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rockingbytheseaside · 2 months

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✦ An Endearing Infestation

Tw: none, silly fluff

It started with catching one of those tiny rascals in your house as you cleaned. No bigger than the size of your palm, a tiny blob of soot-like ink was accidentally caught amidst your vacuuming when you tidied up your house in your Serenitea Pot. You didn't even comprehend it resembled a small bird chick with one crimson eye since the small thing got frightened and scurried off underneath your couch. Any attempts to look for it were futile.

Another time, you were certain you caught two identical ones playing in the closet before sprinting with a hurried squeak when you stepped into the room. You started doubting your eyesight at first, before speculating the worst - some sort of an infestation in your pristine clean house. Yet your worries were settled aside when you finally managed to take a closer look at the many little birds that found residence within the crooks of your house. Fluffy in an unkempt manner, they were tiny birds that stared at you with their single crimson eye and a tiny crest on their round soot-colored bodies. You could almost chuckle at how silly these weird creatures were, but you couldn’t deny their cuteness. They were afraid you would kick them away, or even shoo them with a broom - but you’re not that heartless.

The entourage of identical yet tiny blobs often observed you. They appeared curious about the many things you did in your Serenitea Pot. When you read in your study, they would play with the books. When you cooked food in your kitchen, some of the tiny birds would try and help you by pushing the spice rack closer or bringing more stems of herbs. And on late, cold nights, when you’d light up the fireplace in the guest room, even the timidest of the bunch would come out from their hiding spot to huddle neatly for warmth. They were easily spooked by the tiniest of movements, so you did not disturb their gentle napping when they fluffed up their pitch-black feathers and clustered close to you for heat. It was a charming sight.

Nevertheless, you are yet to discover where these little rascals came from. You never encountered them during your travels in Teyvat, that's for sure. However, something about those round eye orbs of theirs seemed familiar… There must be a source. And most importantly, why would these rascals broaden in quantity when a certain Fatui Doctor stays in your Serenitea Pot?

Your brain instantly conjured up a thought, like a detective reaching a moment of eureka when solving a mystery - Dottore.

With a grumble and a whine, you had to confront him. To no one's surprise, the Harbinger found solace in your Serenitea Pot, often spending time in your study or directly bothering you. It’s a habit of his, like a daily routine. Thus, you stormed upstairs to your library where he lingered, and saw him sitting casually by the desk.

Dottore wasn’t reading. He wasn’t mulling over some papers or research. No, he was plainly sitting and peeking somewhere behind the table.

“Dottore,” - you declared his name firmly. “Whatcha got there?”

The man glances at you neutrally; no surprise or dismissive groans. Yep, this man is concealing something. He replies nonchalantly: “Nothing. Just my morning coffee, as you can clearly see. Perhaps you need a vision check, dear?”

You give him the look. A look of raised eyebrows and a glare that says ‘Oh really now?’. Dottore's mouth pressed into a thin line, silently holding the mug. He remained eerily still and silent as if you tested each other through nonverbal communication.

And yet neither of you broke the silence, but instead, a small birdttore peeked from the Doctor’s mug. Even when the little thing caught your scrutinizing gaze and tried to hide in the mug, its single-feathered crest was still visible from the mug.

“There isn’t even any coffee in your mug, Dottore!” - you huffed in an astounded manner, placing your hands on your hips. “Come on, spill it out. How many of those wee bird-things you’ve got hiding?”

“I literally have no idea what you’re rambling about. Don’t be outrageous.” - He replied in such an easy and dismissive manner; it would’ve been believable were it not for that impish smirk that tried to break free on his face.

“Dottore, there is one peeking in your mug and I can see another one hiding by the chair. Perhaps you’re the one who requires his vision checked, hm?”

With a deep sigh and a mocking tone, his shoulders loosened and he reluctantly put down his facade - “Fine, you’ve got me. Consider this as an astute observation on your part. Are you pleased?”

As Dottore sat up more comfortably by the desk, the abundance of teeny ink blobs came out from their hiding. So minuscule yet wobbly, they gleefully revealed themselves and started scurrying everywhere. On the desk, by the floor, in Dottore’s mug… some even happily climbed onto your leg as you stood there, baffled. Dottore just watched with that giddy grin of his.

“... Okay, so, what are these? And why are there more of them in my house? Please tell me this isn’t some sort of an experiment gone wrong and now you’re disposing of them in my home, like getting rid of an infestation.”

“Infestation? Do not be ridiculous. It is clearly the opposite! A small experiment gone right, and now it's serving its purpose.”

“And that purpose is… what?�� - You raised an eyebrow. Dottore stood up and smiled cheekily:

“Having bits and pieces of me to accompany you while I’m away.”

He replied so confidently as if it was ludicrous of you to not realize it earlier. Yes, of course. Creating sentient little bird things so your significant other wouldn’t be bored. So obvious!

“...Is this some sort of ritual or experiment that I am not aware of?” - You clasped your hands and asked suspiciously. Some of the tiny blobs climbed onto your head. “Because if this is your way of ‘marking your territory’ then excuse me. I didn’t know that mad scientists exercise such a custom.”

“Oh shut it. You’re not even mad that I sneaked in so many of them when I visited you. It was comically easy to slip them every other day in your manor. That means they are serving their purpose accordingly. Stealthily keeping you company.” - Il Dottore smiled triumphantly, standing right in front of you.

“Wha-? I can barely handle one Dottore, and now you make me handle many tiny pieces of you? Countless silly little birdttores to keep an eye on me? No way!”

“Sure, sure,” - The Doctor scoffed and laughed at your attempt at teasing. His one arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you for a much-needed kiss on the cheek. His lips pressing tightly and lingering on your skin. “There, can your endearing face handle just a couple more kisses or must I humbly request for that smile of yours to return?”

You rolled your eyes at him but didn't rebuttal.

Hence, the evening was spent the usual way. Resting by the couch, the fire crackled in the fireplace. And while you and Dottore relished in the rare opportunity of leisure time, the tiny birdttores huddled once more by your lap or perched on Dottore’s shoulder. The Harbinger kept his arm around you, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. Although you couldn’t see through his mask, his stern expression kept an eye on the teeny rascals, as if warning them not to disturb you at home if they didn’t want to be exterminated on the spot.

Therefore, all was well... But Dottore had to think of ways to lock the bedroom in the future so those scoundrels wouldn’t bother you two in bed.

➻ First time posting a fic here. Please tell me how I did! And if you wish to see a casual day with Dottore and his birbttores - here is my art!

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact fatui #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #gender neutral reader #dottore x you #dottore x reader fluff #silly fluff #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic

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anneangel · 19 days

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Sherlock Holmes: I'm looking for someone to share 221B Baker Street. John H. Watson: I consider myself qualified to fill this gap. Sherlock Holmes: I'm also looking for someone loyal and trustworthy, who doesn't ask stupid things, does what I say, ignores my experiments and chemicals around the apartment, doesn't mind customers showing up at any time of the day or midnight, someone helpful and who accompanies me in investigations, participates with me in police and criminal investigations even if it bring subsequent risks, praises me until I blush, doesn't try to steal the spotlight for themselves and, instead, makes me the protagonist of a investigative detective story that lasts for years and years, who understands my ego, is tolerant with my drug use, is not spiteful and forgives me whenever I'm overly practical seeming like an reasoning-machine without emotionless, someone who does not feel personally attacked every time I leave you out of my plans and understand my silence and preference for not being a sociable person, and someone that only tell stories about me when I want to disclose and give permission for it, someone who knows how to list more positives things than negatives about me naturally, be a true friend and partner in easy and difficult times, and stays by my side regardless of the circumstances and holds me in the highest esteem, proving our productive and irreverent union as a dynamic duo. John H. Watson: Hey, that's a lot of requirements. But consider myself capable. I want to try. Where do I sign? Can I test this for a month? Sherlock Holmes: my dear, if you stay for a month, it's a sign that you'll be addicted to my queerly peculiar and unique presence for the rest of your life. If gets for a month, you might even try to leave me, but you'll come back. You'll come back. John H. Watson: Interesting. Where do I sign? Sherlock Holmes: you already love my presence, you are already fascinated. John H. Watson: Is it obvious? Sherlock Holmes: don't break the clauses, my dear, no stupid questions. You haven't broken eye contact with me since we started this conversation, you've been smiling since the beginning, you've looked at my appearance and haven't been shaken by what I said, you lean towards me as I speak, showing interest, you mirror my movements. More important, you seems nervous and wants to please me. And add, you likes read mysteries romances. And have a callus on your right little finger, you like to write down your experiences and you do it often, if you are going to live with me, you 'll write about our adventures because you 'll be part of them. On the other hand, you went to war and suffered injuries, but you don't complain about the service provided, this shows altruism and subservience, and you chose medicine, not for money but because you care about others more than yourself, it is a profession which demands care for the lives of others. And you are too empathetic towards others. So it's clear that you wouldn't mind putting me first, you 're humble. More, is eager for adrenaline and is particularly curious about what I can offer to you. John H. Watson: Bless my, this is fantastic, you are incredible, brilliant. Sherlock Holmes: That's promising. John H. Watson: Couldn't agree more, bless Stamford.

#sherlock holmes #johnlock #sherlock holmes/john watson #holmes/watson #Incorrect But correct quotes #acd johnlock #acd canon

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simply-hyacinth · 2 years

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You write L so wonderfully and so in character. I had a request if they’re still open: Could I request Reader (any gender) giving L his first kiss, teaching him how to kiss in the process, and L discovering that he really enjoys the sensation of kissing? I headcanon L as so mentally devoted to his work that his physical form has kind of taken a backseat, and so something like a kiss or touch from the right person can ignite in him a new understanding of himself. Thanks for reading! 💖

So, I was gonna answer this later because I have a truly astounding amount of homework to get done, but how could I keep you waiting? Anyways, I tried my best to adhere to your request, and I'm so sorry if it's disappointing, I've never really done this before. Please let me know if you want anything else written or rewritten, or literally anything. Your wish is my command. Also, thank you so much for your kind words! I am trying to write him as realistically as possible because I saw too much ooc L, and so I'm doing my best.

“Cake?” You asked, setting it down in front of him gently so as to not disturb his setup.

“Thank you.” He responded. His eyes never left the screen as he picked up the fork and began to eat.

He had arrived at your apartment last night and in typical L fashion, had given you little notice before knocking on your door with a briefcase of files and papers. He had turned your living room into a crime scene, and as far as you knew, hadn’t slept a wink since he had gotten here.

You didn’t want to ask him any questions or bother him, despite how incredibly curious you were, but you did want to be sure he wasn’t wasting away under your watch. If that meant feeding him desserts every hour to ensure that something was being consumed, then so be it.

“Cake for dinner,” You said softly to the air, shaking your head as you served yourself a slice. “I’m living my childhood dreams.”

Taking a seat next to L, you very carefully pulled a blanket up to your lap. You watched him cautiously, worried that your movements might distract him.

“You are not bothering me.” He said abruptly.

You froze “Are you sure? I can just go to my room if - “

“No, I quite enjoy your presence.” He turned to you. “And if anything, I should be the one worried about bothering you. I have completely taken over your living room with my research.”

In furious denial, you responded, “No not at all! I love having papers about - “ You pick up a paper and skim the first sentence. “ - mass murders…on my couch…”

L let out a soft chuckle, to which you gave him a smile in return. “I should be thankful that you have not yet tired of my existence.”

“How could I ever? You’re my best customer.” You gestured to the state of your messy kitchen - a result of all the baking and cooking you had done for him since he had arrived.

He responded with a little laugh, and turned back to his screen. You admired how much he devoted himself to his work, however it worried you nonstop to see how it ate away at him, both mentally and physically.

You didn’t pretend to understand what he did. As far as you could tell, he was a spy or detective of sorts. He never confirmed or denied your guesses, but there were certain aspects of his routine that allowed you to infer what you could.

What you were sure of, however, was that the only time he was ever able to properly relax was when he was around you. Which only made it that much more saddening that he was so immersed in his research at this moment in time.

But you said nothing. It was never your place to interfere or say anything. That was how the two of you worked.

You picked up your book from the table in front of you and began to read. It was nice, being near him and the two of you being allowed to do your respective things. In fact, the book you were reading was one he had suggested for you after you told him it had been a while since you found a good book.

So far, you were quite happy with the recommendation.

After a couple of hours of just being next to each other and occasionally exchanging words, you began to doze off. The book slipped out of your hands and your head dropped onto L’s shoulder.

For the first time in hours, he was completely taken out of his work mindset. The weight of your body slumped against his was so warm. He knew it probably would be best to let you sleep, but how was he meant to get any work done if you were right against him?

Lucky for him, you started to stir, yawning as you awoke from your brief nap. “You’re here?”

“I’ve been here since yesterday.” He replied quietly.

You quickly noticed how much of his personal space you had accidentally invaded and shot straight up. “Shit, I didn’t mean to - “

L reached over and took your hand. It was a bit of an awkward grab, but you understood he meant it to be comforting. “You do not bother me.” His words were firm.

“Right,” You breathed out, unknowingly lacing your fingers with his. “I forgot.”

“You also seemed to forget that I was here,” He noted. “You were surprised.”

Your cheeks heated up at his observation. “I think…I’m not used to you being so present next to me. It was a bit shocking to wake up practically sleeping on you.”

He was silent for a moment, and then, “Elaborate. On the part about me being present.”

“It’s not a matter of you being physically absent, but I mean you’re always so absorbed in your work that it’s like you forget I’m here or even where and who you are. Mentally, you are on another planet almost ninety percent of the time.” You explain, embarrassed.

This seemed to bother him. You noticed the way his grip on your hand loosened and his shoulders deflated even more.

“I never meant to make you feel that way.”

Your heart broke at how defeated he sounded. “Not at all! I just want you to be aware that you’re allowed to relax around me. You’re under no obligations here.”

He nodded. “Then you should also know that I don’t mind you being close to me.” He looked down at where your hands were still intertwined. “I’ve come to enjoy being in contact with you.”

You laughed lightly, relieved. “Thank goodness. I could kiss you right now, you know?”

“You could.” He confirmed quickly. “It would certainly be an experience I’ve never had before.”

To that, your laughter stops. “Never? You’ve never been kissed before?”

“I think I, of all people, would know if I had been.” He said dryly.

“Would you want me to kiss you?” You asked him, your words hushed and curious.

He pondered it for a moment. “I would want you to, of course. I have no expectations on whether or not I will enjoy it, as I have no previous experience to form them from. However, based off of what the vast majority of the population would - “

You decided you had enough of his talking and leaned forward, pressing your lips against his and using your free hand to hold his face gently as you did.

By kissing standards, it was not perfect. It was soft and awkward, but to you it was pure bliss. And as you pulled away and saw the gratified look in his eyes, it was fairly evident he felt similarly.

“How was that?” You asked teasingly.

“I’m not sure,” He replied. “I think you should do it again, for me to provide you with a satisfactory answer.”

You let out a laugh and leaned against him. “To be entirely honest with you, I haven’t kissed many people before.”

“In comparison to them, how did I do?”

“Well, that was just a basic kiss.” You explained. “If you really want to be memorable, you should try a little harder.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “And how should I do that?”

You gave him a sly smile and moved until his back was pressed against the couch cushions and you were positioned slightly above him, your legs on either side of his lap.

“Just open your mouth…” And like the obedient boyfriend he was, he did. “...lean forward…” Your lips met his again and you pulled him in closer; so close that you could feel his heart pounding against your chest.

The two of you quickly fell into a rhythm, and for someone who claimed to have never been kissed before, he was oddly passionate.

Breathless, you pulled away and beamed at him. “I would say that was pretty good. You?”

“If I wished to rank it, I would have to kiss other people to properly make a comparison.” You met his eyes, a teasing spark illuminated within them.

You scrunched up your nose. “Don’t joke. You are horribly unfunny.”

“Your lies do not concern me.” He placed a small kiss on the tip of your nose, much to your surprise.

“It appears you like being kissed then?”

“If it’s by you, then yes.” He sighed, a mixture of content and sadness. “I apologize for making you feel so unwanted around me while I work. I truly appreciate your presence and your efforts to distract me.”

You nodded acceptingly. “Well, do they at least work?”

L smiled. “They do.”

With a little exhale of relief, you rested your body against his and closed your eyes. “Anyways, you’re pretty good at that whole kissing thing. Maybe we can make it a habit.”

He squeezed your hand lightly. “I would like that.”

Because there was something so satisfying about kissing you, or even touching you, that made him only crave it more. L, whose mind was forever restless, had come to a complete halt the moment your lips had touched his.

It appeared that the only tried and true thing that could ever relax him and bring him out of an overworked state of mind, was being with you.

It was selfish. So incredibly selfish of him. To be with you, knowing the dangers, knowing the consequences, all because it made him feel good.

But he couldn’t help it. Not if it meant the possibility of kissing you again. And so he solidified this resolve in his mind that he wanted you, and only ever you. He knew there could be nothing good to come of this in the long run, but for now, you were both content in each other’s company.

L never stopped thinking about this moment. It might have been one of the only ones where he could truly say he was happy.

#simplyhyacinth #l death note #deathnote #deathnote x reader #deathnote fanfiction #l x reader #lawliet x reader #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet #l lawliet x you #l x you

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theinnerunderrain · 1 year

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Enigma [Capitano x Healer! Reader]

[drabble • Yandere themes]

The reason you keep eyeing Capitano has always been an enigma to him.

Capitano had been conditioned to detect even the faintest of movements, like a rodent creeping across the walls at the height of dawn, so it was simple to recognize that you were drilling holes in his skull continually. However, you would frequently become red as a tomato whenever he returned your gesture and turned to look at you.

You struck Capitano as a curious critter.

One who was overflowing with vigor and warmth, so radiant that you resembled a beacon of light bursting within the Snezhnaya mountain. While some could argue that the language he used to characterise you wasn't particularly true, that you were just a simple woman trying to get by, and that he was just insane.

He didn't care.

He never gave much consideration to what other people thought of him, especially when it came to his personal life. Even yet, it does irritate him a little to hear people criticise you, and he makes an effort to ignore it, especially if it's someone who is working for him. However, despite Capitano's generally high level of patience, these kinds of people seem to irritate him quite quickly. Therefore, when it came time to punish them, he did not see it as his fault. The punishment may consist of him burning their lips or force them to stoop down in the icy snow of Snezhnaya without any outerwear.

They were given numerous opportunities, didn't they?

He took the necessary precautions to make sure you never learned about these penalties, and he made sure these individuals remained silent out of fear that you would start to dread him and look for other employment options.

You're staring at him once again.

When he notices your eyes are fixed on him, he puts down his sword and tilts his head slightly back. It takes a moment for you to realise that he was staring at you before you awkwardly turn to the side. A small blush appears on your skin as you realise that you were discovered, fiddling with the sleeve of your robe before standing up and rushing out of the tent.

How humorous.

While he is sceptical that he will ever comprehend the reason you are staring at him so earnestly every single day without fail and at every sunset.

To be honest, he didn't mind. Although he would never say a word, he enjoyed the scorching sensation of your eyes remaining fixed on his back as you peered into him. That you were only focusing on him offers him a certain sense of satisfaction.

That the only person in whom you actually had interest was him, not his henchmen, not a colleague, nobody else besides him.

Just him.

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mochiimadness · 11 months

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Hey, I dunno if your still taking requests but I have one!

What about s/o having hair like Entrapta's from She-Ra? I would love to see how they would react to their s/o with that!

Hello, I'm sorry for the long wait! I'm finally getting around to answering old requests, before opening new ones.

I haven't seen She-Ra, but I did look Entrapta up, so I hope I haven't gotten anything wrong!

Neon Leon

Leo is both insanely fascinated over your hair-

But also, very very terrified at first.

Remember when Leo wore that blond wig that ended up being completely and utterly evil??

Leo does.

Leo has flashbacks of this when he first sees you using your hair to grab a mug off the counter that was just out of hands reach.

May or may not have screamed.

"S/o, I don't mean to freak you out but- YOUR HAIR IS CURSED!"

"What- wait no it's just-"

"Don't worry- I got this!" he says, as he whips out his sword

Cue panicked screaming from everyone in the room as Leo attempts to 'save' you

He really thought you were in danger okay-

After managing to convince Leo to not chop off your hair,

You have to explain to him that your hair isn't actually cursed by some weird dude looking to steal stuff

"I was born like this, I can just make my hair move and stuff."

Cue Leo's suspicious squinting.

He does believe you! He just cant help peaking around corners detective style to spy on your hair at first.

Once he gets use to it tho, he's got to admit, having hair you can use to grab things jussst barely out of reach is amazing!

His jaw drops when he realizes you can fight using your hair too-

Your hair wraps around a rather slippery warthog mutant and launches him several feet away

Leo is staring in shock and possible fear

They'd been trying to get a hold on that mutant for ages, and you just managed to grab him no problem???

And launch him like a soft ball???????

Mad respect

Enchanted/cursed hair or not, Leo's just glad it's not using you for evil!

Plus, you seem to be having fun, so he's cool with it now.

Don Tron

Donnie's insanely curious about your hair

Absolutely runs some tests and experiments (with your permission ofc)

He's seen you lift mugs and smaller objects-

But what's the weight limit???

Is it like a muscle that can be trained to lift more over time????

Is it possibly sentient?!

You let him come up with new theories

But as soon as the conspiracy board and red strings come out,

You're lifting him with your hair and carrying him away for a break.

He loves when you help him out in the lab

Using your hair to grab and hold tools or parts

It's similar to using his spider arms, but 10x better since it's his s/o helping him.

Your hair also inspires him to make a different version of his spider arm battle shell-

This one using a more fluid movement to match your hair!

He lowkey looks like Doc Oc...

Villains do their best to avoid you both

Having one person who can grab and yeet them away was bad enough-

But now there's two??????

They are sprinting as fast as they can

Not fast enough though!

You're able to use your hair to grab and swing from walls, catching up to villains with ease

Donnie's impressed, you didn't even need a tracking device!

You two also found out another trick you could do,

You're able to use your hair as a extra set of arms- so you both came to a realization

You could use your hair to hold more controllers.

You two need an extra player???

Bam, you're holding two more controllers

Donnie cackles manically every time you two score extra points using this method

Is it technically cheating????

Maybe

You can't deny it takes a lot of skill and practice to do though, so who cares?

Not you and Donnie, that's who!

Mystic Mike

:0 !!!

Your hair can move?!?!

Please please show him what you can do!

Absolutely loves seeing all your tricks

From lifting a mug, to scaling a building-

He thinks you and your hair are awesome!!

One day, he's literally in the middle of talking to you when he interrupts his own sentence in a huge realization-

"So then I chased them down on the shells hogs and- WAIT WAIT HOLD THE PHONE-"

"Holding."

"NOW ANSWER IT!"

"Hellooo?"

"You can use your hair to paint!!!!"

Cue both of you jumping up and sprinting to his room

You can, in fact, use your hair to paint!

Whether it be using your actual hair as a paintbrush,

Or holding multiple brushes and items at once!

It makes art time ten times more efficient- but also extremely chaotic

Sure, now you both have easy access to art materials, but now your hair can literally spin everything

The guys entered the living room one day and saw it absolutely covered in buckets of paint

You are now banned from holding stain causing items in the common areas and Donnie's lab.

When you two go fight together

Mikey quickly learns that you can use your hair to help climb and scale buildings

Which leads to you crawling upside down on a ceiling at full speed, with Mikey floating beside you, at enemies

There are high pitched shrieks whenever you join the battle

You may or may not be a local cryptid now.

"S/O, they're calling you a spider mutant!"

"Nice."

Big Red

Like Leo,

Raph also thinks your hair is alive

Though, he's more concerned than fearful

If your hair is alive, then should he ask it if he can pat your head??

You reassure him that your hair is not alive or sentient

He's still wary about it though

Definitely gives it suspicious looks when you're not looking just to test it

When you catch onto this though, you start moving your hair 'without your knowledge' just to play around

Raph shrieks

"I KNEW IT!!!"

You'll have to explain that you were just pranking him lmao

He does realize that your hair isn't alive eventually though.

Is genuinely impressed by what your hair can do

Especially when he realizes you can lift heavier objects too

If you're able to lift him with your hair, he'll scream

Definitely has a fanboy moment

"WHAT!? How is it so strong?!?"

Even if you can't lift him with your hair,

He's still impressed!

Throughout the day, you'll use your hair to grab things that are out of reach and hand it to him

Usually it's subconscious,

Like when he just barely got into a comfy spot after a long patrol and realizes his phone is just out of reach

You grab it and hand it to him offhandedly

Or when he's sleeping and the blanket slips off, you'll reach around to pull it back up and make sure he's covered

He appreciates these little gestures so much

Absolutely warms his heart and makes him a little misty eyed.

During battle,

He sees you literally form a fist shape with your hair and deck a rather aggressive yokai right in the face,

Sending them flying down the street

Raph will stop and stare in awe

"Woah!! S/O that's amazing!"

He's so proud of you

Then he realizes the hidden city police are making their way towards the two of you

Cue both of you hauling it towards the nearest portal

"GO GO GO!"

"I CAN'T GO BACK TO JAIL!"

Hey everyone, I'm going through my old requests and writing them. I can't promise I'll get to all of them, but I'll do my best when I have time!

Sorry for the huge wait, life got crazy

#my writing #rottmnt x reader #rise of the tmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #neon leon #rottmnt leo x reader #don tron #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #mystic mike #rottmnt raph x reader #big red #the boys

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spacexseven · 1 year

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daybreak

NOTE: it's my birthday, and it was about time i shut up and wrote some cute self indulgent ayatsuji content for myself.

yukito's arm around your shoulder is a familiar weight.

just as familiar as the scent of coffee wafting through the room, and the casual meows that greet you when you've been spotted by his cats.

you're curled up into him, your cheek pressed against the warm planes of his chest as you reach out for his hand, placing kisses at the back of it. the television in the corner of the room flickers to life, and he tosses the remote aside, instead reaching out for his kiseru with his free hand. shaky footage of a blood-splattered scene begins playing as bold letters fly across the screen

"freak accident..." yukito hums, eyes glued to the screen, "figures."

"how many cases does this make it now, close to sixty thousand?"

yukito's answering laugh is a sharp, sudden sound, unlike anything you've heard from him. you can feel it in his chest, and in the slight movement in his fingers clasped in yours. his laughter fills you with a fluttering sensation, and you find yourself automatically smiling along. it was nice to see him relax after all this time spent frustrated and constantly occupied.

"you wouldn't have believed that, doll" he says, lips quirking up into a smile, "but you'd be sorely mistaken if you thought I would correct you."

he caught you there—you were curious; for as long as you've known the detective, there are still so many questions you have about him and his work. but all those questions go unanswered, tossed away to the corner the minute yukito shoots you an hesitant look from behind his glasses. still, you think that his eccentricity and the air of mystery he shrouds himself with adds on to his charm, something mesmerizing and wholly unique to him.

you shrug, opting to turn your head and press little kisses into his neck instead. he softly strokes your head in response, and you savor every gentle touch of his. it had been a while since you got to be with him like this, relishing in intimate moments, and completely unbothered about anything else. a pleasant silence envelopes the two of you as you tune out the background noise from the television, and you desperately try to etch the scene in your memory. just you, and yukito—how long had it been since you held him so close?

he leans down with the lingering remnants of a smile, going to press his lips against yours. his lips are warm, and his touch tender where his hands are over your body. your own hands find their way onto his shoulders now, eagerly reciprocating his affection. you think you can die like this, in his arms, overwhelmed by all the love he has for you. it must have only been minutes, but every moment with yukito feels endless.

he pulls away, momentarily taking the sight of you in before readjusting his arms to bring you into a comforting embrace, your chin on his shoulder and his face buried into your neck. the soft strands of his hair tickle where they press against your skin, and his arms tighten around you.

"happy birthday," he whispers, his voice low and soothing.

you shiver ever so slightly when you feel him smile, "your heartbeat just picked up, didn't it? you must be curious to see what i got you. you won't have to look far—your gift is here."

from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a meticulously made doll, placed carefully on top of his desk. every minute detail—from the color of its eyes to the way its hair fell across its head and even the outfit it had on—was clearly made to resemble you. the clear care and dedication that had been put into it was startlingly clear. next to it, his own doll was seated. you can't hide the smile on your face.

you slowly pull away from the hug, "your powers of observation have failed you, detective," yukito's eyebrow raises slightly as he glances over at you, "i was actually waiting for a birthday kiss."

he blinks slowly, and for a moment, you're caught off-guard by the sight. without his iconic cap and glasses, yukito looks nothing like the infamous detective that fills his targets with fear. he looks softer, somehow, fondness teeming in his eyes. he's almost ethereal like this, pale gold hair messily framing his face and a warm smile on his lips. the only thing he's missing is a halo, you think. the gentle morning light that trails in through the gaps in the curtains illuminates him perfectly, highlighting the bridge of his nose and the light in his eyes. he's a sight you can't take your eyes off.

"what? you mean all that from before wasn't enough for you?" but he's grinning, bright and unbelievably beautiful, and then he leans in again to kiss you, gently pushing you down on the bed.

it's the perfect start to a day; soft rays of sunlight crawling in, a comfortable silence in the air, and the man you love in your arms.

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chaoticspeedrun · 11 months

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do you think we could have a donnie x gn! yokai! reader where he notices that the reader’s tail wags whenever he compliments/praises them (especially for their smarts) but doesn’t really draw attention to it? what kind of yokai they are is ambiguous.

please, and thank you

Rise! Donnie and yokai reader with a tail, headcanons.

AN: Hi, hello, hey I saw the treasure planet art you commisioned and I am SO jealous <3 Hope you like this!

Pairing: Rise! Donnie x GN! Reader

Type: Headcanons

Summary: Donnie realizing you wag your tail whenever he praises you.

Warnings: None.

MASTERLIST

Donnie, despite what he may say, wasn’t too observant, much less with how other people acted, however you were an exception to that rule.

From the moment he met you he was curious about the type of yokai you were, so of course he’d spend time observing you and anything of your person that made you different from humans, mutants or yokai he had met so far.

Which is why he started noticing your wagging tail.

At first when he noticed that reaction from you he hadn’t been able to pinpoint what had caused it, so he became more observant to catch it if the event repeated.

Which it did, plenty of times the more you two interacted, and while at first he was just curious and examining those reactions, eventually he started to find it cute.

However, once he had enough data to realize your wagging tail happened after his compliments and praises he started getting gddy and smug every time it happened and tried to make your tail wag as much as he could.

He didn’t even notice how flustered you were each time with how focused on your tail he was.

But he was especially smug and proud when he realized those reactions were reserved mostly to HIS compliments and praises to you.

He was elated.

And considering he is not that good at detecting people’s moods this was a sort of lifesaver he could use in your friendship, detecting patterns of what you enjoyed or you just acted like you enjoyed by the movement of your tail, it was a bright neon sign for him to know you were happy, and he realized after a long time that he himself got happy whenever he saw you wagging your tail.

Maybe if he keeps observing the patterns he’ll figure out the way to confess to you with the highest success rate.

#rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise! donnie #rottmnt donatello x reader #donatello x reader #donnie x reader

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hedgehog-moss · 2 years

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what are your favorite books in terms of prose? curious after you wrote about how many modern writers lack a sense for good writing, which i’ve also felt for years. so who do you think writes especially beautifully :-)

(Warning: long post ahead pondering what is perceived as beautiful prose in English vs French!)

The first books that came to my mind are the ones listed below, and it got me wondering why they were all by French authors, when I read a lot in other languages. I think even if you can read foreign literature fluently, it’s easier to detect & appreciate beautiful prose in your mother tongue, not just because you know it so intimately (so you know how many different ways there are to convey an idea and why this particular way was a great choice in this context), but also because languages develop their own criteria of what constitutes good writing, and we aren’t really taught about this—we're taught about our own language's criteria for good prose as if they were universal and objective, and it can be hard to move beyond that, especially when you're happily lost in a book and not actively trying to analyse the subtleties of the writing.

At the risk of giving the least hipster answer ever I really like Victor Hugo's writing because there are whole passages that sound so good I need to go back and re-read them to figure out what's happening in terms of plot (usually nothing, so it's ok), because I was too busy enjoying the flow of language the first time around (my favourite of his is The Man Who Laughs)

I read Pierre Assouline's 500-page book about the Book of Job even though I have little interest in biblical analysis or religious history, because there were sentences that were so pleasantly paced and balanced I just got carried by the momentum...

I love Annie Ernaux's writing in Les Années even though I'm not a fan of her other books, because the sentence construction and rhythm are so perfectly suited to the theme of the book.

I find Anatole France's books rather dull but the language is hypnotising (I talked a bit in this post about how his grammar is graceful as a dance...)

^ looking at this I realise I always come back to movement—grace, balance, flow, rhythm (not the pace of the story but of each sentence), and I know these are the criteria that French deems Terribly Important. I mentioned at the end of this post how (and why) English tends to be less interested in the motion of language and more in the imagery; in Goodreads reviews by native English speakers, beautiful writing is more likely to be described as ‘vivid’ than melodious. That's not to say English speakers can't appreciate (or prefer!) other kinds of prose, obviously, it's just, in broad strokes, what each language likes to focus on (at the present time.) There's a lot of appreciation in English for the kind of prose that you could easily make a moodboard out of—evoking sensations, colours, atmosphere—while French highly values the kind of prose that you can easily trace out in the air, with your hand rising and falling, tapping the beat, following grammatical twists and turns.

That's just my understanding, but it's something I notice a lot because I like to read French books along with their English translation (and conversely), to see how translators handle a tricky turn of phrase, or what I would have done differently. And it happens time and time again that the English translation lovingly preserves the imagery of a French sentence (even when a metaphor is difficult to translate) while coldly abandoning the rhythm and sound (even when there are easy English equivalents). Meanwhile French translators often completely ignore (or miss out on) subtle sources of mood and imagery because they are too busy picking the words and sentence structure that sound or flow best. It's really quite funny when you start to notice it.

I would have dozens of examples if I actually took the time to note them as I read, but just two recent ones off the top of my head—

French -> English

I'm currently reading Sylvain Tesson's La Panthère des neiges (The Art of Patience: Seeking the Snow Leopard in Tibet in English) (I needed a 'cold’ book during the heatwave...) At one point the author draws a comparison between religious worship and observing wild animals. For an example of what I was saying re: "tracing out sentences in the air", there's the sentence "La prière s'élève, adressée à Dieu." The two halves are 5 syllables - 5 syllables (6-6 if you read it formally.) The last word of the first half is "s'élève" — "rises". The last word of the second half goes down, since it's the end of the sentence. There's a clear rising and falling motion to it, which is also perfectly balanced in terms of syllables / rhythm; it makes a nice symmetric pattern in the air.

Now, the translation aspect—you've got the sentence "A genoux, on espère sans preuve." Then, shortly afterwards: "A l'affût, on connaît ce que l'on attend." The author is comparing the acts of kneeling (to pray) and lying in wait (to watch animals); so he chose phrasings and sentence structures that create a clear symmetry ("A genoux" / "A l'affût", 3 syllables, starting with the same sound, followed by a comma, then “on” + verb + clause.) The English translation? "To kneel is to wait in expectation without proof" [...] "Lying in a hide, the object of the wait is known."

This is bad!

Now the two sentences have different grammatical structures, they don't contain the same pronoun and don’t start with the same sound or phrasing even though the translator could have chosen to write "Kneeling" and "Lying" to preserve a tiny bit of the original intent. The translation obliterates the similarities of sound & rhythm in the grammar and word choice, which were here for a literary purpose—to link and compare two concepts.

On the other hand, every sentence in the book that's ripe with vivid imagery of wild animals is very conscientiously translated. In the next page, Tesson describes yaks as "taches de jais saupoudrant—", the English translator: "[the yaks] appeared as jade smudges scattered—" It's word for word ! The translator clearly thought visually striking phrases are essential and must be preserved as faithfully as possible, but phrases that are striking on an auditory / rhythmical level are less important (or less likely to be appreciated by an English-speaking reader.)

English -> French

I was reading The Bear and the Nightingale last year and I remember a contrast so blatant it made me laugh—the sentence "The ground was thick with snowdrops" in the original, was translated in French as "Le sol était parsemé d'une nuée de perce-neige." (The ground was scattered with a mist of snowdrops.)

In terms of French prose, this is good! In terms of faithful translation of English prose, this is bad! The translator went for the complete opposite when it comes to imagery—"thick" which evokes weight, vs. the weightlessness of "scattered" and “mist.”

But you know what? "Parsemé" and "perce-neige" have the same syllable count and nearly identical consonant sounds— [p]-[sə]-[m] / [p]-[sə]-[n]. It's pleasing to the ear and symmetrical. The “mist” bit might seem unnecessary (you could say “scattered with snowdrops”) but it was added because it contributes to this—rather than having two similar words right next to one another, they are now the last word in the first and second half of the sentence, making each half end on a similar sound, like poetry. The two halves "le sol était parsemé" and "d'une nuée de perce-neige" have 7 syllables each (with a mute e, the way most people would read it.) So the sentence sounds nice and is well-balanced, and what could be more important than musicality and balance?? Surely not imagery.

It's good writing in terms of what French deems important. It's terrible at preserving what the original English deemed important—"thick" associated with snowdrops as if the flowers were an actual blanket of snow—this evokes weight and quiet—the next sentence then opens with the trill of a bird, and the light, airy sound feels all the more vivid thanks to this clear contrast.

Which is obliterated by the French translation. But the French sentence flows nicely, and it really highlights what each language finds beautiful and essential, in terms of prose. I mentioned in this post that one of the reasons French takes up more room as a language is that it loves grammatical redundancy while English hates it—and I think it's because expanding or repeating a grammatical structure can add symmetry and balance, while it dilutes / drowns out the imagery. I don't think translators make an active choice all the time to overlook one aspect of the prose and pay more attention to another—I think as they mentally chew on the original text and try to come up with the best equivalent, they instinctively tend to fall into this pattern of favouring their language’s Good Writing criteria (probably because it’s assumed readers favour them as well.)

I should write these kinds of examples down in some Word doc, because they’re everywhere, and while there are so many writing styles and translation styles in both languages, there really is a pattern here—French being obsessed with balance and assonance, i.e. the beauty of motion & sound (which are twin concepts when it comes to language), how to make the flow of a sentence linger in your mind; English being obsessed with the beauty of imagery, the ways to make it 'pop', how to make an atmosphere linger in your mind.

Sorry for this very long answer that only briefly touched on your question, but I really love to observe the ways people use their languages so similarly yet differently!

#ask #language tag #i already made this disclaimer in one of the posts linked here but obviously there is good imagery in french writing and #musicality and rhythm in english prose #this is just a general pattern / preference that's noticeable

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pink-strawberry-kissess · 3 months

Note

going absolutely insane thinking of ada pleasuring herself as leon just watches HRNNNGGGFF

you don't say (i didn't proofread this and i was tired and wrote this at like 3am, ooc probably, they're horny, smut)

leon heading home after a long day- just wants to take a shower and fall into bed. it's curious, the way when he walks through the threshold on his front door and can already feel like there's a presence in there.

he stands completely still, his eyes scanning his surroundings and seeing that nothing is out of place. his personal belongings are still scattered in the particular way that he leaves his things, doors in the hallway still ajar, the rug still a bit off centered on the floor from when he rushed out of his place in the morning.

but he knows that something is off- he just can't quite place it, even though it's a familiar feeling

he has the idea to search his home just in case and begins leaning his head into every room while being as quiet as possible

as he approaches his bedroom, the door isn't shut, not like how he usually has it closed before he leaves. it's slightly open, the handle not locked closed but not open either. leaning his ear to the wood of the door, it's clear someone is on the other side.

his home had security, enough to stop most people from breaking in but not from anyone who was skilled enough in lock picking or slipping through the cracks. for all he knew they could've slid in when he was leaving

he grows curiouser and curiouser at the sounds, trying to decipher what it was exactly he was hearing- his mind runs a mile a minute wondering if he was imaging things

nudging the door open, the hinges were quiet- thankfully he had fixed them so they didn't have a horrible squeak when it opens anymore.

the sounds are louder, perhaps more lewd, his assumptions are confirmed when he notices a pair of tall heels left on the floor near his bedroom door. then a thin pair of panties left not so innocently a few inches away. he shouldn't- but he plucks the pick of elastic and lace and feels the texture of the soft fabric in his fingers. they're slightly damp, and warm- he's annoyed at the feeling of blood rushing in between his legs

his presence has been detected by her, her audible hum letting him know of this. but she doesn't seem to stop, the sounds of her shifting on the bed and splaying out on his sheets already paints a picture of what she's doing. he has split seconds to imagine it before he's hit with the real thing

continuing further into his bedroom, he sees the edge of his bed, his eyes lazily trail upward- seeing her legs spread and her fingers buried between her legs. she's half dressed, her eyes half lidded as well and a sweet saccharine grin stuck on her face

"well what do we have here?"

"you were late- didn't want to wait anymore-"

his body relaxed, the tension in his shoulders released and his chest shuddering with a deep breath. he's fixated at the sight between her legs, the bits of fabrics twisted around her body and the disheveled look of her on his bed.

he doesn't pounce on her immediately, he takes his time, the loud metal of his belt buckle announcing his intentions since she'd clearly already started without him

"are you angry with me?" her fingers cease their movements, her head cocking to the side with her question.

"well what am i supposed to do with you hm?"

"what if i am?"

"are you going to do anything about it? agent kennedy?"

she shuffles herself towards his headboard, her legs timidly pressing together as if she wasn't soaked between her thighs.

the loud leather of his belt is whipped through the loops of his pants, the button and zip of his jeans following as his knees make contact with the edge of the bed.

"what do you want me to do about it?"

they're only inches apart, his lips hovering over hers, his eyes flickering between her eyes and catching her hand raising to pressed her soaked appendages against his bottom lip. she drags her fingers there, letting him taste her on his tongue.

"don't keep me waiting-" she purs against his lips, the soft scent of her cherry lip colour is pressed against his cheek. her hot breath fanning against his ear and sending shivers down his spine and stirring up the feeling of arousal between his legs.

the sides of her lips curl, satisfied with what she feels as her fingers slide against the elastic of his underwear and dips underneath to grasp at him.

"looks like I don't have to wait at all-"

#and then they fug #have segs #do the devil's tango #BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM I WANT YOU IN MY ROOM #WE'LL SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER #ada wong #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #aeon #leon x ada #ask heart #heart answers #anon #leon kennedy x ada wong

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sidemari · 2 years

Text

• Not my thing •

A NSFW one-shot about our favorite detective from Teyvat.

Character: Shikanoin Heizou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Consensual sexual relation, semi-public sex, soft dom reader, mild teasing, unprotected sex and mild praising kink.

Author's notes: This ask was the main inspiration for this work. Remember to be polite if you want to share any thoughts of yours about this text.

Art: @lukrlyn on Pinterest.

The frustrating and complex case you had been figuring out for months now was finally solved and with that, the possible worst part of being a detective arrived. You should now expose every single piece of information you had gathered to the Tenryou Commission during a long and stressful meeting.

Curious, envious and enraged eyes didn't leave your frame as you slowly and concisely explained your conclusion and final decision on that case.

"I can't believe this... And they say you're efficient" One detective said bitterly, trying to get under your skin to destabilize you out of pure rivalry.

With that line, a buzz started once again inside that specific room of the Tenryou Commission. Most of the participants agreed with your choice of condemning the accused, even if the voices from those who despised your final work seemed louder on that reunion.

The only thing that made you feel sheltered was the presence of your boyfriend Shikanoin Heizou, another detective and young prodigy just like you.

"Heizou... I'm exhausted from this"

His eyebrows furrowed in concern because of how hopeless your voice sounded and his fingers caressed your cheeks to bring you some comfort in such distressing moment.

You barely felt his hand leaving your face to go and squeeze your thigh as a way to tease and ignite your nerves.

Your focus was set once again on the heated discussion of the other members of the commission, and because of that, Heizou's brisk fingers slowly seeking their way inside your baggy clothing almost slipped from your attention.

"Can I at least finish defending my point? On the case I was assigned to solve?" You said firmly, bringing silence to the place. "Everyone here is deserving of appreciation. Every single one of us have the ability needed to be an detective working to such powerful and important organization, but that doesn't mean we have the same ideals or logic" You took a pause, suppressing all the emotions you were feeling before finishing your last thought of that afternoon.

But your mind was totally blank.

No other thoughts crossed your hazy mind besides fulfilling your boyfriend's devilishly desires and your body's urges.

Fuck Heizou for being such a sly man.

His middle finger was stimulating your clit strongly enough to have you squirming on your sit. The slim digit abused the sensitivity of your sex with so skilled movements it was hard to concentrate and finish your line.

"What I mean by that... What I'm trying to say..." Your voice was shaky and you went silent as a tentative to hold back a moan.

"Do you perhaps need some water, Ms?"

You were fucked.

Completely screwed.

The other Tenryou Commission people had already noticed something was off.

It was a matter of time they'd notice the lewd actions of your boyfriend under that tablecloth of the Yumemiru wood furniture.

"She needs this stupid meeting to be finished as soon as possible" Heizou's voice was clean and irritated.

The constant thrusting of his fingers didn't stop at all while he criticized his profession colleagues.

"Let's be rational, shall we? If the leader of the Tenryou Commission approved her final decision and even said her approach to that case was efficient and satisfactory, I think this arguing is not only useless but irritating"

When you felt some tension forming inside your walls - so ready to snap at any second - was when the teasing stopped abruptly.

"If you all allow me, I'll take (Name) home. She's not feeling so well and as a responsible person, I must take care of her"

And with that, you finally left the overwhelming ambience.

"Shikanoin Heizou! What the hell do you have inside your sick mind?"

"It's not like you didn't enjoy it, right?"

"H-Heizou!"

"Let's take this to my place. You need to forget this meeting more than anyone"

° • • • ° • • • °

"Hey babe... Please stop teasing me... I promise I'll be a good boy for you" Heizou's voice was nothing more than a whimper when your fingers stimulated his boner from above the fabric of his underwear.

"Should I even listen to whatever you're mumbling? You didn’t really hear me when I asked you to stop your little show" You kissed the skin right above his crotch, making his body jolt under you.

"Ah! You know I'm s-sensitive there- Argh, just let me be inside you already" Yet, another soft kiss against your boyfriend's lower belly made him gasp in anticipation.

"What happened to your promise from seconds ago? See, I have a point..." Your soft lips pressed some kisses against his erection, action that made Heizou squirm and groan.

"Please... I need you so badly..." He gasped quietly, trying to convince you to let him take the lead, or at least, to let him finally take you on the spot. "You know following rules was never my thing. I just wanted to play around with you, is all"

Regret was all over his face.

Perhaps it was a strategy.

Or perhaps it was mere manipulation.

But you were satisfied with how much devotion you squeezed from his soul.

Your heart was pounding on your chest while adrenalin kept running non-stop inside your veins.

Every single nerve from your body was ignited, ready to provide you the most sinful reactions and sensations.

It was only fair to feel like that when you weren't used to being the one in control. Yet, finally gaining the guts, you made the first step towards the good time you'd spend together.

Your hands made their way to his underwear, swiftly taking off the only thing that stopped the man under from being able to love you properly.

Welcoming him inside your walls never felt so captivating to the both of you.

By the moment Heizou felt he was completely inside you his hands grasped your hips tightly as a way to guide your movements on a steady pace that had you two completely surrendered to each other.

Only small whimpers and gasps left his lips, but if he could say something, he would admit that the warmth of your insides was heavenly to him and that the constant squeezing of your walls was enough to send shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Heizou's hands only left your hips by the time he felt the urge to kiss your lips. Pulling you down so your body could rest partially against his abs, you had to slow down your movements in order to get comfortable and finally kiss your lover.

"This feels s-so perfect" He gasped during a short break from the constant kissing.

When you returned to the previous pace, Heizou's face framed the most genuine expression he had done in a while.

A single tear left one of his eyes only to get lost on his burgundy hair as his hands gripped the bedsheets under him.

In the heat of the moment, Shikanoin still felt that he should provide you some the pleasure you delivered to him, at the very least.

One of his shaky hands started stimulating your bundle of nerves, making you melt above him. The other one made its way up to your lips, brushing them with his thumb as a way to get access to your mouth.

You understood quickly you needed to get his fingertips wet and warm and you fulfilled your task with ease.

That very own hand massaged the chosen breast of yours with mastery and desire. His fingertips moved around your nipples with the right amount of pressure to make them perky and sensitive enough to give you goosebumps.

It became hard to keep up the pace of your soft thrusts and that was when you knew you were close. Heizou's stimulation on your breasts and sex gave the last momentum required for you to come undone, with him right after you.

"Come here" Your boyfriend's arms were open so you could lay down on top of him to just receive all of the love he had to offer. "You did so well for me"

"Really?" You asked quietly, while some anxiety formed inside your mind, making you shiver and stay silent. It was visible that the heat of the moment was fading away, bringing back the worries.

"Hey... Look at me, please" His eyes felt warm and they carried the purest kind of love.

"You're enough, you're loved, you're flawless, my love. I fall for you every single day, since the first time our gaze met for the first time. I won't allow the stress of our duties disperse your glow and joy" The forehead kiss the man gave you transmitted his admiration immaculately, lifting up your spirits and warming your soul.

"Thank you, Heizou..."

"Ne, little one... May I tease you out in public some more times? I just liked the outcome of it all"

"Heizou..."

"You know that following rules was never my thing :)"

#heizou #heizou x reader #heizou smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin oneshot #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #shikanoin heizou #shikanoin heizou smut #genshin scenarios #dont flop #genshin lemon #heizou lemon

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pixelmensupremacy · 2 years

Text

Taste test

A/N: Ever since I got to play dbh myself Connor took full custody of my heart. Also it's so short since I had a very busy week.

Word count: 0.7k

Warnings: food, fluff, GN!reader

“The way to the heart is through the stomach.”

A saying (Y/N) repeated more often than Connor could remember. For the amount of times he had heard it –even before his relationship with the detective began- he never fully understood the meaning behind these words. In his android conscience he presumed it had something to do with primal instincts, related to survival, which humans have preserved even to this day.

Though he always found himself intrigued, whenever (Y/N) busied themselves in the kitchen. Curiously he would follow them, only to silently observe their every action; each time he challenged himself to guess what the detective was preparing and when he did the corners of his lips would curl up, without him even realizing it.

The detective never protested against his presence, for they found it utterly endearing and heartwarming. In fact, they cracked a smile every time they caught the android staring, which definitely wasn’t a rare occurrence.

With his head rested on both of his palms, the android analyzed every single ingredient as well as the amounts of them, which (Y/N) swiftly mixed together in a thick and smooth consistency. Occasionally Connor would comment when he detects excessive amount of certain product –in this case sugar-; he went on to explain what of a negative impact the ingestion of too much sugar had on the human organism.

“I’m just concerned about your health.” He muttered softly.

“Well, I most definitely won’t have the chance to be reborn on this planet to enjoy its gifts, so I might as well do it while I still can.” The detective replied nonchalantly, obviously unbothered by the worrisome effects pointed out by the android, since they have heard it all since childhood. Partly they understood his concern, since he valued their life more than they did themselves. (Y/N) chuckled as a memory of a similar setting -from not so long ago- flashed before their eyes: the android was giving the same advice to Hank, but to no avail.

The detective whisked the snowy mixture, all the while Connor’s prying eyes followed their every movement with the precision of a curious cat. His chocolate brown irises darted back and forth in synch to their movements, until suddenly they stopped. His eyebrows furrowed together as he watched the detective dip their index finger in the bowl.

“Try it.”

“You know I, like any other android, am unable to digest human food-“ He immediately protested, but was interrupted halfway through by the detective’s finger sliding past his lips.

“I didn’t say anything about eating, just taste it.”

The android complied; his fingers curled around (Y/N)’s wrist, holding their hand in a steady grip all the while his tongue brushed against the pad of their finger. Chocolate chips melted on his tongue and spread all over his sensors, the sweet aroma of vanilla extract filled the room, tingling his nose. Connor’s eyes shut as he let out a loud hum at the sweet sensation. He relished the treat, so much so his digits dug into the detective’s hand once they tried to pull away.

“Is it good?” (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at the android, anticipating his response.

“Astonishing.” Connor replied in an instant.

“Aw you’re flattering me.”

“Not in the slightest.” The android was soon to interrupt, his eyes shined with a certain spark the detective had seen only when he was close to accomplishing a ask.

“You’ve always told me that the way to the heart is through the stomach. Well I technically don’t possess one, but the taste of the cream causes a certain delightful sensation I’ve never experienced before. I-“

“So you’re telling me I was right after all.”

“Yes.”

Gently the detective cupped Connor’s face in their hands, bringing him closer until their lips met. Their tongue lapped at his cream covered mouth, parting his lips, before they broke the kiss. The android looked at them pleadingly, silently begging them to not stop. In circular motion (Y/N) massaged his squishy cheeks up until a spot of the mixture caught their attention. They scooped the bright cream and brought it to their mouth.

“You know I’m always right.”

And he wholeheartedly agreed, maybe the way to the heart could be through the stomach.

#detroit: become human x reader #dbh rk800 #connor x reader #connor x you #connor rk800

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overstuffednpadded · 1 year

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WARNING: +18, Diaper usage, Scat, Farting, uhhhhhhh sexual use of a...unalive person (I DONT WANNA SAY IT), also G*tham

An average person might despise working late into the night, especially if their job involved examining dead bodies. Edward, however, was not your average person. Edward worked as a forensic specialist at the GCPD. He had always been morbidly curious about the things that his job entails, and working with corpses didnt bother him. So while it was true that Edward enjoyed his job, it was a good cover up for his truer intentions.

Edward was only a little ashamed to say he wore diapers to work. The length of his lab coat was plenty to hide any bumps or bulges. And the smell of chemicals and decay overpowered any...odors...that might come from his diaper. He knew he shouldnt indulge himself in a public space like this, but there was just something so thrilling about discussing a murder case with the detectives while discretely wetting his diaper. And getting away with it! Or pushing out a big mess with the knowledge that anyone could barge in on him. But those momentary pleasures were nothing compared to his late night endeavors.

Tonight, Edward was examining the body of a recent murder victim. The guy was seemed to be only a little older than him, maybe even the same age, and had died from a single gunshot wound to the chest. So he was still perfectly intact. Ed made a show of carefully looking around the body and prepping his tools as if for further examination. He'd worn a thicker diaper today which had meant limiting his movement so he didnt crinkle, but now he moved freely, bending and squatting unnecessarily just to jostle the noisy plastic.

He teased himself like this for a while. He'd held it as best as he could that day, but he'd still had a few accidents. He was moderately wet and earlier that afternoon he'd pushed out little more than what he thought was just gas. But despite that, his bladder and bowels still felt overly full. But it wasnt enough. He wanted to wait until he was about to burst.

As Ed bent over once more he let out a sharp gasp. His tools clattered to the ground as he threw his hands between his legs. Even after all these years, it was still quite the sensation to genuinely wet himself, like on accident. It started as a stream that would quickly turn into flood if he did nothing to stop it. He squeezed his legs together and gripped himself hard, his whole body shaking as he tried to clench himself shut. It was odd to feel desperate to stop and keep going, but he didnt want to go like this! His breath hissed through his teeth, quick shallow breaths making the air hot while he tried to force himself to stop peeing his diaper. But the stream only seemed to slow and not stop. It didnt help that he was beginning to feel a fart brewing in his bum, one that promised to bring out all of his poop.

"O-oh dear, oh dear! I-I need to go." Edward panted out breathlessly. It was time.

Still dribbling in his diaper, Edward somehow managed to climb onto to autopsy table and straddle the torso of the cadaver without exploding. He looked down at the man, blushing profusely from holding everything in for so long rather than shame. Still, he felt the need to speak.

"I'm-nngghhaa-so sorry, sir. But I-gUUHH-neeEEDd you for this!"

His poop was definitely coming, and he still hadnt stopped peeing. His bladder and bowels ached for release and he couldnt wait a second longer.

"Ggghhh-ggAAAAHHH!"

PHBLRSHHHHHHRRTT

Edward was so focused on his bladder that he hadnt realized just how badly he'd needed to poop. He'd thought he'd at least push it out slowly, but as soon as his bottom opened up he'd been forced to push out a very large poop that oozed and mushed up against his butt, filling his diaper as if he hadnt pooped for days instead of 24 hours. And when he'd pushed, his stream of pee became fire hose of hot urine that began to loudly soak his pamper.

It was exhilarating.

His diaper bulged out and squish against the dead man's torso as Ed used the bathroom on top of him. His tummy heaved and pushed while Edward grunted soundlessly, his breathing coming out in small gasps. Edward unfortunately kept his pants on, but it was not without good reason. The last thing he want was to leak on top of the cadaver, and he felt the edges of his pants becoming wet with pee and runny poop.

Edward began to pant louder and more desperately. He wanted more, he needed to further indulge in this moment. Ed leaned back, bracing himself on the man's thighs and scooted his bottom up just below the chin of the cadaver. He took a deep breath and then pushed as hard as he could, ripping a loud wet fart in the dead man's face and filling his diaper with another fresh load of poop that the dead man luckily could not smell.

Edward was close, he was so close. It all felt so goo. In a rush of pleasure he hoisted himself back up and lifted his bottom, momentarily feeling the contents of his diaper squish and slosh before planting his messy behind firmly onto the victim's face. Edward let out a long, intense moan and then began to rub himself back and forth across man's face. He wanted to use the man's hand to stick down his pants, but Edward went with his own for the sake of, again, not leaving incriminating and hard-to-explain evidence. He rubbed the front of his diaper while the back dragged across the face of the cadaver he was supposed to be examining. He moaned louder, and louder, before finally climaxing hard into his diaper.

He sat there for a while after he came, panting and sweating, searching inside of himself for any hint of shame or disgust. He almost reached something that felt like it when he peed his diaper again, the sensation making him consider a round two.

#messing #omutsu #scat kink #eproctophilia #farts #i dont wanna tag that part!!! T-T #i know i wrote it stfu!#also yes it's that e//dward n///ygma #i dont usually write about stuff like this i swear XD #💜writing💜

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beecastle · 1 year

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The Rockford Twins (prelude)

Summary: Tim and Thomas are twins, and they are exact opposites of each other. One will end up being a detective, the other a thief. Will the detective be able to catch the thief or will the thief manage to get away?

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: discussion of crime, child arrest, a lot of backstory

A/N: Thank you @littlemisspascal for beta reading and encouraging this idea! This all literally exists thanks to you.

MASTERLIST

On the rainiest night of the whole year, at precisely one minute before midnight and two months before their due date, the first baby of a set of twins was born. He didn’t cry. Instead, he stared at the midwife with big brown eyes, as if trying to figure out what was happening in this new and curious world.

His brother followed a measly two minutes after, and unlike the other baby, the second he came out of the womb he was kicking and screaming. It took a whole 15 minutes and three nurses to get him to settle down enough so he could join his brother who was already sleeping in his mother’s arms. And as soon as he did, he squirmed around as if trying to get the whole attention to focus on him.

Looking back one could say that was the start of their rivalry. A rivalry that would follow them as they grew, a rivalry that would make the space between them grow larger and larger each year, a rivalry that would eventually involve the whole world.

As kids, when their mother was asked to describe them, she would always emphasize that they were exact opposites of each other.

“Day and night,” she would say between laughs unaware that her innocent phrase would be seared into her kids’ minds. Day and night. Light and dark. One was good, and one was bad. They had to be, that’s how opposites work. Now the only question left to answer was which kid was which.

Thomas Jacob Rockford was the picture of a perfect kid. He was calm, he got good grades, and he listened to his elders. At 10 years old he was learning to play both the piano and the violin, knew Spanish well enough to carry a conversation and went to acting classes on the weekends. His parents reminded him every day how proud they were of their firstborn.

And most importantly he stayed out of trouble, but only because he was smart enough to not get caught. The plans he came up with would surprise even the most experienced criminals. And his reputation as a golden child helped too, no one ever suspected he cheated on exams or that stuff on store shelves made its way into his pockets more often than not. And as he grew, his criminal activity did too. There were bigger crimes but still, no one ever suspected a thing.

No one except his brother that is.

Timon Benjamin Rockford was the trouble child. He got in fights trying to defend either his honor or someone else’s all the time, but neither his parents nor the school ever cared about the reasons. He was always told he should be more like his brother. So little Tim watched every movement Thomas made, trying to figure out what made the other kid so perfect. Instead, he discovered his sibling’s criminal activities.

But of course, his parents never believed him when he ratted him out. There was never any evidence he could use for backup so he was told that he should stop inventing stories like that, attempting to get an innocent person in trouble was a bad thing to do.

Tim swore he would catch his brother.

The opportunity to do so came when they were fourteen. Tim figured that if he asked to go with Thomas on one of his heists. If he knew where it was happening and when, he could tell his parents and they’d have no other choice but to believe him.

“I want to go with you,” Tim whispered as he entered Thomas’ room.

“Where?” His brother looked up from the book he was reading.

“I want to help you commit your next crime.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Timon.” He looked back down to the book.

“Stop playing dumb, of course, you do.” Thomas sighed and placed the book down and walked towards his brother.

“Even if I did, you want no part in this, believe me.” Tim took a deep breath, he had to do this, there was no other way. If he wanted to catch him this was how he did it.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I want to be like you.” Thomas looked him up and down and something in his gaze softened.

“Okay.”

Two weeks later Thomas told him a time and a place. They were supposed to meet at a museum, one of the backdoors would be open, Tim needed to go inside and then he would be given more instructions by his brother. This was risky, a very risky move, but this was his opportunity to get his brother caught. So he agreed to be there.

And so his plan was set in motion. He called the police and gave them the details of what was going to go down that night. The officer informed him that a patrol would make its way there.

At 10 pm, Tim made his way into the building through the door that Thomas had promised would be unlocked. Once inside he searched for his brother but couldn’t find him anywhere, what he did find was that one of the paintings was missing. A painting was missing and his brother was nowhere to be found. This was a setup, he never intended to include him in the crime. But if that was so-

The red and blue of the police sirens outside illuminated the whole building. Tim would explain everything to them, this would all get sorted, and everything would be fine.

But everything wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine when the officers came in, guns drawn at the fourteen-year-old. It wasn’t fine when they cuffed him and took him to the patrol car. It wasn’t fine when the police somehow found his prints all over the museum and the painting stashed in his room.

His brother had set him up.

An innocent-looking Thomas testified that Tim had told him to go to the museum. He found it to be a weird request but still was going to go because he didn’t want his brother to be alone but he lost track of time while being at a friend’s house and he never made it. The friend, the friend’s parent, the friend’s maid, and everyone confirmed that Thomas Rockford had been at their house at the time of the robbery. He had a tight alibi.

To the outside world, Thomas was innocent. This was all part of his plan.

The judge assigned to the case, a gentleman known for his strict rules, took a glance at Tim’s school records which of course were riddled with all the fights he had had and the suspensions that resulted from them. With that and with the robbery, the judge decided that he was a danger to society. Tim was sentenced to three years of juvie.

When goodbyes were said, his parents looked at him disapprovingly. “Perhaps this is exactly what you need, something to set you straight.”

“Mom, dad, I didn’t do it, I swear-”

“Stop it Tim, just stop with all the lies. At least face the consequences of your actions like a man.” His father said while taking his crying mother out of the room. “Let’s go Thomas.”

“I need to say my goodbyes, I’ll be out in a moment,” Thomas replied.

As soon as the two adults left the room, the teens stared at each other, the tension filling the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“You set me up,” Tim hissed at his brother after a few seconds.

“You set me up first. You were the one who called the police, not me,” Thomas whispered, quiet enough that Tim was barely able to pick it up. If Tim hadn’t been consumed by the anger coursing through his veins he would have been able to hear the pain in his brother’s voice. “If you had just waited, there would have been a fake painting hanging there in the morning, no one would have noticed it.”

“I-” He hadn’t wanted him to get arrested? No, that wasn’t right. Thomas was always playing some kind of game, and this must be part of it.

“I’m sorry Timmy, I am. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” He took a deep breath and blinked the tears away from his eyes. Tim was convinced this was all part of the act for the people looking through the security cameras. “But you need to stop trying to catch me brother. You will never be able to, just stop and save yourself the pain.”

#tim rockford #the thief #merge mansion #casillero del diablo #pedro pascal #fanfic #bee castle writes

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 1 year

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"I didn't know you were there," says Lucy, hesitant but curious. Quill stops what he's doing, sets down a box. He frowns, moves to check an item off of Holly's neatly written list.

"I've been here all morning," he replies bemusedly. "Would have thought you'd notice, with how the lot of you tend to gripe about my very breathing." He says it complainingly, but with the slightest air of a smile.

Lucy shakes her head and quirks her lips, as if thinking. "That's not what I mean. Lockwood said something the other day, that you were here the night... when Jessica died." She looks away, hiding her questioning gaze. Even now, Lockwood can be cagey about his past, and she tries not to press him too much.

Kipps makes a noncommittal sound and shrugs stiffly. "I wasn't here when it happened," he says slowly. "I was... too late."

In the golden early-afternoon sunshine of the hall, his face almost looks soft, wistful. Lucy moves closer, sensing a shift in the mood. She knows vaguely that he'd known Jessica before her death, but she's not sure how well.

"I could tell you about it, if you wanted," he continues softly. "It's... there are many things I wish I could change."

"Mmhmm," Lucy hums reassuringly. She leans over to check Holly's list herself, picks up a box of her own. "Would you maybe write it down for me?" She asks, then grimaces at her own insensitivity. "For the casebooks, I mean, the history."

Quill gives her a look. "Me?" He asks, brow furrowed.

Lucy nods. "Everyone's written something," she says, "Even Hol. But even Lockwood hasn't written much about Jessica. If you wanted, that could be your entry."

He stares at her, unsure, for a long moment. Before he can say anything, George comes stomping through with a heavy-laden garbage bag, grumbling all the way and followed by a particularly chipper Holly, who asks how the tidying is going on her way past. In between the movement and bustle, Kipps catches Lucy's eye past Holly's neatly braided hair.

He nods just once, but with certainty. Lucy nods back and smiles a hesitantly sad smile.

~~~~~

In a world where the dead can walk and must be staved off by children with swords, timing is everything. Back then, I didn't know that the way I do now. Timing was for prompt attacks on a Spectre, planning an evening to catch a Phantom by surprise. Nor did I even truly know that I was a child, and only now do i truly feel such. Funny, how as a child I felt like a grown-up, but as a man I feel like a child.

My name, for this record, is Quill Kipps. I've been asked to write this down as it may matter later on as a historical record, though why this tale is of import I don't know. Perhaps it's a cautionary tale. Much of my later exploits have already been taken down by my colleague, Lucy Carlyle of the now-esteemed Lockwood and Co. psychic agency. However, difficult as it is, Ms. Carlyle has requested that I tell my own perspective of the events preceding my days as a supervisor of the Fittes agency and later in solving the most pivotal case of most people's lives alongside Lockwood & Co. It is the story of how I, a child at the time, learned something of timing.

I was seven minutes too late. That was all it took for my life — and, I'm sorry, that sounds selfish now I've written it down, but this is in ink, so shall we say — how two lives, one of which was mine, were irrevocably changed. Back then, both of us would have said they were ruined. But we both survived, as most people do, and I think have both finally come to be glad of that fact.

Only agents walk freely after dark. Curfews take affect, and fear even before that, meaning most adults take to their homes, iron-fortified and scented of lavender, at the first sign of sunset. Most of them likely haven't even seen a sunset in years. That's particularly sad, I think. There's so much beauty after light, and so few can ever see it.

Adults, who cannot detect Visitors, live in more fear even than those who can see, or in some cases, such as that of the esteemed Ms. Carlyle, hear them. Funny how the lack of knowing makes things so much more terrifying. After dark the only living human forms to be seen are those who a century ago would have been considered small and vulnerable, but who now protect their elders from horrors they're blind to. I know what it's like to be blind. I have walked both sides. But that isn't what this is about.

I didn't have a case that night. My team had the night off after a serious domestic case the previous evening, one including a feral Poltergeist with a penchant for throwing kitchen knives willy-nilly. Our Listener had taken a deep cut in the process of sealing the Source, and as such our team had been told to take a respite for a weekend, rest and recover with extra time that we often didn't have as part of the largest psychic agency in London. And, amidst the desperate rush of the previous night's haunting, I had realized precisely what I wished to do with that time.

It's difficult for a child, even a teenager as I was, to conceptualize the passage of time. When you're fourteen, you can't think of what your life will be like in a decade. When you are a fourteen year old psychic agent, you can't think of it due to doubts that you will even reach that age. It's a job with a high mortality rate. Any benefits or honor you may receive don't change the fact that you can die, possibly quite alone, at any time in the line of work. This particular night, I wasn't thinking about that, however. I was thinking of a future, vague and hypothetical, clearly far too hopeful, in which I married the girl of my dreams.

Jessica Lockwood was lithe, dark-haired, and had the sweetest smile that I have ever seen to this day — and for the record and for irony's sake, it has indeed been nearly a decade since then. She and her brother, Anthony, who has since made quite the name for himself, were the inheritors of their late parents' house at 35 Portland Row. The late Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood had been researchers and collectors of rare and potentially psychic items from around the globe. Their research had led to an untimely death and orphaning of their children, but it had also led to a connection with the Fittes agency and thus my meeting Jessica, back in those days when I could See Visitors unaided and she was alive.

She was so, so alive. I don't quite know how to describe it. There was a determination about her that gave her a kind of almost glow, a vibrancy that surrounded her and lit up even the most depressing of rooms, even the DEPRAC waiting room I had met her in shortly after her parents lost their lives. Anthony, Tony as Jessica called him, was only nine years old and well on his way to becoming a fully-fledged agent with Sight better than most, possibly even my adolescent self. Jessica, if she had been gifted in Talent, had never made mention of it and thus had not taken up a rapier in the fight against the Problem. Her efforts were focused on her family's home, and the one other person remaining in it.

She was tidying up, as she called it, making a project of her parent's research and the items collected throughout it. I had peeked in on this organization a few times over the past few months that Jessica and I had been seeing each other, but none of the items held any significance to my eyes. A few carried a slight psychic residue, but Tony could have told her that much, and likely did. He never hesitated to speak his mind, albeit often in a roundabout way even then. He certainly spoke his mind about me.

It was understood that Tony and I did not particularly get along. He was somewhat possessive of his sister, which was understandable, and I found him to be pretentious and annoying. Still do, for that matter. However back then we mutually endeavored to keep the peace, for Jessica's sake if nothing else. I would have been honored to be allowed into the family eventually. I think in that moment I was so assured in my love for Jessica that I would have readily given up my work as an agent if she'd asked it, and a part of me knew she would. I would have given up the world for her.

I whistled quietly to myself as I walked down the streets that night. I'd taken a Night Cab to a corner nearby and was just rounding the corner, where a small shop sat for as long as most could remember, to continue down the Row when a wailing came speeding up behind me, preceded and followed by blindingly bright lights. An iron-lined ambulance and two DEPRAC cruisers tore down the road I was headed down, and before the realization had even sunk in I was jogging to catch up out of sheer curiosity. It didn't occur to me until I had already watched them pull to a stop that they could even potentially be going to number 35.

But they did, and even with my own cocksure refusal to understand mortality on a personal level, a chill sank through me even harsher than a ghost-chill or miasma. It made my hands numb; even though I had my rapier, I couldn't have handled it in that moment if I had had to. I sprinted through the gate, past the already rushing medics preparing borderline-overdoses of adrenaline, and when the DEPRAC officers called out ordering me to stop, asking me what I was doing here, I growled that I was a Fittes operative, let me through, I had to get to the scene.

Because I knew even then that there was a scene in the Lockwood house. Adrenaline is the only treatment for ghost-touch and either way this night could go, it was not going to go well. I had been coming to tell the girl of my dreams that I loved her, and now, the realization was hitting me smack in the face that I might instead be either comforting her at her precious little brother's bedside, or telling her goodbye instead.

I was the first to her room, then, closely followed by the DEPRAC people who were then followed by the medics. And all of us were too late. Something, I'm not quite sure what, was cracked on the floor, a dark tear in solid silver that told me a Seal had been broken, and the small dark-haired form of Tony was standing stock-still holding a rapier, but this isn't what any of us was focusing on.

Jessica Lockwood, or by this time, the body of Jessica Lockwood, lay silently on her own bed. There was no blood, no signs of physical struggle, but there never was in cases like this. She should never have been a case, not like this. If it weren't for the fear and pain on her face, a twisting that my heart easily matched upon seeing it, she could have been safely asleep. The ghost-touch must have been acute, a wrap of faintly glowing arms, and Jessica's death near immediate, because the telltale bloating and bruising of her flesh had only barely begun. They should have brought a hearse truck, not an ambulance.

And the death-glow hovering over her, suffusing the dim room with light to those of us who could see it, was brighter than any I had or to this day have ever seen. It was like a small bit of sunshine, or a star itself, lit up Jessica's bloating body from the inside out, and not simply because I was in love with her, which was true. The light was overwhelming.

Tony was staring at it as well, as the medics began to take protective measures for handling the body. There were ectoplasm stains on the floor near the bed, and near where the boy stood. A thin film coated the edge of his rapier. He was in jeans and a white shirt, half-tucked in but slightly dirty as if he'd been playing outside in the back garden. I forced myself to close my gaping mouth, took a step towards him and forced my heart to untwist.

"Tony," I said, reminding myself how to speak and in particular how to speak to someone in a volatile state, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Tony jerked back away from me. "Don't touch me!" He cried out, and I backed off with my hands in the air. His rapier had swung wildly about when I touched him, coming to rest tremulously near my ribcage.

"Tony, you have to come with me," I said, nervousness and slowly settling grief making it sound far more bossy than I think I really intended. I wanted to get him out of there, away from the body of his sister which was becoming more and more grotesque by the minute, and away from the site where her spirit might return if given a moment's chance. "It's me, Quill."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he hissed. His eyes were fixed mostly on Jessica's bed, mouth twitching as if he wanted to shout at the medics and officers working to take care of her body, but he glanced at me with such vitriol that it took me aback. "You were too late," he spat, and I flinched at the truthfulness of it.

I cleared my throat, which had suddenly started to close. "I wasn't with them," I told him. "I was coming here to-" and there i stopped, because what use was it telling Tony now? I had missed my chance, and it didn't matter if I had loved her, or how much her little brother had, because those things did not change that she was dead now.

"To what?" The question was asked in such a low tone that it would have frightened me to hear it come from someone so young, if I hadn't been in some kind of shock and struggling just to make it through this conversation and get the boy away from the scene.

I stared at him. In that moment I had never felt more defeated or useless. "I was coming to tell her I loved her," I admitted, helplessly.

"Lot of good that did her," Tony hissed at me after only a second's hesitation, then with one last, lingering look at his sister's death-glow, ran out of the room. I later found out that he ran all the way out of the house, and had to be restrained by a DEPRAC agent in order to be taken to Scotland Yard to give a statement.

I was taken in as well, as I had been on the scene so immediately, and as the long night passed in a sort of numb turmoil, the next I saw of Tony was in a waiting room just like the one where I'd first met Jessica. It was dull and gray and certainly didn't help with the sudden numbness that had come after the shock. I approached the boy slowly, hoping he could see me and wouldn't be startled. I was trying, very hard, to be friendly, but I've never been much good at that.

"I'm-"

"Sorry?" Anthony finished for me, more than a little bitterly. "I knew you'd say that, Quill." He glared at his hands resting on his knees, hands which a couple hours before had had a death grip on a rapier and now were painfully empty.

It struck me that this was a boy with nothing left to hold onto at all, no family left to speak of. He could have been a vengeful spirit himself, for as pale and hollow as he looked in that fluorescent-lit room deep inside Scotland Yard. It was evening now. They couldn't just send him away into the dark, rapier or no rapier. Not back to a house that could be haunted, even as we sat and stood in uncomfortable silence in an all-gray room, by the spirit of the girl we had both loved.

"She loved you too, you know," Tony said quietly, startling me from my numbish reverie. His tone was low and dangerous, something I was then unaccustomed to. Sarcasm, certainly, and taunts, but the delicate anger in his voice that night was something entirely new to me. I would come to know it much better over the years. When he turned to fix his gaze on me, locking me in place just as well as a Visitor's trance, there was a hollow look in his eyes that looked almost dead and nearly made me flinch.

"Why couldn't you have gotten there sooner?" He accused, standing from the cheaply built waiting room chair and coming toe to toe with me despite being then significantly shorter. "It was seven minutes, I counted! You were seven minutes late! Why weren't you there sooner?" The danger in his voice turned ragged toward the end, high-pitched and boyish. I didn't know what to do with that.

I had no reply. I'd had no case that night, no reason to dawdle. I hadn't thought I had dawdled, really, until it was too late. I couldn't let myself think that I had, refused to acknowledge the implication that Jessica's death could have been prevented if I had only picked up my pace by a bit. If I did, the regret, already threatening just beyond the numbness I was slowly emerging from, would overwhelm me. I was only a child, only fourteen. I was equipped to handle Visitors of all kinds, even the dangerous Poltergeist my team had faced earlier in the week, but I was not equipped to handle this any better than nine year old Anthony Lockwood.

I stood my ground against his dark, sad eyes and bitter trembling. This time there was no sword to stab into me if I took a step too close. We were caught, in a standoff, stock-still in that dingy, timeless waiting room with the ghost of Jessica hanging over us, if not literally then very present figuratively speaking. Both of us, I know now, were children. This shouldn't have been our lot; but it was, and despite the grief and the pain, we stood firm in it.

"I'm sorry, Tony," I said stiffly, though genuine. I couldn't force my mouth to form the words any more gently while shouting and fighting inside and knowing that he wouldn't accept it either way. I was always going to take his sister from him, one way or another. None of us ever thought it would be like this, though.

He glared harder, tipped up his chin at me. Even then a bit of hair flopped over his eyes. "Don't call me Tony," he snapped, then whirled away, arms crossed. "It's just Lockwood, now."

"Is it?" I sniped back, as if on autopilot. I nearly didn't realize the snide words had come out of my mouth until he replied.

"Only one of my name," he said. He only faltered a little, but the similarities to Jessica were enough that I could see it. I didn't acknowledge it, though. That would be something too close, too painful, and there was no safe way to let this scene turn into that from where we were just then. "I dealt with it, even DEPRAC agrees. The Visitor-" and here, his voice definitely shook. The Visitor that killed Jessica. "The Visitor is well gone. I could start my own agency, if I wanted." He tightened his arms around himself, another tell that I refused to see.

I was horribly selfish then, and for a long while afterwards. Sometimes I still am. Sometimes, I regret that. I have a lot of things I regret.

"Good luck," I told him, after a long, suddenly chilly silence. A DEPRAC inspector, Barnes, was coming down the hall. My self-imposed responsibility, to not let Tony be alone on this night, was ended. I would go home and curl onto my bed, fully clothed, and tremble until the dawn came. I would make tea and pretend that I could taste what kind it was. I would not concern myself with a boy who was not my responsibility, even if I'd come very close to having him for a brother once upon a time. Those hypotheticals were out of reach now, and the fact of that was all too quickly sinking in. I didn't want to be around people when the lingering shock fully faded.

I turned at the door, passing by Barnes as he entered the room and cleared his throat for Tony's attention. I looked over my shoulder and made a momentary eye contact with Jessica's little brother, the only connection to her still alive in this world. I thought of her just a few hours before, alive and well and glowing with life, now nothing but a death-glow in her own bedroom. I swallowed hard, gave Tony a firm nod. "I'm sorry," I said once more, and didn't stay long enough to hear any reply he may have made.

I cried it again, later, staring into the dark of the night unable to sleep. "I'm sorry," I whispered, as if Jessica could still hear me. Her room was being filled with lavender and reinforced with iron and silver at that very moment. There was no chance, or at least very little, that she would return. To this day I don't think I knew if I wished she would or wouldn't. For my sake and for Tony's, now I'm glad that she didn't. I'm not sure either of us would have survived that.

I'm not sure of the purpose of this record, except that I hope I can give a warning to those who may one day read it. Life does not last forever the way we think it does as kids. As an adult now, I feel both older and younger than I've ever been. I was seven minutes too late for the girl that I loved more than I believe I really knew how to love. It isn't all that much. Just seven minutes for a life to be lost and two more to nearly follow. Timing is everything, and I missed mine. I hope that others will not make the same mistake.

~~~~~

Lucy reads through the story slower than she usually would for anyone or anything else and only looks at Kipps again once she's gotten to the end. He won't look at her, staring staunchly at some teasing doodle on the Thinking Cloth. There's a heaviness in the air. Holly appears at the threshold of the kitchen for a moment, seems to take stock, and moves on without hardly a noise. If Lucy hadn't been facing her, she wouldn't have even known Holly had been there.

She holds the pages carefully in her hands for a moment longer before handing them back to Quill. "The last paragraph," she begins quietly.

It's fading afternoon again, golden hour a few days after she first brought up the question of Jessica to him. He'd knocked at the front door earlier in the day even though Lockwood had faux-reluctantly given an open invitation, and a spare key, over a snacking smorgasbord during the few days they'd spent organizing and painting Jessica's room and a few others. With Lockwood and George out, presumably to chat with Flo or scrape up some research, 35 Portland Row is quietly peaceful.

Lucy and Kipps both have cups of tea in front of them; Kipps has mostly drained his, possibly just for something to do, and Lucy's has started to go cold. She stares into the liquid, tapping the side of her cup with a quiet ringing tick noise. The silence, once awkward and anxious, sits with them and they let it. Eventually, Lucy looks at Kipps and he automatically looks back at her.

"The last paragraph," she repeats quietly. "Is that for him?" She means Lockwood, of course. Of course Quill would notice the closeness between the two of them, that Lockwood seems sure to continue as he is without addressing it.

Quill shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "I wrote it down because you asked," he tells her, with more earnestness than she had honestly expected. Kipps is a dear friend these days. He's also still often abrasive and detached by habit. "But maybe the whole thing is for him, really," he admits.

Lucy thinks of his own words: very close to a brother, once upon a time. She nods solemnly. "Thank you," she says softly. Quill nods back, and manages a hesitant, sad smile in return.

#SO ANYWAY I GUESS I HAVE FEELINGS #in typical fashion I managed to switch both tenses and POV and ALSO make this somehow both pre and post canon #which i think is pretty prestigious. if i do say so myself #but aldjdlsnfjsj yeah emotions. gonna crosspost this to ao3 in the morning probably???#need to decide on a title but the song i kept listening to during this was i hope by we are the guests. so there's that #Lu writes #lockwood & co #L&c #quill kipps #songbird babe this is for you bc you're the one who got the idea of kipps/jessica into my head in the first place #any typos will be edited out uhhhh later

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