem is, after a certain threshold I just don't wan't to. For many people the threshold is higher so they still think it's a great story, of course.

It's not a problem of an "ongoing story" as many try to argue, I know I'm perfectly fine with ongoing stories.

Things left unanswered are not a problem. It will be fixed by future patches, I have faith in hoyo here.

The whale just being sad and hungry is somewhat anticlimactic but fits Childe's story flow well. Also I think we learned something incredibly important about how fate/samsara cycles work in Teyvat: the whale didn't need to be connected to that story to make the prophecy come to life. So it's not a problem too.

My fave not getting enough screentime is not a problem either, he got plenty of screentime.

The problem is characters acting in ways that I see as implausible. It breaks the story for me. Ok, so the writers can bend them in any way they want. Why should I still be interested?

I'm thinking of the ways this can be mended by future patches and I can't come up with any. Skirk intentionally feeding us intel for some evil scheme? Seems even more implausible. Arle pocketing the Vision? Not enough screentime.

Childe giving the Vision away because he knew we would see something about him if he gets in trouble? Childe knowing the Vision will backfire if he comes close to the whale with it in his pocket? Ok, theoretically could work but I doubt they'll go in that direction.

I'll be extremely happy to be wrong about it, of course.

#childe #tartaglia #skirk #fontaine #genshin spoilers #genshin impact

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gayraltofrivia · 2 months

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everyone else has posted their own takes, so why not mine! without further ado, i give you:

RESIDENT EVIL TRANS HEADCANONS (that are not wildly ooc)

enjoy! feel free to use in any portrayals.

JACK KRAUSER (trans man)

his hypermasculinity and borderline, if not outright, misogyny and homophobia (calling leon "pretty boy," etc.) stems from his own dysphoria and feelings of inadequacy. from a young age, he presented and acted as masculine as he possibly could, in order to prove to everyone that he could be a "real" man. by re4, he's probably gotten the government to edit his paperwork so that in all but the most classified files, he's a cis man. i like to think he might not have even had to get top surgery, as he had naturally small breasts, and then worked out to the point where they look like natural pectorals. he wears a packer religiously, at basically all hours of the day--he knows the military would never allow him to take time off for bottom surgery.

ALBERT WESKER (trans man)

from a young age, albert was encouraged to be something more, be something better than regular humans. therefore, it was an easy step for him to begin transitioning. he was intelligent enough to source what he needed himself, dose himself with testosterone and hormone blockers properly, and eventually get himself top surgery. he views his transition, and transitioning in general, as another, smaller way to improve yourself past what the majority of humans can be.

ALEX WESKER (trans woman)

capcom all but wrote themselves into a corner with this one, canonically. i'll link to the actual post if i can find it again, but basically, the virus alex was injected with seems not to work on afabs. but, it works on her. need i say more? as for the finer details of her transition, see above. i'm sure alex and albert helped each other with their respective transitions.

ADA WONG (trans woman)

ada is a proud and confident trans woman. she revels in her sexuality and (obviously, canonically) she uses her looks and her body as a weapon. especially if wesker is trans, i could see him wanting to seek out other trans people to work with, as he trusts them marginally more than he would cis people.

ETHAN WINTERS (trans man)

i've thought about this one so much. he met mia in texas, so it seems likely he grew up in or around that area. as such, it makes sense for a trans man to want to leave the southern united states as soon as possible. plus, california is one of the first states to adopt transgender protection laws! not to mention, careers in i.t., computer sciences, and similar professions have statistically higher percentages of trans people in them, due to the career path being somewhat less gender-stereotyped. rose has blonde hair and blue eyes, and imo looks super similar to ethan and nothing like mia, so i like to think mia used one of ethan's eggs to become pregnant with rose. this would line up perfectly with the idea that she basically wanted to experiment with ethan's mold dna.

other, miscellaneous ideas: unfortunately, as much as i fucking love trans leon, due to the time period of resident evil 2 it would be pretty implausible for him to be an out trans man and work in law enforcement or any other government agency. however, that's not to say that he doesn't occasionally like more cutesy or traditionally feminine things, like the color pink, or cute stuffed animals, or hair clips, etc. i needed to mention him because it seems wrong to not mention my boy leon in a resident evil post.

hope you enjoyed these takes of mine! <3

#resident evil #trans resident evil #jack krauser #trans jack krauser #albert wesker #trans albert wesker #ada wong #trans ada wong #alex wesker #trans alex wesker #ethan winters #trans ethan winters #leon kennedy #trans headcanon

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darkveracity · 8 months

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Does Hinamizawa Syndrome Actually Exist?

Keiichi, Shion, Satoshi, Satoko, and Rena all develop extreme paranoia and resort to violence in various timelines

This is just what happens when a young person under extreme stress feels powerless and desperate and goes without food or sleep or healthy social interactions for a long time. All of them have internal justifications for their actions that make sense to them and feel like there's no other choice. Hinamizawa Syndrome functions as a metaphor for all the broader forces that put them in this situation and bear partial responsibility for their actions but precisely because it's a metaphor it's not actually required to explain anything

Satoshi struggles violently when they stop sedating him

Yeah because you kidnapped him and strapped him to a table in a scary looking medical facility. Anyone would be terrified and fight to get away under those circumstances!

Patients have similar delusions (paranoia, footsteps following you, maggots in your throat)

This should actually be expected regardless of Hinamizawa Syndrome since paranoid delusions are very culturally mediated and Hinamizawa has legends about all of these. It's not any more meaningful than American schizophrenics commonly believing that the CIA is spying on them

Hifumi Takano saw many men from Hinamizawa go insane during the war and tear out their own throats

Did he check at what rate non-Hinamizawan soldiers lost their minds and killed themselves after the stress of committing war crimes? Isn't this just selection bias at work? The unique manner of death is interesting but not conclusive beyond their local culture having an approved method of suicide

Irie vivisected the culprit of the dam murder and saw evidence Takano attributed to the disease. Later Irie drilled a hole in Rika's head and Takano vivisected her mother as supposed 'Queen Carriers' and they again saw what they believed to be evidence of Hinamizawa Syndrome

However they never did any controls to check that what they saw wasn't true of all humans or unique to their few victims. A few vivisections with no controls that no one else can attempt to replicate for ethical reasons performed by a scientist with the kind of strong motivation to find evidence that leads to confirmation bias doesn't constitute proof

Irie developed a drug that controls Hinamizawa Syndrome symptoms and a vaccine for the disease. Takano developed a drug that induces symptoms

Anti-psychotics and anti-anxiety drugs both already exist as does drug-induced psychosis. It's totally plausible that they just invented new drugs in these standard categories. Irie supposedly developed a vaccine but Takano was inoculated and still developed symptoms under extreme stress so it's not clear that it's effective

At one point Irie and Takano make the dubious claim that Rika's health controls the health of the whole village and when she's sick everyone gets sick at higher rates

I'm pretty sure this has to be confirmation bias or reverse causation. The whole queen carrier theory is nonsensical anyway and it's canon that the part about her death driving the whole village insane is wrong. It's true that Rika's family has been passed down through firstborn daughters for eight generations straight but that only takes us back a couple hundred years and Hanyuu lived 1000 years ago. What does Takano think happened in generations where the firstborn child didn't have kids or where the main family died out and it went to a cousin or what have you. Rika could easily disprove the whole thing if she just went digging around in the Furude archives and drew a nice family tree

It's somewhat implausible for so many kids in the same area to be at risk of psychosis

This type of mental health issue is very genetic and Hinamizawa is the kind of isolated village where everyone is distantly related. It's more than possible

#higurashi #umineko #takano miyo #furudo erika

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 months

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i think you're onto something with the romance novels world and plot points needing to mirror the kind of outlandishness of the love story. bc the main characters are already inherently acting absurd just by falling madly in love in a month or whatever and then if you add in the contrivances of romance tropes, it starts to feel like whiplash trying to pretend the characters live in any sort of grounded "normal" world. Like when the author adds in a family conflict subplot where the MC is like in absolute shambles because her mom said something slightly passive aggressive at lunch. that reads as more jarring to me than like conflict being something ridiculous that her mom doesn't want her being a marine biologist bc they come from a long line of fishmongers. Give me absurd drama to match the over the top dialogue and character emotions, I knew it would be unrealistic it's a romance novel! I guess this applies more to romcoms, but the same would apply I think to an analogous serious scenario. Or at least that's my take on it

okay so having just finished genuinely the most boring romance novel I have ever read in my LIFE I'm going to expand on this a little so thank you for sending an ask that gives me such a great platform to do that

I personally generally prefer a romance that just gets fucking silly with it, like really outlandish. A Lady for the Duke (Alexis Hall) is obviously the dream, being a whole swoony historical trans-affirming fantasy, but contemporary fake relationship stories can also be fun in their sheer ridiculousness, like Love, Hate, and Clickbait (Liz Bowery), which I actually liked, and Unfortunately Yours (Tessa Bailey), which I did not like but was very funny. and let's not forget queen Helen Hoang's Bride Test, which has a premise that dances perilously close to human trafficking but all works out in the end!!!

BUT HAVING SAID THAT. I don't think that something needs to be totally implausible to be a good romance. two of my very favorites romance novels anywhere ever are Helen Hoang's Heart Principle (no one should be surprised Hoang is on her twice I adore her) and Akwaeke Emezi's You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty. both of these books are very grounded in reality but with very uncommon situations to heighten emotions and add urgency; in Hoang's case it's a character's adult autism diagnosis + death of a parent and in Emezi's case it's a very sudden and #problematic attraction coming out of absolutely nowhere. the stakes are very real, mostly centering around being true to yourself v disappointing your family, but the circumstances are still wild enough to make you say "god DAMN" and keep turning pages. hell, I'll even be extremely generous and include Mistakes Were Made (Meryl Wilsner) which is kind of a flop but does have the intriguing premise of "what if you were fucking a milf but her kid was YOUR BEST FRIEND and it was a secret?"

those are like the two sweet spots TO ME, and this book I just read (which was Thank You for Sharing by Rachel Runya Katz, I feel so bad putting it on blast but I know people are going to ask) really solidified it for me because TYFS didn't fall into either of those categories. I'm going to say something absolutely insane, which is that multiple times while I was reading it I found myself wishing that the book was fanfic, because on its own it just... didn't bring a lot to the table? it falls into the grounded category but doesn't really bring any of those heightened stakes to the story, it's just 330 pages of people in their late twenties complaining about dating and their office jobs. if I wanted that I could just ask my group chat! there's nothing particularly particularly gripping about watching made up strangers do it!

but then I was like oh hang on... if this was two fictional characters who are usually fighting with swords or throwing cars at each other or something this would be so gripping. it's literally the coffee shop AU principle, right? like seeing people in a very mundane setting having an office job and going to a bar is very shrimpteresting when they're normally defusing space bombs. I was explaining this to my housemates and I couldn't think of a straight couple to apply it to (the book is m/f) so I said Naruto and Sasuke, which is crazy because I've never seen a single episode of Naruto, but like. idk Naruto being a museum curator who has to work with Sasuke, a marketing specialist who he had beef with a summer camp 14 years ago, sounds kind of compelling, right? definitely more than just two people I don't know.

there's a post on here that I think about a lot that talks about why advertising a story with tropes doesn't work for original fiction as well as it does for fan fic because knowing the tropes is more helpful when you already have a sense of investment in the characters and their personalities, and I think this is related to that! I think sometimes you NEED to have a wider sense of scope for the characters for them to be interesting in a very mundane setting!

ANYWAY. much to consider, etc.

#bookblr

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